Chapter Text
VALORIE
The light creeps through the curtains and spills onto the filthy, old carpet. It shines blindingly onto the small, dilapidated mirror on the wall, almost burning my fucking retinas.
Morning.
As much as I want to sleep in (it IS my free day after all), I languidly throw the lightweight sheet blanket to the side and get up. For a second, I look around the room. The room I stayed in this summer. Lucky for me, I actually got one for myself this time; no roommates, (unlike this year at Watford, and, theoretically, also last year, but I try not to think about it). I always try saving the Watford-related and important thoughts (and Penny and Baz) for when I don’t have anything to do, like when on the train.
The closet creaks as I pull on the handle and I have to pry the fucking thing open. Oh well, I sigh, it is the last time I will be using this troublesome closet, and I might as well enjoy it. Besides, if I use magic on it, who knows when it would reappear; my magic can be residual in the uttermost shitty ways. Somehow, it would probably end up having pests chewing on some leftover vegetation and undergrowth that would have appeared alongside my magic.
And anyways, too much magical usage isn’t encouraged by the Mage; he always implies that I should limit the magic I use so that I don’t attract the Humdrum, but again, it’s simply no use, it’s just…always there.
Eventually, I decide (without many choices; the Mage doesn’t leave me with money; I get stuck earning it) to wear a cream colored, cable knit sweater, with a plaid skirt colored in dark brown and forest green hues, all held together with a thin (and cheap) brown belt I’ve had ever since I can remember, though I have to admit it’s in good condition. Since the cold BITES, I also wear dark brown stockings under, and the long dark brown boots I bought a few days ago from the money I earned from working for the neighbors and the orphanage. I had also bought a light brown, long, double-breasted “skirt coat” that reaches slightly above my knee. After dressing, I check the time to find it around 6:00. I quickly pull my hair (I must say I find it very wearisome. It reaches to the back of my knees and always attracts the unwanted attention of…people. I’ll say, heterochromia is not easy to deal with in such a toxic environment) in a high ponytail and clip it with the golden, KATYA claw clip Agatha had gotten me as an “early birthday gift” a few years ago, as fifth years I believe.
“I’ve always wanted to go to the new KATYA stores in London. Mum said she might take me this summer!” Agatha practically squealed as she handed me the hairclip.
The clip was in a small powder pink box with a neon pink bow wrapped around it, with sparkly, pink tissue paper (if you hadn’t noticed, Agatha absolutely adored pink. It almost seemed like the gift was for her). After many sighs and sentimental feelings, I fetch the "Consent and Waiver of Orphan’s Departure” paperwork the Mage had given to me on the last day of school last year from a squeaky drawer, rub Mum’s golden “Lucky Locket”, and head out the door for the very last time…
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Shit, I almost forgot! I have to say goodbye to the rest of the little ones, then I'll have to get Clyde from the empty grove near the orphanage (Clyde and I had found a few wolves and had decided to help birth the mother once; eventually we became good friends).
I must admit, I had a particularly fun summer with this orphanage's children; thirteen of them. As I open the door, I find them all asleep.
I guess I won't be able to tell them goodbye.
It's ok, I guess.
It always is with me, isn't it?
I walk up to each of the small, rotting beds and kiss them all on their foreheads. I find myself whispering to each one of them all of my motivational phrases ranging from "Dream Big" to "Be Yourself". After that, I find myself standing hesitantly in front of Cecilia's bed. Cecilia, the quiet, brown-eyed, curly-haired dark-skinned two-year-old "and a half" that always reminds me of Penny. She was always so shy, but when you get to know her, she reminded me of James or Theo (those are my cousins; the Lupins). I walk to her quietly and I hear her sniffling.
"Oh, Cici, what's wrong, love?!" I hush.
"I don't want you-to t-to go, Va-lo-rie" she sniffled as she got up slowly.
