"I show not your face but your heart's desire."

The Proposal

The heart is fickle; the mind brilliant if given the right resources; and as far as the soul intertwined between both, a loyalty of humility inherits a most definite desire beyond a single breath of life. Those, who wander but are never lost, bequeath an honorable trait of truth. They see things for what they are, not what they should be. Their sight unhindered by reality and all that it encompasses. Their souls are bound by no laws foreseen by the hand of magic.

"Mari, you're impossible." Laughing in tune with her accusation of my disregard for the gravity of the known predicament. "Haiden Everhart? The lineage of the name alone should speak volumes to you."

Rolling my eyes at the mention of the line once more, I twirl the solid piece of wood between my fingers. When decided on an actual course of rebuttal to the subject matter, I sigh in protest.

"Volumes, of which many have swoon, no doubt. My literary endeavors reserve the right of pride, not lunacy. Therefore, I shall pay my respects to those un-loyal by the word of pen." Smiling back at my friend, she scuffs unrelentingly.

"The one endeavor that excludes magic from the mind, and you manage to abuse its witness to godlike creatures of the sort."

"Liana, please. Godlike?" The wind feathers throughout the woods in small doses, creating a tranquility among the brush of leaves that shifted willingly at whim.

She rests her head in her palms, staring out into forest, offering little reluctance in my indifference. "He's not bad, you know? Respectable for his age, as young as we all are."

"Ah-yes. Respectable." I counter her subtle hint towards the pairing. "Ought the son of the minister's right hand man be anything but?" A sly smirk develops around the corners of both our lips.

Sighing once more, Liana swoons, like many of the witches who have noticed his privileged acceptance in, far be it a nuisance of character -his unnaturally, handsome good looks. The splitting image of his father before the dread of his wife's passing. They say age and time are a mere reflection of one another, and that death being all too aware of time, ages those lost in grief forever. It took two years before my father ran into the man, who to many, seemed impartial to loss but favored in luck. Life can never favor all but the select few that it does, it cheats.

"Charming, yes." I solemnly agree through a clenched jaw, unwavering in my companion's torment of the discussion. "He is but a waste of words on my tongue-"

"Ah, but not on your eyes." Liana remarks.

Shuddering at the thought of the union, I retort. "His proposal is quite rash, don't you think it odd?"

"Maybe in the muggle world, they deem it that. But, as your better half and the half that wishes to see you happy all these years, I think it rash to reject that happiness." Shifting on the tree limb to face me better, she pauses. "I know you. Not everyone you meet will face an insufferable end. They do exist. I truly believe that, Mar. You fear the unknown. Always have and always will. My gosh, the day I first met you. Do you remember?"

"Oh, not this again." She had a knack for being sentimental.

Tucking her legs beneath and re-positioning her posture was the first sign of trouble. Something she always did before explaining anything deemed monumental. "You were standing on the platform, ticket in hand, scratching your head." How many times have I heard her tell complete strangers this? Seven, maybe eight times? One had to have memory of it erased to protect our world. "You had your trunk rested up against the stone wall of King's Cross and when you went to lean back to brace yourself, you fell." Of course, I had a bandage on my knee the first few weeks I wore a skirt. Infuriating as it was for the dress code to require panty hose, that or give up the right to wear a skirt above my scabbed knee. "The muggle had it coming to him if I do say so myself. I have no respect for thieves, wizard or not." Maybe the notable traits inherited from her father and his father's father. All were Aurors, I might add. Justice, any shape or form, was dignified depending on the corresponding actions of the accuser.

"Who steals a trunk full of girl's clothes?" I joke.

"A simple enchantment from my father rendered him incapable of speech. We'll never know the full reason why, will we?" She laughs momentarily. "I don't know. Just the way your face looked in that moment. You hadn't seen magic used like that before. You took a serious distaste towards him after that." Only because the man was unable to defend himself against us. In my eyes, it was wrong even though I knew it to be an act of protection.

