Chapter Text
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Cursed
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Narnia - Golden Age. Edmund Pevensie, Age 23.
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Now that Edmund thought about it, it was all too happy for him back then. He should have certainly doubted that something bad would inevitably happen. It always did for him, usually because of his own stupidity. But he had been so good, hadn’t he? For years, while he ruled Narnia, he had been good—a good brother to his royal siblings, a good king to his loyal subjects. He assumed that good deeds are followed by good fortune.
He would be wrong, of course. So very sorely wrong.
At the very moment, grabbing onto his chest—on to his aching heart—Edmund could feel thin icy tendrils spreading across his body. He recognized the sensation. It was the very same he had felt from the wand which had pierced his body so long ago. The wand which he had shattered.
Edmund tried to communicate his realisation, but the pain was immense. He couldn’t properly talk to let his desperate and panicked siblings know that this was of the one and only, the White Witch. Her vengeance upon him, perhaps.
“Edmund! Edmund!”
Lucy was calling, her voice wavering as if she was stifling a sob. Her red-tinged hair sparkled like amber in the sunlight even as she was looking down at him who was presently fallen on the ground, her eyes brimming with tears. Edmund could only gasp for breath in response. Peter in the background was frantically yet somehow still charismatically ordering the guards to fetch the court physician immediately. Susan was right beside Lucy, her dark and tidy brows furrowed so intensely and so unlike her that Edmund worried she would gain a permanent crease. That wouldn’t do well for the Gentle Queen. He felt her hand on his own that was tightened around his chest, grabbing it as if to give whatever strength or remedy she could through so. Edmund noticed that both of his sisters’ beautiful garments, not to mention Peter’s magnificent cape, were now completely soiled by the ground which had been muddied from last night’s heavy storm. Somewhere in his mind completely separate from his current agony, he chuckled and sighed at the thought of how he had ended up ruining their family morning picnic, only when he had finally joined it after having been too busy to do so.
Slowly, Edmund’s vision began to fail him, its edges darkening. The marginally coherent thoughts he formed previously now dissipated away. There was a roar from afar that sounded very familiar, but by the time he heard soft thudding footsteps nearing him, Edmund had lost control of his body and mind. He fell into a deep slumber.
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London, King's Cross Station, Platform 9¾ - 1991. Edmund Pevensie, Age 11.
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The platform bustled with both the young and old. Incoming students, returning students, parents, friends, and other kin members, all bidding farewell and wishing good luck.
Edmund Pevensie, the Just King of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, and now a novice wizard with just a small briefcase by his side, stood out among the crowd, alone and aloof on the platform. The entire lack of excitement, sorrow, or any other kind of emotion a first-year student may feel as she or he leaves behind their home on his face was another divergent aspect about him. He looked bitter at most.
In truth, Edmund didn’t feel as out of sort as he had expected. Despite being an 11-year-old again and wearing a strange set of uniforms, he was not nervous. He couldn’t be nervous, to be exact, thought Edmund as he bit his lip. What Aslan had said a year ago was still very clearly on his mind.
Edmund opened his eyes to a ridged and dimly lit stone ceiling of a cave. The last time he had closed his eyes, he had been dying, he remembered. With difficulty and plenty of effort, Edmund managed to push himself up, his eyes both wearily and warily looking around. The cave itself did not stand out in any way, but there was something eerie about its ambience. Perhaps it was just the hollow echoes of the chilled breeze passing through. Regardless, Edmund blindly patted round his waist for any weapon he might have on him, his eyes still looking around for possible threats. He was not surprised by the lack of his sword band since weapons were rarely placed around patients, but an odd sensation stalled him. His hands touching his body, somewhere in that process, something felt off.
Edmund looked down.
It was his hands. And his entire body. They’ve grown small, hardly the size of a grown man’s as they were previously. A breath of disbelief escaped Edmund. It was as if he was the 10-year-old boy he was long ago. As if… or was he really? Uneasiness crept up inside him.
There was a soft yet deep purr from the side. Edmund’s head whipped around. A previously unseen form of the great lion sat along the side of the stone table where Edmund had lain.
“Aslan.”
“Young one.”
Edmund gulped. “What happened?” He asked.
The lion’s eyes became sombre at the question. He let out a steady breath and looked away, flicking his tail as doing so.
“I have mourned for this moment to never arrive, but what must happen must always happen.”
“What do you mean, Aslan? What must happen?”
The great lion took a long moment of silence until he finally answered, “You’ve been cursed.”
Having already guessed it was Jadis’s curse, while he was dying, Edmund impatiently replied.
“Yes, I felt it myself. What I’d like to know is what really happened.”
Aslan looked up. A warm pool of his eyes gazed into Edmund’s. Sadness in them was evident.
“Edmund, when you’ve destroyed Jadis’s wand in the great battle that took place so long ago, small fragments, the shattered shards, of it entered you. They’ve been since a curse, sucking away at your life until finally taking it all away from you.”
Edmund only listened, his mind expanding in acceleration. He felt as though he should be pained by the pulse beating in his temples, but there was nothing. Aslan continued.