I lift her face with my hand and look into her eyes. She looks heartbreaking. I remember how it was for me back when I stayed at the orphanages...
The Mage only allowed me to go to the Lupins on the weekends, and they would always teach me as much as they could in that short time. Aunt Amelia would always roast chicken for dinner when I came over, and she would fry us fries and make her own ketchup from her own garden in the backyard (I absolutely LOVE fries so fucking much, and ketchup! I'd go mad for some ketchup). The Lupins took over the area where OUR house got burned and Uncle Andrew sprouted the perimeter with Skyrocket Junipers and Cedars and had occasionally planted a Topiary amidst the trees to allow for us kids to pass through the garden quickly to the house. Since the road was also affected by the fire, and since us Snows and Lupins were at the end of the road, the Lupins were able to use part of the road as a walkway and blocked it with a short, metal gate.
I remember the days Uncle Andrew would drive for a few hours to get to the orphanage to pick me up let me stay with them for the weekends. We would always play some sort of dance game every night, in which we would always have music on, and Uncle Andrew would spell the speaker so that it would pause at random moments, and would change the song genre occasionally, and whoever stays dancing or moving after the music has paused has to shoot 3 (safe) arrows onto the target on the large oak tree, where Clyde and the wolves liked to cuddle in with me.
Sometimes, I had times where memories hit me like a fucking blizzard.
Fire.
Broken glass.
Numpties and Goblins.
Fucking everywhere.
Mum.
Stuck under a huge block of plaster.
Blood.
I tried my best to get it off her but I just...wasn't strong enough. (I never had a strong upper body; I STILL don't have strong arms; I'm much better with my legs).
Even though she was stuck under plaster, even though her torso and lugs were probably torn apart, she was still there for me. Relieving me. LOVING me. Caring, smiling, staying there for the very last moment.
At that time, I couldn't even tell what she was saying; everything was blocked out by the intensity of the moment. It was pretty intense. The fuck!? Who am I kidding!? I was five! Of course it'd be mad!
Only after a while that I dragged myself into the ultimate void of my mind and dared remembered what Mum had told me.
And what Father said.
Before I went to go for help, I remember how Mum told me to look into her lovely blue eyes, telling me to "look at me, and don't look away!" as my eyes drifted to the rest of our walls collapsing. The walls where I first walked, where I learned how to howl, where I practiced my magic, where we danced until dawn, where we did everything with kindness, together...
I rub Mum's locket with my free hand, then snap out of it. I have to think about NOW, and what I'll do to Cecilia. She is seconds before bursting to tears and my eyes flicker to her lips and I find myself pulling her into a hug.
She always reminds me of Penny. Penny was ALWAYS there for me. She listened to me. Cared for me. Accepted me as a Wolf walker (and rather tried to even find ways to help), and she always keeps a secret.
After tucking Cecilia back to bed, I decide to spell her doll. It's the same doll that she arrived with at the orphanage (I wasn't there, but I've been told; it makes perfectly fine sense, she's so attached to it). I hum it a small "WHISPER WHEN CHILDREN ARE NEAR. SILENCE WHEN ADULTS APPEAR". It's an old spell, but it's very effective, and Father always used to use it on my dolls, and he'd make them scare Mother. They would sneak up from behind her, whisper, then go still, and she'd squeal and me and Father would laugh from behind the laundry hampers, listening to Mother yelling, "ANTHONY SNOW, if you spell those dolls one more time I will literally HEX YOU!".
I'd always ask Father if she would be mad at us, but he'd always tell me, "No, sweetheart! She'll probably be laughing silently despite herself!", then he'd wink.
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The two women behind the Plexiglas box take a few minutes discussing my paperwork (and my apparently “ridiculous appearance. Yes, I hear them I’m not deaf). I hear one of them swearing about how "ridiculously long" my lashes were. Penny and Agatha keep telling me that people are just jealous and that I look pretty, but, I just don't see it.