"My umbrella fell onto the tracks. I remember your father yanking me backwards before I jumped down to grab it." A second thought passes the first. "He said I was hastily unaware of my surroundings."

"He told me to watch out for you." How could I forget? After a snap of his fingers, did the umbrella levitate back onto the platform and into his open hand. He gripped it tightly and gave me a stern look of discretion as passer-bys moved onward, unscathed by the events. "And speaking of being hastily unaware of your surroundings-"

"What's that spell to make you stop talking?" Mumbling under my breath, I reserve the right to pardon her genuine thoughts for a bleak moment. "-shut it."

"Stubborn as well as hastily unaware. Possibility of ignorance thrown in." The thud from her landing suffices the end of the conversation.

"Possibility of ignorance hath a forthcoming of unfortunate events in about three days." I remark on the reality of such other importance.

"Fifth years, here here!" Shouting with a lone fist in the air, Liana bellows the extravagant news.

"Another year closer to freedom!"

"Here, here!"

"Another year closer to a career!"

"Here, here!"

"Another year-" Pausing for a second to observe the untouched farmland, I saw the all too familiar black robes with the embroidered embossment only the Ministry deemed to bare. "-closer to reality."

At the end of my statement, Liana encloses a hand to her lips in shock. "What are they doing out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Lost, obviously." I remark sarcastically.

My eyes were burning something fierce. I had been trying to perfect a sleeping potion for my own personal use. About a month into second term, the noise of my resilient thoughts kept my dreams at bay. Should I have blamed him after all this time? He must have known what I would think after his honesty in such speech? No, it's not right to have given him any sort of empathy. For, what is done cannot be undone.

Professor Woods, our newly replaced Potions expert, hath decided to make me his star pupil. That, being my focus was on the literature of potion making and not his actual advice on making thus potion. He was no more than ten years older than my classmates; and yet, he was accomplished in every entirety of his life. He had visited ruins and recovered lost jems and bones, worked under the command of the Ministry before resigning to teach at Hogwarts. And that, all after publishing three books on various teachings of magical artifacts. He was, to some, magnificent, headstrong, decently eye-catching; and to me, a complete ass, sometimes.

Potions comes naturally to me. Although I would read the page of listed ingredients and scuff at the preparations, I had three years prior to perfect an art that so willingly suited my endeavors as a child. My father was proud to see a hobby most wizards and witches turn down for spells, un-tempted by the desire it's willing to produce. A drug, no less, than that of eager substances. Done correctly, one could be brilliant, forthright, undeniably fearsome. Done correctly, all these things could claim ownership over a soul. And done in a suitable manner of persuasion, condemn one's life unknowingly.

But magic is magic. Potions is just potions. Our level of influence having been confined to the castle walls, did not render our thoughts any less intrigued. "Spells are but mere enchantments made to 'whoo' the common fables of Muggles. Real magic remains hidden beneath ourselves and the weight we carry in and of our souls. We are a small ripple in time, whose significance only matters to those who dwell in the past. We are condemned to a fate by what flows through our veins, stretching to our hearts and our minds. We owe more than spells to a generation apart from still waters."

Scottish ancestry, given his distinct accent. According to Quinn, our hair-brained Charms expert, who didn't dare leave her wand a foot out of reach from her hand and third in our group of misguided youth, deemed him idiotic and disgracefully, disturbingly... sexy. Her words, not mine. For me, my first and only love is that of potion making, not making a fool of myself. Its pretty hard to bottle that up but believe me, Quinn could.

And if it wasn't for her affection towards our Potions professor, it was the constant argument of debate about the subject matter as a whole with Mr. Kingston, who willingly abides with the daily disputes on behalf of hopeless restraints in order to back down, that kept me satisfied with a lesser conflict of interest. How she would tousle her jet-black hair in his face after frantically waving her arms in the air and flashing an irritated glare with pools of piercing blue eyes. Of course, in the beginning, Fredrick Kingston was a know-it-all, incompetent jerk with fiery red hair and a fantastic knack for dominating anothers thoughts as if they were insignificant. Mind you, he had a good head on his shoulders for being one of five brothers and sisters, all of whom accomplished bright futures without the use of chemistry sets. Something a few of his elder brothers teased him for while growing up under the same household. Nevertheless, my first day of class, I was situated next to this mysterious beast, of whom I didn't think much of until the first few words out of his mouth were spoken.