“You’ve collapsed. Just as you would by poison, but this is no ordinary poison. You had reached the death’s door, my child.”
Edmund could only stare. But by being still, he realised something new with a growing sense of dread. He couldn't feel his heart. He quickly placed a hand over his chest, and then his neck. There was nothing but frigid numbness.
“The curse has taken root in your heart. That’s where the shards are.” Aslan remarked knowingly and sympathetically.
“Then… how am I alive now? Or am I alive?” Edmund stuttered in disbelief.
The lion gave no answer. His eyes simply stayed on his young disoriented king until it finally dawned on Edmund.
“Lucy's cordial.”
Aslan nodded.
Remembering his little sister's worried face at his last moments of consciousness, Edmund hastily asked on. “Where's Lucy? Where are Susan and Peter?"
To Edmund's fear, Aslan's eyes became clouded with grief.
“I’ve returned you to England, where you came from. This, in turn, reverted your body to its earlier stage, temporarily stalling the curse’s progression. This is why you’re, once more, as young as you were when you first stepped into Narnia. However… even with the gap of time flow between Narnia and your world, the time spent by your curse is too great. The earliest I could send you back was 50 years after the moment you’ve entered the wardrobe.”
“ 50 years? ” Edmund exclaimed in shock. “Then, then… Lucy, Peter, and Susan… are they all?”
The great lion nodded slowly and grimly.
“Their time had come.”
Something akin to anger began to boil inside Edmund, but before he could fully process the feeling, his chest erupted in great pain, his face scrunching instantly and his breaths quickening. Soon after, he felt a warm liquid travelling up his throat. When he coughed it out, Edmund saw that it was blood. He looked up where the great lion sat, even more confused and frightened, desperately wanting an answer.
“Even as your humanity, your true feelings , are strengthened enough to break through, the curse will bind it down forcefully. Even if they ever overcome the curse, that is, if you're ever able to express how you truly feel, just as you've felt anger and despair now, it will shred your heart to pieces in the process and will surely kill you.”
Edmund gritted his teeth, trying to calm himself but rapidly failing. A trickle of blood slipped out of the corner of his lips.
“And what of the cure? How can I cure this curse?”
The answer came readily but obscurely.
“The shards are embedded too deeply inside your heart to take out by force.”
This made Edmund’s head drop. He glared at the palm of his hands now painted red from blood he head coughed earlier.
“So I’m doomed,” he silently commented.
The lion purred as he descended from where he sat. He nudged Edmund gingerly and affectionately with his head.
“Do not despair yet, young king. You will have time to search a way to get those cursed shards out of you. And I have found a place that can aid you in doing so."
“Where?" Edmund asked, hope arising albeit weakly.
“There's a school that teaches witchcraft and wizardry. A good man I know leads it."
“Wait, there's a school for witches ? Like Jadis?"
“Yes, witches and also wizards, but no, not like Jadis. You should know that they are just young people who were born with the ability to perform magic and are learning to refine that ability."
That brought several thoughts to Edmund, but Aslan did not wait too long for those thoughts to pass. Instead, he gestured toward a big crack between the two protruded cave walls. Impossibly, as all things usually were around the great lion, a light began to slip through the crack and shine on Edmund's face.
“Enter here, and you'll find yourself where you need to be." Said Aslan calmly, his eyes full of affection and sympathy.
Edmund swallowed a big breath in determination as he rose from where he lay. If things were to flow such way inevitably, then he would sail with it the best way he could. He glanced once again at the lion before he finally stepped into the blinding light now fully pouring out of the crack.
Just then, a giant man with long, untamed hair and beard, wearing a worn, brown coat, lumbered toward Edmund on the platform. As every little child near them stared, he stopped in front of Edmund and collected his short breaths.
“S, sorry, I’m late. I had another errand to complete.”
The man stuck his hand out at Edmund’s face.
“Rubeus Hagrid, at your service.”
Fighting the urge to scowl, Edmund slowly accepted the hand and shook it cautiously.
“Edmund Pevensie."
The man now identified as Hagrid did not seem to notice the hesitance at all as he hastily proceeded to rummage through his coat pockets.
“I reckon you were waiting for these," he said as he finally pulled out a seemingly heavily weighted leather pouch and a piece of golden paper. He held out the pouch first. Edmund took it and opened it to find it filled with golden coins.
“Dumbledore's told me you'll need those. And..."
Hagrid handed a piece of crinkled paper. Edmund took it from the man, his facial muscles struggling to keep an impassive look. The paper read LONDON to HOGWARTS for ONE WAY travel .
“You'll need that too, I believe," Hagrid finished.
Edmund offered a small, unimpressed smile.
“Indeed."
He pocketed the ticket and nodded.
“Much thanks, Mr. Hagrid."
“Oh, please! Just Hagrid's fine, You, uh," Hagrid paused and then stooping down, whispered, “Your Majesty."
Edmund sighed. He understood the need for secrecy regarding his alternative royal background, but if the secret was to be kept in such an uncouth manner every time, perhaps it was better that it be not kept at all. Edmund looked up at the bigger man and shook his head, echoing the other man's words earlier, “Just Edmund's fine."