Besides, the Mage tells me that my heterochromia "symbolizes imperfection", and that it makes me look "less professional". I admit it, that's probably the ONE thing he has right, all his other ideas are bullshit.
I honestly expected my heterochromia to lower the amount of attention; to make me look less...appealing. It DOES work for some folks who haven't heard of heterochromia, thinking I have some sort of transmittable disease.
After I've signed the paperwork, I try heading out quickly, then as soon as the door closes behind me, I sprint to the Grove. There's no time at all, and to think I'm walking to the bus station, God! I'm not sure I can make it!
"Clyde! Clyde! Come on, we have to get going!" I call out, then I spot Clyde from the corner of my eye, floating around with the new wolflings, Ash and Dusty.
Ash is a cloudy, gray color, with bright green eyes. His fur always reminded me of Baz, from the first moment I laid my eyes on Ash I knew he would have a strong, dignified personality like Baz's. I sigh; I don't stand a chance with that perfect arsehole. Agatha probably does. She's perfect, quite literally. Symmetrical in everything, and she actually LIKES neon pink. She's...normal. I'm just NOT...
Dusty barks around and jumps around to catch Clyde as he floats above him. Dusty has a lovely, reddish-brown coat, like my freckles. I don't have many, but I've got a few on my nose, the rest of my face is clear (another piece of evidence that I am simply unsymmetrical). Clyde dodges his jaws effortlessly and giggles. Clyde looks like me when I become wolf. One eye a cornflower blue, the other black. One side of his uneven, matted fur is black, the other white.
I smile as he drifts painfully towards me with his soft, pink glow trailing behind him as he bids Dusty and Ash farewell. As much as he tries, Ash can't hide his love for us. I make sure they tell their parents that I wish them luck in their journey, and to make sure to mark the den for my arrival. As the last Wolfwalker, it helps a lot to acknowledge my presence in as many wolf dens as I can so that, one day, I will be able to use the markings as magic boosts (who knows what I'll need to "rid the world from the Humdrum"). The mark is simple, just a few specific howls, and a mudprint on the rock wall of the den to signify that I was there. Father used to call it the Lupine Seal, but I don't like the number of names everything related to me has nowadays; just too much: The Warden of Balance, the Chosen One, the Howling Heart, the Last Wolfwalker, simply too many. I just hope that one day, maybe I'll find someone who just likes VALORIE... other than Penny, and my relatives.
Clyde plunged straight into my large satchel, and I snapped the flap shut, nodded to the little wolflings, then bolted to the bus station. If I don't make it now, I'll ultimately be late to the taxi driver who would take me to Watford, and I'll get stuck walking the whole way.
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SHIT! The bus is already at the stop!
I'm not going to make it, for snake's sake! My magic is already overflowing from my fingertips and I can feel a small mist building above my head.
No. No time. I can't stop and fucking "focus" on shooing the cloud away. Fuck the cloud, at this point!
God, the doors are hissing open-and they decide to stay like that for a second too long.
I've already ran for about a mile, I don't think I'll make it now!
I'm already breathing heavily and exhaling in short yet unrelentless gasps and I seem to choke out a "Wait" but I doubt anyone heard.
Should I spell it to stop?! No, no, too many people!
The pavement is already blurring under my feet, and my satchel bag kept slamming against my side with every step I turned. Clyde's curses from getting bumped inside the satchel technically echoed in my ears.
The light at the crossing turned bloody red.
THERE'S NO FUCKING TIME!
I'm goddamn running anyway, hex it all!
A horn blared. Someone shouted. Honestly, let them shout, at this point! I just have to make it to that bloody bus! It's not worth it walking the whole 3 hours from the train station to Watford anyway. For snake's sake, I've done that before, and I'll say it was the most unpleasant thing I've ever done (even more unpleasant than Del fucking Monte's ketchup).
The bus doors began to slide. I'm huffing and puffing and it feels like I'm about to cough out my lungs.
