The first time Y/N used magic, she was six years old. Her father broke her arm for it. She remembered every detail. The shattered mug flying back together. The silence. The look on his face. Then the pain. By eleven, she’d learned that fear had rules. Never cry where someone could see. Never scream because nobody was coming. Never hope. Hope made disappointment hurt more. So when a woman in emerald robes knocked on the front door and introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, Y/N didn’t believe a word she said. Not until her father tried to slam the door in the witch’s face. Not until every lock in the house clicked open on its own. Not until McGonagall looked at the bruises peeking from beneath Y/N’s sleeve and quietly said, “You’re coming with me.” That was the day her old life ended. And the day she promised herself something. No one— Would ever make her afraid again.