Family Ties

Runewolf

Sheila Rosenburg stood in the hall of her carefully decorated Sunnydale home and felt the last vestige of her carefully crafted composure slip away. Her daughter's words fell on her ears. "Nothing bad or dangerous.. but I can do spells." "I can do spells." She shouldn't be able to do ANYTHING. Not without training. Not without a wand. Not on a Hellmouth. She shouldn't even be able to THINK about magic on a Hellmouth.

She walked into her bedroom and pulled out a drawer with her old jewelry. Old, celtic style pieces. Costume junk from college. She'd tell her friends if it came up. Then they'd forget. They always forget on a Hellmouth. She had chosen the Hellmouth. Chosen to live here, where ancient spells made the muggle population forget about magic. Refuse to see it, because otherwise they'd notice and the muggles would start looking for wizards. That's just too dangerous, so the eyes close to the dangers of the night. With closed eyes comes safety. No wizarding family would ever be mad enough to settle on a hellmouth. But then, she was hardly that anymore, was she? She had been nervous, oh so nervous, when Willow was younger, but it had passed. No letter in the post. No owls perching on the front lawn with admitance offers. Just a normal girl.

Her hand curled around the handle of a ornate silver brush with a snake coiled around the handle. The snake's eyes glitter green in the candle light. No wizard can stand the energy of the Hellmouth. It corrupts. It tempts. Even wizards who aren't wizards anymore. It was all falling apart. And it can't. It just can't. This shell of a life was all she had left. Life with Ira on the mouth of hell where no one can remember any ideosyncracies, frequent trips away from the energy to keep sane, a perfect child to tick off the required box on the experience of life form...

Her lips narrowed. No. She would not allow this to end. But what to do? That was the question, wasn't it. Can't tell Ira. Her breath was slow and painful. There was always her brother. Even now, even after 15 years she could remember the anger in his voice when she had informed him of her decision. "We'll find a solution." he said. "You'll be a witch again. Its what you are."

Well, she wasn't anymore. She was a muggle. A filthy, powerless muggle. Of course, she was also a world renowned, wealthy muggle. An eminent psychologist. That was NOT going to have her world destroyed by some child. Even her own. She'd just have to do something about it.

"She can't be a witch. She would have got a letter." Her voice sounds hollow to her ears. Her eyes close and she turns away from her jewelry. Away from the snake that stirred on the brush she had put down. Away from the charmed gift from a brother who trusts no one.

Towards the best answer to dealing with any problem. Crush it. Click. Dial, dial, dial. "Joyce Summers? This is Sheila Rosenburg. I'm calling about my daughter, Willow."

The snake glows slightly, forgotten on the dressing table. Then its gone.

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