The gaps narrowed to nothing.
But my leg was outstretched and my foot shot into the gap, and I made it.
I made it.
It's all good.
It's fine.
But it always SHOULD be fine with me, shouldn't it?
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After earning a few glares from the silently judging, disapproving passengers, I take a seat at the very back of the bus and take out a book and read.
But it's no use.
I remember the first time the Mage fetched me from Watford. Since I used to go to a different orphanage every year, the Mage took a while to find me (apparently, he was confused on which orphanage I stayed in that year). I bid the Lupins farewell, since Uncle Andrew and Aunt Amelia wanted to wish me luck for Watford, and then we went on our way. I used to study with both the Lupins and at the orphanage; the Mage would bring me books, and he would bring me a magickal tutor, and we'd be locked up in the orphanage attic for almost 6 hours a day studying.
It was treacherous.
Despite the rigorous courses, I didn't exactly despise learning. Oh, there's no point in pretending; I LOVED learning. Uncle Andrew and Aunt Amelia ALWAYS helped me see the fun in fundamentals. And none of the Lupins were ever disgusted at my Wolfwalking.
The rest of the years, the Mage decided that me going alone to Watford would make me stronger, I guess. Apparently, I needed to explore the outside world and learn about it through experience.
I hop off the first bus and catch the next one (without any running. Fate, in its kindness, spared me my energy to thoughts). Finally, I get on the train, pull out a chocolate bar, and work on a poem I started a few days ago. It's some sort of small project our Professor of English Literature had assigned to us; to write a poem during the summer just to keep our "language sharp and our minds sharper". Mine is called "Sailor's Mouth", which is about how what escapes the tongue affects the mindset, referring to the idiom of a "sailor's mouth". I wonder what Baz wrote about.
I wonder what he's doing.
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The closer I get to Watford, the more restless I feel.
As much as I love the Lupins and their area, Watford still has a special place in my heart. It's like...my home.
I used to wonder if I should spell my way to Watford, but after wandering through the country for 3 hours with all types of bounty hunters lurking around, I shut that thought off before I remember all the bloodshed I had witnessed unwillingly that day...
Though I probably WOULD be able to do it; spell myself to Watford, or fly, but I'm not sure the environment would be fine with it. My magic is...residual. Growing. ALIVE. It wouldn't bother anyone really, but it attracts attention. And attention brings jealousy. I've had tons of encounters and situations with Numpties and Goblins trying to extract my magic; in which they all failed. But it's still terrible to know that I could be causing creatures to get killed just because of emotions; specifically, hatred and jealousy, which wasn't really their fault.
Despite my straight A's and remarkable reputation, not ALL of my magic is controllable. Sometimes, my magic tends to "overflow". Penny classifies it as "emotional leakage", and I secretly agree. Whenever I get a bit angry, or emotional, or sentimental, I might get a small mist or have a cloud building up above my head, and it'll only disappear after I focus my magic on making it go. Honestly, it feels like...relief. You know, whenever I focus on letting the cloud dissolve into the air. Relief. Or like lightening the burden.
I've asked Penny how HER magic feels like once. She told me it feels like a well, like she can draw up from it whenever she needs it, though it sometimes gets "blocked". I figured it would probably be when she's tired, whenever her magic gets "blocked". Penny always stays focused though. She's a lot like me, but I think I might be a bit more determined when it comes to significant things. Penny seems to emphasize the little things and keeps them going until they grow big.
Agatha isn't like Penny. She isn't very powerful, though that's what people say. I don't believe mages have different amounts of power. Neither did Mother or Father. They used to tell me that they think it's about control, and righteousness. I wondered if righteousness was something you were born with, and you couldn't change. I never had the chance to ask them, but I think they would have told me that it's something you earn and deserve by doing what's right.
That's what I think it is.
But why would I have this much power?
Could it be because of the trauma's I face? Or is it a responsibility, a duty assigned for me?
