Margery

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✢ 3

Ɛvanora Hosta is a difficult witch to find. Margery ends up mulling around the learning buildings, looking for a door that might signal to be her room.

She doesn’t find one.

With a dejected sigh, she sticks her hand into her bag, fingers tracing over the pattern of her grimoire. For a reason she can’t explain, touching the magic book always made her feel calm and serene. She pushes back a strand of golden blond hair, briefing wondering if the sense of comfort she gets has something to do with her magic.

“You there! What are you doing on this hall?” It’s a short and stout woman, with hair made of snakes. Margery decides that she won’t question her outlandish hairstyle. She’s had enough of a crazy week already.

“I’m looking for um, Evanora Hosta” She stammers, bringing out her grimoire to clutch it in her fingers, panic suddenly overwhelming her. It comes in waves, each stronger than the last until it feels like she’s sinking in a pit of sorrow. “I’ve come to set up an appointment with her, a-about my witching ability.”

The panic stops so suddenly that the young witch takes a step forward, tripping over her shoe. The witch transforms, body growing taller and taller until she’s towering over Margery (who isn’t really that tall to begin with, but still the sight is frightening).

“Well if that’s the case, I’ll take you to her. It’s just a few doors down y’know” Exclaims the witch happily, as if she didn’t just reflect so much panic and helplessness onto Margery mere moments before. The woman leads her to a room, labeled Hosta in big, elegant letters. Margery wonders if it was a trick of the mind that she didn’t find it so quickly before.

The witch opens the door, pushing Margery inside the dark room before closing it and turning heel. Oddly enough, once the door closes behind her, she can no longer recall the face of the woman who helped her.

“Turn on the light would you?” Huffs a voice impatiently from somewhere. “And hurry up, this beast is gonna go batshit if I don’t get some light in here”

Beast?! Why is there is a beast in your office?!

Margery fumbles along the wall for a light, and when her fingers finally brush against one, she flicks it on roughly. The light is bright, so bright that Margery stumbles upon a towering pile of books and makes the entire thing crash to the ground. Dust clouds her sight, and she coughs.

“I’m not cleaning that up” Mutters a witch who Margery assumes to be Evanora Hosta. She’s beautiful, young with an air of impatience and sophistication about her. Her hair lays around her shoulders in soft black ringlets. “What brings you here today?”

“Um, are you busy at the moment?” Evanora gestures to the writhing beast in her arms with a look that says, ‘what do you think?’. Margery mumbles a soft right and continues. “Well, I just wanted to set up an appointment with you, so we could go over my grimoire. It’s for homework for my-”

Evanora holds up her hand. Margery clamps her mouth shut immediately. More out of fear than respect.

“I forgot we got a whole bunch of new ones this year” The witch mumbles as she shoves the beast into a cage and locks it with a magic spell. The beast sticks its little furry face out of the holes and pouts. Evanora pays no mind to the fuzzy little creature and takes a seat at her desk.

“Let’s see that grimoire” Margery looks around the room for a chair, and when she notices there is none, gazes merely at the witch. Evanora huffs, and magicks a chair out of seemingly thin air.

Margery hands over her grimoire, and Evanora takes it with greedy hands. She makes small noises of affirmation that do nothing but evoke anxiety within her. The witch orders her to hand over her schedule, and Margery does so without hesitation.

"I'm marking up your meeting with the Coven for Wednesday. You need to see them immediately" Evanora explains, tossing her back her things. "They haven't had another Neptune witch in a hmm, how long has it been? Seven thousand years, I think. I know Zennia will probably jump over the moon when she sees you"

If they haven't had a Neptune witch (whatever the heck that was, seeing as Evanora still had yet to explain) in seven thousand years, that must mean that the witch sitting in front of her was at least six or seven thousand years old, right? Margery stole a glance at Evanora, who didn't look a day over two hundred.

"Zennia...?" Margery asks and Evanora blinks in surprise.

A smirk falls upon her face, look suddenly similar to the girl in class earlier this morning. "If she doesn't want you to know, you won't know. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?"

Before she could nod yes, or shake her head no, Evanora chanted something under her breath, and Margery found herself standing outside the door.

Or rather, the place where the door once was.

How a lady can both seem elegant beyond her years and cranky goes beyond her. Stepping back outside and on the way to the living quarters, Margery simply chalks it up to being yet another thing about the witches that makes absolutely no sense.

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