"Your friend need not gloat about levitating my books by the use of simple charms." He shot a gaze of assumption back at Quinn before acquiring my attention again. "I am well versed when it comes to the art." Kingston winked to an aggravated witch at the end of class. "Keep your feet well grounded, sweetheart. I take cynical hatred seriously. If she does not reciprocate good manners, I cannot be expected to give, nor acquire them towards her." A short laugh uttered from his breath as he explained this. "Please caution Ms. Gracen in her actions and words." I had never been speechless at such intrepid behavior as I had been in front of him.

And should I have been for, his best friend since before the sorting was none other than the man I would despise years later. Kingston and I have a mutual friendship based on our interest in Potions. Chemistry just, sort of, bonded us through the years in a way which many of my friends joked about from time to time. Oh-well, I have a breakthrough with a stunning healant that will repress the symptoms within a few short intakes of breath. As the height of circulation increases within the bloodstream, the mixture of ingredients could remain within the system up to four to six hours, giving the witch, or wizard, an invisible armor to subdue his, or her, opponents. Together, Fred and I worked on perfecting the dose for months before doing a trial run without the consent of our professor.

"You should be more careful." Quinn would urge me to reconsider my intentions. "If the professor knew-"

"He won't." I remembered the glare I shot at her from across the common room. "We're perfecting the use of invisible armor. Do you know how many lives that could save one day? How many lives it could have already saved?" I was defensive. I had a right to be.

Liana and Quinn exchanged a glance with one another. "It is a good thing, Mari." Liana remarked cautiously. "-but in the wrong hands."

"Its not in the wrong hands." I rejected their idea of mis-concepted acts of heroism. "Look, I know what I believe and I know what I stand for. For once, in my life, I feel like I'm apart of something bigger, something better." Their withered expressions unraveled before me. Somehow, some way, nothing good would enlighten the views they interpreted from previous histories of overcoming obstacles through means of which the wizarding community considered to be damned, if not a progress through the idle hands of Muggle advances keen on defining 'magic' by simple viles of substance. Any high authority would see the foresight for the blend that it was -a threat. What would they know of better? To expect the storm before a gust of wind. But, hath the gust a rarity of warning granted them a grace of mercy, would the Ministry expect anything different of the sort?

"Even in noble circumstances, the best witches and wizards are never above the influence of authority. They are blinded by what warrants their attention to achieve glory. Kindred, some are, but not aware of cost from nobility and self-righteousness." At the end of Liana's ranting, I drew a most magnificent sigh.

"An achievement of absolute glory requires an act of nobility-"

"-not self-righteousness." We finished altogether.

"Got it." I smacked my palms to complete the debate. "Anything else to share?"

"Bloody Hell," I mumble under my breath as we approached the house to find the Minister's army of intruders drawing themselves closer to their destination. "Stupify me, please." Begging Liana of my request causes her to snicker in response. Maybe I knew all too well the endangerment of refusal. Nothing but a single drop of courage could salvage the mask of expressionless drones that lay ahead of us. I dote on the fact that the time spent in solidifying an art of a specific substance acquired no absolute purpose in a moment such as this.

Again, I begin to plead with my friend. "What good could come from expulsion at the expense of your unfortunate, misfortune?" Batting her eyelashes at the stern wizard I had recognized faintly through the facial features of his son on occasion, my confidence fades.