Probably the latter.
Anyways, Agatha said that it felt like ballet, like holding a position. Of course, she started explaining ballet and getting carried away, oblivious to the fact that I was raised by two of the greatest dancers of Paris. Oh well, it's best if I don't mention it.
Baz said that his magic was like a match. He didn't mean to say it, we were fighting off a chimera as fifth years, and I didn't want to hurt it, since, after all, it IS my duty to make sure all "creatures of the world are unharmed". Despite that, I DO have to feed as a wolf sometimes, but it's a complicated system, in which the animals seem to sacrifice themselves to us wolves.
It's absolutely beautiful.
And heartbreaking.
I always try my best to remember those who have sacrificed themselves for my wellbeing. I plant trees and flowers and try my best to keep animals at peace to repay nature for it's gifts. Sometimes, I wonder how it feels to be that animal; the one getting eaten, not just the main character who dies nobly at the end of the story.
Anyways, Baz kept yelling at me, telling me to "Fucking unleash the arrow! Shoot, Snow, SHOOT!", and I had the urge to throw the arrow at HIM but of course, I didn't. Eventually, in between spells and coughs, I managed to shut him up by shouting, "SHUT IT BAZ! I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING! Don't you see?! If I hurt it, I'LL FEEL IT TOO!", then he just blinked, swallowed, nodded, and kept spelling the chimera. We were practically singing them.
Then he grabbed my hand, jerked me backwards, and the next second I find myself crouching straight across from Baz, and he's holding onto my shoulders for dear life, rattling the fucking life out of me, then he closed his eyes and told me to "overflow", in his words, "Snow, you have to overflow-I know you can't hurt it, but try to...give it too much of what it wants. Power. Magic. LIFE". To...light a match.
Then I tore my eyes away from his gray pools of perfection and glanced at the chimera, trying to focus my magic, but I just couldn't.
"I CAN'T do it Baz. I just...CAN'T" I muttered weakly as I turned to him and found myself already in tears.
The mist above my head was becoming a dark, heavy cloud and I knew it was about time we were soaked and that I was going to die like this, when Baz snapped his face up and cupped my hands and said, "Look at ME, Snow. Look at me, and don't look away. It's all good."
Then I closed my eyes, resisted the urge of leaning into Baz's strong arms, and LIT A MATCH...
Next thing I knew, I was resting on a rock next to Baz, the chimera was gone, and there were birds and squirrels fucking EVERYWHERE. I think maybe I could have transformed the chimera to something else (at least that's what me and Penny concluded, since the squirrels and birds were feeding on some crumbs of some leftover shit). For a second, I thought I saw a glimpse of Baz smiling, but then he wiped it off his exceptional face and kept on blaming me for singing off his eyebrows, but he looked fine to me, as he always does.
Typical, absolutely immaculate Basil.
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I try not to think too much about Watford in the summer.
Since I haven't been visiting my aunt, uncle, and cousins ever since I was 16, I'm stuck with packing my mind with requests and knowledge. After my first year at Watford, as a young, naïve 11-year-old I thought about it all.
About how important I was meant to be. About who I am. About who I SHOULD be. Then I would remember Penny and Agatha. How they liked me for who I am. They didn't bother who I was. They just...liked me.
Valorie.
I wonder if I'll ever get to have that with Baz...
Sometimes I would imagine what would happen if my parents came back. I just have a feeling they're alive, but they're just...not here. One day, Mum will show up with Father, and they'll both hug me and kiss me, and help me rebuild the house, and then we can go back to what we did together. Fencing and dancing with Dad, singing with Mum...just like when they were there.
But with the Mage burdening me with responsibilities, I might not even have the chance to look for them. I'd tried a few times, but all the clues always lead back to that they're gone. The Mage wouldn't have chosen me if he knew I were the Last Wolfwalker. He thinks it's an unimportant role in our world. Fuck, he doesn't know ANYTHING about Wolfwalking. He doesn't know that they're mages too, that they think and dream and wish. He just finds them monsters. The Mage doesn't understand. I have the weight of the world on my fucking shoulders (quite literally) what does he expect from me?!
