"How about you start with your name?" said the alchemist. They were sitting together in the dining room, and in front of her was an array of dishes prepared by Perenelle who smiled encouragingly at her.
"Cyrna Raine," she answered after swallowing a mouthful of food. Cyrna didn't think she was starving, but her body seemed to have a different opinion. Because the moment she had food in her mouth, she couldn't stop eating. It was when her plate was cleared that she could finally pause and take a sip of water.
Perenelle silently placed more food on her plate, and Cyrna flushed with embarrassment.
"Do you know where your parents are, my dear? Perhaps one of the villages near the forest? You'll be glad to know that I'll only need to keep you here for a week or so."
She wished she could stay longer. "I'm not sure where my parents are," Cyrna admitted. Most of Laufeia's memories had been in a pitch-black room, and she wasn't sure she'd consider those people parents. "And I'm not sure where I used to live."
Nicolas gave her a once-over, his expression doubtful. "You don't know anything? You're not so young as to be that ignorant. Are you honestly telling me you haven't the faintest idea where you're from? Not even a rough idea?"
"I do know where I'm from," she said, her expression twisting with bitterness. It doesn't exist anymore. "I'll tell you, but I need a vow of secrecy to answer that."
Nicolas' expression grew thunderous, "We saved you from death, you've gone and destroyed our house, and now—are my ears hearing correctly that you want us to swear a vow for this?"
"It's complicated—"
"Complicated!" Nicolas stood abruptly. "In all my six hundred and eighty-eight years I've never heard something so ridiculous. As soon as you're done your breakfast, I expect to see you out the door."
Perenelle frowned. "Nicolas!"
"No," Nicolas said harshly, though his features softened as he looked at Perenelle. "This is my house as much as it is yours, and I have not estranged myself from society to protect it only for you to let some… some child into the house who can't even trust us with the answer to such simple questions!"
"I know, Nicolas. I know better than anyone the lengths you have gone for us, but—" Carefully, she set her hand on the child's head, and she found herself delighted when Cyrna stiffened but did not flinch. "But Nicolas," Perenelle pleaded, "she is just a child."
"Tom Riddle just a child. Look at what he has done."
Cyrna shifted uncomfortably on her seat, slowly so as not to disturb Perenelle's misguided attempts at comfort. Perenelle wanted to help her, Cyrna knew that like she knew the sky was blue and the grass was green.
But Perenelle wouldn't be able to, not if she didn't help herself.
"Mr. Flamel—" Cyrna said, ignoring the contempt he threw at her, "This information is potentially dangerous to me. That's why I need the vow to ensure my safety." She knew that she did not sound very childlike just then, but if they dismissed her, what would it matter? And if they listened to her story, they would realize that she wasn't really a child. "Besides," she continued, "I am willing to bet that you've never come across a situation quite like mine.
Nicolas studied her. Really studied her for the first time. And he was shocked—her eyes; that colour. But it was impossible—she had black hair! What-ifs swirled through his mind as he attempted to piece together the circumstances that had led to her being abandoned in the forest. If his suspicions were accurate, it made her survival even more perplexing.
"Arrogant, aren't we?" Nicolas murmured after a beat of silence. "To think that you are unique—"
"Perhaps if arrogance meant self-preservation, then yes. Very," Cyrna interrupted in a tight voice.
Unbidden, Nicolas felt a smirk rise across his face at her challenge. After all, he was nothing if not curious. His most famous creation that landed him a place in the chocolate frog cards proved it. "Very well then—" he swore the oath with his wife and gestured lazily to the child—"tell us about yourself."
Cyrna simply went for it. "I'm both from England and not from England. I lived in the 21st century, and I was half-way through my second year of medical school in America when I died. Then I woke up in this body who, I think, is from England."
"The 21st century. That's impossible. You can't travel that far back in time with time turners," Nicolas refuted.
"And," Cyrna winced, "I don't even think I'm in my universe anymore."
They were silent after that, and Cyrna could feel her face heating up as the couple stared at her.
"Why do you think that?" Perenelle asked kindly.
Cyrna took a deep breath. "Because magic doesn't exist in my world."
"That's exactly what the muggles think in this world," said Nicolas, "Why couldn't that be the case for yours as well?"
That was theoretically possible, she supposed. Except that Harry Potter was quite clearly a book series for children and not a historical account written by a member of a hidden, magical society. Hopefully. She grimaced, unwilling to entertain that possibility. "No, just… no. Magic did not—does not—exist in my world."
A tense silence settled over them. This was more than what Nicolas could ever imagine it to be. This was—
"She's not lying," his wife murmured to him. Even if it was a falsity, Cyrna truly believed every word she said.
Nicolas exhaled. "This is ridiculous. Absolutely—absolutely absurd."
"You don't say," Cyrna said sarcastically.