"I promise I won't ask anything else of you." If I survive this, I would ask a million things more. That, she need not to know temporarily. "Liana-"

"Ms. Camari," Every part of me freezes without intent as the robed wizard crept up from behind. Liana softens her laugh for a stern look of seriousness. "Ms. Hartley," nodding to my companion in her com-pulsed composure of shock, made me sympathize with the awareness of informal first greetings. How does he know? How have they ever known anything without the use of illegal practices? Confidentiality being none of their ascertained traits. "So nice of you to accompany your friend to her meeting with the Ministry." Mr. Everhart's voice broke in sparse at the intentional backlash from my denotation.

"Meeting?" Quizzically, I eye Liana for accommodation of such belligerent scheduling. "I've gotten no formal, written notice of any-" Screeching ensues amongst the conversation as a flustered, snowy owl soars over our heads. Ducking to avoid the diversion, a plain, creme-colored envelop with the embossed Ministry seal, lands directly into his hands.

"Mail these days." He taps the seal twice, once to levitate and twice to break.

"Ms. Marisole Lynn Camari, daughter of Douglas and Analease Camari, is hereby sentenced to a series of questioning by the Ministry of Magic due to the tragic death of one Professor Rosaline DeBois, previous Potions expert at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding. The events, of which thus victim has passed, are still unknown, except for which student was last in her prescience before the disappearance. Questioning will presume for as long as the case remains unsolved by any means necessary."

Silence overtakes the two of us. Liana knew my love for Potions and as far as the terrible passing of the professor, who taught the art, she was unacknowledged about the facts which connected me to the unfortunate incident midway through the semester. Mrs. DeBois was a tart-feathered haired women, distinct for her age, and sarcastically so. Most professors are serious while very few extract a humor to a precise subject. Rose did both and all while concocting a stew of mystery, breathtaking enough to swoon the entire class. Bluntly, were we ignorant and unaware of which potion was being made to calm and manipulate our thoughts into becoming her philosophies and secrets about life, love and friendship. It took hours for the effects to wear off. Those of us who acted apart from its effects, found an agitating separation from identity. Not that floating objects remained inexcusable or ordinary acceptable but given the situation, to which we understood movement and misplaced gravity, it was too late to convince us different. She could be dark depending on her mood and distaste of regulatory proceedings of studies. Current events bored her persuasions of fancy. None to which she found admirably stimulating. One day though, before her disappearance, she composed herself entirely different in front of us. Different enough for me to take notice.

"Short notice, I must say." Having a small intake of breath and examining a spot on one of my cuticles, I attempt to evade such a request. "Another engagement proceeds thus requirement, sir."

Stepping back after retrieving the falling piece of parchment from my hands, he remarks drastically. "Unless thus engagement requires the binding of my son and future daughter-in-law, then by all means, excuse your request on the Ministry's behalf." Out of my peripheral, Liana places a hand to her mouth in order to stifle her outburst of laughter. Ever heard about a rock and a hard place? I was standing right in front of the rock, immovable and unfailing when it came down to business. This is what his son inherited -a stability in knowing how to get exactly what he wanted. "Well, which notion guides importance to you at the moment?"

My stance shifts in response to his demeanor. Sometimes inherent, simmering rage could have the same effects as a drop of courage. "As a matter of fact, I have a form of engagement to acquire with Haiden this evening. He's rather unyielding when it comes to the acceptance of some things. I must reassure him on the notion or I dear say, he will blatantly disagree with my alibi of lateness. But, you know him well. I'm sure he'll understand, given the circumstances."

As his lip curls, he contemplates the hindrance in the delay. "I do know his affections are disturbingly distraught with you." Pausing, I watch him struggle to recite the next phrase. "We will reschedule the meeting to a more convenient time that suits the two of you." In a swift movement, the rest of his team apparates while he lingers behind. After the last disappearance, his gaze zeros in on my intolerance. "I do not approve of such engagements when it comes to the Everhart bloodline." Leaning closer so his point was private from my companion, his speech continues. "But it is most fortunate for your family's namesake that my son has taking a liking to you. I, however, do no agree with the tolerance of his affections. He's quite stubborn with what he wants. A trait inherited from his mother. Let me give caution in saying that a pairing of such individuals cannot strive together in a future that warrants such importance." I watch him observe the expression my eyes refracted -a scrutinizing gleam of reluctance to order. "Haiden is my son. He has an attraction to all things beautiful but, he scratches the surface of nostalgic grace when it comes to those who he takes an interest in as allies."

