Chapter Text
It starts with a bad sign.
Salem’s standing guard on the porch.
Zelda pauses her trek up the creaking stairs.
It’s been a long day at the Academy, she just wants coffee and the news, dinner and a bath, and to maybe bicker with Hilda about the latest theories on why the bees are dying.
And then when Hilda’s good and riled, kiss her absolutely senseless.
She doesn’t have the time for an unruly familiar blocking her path.
He sits middling the top step. Doesn’t hiss, doesn’t blink.
A sentinel on the lookout, or a brave soldier.
Like he’s on his last stand.
This does not bode well.
“Sabrina what did you do,” escapes Zelda’s lips before she’s even crossed the threshold.
She hears the teenage-pitched curse from the parlor.
Alarm grows.
Zelda flings the door open, blinks in surprise to Sabrina’s pale and smiling-too-large face immediately up in hers.
“Hi Aunt Zelda,” She blurts out in a flurry, twisting her body this way and that so Zelda can’t see whatever disaster she’s currently blocking.
“What are you hiding?” Zelda says in lieu of a greeting, trying to get past.
“Nothing.”
The lie couldn’t be more obvious if it was painted in red on her forehead.
Unbelievable.
Zelda sidesteps.
Gets past.
Goes pale.
Jaw drops.
Because Hilda is on the couch, but she is wrong.
She is young.
Too young.
Zelda catalogues the chubbing cheeks, the short limbs, the peach-tinted honey of baby curls, the doe-eyed stare squinting skeptical as pudgy little fingers clutch the ears of Vinegar Tom like a tiny vice.
Hilda looks five.
She’s swimming in the frock and cardigan her regular self had been wearing just this morning, body curled up tight around Zelda’s stoic familiar.
She looks up at her big sister, and there’s no recognition in her gaze.
“Where’s Zelda?”
Zelda whirls.
Sabrina’s hands go up.
“I can explain.”
~*~
“A time spell?!”
Zelda’s head spins.
She paces in the hall right outside the parlor.
She trusts Vinegar Tom to watch over Hilda.
She can’t process what she’s seen, any time she tries, it sends her reeling.
Best not to breakdown in front of her already frightened little sister.
Sabrina, on the other hand...
“I needed answers, Aunt Zee! My dad’s the only one who has them, and I just thought—”
“Clearly, you didn’t think! Time travel is a fool’s errand. It doesn’t work. And it’s dangerous. And look what it’s done!”
“It wasn’t actually time travel, just astral projecting to a past time, but Aunt Hilda came in and broke the circle before I could finish, and—”
Zelda holds up a hand, Sabrina falters.
A hand pinching the bridge of her nose, she inhales for a very long time.
It’s only once her lungs fill to the point of pain that she finally breathes out.
“Your soul would have been lost to the winds of time, Sabrina. Your body would have stayed a husk while you’re trapped wraithlike in some random year, and not necessarily the one you were aiming for.”
If Sabrina’s shoulders could sag anymore, they’d hit the ground.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Zee. I really am. I didn’t mean for this to happen; I just can’t stand feeling so in the dark all the time.”
Zelda takes another deep breath.
She knows the desperation that comes from feeling helpless. It eats you up and makes you cling to fantasy, anything that promises to give you answers.
This time, her voice is softer.
“How much does Hilda remember?”
“From what I can tell, nothing. She’s back to whatever age she is, and she’s only got those memories.”
“Five.”
“What?”
“She’s five.”
“How can you tell?”
Zelda can’t will herself to describe the clues.
Like how Hilda’s lost one of her teeth (she lost it in summer five chasing after Zelda and Edward in the forest—tripped over a branch and knocked the tooth loose on a moss-covered rock).
Or how she’s clutching so tightly onto Vinegar Tom’s ears because they’re just like her favorite stuffed animal (a velvet-eared rabbit named Miss Bit).
Or the bags under her eyes because Hilda hadn’t slept much when she was little (young empath and wild dreamer even back then, she’d curl up in Zelda’s bed because the nightmares felt all too real).
So much history.
She can’t even begin to explain.
“I’m her sister.”
She says instead.
It sounds so simple.
“I know her.”
~*~
When Zelda kneels down to be eye-level to the couch, Hilda stares back at her, wide-eyed but languid.
She’s still clutching Vinegar Tom’s prone form, like he’s the anchor to her reality.
“Where’s Zelda?” She asks again, wind whistling through the gap where her tooth should be on the S.
Despite her worry, the British lisp makes Zelda smile.
Back then, she hadn’t been old enough to appreciate how cute Hilda was as a child.
Hilda had just been her little sister. Annoying, precious— a lot to compete with.
But Zelda can appreciate the cuteness now.