“Ah, sure, sure," Hagrid began, but his voice began to falter nervously, “Ed, Ed, Edm-, urm, I've got to go."
Giving what seemed to be a discreet salute, the man once more lumbered away from the site.
Watching the retreating form, Edmund shook his head again and then took a final look around the platform. Many of the students have boarded the train by this time, and the platform was quite devoid of its earlier excitement. Concerned with the availability of seats, Edmund somewhat hastily pushed the pouch of gold into his briefcase and quickly stepped into one of the carriages.
As he moved, his right side robe pocket swung widely from the weight of its content. Walking down the corridor and glancing around for an available seat with company looking pleasant enough, Edmund grabbed the stick in his pocket. The odd texture kept scraping against his fingers.
“This is a wand specially crafted from the remnants of Jadis's wand crystals. It was entrusted to me to give to you," said Albus Dumbledore, pulling out a white wooden stick embedded with small crystal pieces and handing it to Edmund.
Dumbledore was a man who was ancient, apparently—long beard, embroidered robe clearly from King Arthur’s time, and a pointy hat with matching embroidery. He wore semi-circular glasses balanced remarkably on the bridge of his nose, and a small, seemingly gentle smile always graced his thin lips. He was the first man to greet Edmund back in his own world after he had stepped through the light-filled crack in the cave. His appearance had Edmund concerned that the first question he had asked upon seeing Dumbledore was, does everyone dress as yourself nowadays? The old man had only chuckled and bowed in greeting. “Albus Dumbledore, Your Majesty,” he had said.
It was not too later that they went to the house supposedly owned by one named Horace Slughorn, the very man who was standing near the two as they discussed the wand, evidently not quite comfortable with the situation and simply watching the exchange.
Edmund, who could not believe that he was to wield the source of his curse, likely the most wicked thing there was, began to form a protest, but Dumbledore quickly continued.
“The wand will help you control the White Witch's magic."
That had silenced Edmund. After one last doubtful yet determined gaze up at Dumbledore, he reached for the wand.
When his fingers had finally curled around it, a great white light shone out from the crystal pieces on the wand. The light shot out across the room and instantly brought its temperature down. Edmund struggled to keep his hand, which was frosting, on the wand and maintain control over it. Feeling the magic wildly bucking in his grasp, Edmund knew that he had to win this battle. The battle between him and the wand—Jadis's wand. For minutes that felt like hours, he held on to it until finally it relented and yielded its power to him, the blinding light diminishing and the crystals losing their luster, becoming dull and opaque.
As Slughorn stammered nervously, Dumbledore smiled easily and nodded proudly. “Well done, Your Majesty. Now your new reign shall begin."
Edmund’s fingers curled around the wand in determination. He was again a young boy just as he was long ago, but he wasn’t the same foolish boy he was then. He would not fall into the trap laid by Jadis again. No more.
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Hogwarts in the Scottish Highlands - hours later.
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By the time the train pulled into an outdoor station, blowing its whistle as it did, it was dark. The ride itself was not very eventful, at least not positively for Edmund.
In the end, he had acquired a seat with a constantly scared-looking boy who kept trembling and a bushy-haired girl who could not stop talking about the book about Hogwarts’s history she had been reading. Then there was the whole occasion of the boy losing his pet toad and the girl’s tireless effort to find it. It was certainly a draining company to keep, but at least the girl went out the carriage and stayed out for the most part, looking for the toad on that boy's behalf.
Edmund swiftly exited his carriage as Hagrid approached, walking along the side aisle, with a lantern. Other students, both new and old, had begun to pour out of the train as well.
“Right then. First years! This way, please! Come on, now, don’t be shy! Come on now, hurry up!” shouted the big man as he led the young ones to the dark vast body of water where numerous boats were prepared.
One by one, the students were placed on the boats, and they began to move themselves without oars across the lake where up ahead a rather magnificent stone castle could be seen. Most first-year students could not keep their mouths closed and they watched in awe at the beautiful scene before them. Edmund, who had seen better of it such as the one and only Cair Paravel, simply focused on what would be waiting for him there. He would never forget the ultimate goal of entering this school—breaking his wretched curse.
The only way to break it, or be cured of it, was to remove the shards out of his heart. Aslan had said as much that such a feat would be impossible to accomplish without Edmund killing himself. Howbeit he was sent here for a reason, he believed. What else could it be other than to find a cure unthought of before? After all, if there was anything on earth that could be the cure, it would be magic, wouldn’t it?
Once they all reached the castle, the new incoming students were led up the stairs on the higher level of which stood an elderly woman waiting. It was Minerva, Edmund recognized, or Professor McGonagall, as she preferred to be called in public. He was introduced to her before by Dumbledore. As usual, she kept an impressive appearance of a witch, exactly as muggles would imagine. The black pointy hat and a long, forest green robe certainly worked well together to build a charismatic aura. When she thought all students were gathered, the woman rapped her knuckles on the stone railing and climbed up the stairs to the top.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she greeted.