"Uh-hem," Liana clears her throat as we depart.

"He is but a mere reflection of me. Remember that, Ms. Camari." Turning to leave, I regain my sense of confidence.

"Reflections change, Mr. Everhart." I retort.

"Suppose they do. Over time." Smirking a nod to us both, he left. The tension in my jaw lessens upon the break.

"Amazing piece of work for a father." Liana comments. Trying to analyze the thoughts floating across my stern expression. How judgmental he could be and only eight years after his wife's passing. Surely, he hadn't forgot her reflection. Had he?

"Unbelievably so." I agree with her.

"So, you're saying you're never going to confront his son?" Twiddling with the piece of parchment that lay directly in front of me, I begin the confirmation with a simple nod. A lone broomstick situated in the corner of her bed, took flight into her open hand. "You're saying, that by some non-magical or illegal wrong-doing, you'll completely avoid him this year?" After pacing back and forth several times, I attempt to persuade her of the plan. "Do you know how stupid that sounds?"

"And possibly idiotic, Mar." Quinn follows suit once Joslyn finishes her ranting. "You can't evade the boy forever. Hell, you can't escape his father either."

"I can try-"

"It's a little difficult considering he's in the same house as the rest of us." Liana pipes up with the defaulted notion of absolute failure. "Or, have you forgotten the common room incident of last year?" Joslyn begins to crack a smile with a jittery laugh. Having her tips within her hair change from purple to red at the recollection.

"Cannot believe how much butterbeer Miles and Brysen managed to sneak past the gates of Hogsmeade." Shaking her head, the length of her hair shortens. "What do you think of this look for pre-game season? Too much? Too bold?"

"Badass, Ms. Emberson." Quinn answers.

"That was one night things got out of hand." I proclaim.

"One? Is that all you can remember?" Liana prods while raising an eyebrow to suggest deceit within the group.

"Weren't you snogging with Mr. Hensley after a few drinks?" I reprimand the dignity of my delusional memories. We were all under an influence greater than ourselves. Joslyn laughs at Liana's suffering.

"Mr. Davon had an interesting game of Wizard's Chess as well that night." Liana fires back mercilessly.

"What?" Quinn covers her mouth in shock before Joslyn smacks her arm with the broomstick.

"He's not like the other wizards. He knows how to have fun and let loose." She smiles at the photograph her mind replicated from her previous thoughts.

"Brysen Davon?" Quinn questions. "Team Captain, Brysen Davon?" Breaking from her thoughts, I notice Joslyn's nails turn slightly orange. "The same Brysen Davon that gets up every morning at five a.m. doing crunches and lunges to prepare for hours in advance to training? The same Brysen Davon, of which I've seen on numerous occasions never leave a classroom without a notebook full of plays he brags to Miles about being the ultimate game-play on the Quidditch field? The same Brysen Davon that has never been late for class, tardy for a pre-game meeting, or important dining hall study for advanced courses? This Brysen let loose his guard and responsible methods of study for a game of drunken chess?" Silence encapsulates the two for a bit. It becomes extremely difficult not to break their stares.

"Yes," Joslyn boasts proudly. "Although, I ended the night with a 'checkmate'." Quinn bites her lip in a disapproved manner of repercussion. "He's quite intelligent for a half-blood, I must say."

"Joslyn," Hartley protests the insecurity with the division.