She tucks a wayward curl behind Hilda’s ear, feels the downy soft of it and smiles even softer.
“I’m right here, Hildie.”
Hilda’s head quirks.
She reaches a hand out, touches Zelda’s cheek.
Their magic pulses together, as it always has.
Recognition.
Eyes widen ever wider.
“You? But you’re—” she pauses. Zelda winces.
Their mother had taught them not to mention a witch’s age.
Ever.
“You’re different.” Hilda recovers, tiny chin ducked out.
Zelda can see the gears turning in her little mind as she decides whether or not to be ornery.
“So are you. Don’t be rude about it.”
Hilda grins, recognizing her sister’s sass.
Zelda’s knees are really starting to hurt from being on the ground.
Then the grin wobbles and her eyes start to fill.
“Zelds, I’m scared.”
Zelda gathers her up in her arms, Hilda keeps a one-handed grip on Tom’s left ear.
“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve got you, you’ll be fine. We’ll fix it.”
Both Hilda’s arms go around Zelda’s neck then, squeezing tight.
She stands, changing grip and gathering up Hilda’s now billowing dress so everything is safely ensconced in Zelda’s embrace.
“First things first. Let’s get you some clothes that fit.”
Hilda pulls back slightly, a little fist ineffectually rubbing the wet off her face.
Zelda fists the cloth a little tighter around Hilda’s back, making sure she doesn’t fall, and resists the urge to comfort those distressed cheeks.
“M’kay. This dress isn’t very proper, is it?”
Zelda chuckles; can’t resist any longer and kisses Hilda’s forehead.
“Sister, I’ve been saying that since day one.”
~*~
For once, Zelda is glad Hilda hoarded things from when Sabrina was little.
The pajamas are a little faded and smell like the satchels of lavender Hilda keeps in all their storage trunks, but they fit little Hilda perfectly.
She stands in front of the mirror, in cotton pants and a long sleeve shirt with a cat pattern, frowning hard at her reflection.
“These clothes are weird,” She remarks.
“You’re in the future, Hilda,” Zelda says distractedly, searching the trunk for more clothes.
“A lot of things are going to be weird.”
For us both.
She doesn’t say anything further, but her mind whirls in worry as she rummages.
Sabrina and Ambrose are downstairs right now, researching a fix.
They won’t stop till they do—probably studying deep into the night until they pass out from exhaustion.
Ordinarily for such all-nighters, Hilda would have supplied them coffee and blankets.
The thought sobers Zelda further.
She already misses her little sister, the older one.
The one who bustles around the mortuary, whistling when inappropriate and mother-henning anyone in sight.
The one who sits by her side in the office as she files taxes and helps pick out caskets and urns.
The one she sleeps beside at night and kisses deeply and holds dearly.
That one.
She misses.
A little hand rests on hers—she’s pulled back to the present Hilda who’s looking up at her with far too much sympathy for someone so young.
“Don’t read my emotions.” Zelda says stiffly, grabbing a few more clothes before carefully closing the box, minding Hilda’s fingers that are determined to clutch at hers.
She knows Hilda is currently a child, but it doesn’t remove the prickling sensation of being seen.
“Can’t help it.”
“You’ll learn.”
Hilda frowns, and the little wrinkle in her forehead soothes the one forming on Zelda’s own brow.
“Come on, little one. Bedtime.”
“M’not tired,” Hilda says stubbornly.
Her body betrays her, mouth yawning wide.
Zelda turns down the bed, picks Hilda up, sets her down between crisp sheets.
“Mhm. No arguing with your big sister.”
Hilda is obedient, wiggling down to get comfortable. Zelda tucks blankets around her body, securing her on the rather tall bed.
She’d always known they were too high off the ground but loved watching how Hilda had to jump up to get on them.
Seeing this Hilda completely dwarfed by her comforter made Zelda a little nervous.
“Well, goodnight.”
Zelda snaps her fingers and the lamp flickers out.
“Wait!” Hilda’s shriek is piercing.
The lights flick back on.
“Yes?”
Hilda holds her arms out, intent clear.
She needs to be held.
Zelda hadn’t forgotten how often she’d slept curled around Hilda when they were young, just hadn’t thought to take it into consideration for their current situation.
She sighs, motions Hilda to squiggle over.
Once she’s lying down, Hilda immediately flattens herself against the curve of Zelda’s stomach, a hand gripping the silk strap of her nightgown.
She doesn’t say anything, but she trembles against the much bigger form of her fully-grown sister.
Zelda sighs, presses a kiss on those sweet curls, holds Hilda close and makes a promise she hopes she can keep.
“Don’t worry, Hildie. I’ll fix this. Everything’s going to be fine.”