No one acknowledges it. Only Penny. And Auntie Amelia and Uncle Andrew, and my cousins, especially Tilly and Oliver.
And I get the blame for everything, and I LOSE everything.
If I could just get a chance, if they can only understand. I wish I had someone who would love me for it, who would listen to me complain, who would comfort me. I wish I had Baz. He's perfect, and he's kind enough. He just doesn't acknowledge it. I love it. I love HIM.
I don't stand a chance with Baz. I'm too much of a mix. Like if someone would actually listen, I'd pour it all out, I'd blow.
Or maybe I'm just immune to love.
Because I lost too much love.
Then some people (targeting the Mage) blame me for "not trying", for not respecting magic enough, apparently. I never get a chance. I'm not effortlessly perfect. That's what the Mage wants me to be, so he makes me lose things, then come back to them, just to make it ache worse, to make the WANTING worse. He wants me to "sharpen my blade". I guess I'm his blade...
Though I'm not sure my summers away from those I love make me sharper; they make me more controllable. The problem is that I can't go against the Mage openly. He controls my education, my supporters, my-my everything! Despite that, I know that my terrible summers make me...want more. More magic. More power. More LOVE.
It makes me crave Watford like fucking life itself.
Baz and his side-the old, rich families-seem not to trust the Mage, as if he doesn't understand magic the way they do.
But no one LOVES magic the way I do.
They don't know how it is to live without it. Only I do.
Which is why I get stuck making sure it's always there for everyone. And maybe even for me.
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Clyde hops out of my satchel after repeatedly whispering, "Are they gone? Are there still people there?".
"So...how have you been doing, with Watford coming near and what happened...last year" he said reluctantly.
Last year.
The Humdrum summoned me somehow.
I felt it in my chest. A PULL. Then my feet started walking by themselves and I got on to my favorite horse (a lovely black Fresian named Stella). Apparently, I was grabbing onto Penny as I got on and simply couldn't let her go. Then I went off into the Wavering Woods.
Where I saw Baz.
With Agatha.
But I have to cut the thought right here.
So, I say, "I've been...doing." I laugh. Clyde does too.
Then he yawns with his cute little voice, then drifts back into the open satchel.
Now, as much as I thought about Watford during the summer, I tried not to let myself dwell on the good stuff. It's because it's always so relieving to think about the good things, like easing yourself into cold water, but the opposite, so that you don't get overwhelmed.
I keep a list of the things I love at Watford. I'm about an hour away, so I think I should start mentally taking out my list when-
FUCK!
Something in my left leg.
A monstrous sharp pain inside my leg, like glass grinding through my joints.
The first seconds it was like pressure, deep within the bones. As if someone quietly drove a nail into me without looking.
Then it turned.
Heat spread through my left leg-not warmth, the kind that belonged to engines and fires. Each pulse of my heart twisted the invisible knife more. Somehow, I swallowed the scream that tried to escape me and limited it to a huff. I crouched onto my leg, and tears rushed past my cheeks.
I tried to breathe through it, but even my ribs seemed determined to betray me.
But it didn't feel like...mine. Like the pain was trying to...take me. To capture me. To control me.
The pain climbed higher- swallowing my thoughts. I can't see straight, and my ears are ringing and my fingers are tingling terribly.
Clyde looks traumatized.
And then I remember something. Something terrible.
"Neither sea nor spell nor stone shall bar the warning of the Bond. For when one Chosen One suffers an injury or faces mortal danger, the other may experience an echo of pain", the Mage rested his hands behind his back.
As if now was the time to rest.
Because right now-right now only one thought is passing through my head, despite the pain and Clyde's cries.
Baz.