One thing her father stood for was equal magic, equal rights. Half-bloods could learn and perform magic like the rest of us. Why would a division be needed? Of course, according to Mr. Everhart, I had no place in the wizarding community under the liability of his family's namesake. Such a crude, old man with no heart in matters unless they pertained to justice. It's all just black and white for them. They have 'The Daily Prophet' to do their bidding in solid ink. Why fight with the use of wands or morbid, chained creatures. They know what they stand for and what others think they should stand for. When have they been proud enough to take a stand against one of our own? How their hearts are just as empty and bare as those thieves in the Muggle world. But, we will not acquit one of our own without reason. That is, of course, unless the sentence concerns someone other than a pure-blood.

"I don't understand." Haiden tossed his books across the tower's stone floor. "Mari, look at me please." I knew his eyes had fallen alongside my back as I clenched and un-clenched my fist.

"I can't do this." My whisper played throughout echoes in the vacant room.

"What are you saying?" Turning to face him, I found his eyes just the same as the day we met. "That you won't come back next year? That I won't get the chance to ever share my memories with you?" He goes to grab my hands as I tug away. But, I should have known to be quicker, faster than a Quidditch Chaser. "No," A sob caught in his throat. My anger broke into a thousand pieces at the tone. "No, Mari. I can't let you leave-"

"I've made a mistake, Haiden." Wiping a teardrop from the corner of my eye, he reached for my hand and hindered my speech for a moment. "I knew-" My sentence slithered down my throat. He was looking at me with an expression that would have made bliss blush. "You know what will happen once the rumors are confirmed. They'll come for me. I don't want you here when they do. I don't want you apart of this."

"I am apart of this, all of it -including you." Kneeling downwards on one knee, I began to lose my composure for a firm laugh.

"What do you know of me, of what you see?"

Haiden kissed my hand while sharing a gaze indescribable to that of skies glimmering in still waters that represented the many shades of blue I adored. "I am hopelessly blind when it comes to affection. But my mother always said 'we are but solemn shadows, of which light craves to seize, if only the darkness were to waver its debts of attraction'. Sometimes what we cannot see, or bare witness to, is exactly what attracts us in the first place." Drawing closer, a breath of air tickled my face as I closed my eyes. "There is a debt I owe to my light. And as far as it reaches to those around me, you are the place it longs to shine forever."

"Do you always speak with such bravado, Mr. Everhart?" I jokingly teased him. He placed a lone kiss on my forehead.

"It's likely I inherited such from my ancestors. Yes."

"Oh, that's the excuse." I laughed.

"Mari," he stopped for an intake of breath, almost unsure of his next sentence. "Marry me." It was a faint whisper in my ear, but I caught each word.

"Why?" I whispered back.

"Because you reflect the best of me, Ms. Camari." Holding me tighter as though he thought I would fall, I held my breath. I can't. I can't marry you. "There's no place I'd rather be than with you. This world or the next."

"Mar, are you in the same reality as us?" Far in the distance, the sudden vocals of Liana's words reverberate back to me. I snap back slowly to the three of them staring back at me.

"Anybody got some floo powder? I think she's catatonic." Joslyn squints to observe me closer before I blink regretfully during the puff of dust.

"Hell, Joslyn." I choke out.

"Wrong about being catatonic, Jos." Quinn snickers.

"Can we be normal for a second?" I beg of the two.

Liana clears her throat before speaking. "Oh, Mari. We are far past that of our ancestors. I'd be flabbergasted about our impending descendants who inherit our traits."

"Fair enough," I state reluctantly, staring at the mostly blank piece of parchment. The few words written in permanent, black ink: 'Dear, Mr. Everhart', were void of instantaneous and creative inspiration. The tip of my quill hovers steadily as a loud crackling booms from the downstairs fireplace at the Emberson residence.

Disclaimer: I do not claim any ownership of J.K. Rowling's: Harry Potter. However, this fanfic prequel based upon her books, is my original work.

A/N: For all those devoted readers of the series, I promise this prequel will be epic. Of course, my stubborn streak of inventing creative characters mixed with the actual ones, is prominent. As the story carries on, a few will reveal themselves while others simmer beneath their quirky habits.