Hogwarts. School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A school every upcoming witch and wizard wishes to attend. It's their dream. This is the story of two witches, who's life turns upside down, being accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Doncaster, South Yorkshire, England.
It is a rainy day in the town of the young witch; Hayley Sykes. That is not a problem for her though. She never leaves her room. It is not allowed, forbidden. Not unless she is doing her chores. Sweep the floor, dust the furniture, wash the dishes, clean the toilet, clear the gutter, fix this and fix that. All day, every day. It seems the house should be spotless but there is always something. Because of this, she has no time to clean her own room. The basement. Rats, roaches and spiders. This is her only company.
Heather Sykes. The person that makes Hayley's solitary room seem like sanctuary. Hayley would rather spend the rest of her life in the basement, her door shut with it's usual steel lock (a caution Heather came up with), than have to confront that awful woman. A woman she is forced to call mother.
Heather hates her daughter. The weakling. The one who couldn't fight. Fight to save her father's life.
What is the story? Dementors. Dementors attacked Hayley and her father. The brave wizard fought them as best as he could manage to protect his little girl. He managed to fend them off long enough for his small ten year old daughter to escape. A miracle, really. He had never encountered a Dementor before. At the time, he had not asked himself why the Dementors wandered to the area or why they tried to murder them. They had done nothing to deserve it. Hayley on the other hand has asked herself those questions every day for a year now.
Of course her mother does not know this story. Being a muggle has kept her in the dark. Hayley came back that night, scared and alone. Her once-caring mother asked what happened. Hayley was forced to lie through sobs and tears. There was a mugging. That is the lie she used. That her father had been stabbed to death but he had saved her. Her mother, ignorant and blinded by rage, took her anger and despair out on little Hayley. The very sight of Hayley reminded her of Peter. Peter Sykes. Deceased husband, father and wizard.
Now Hayley lays on her bed, staring out a small cracked window, watching the rain pelt the brown, dead grass. Like every night, her thoughts wandered to her special box. The tried to resist the urge but her body ached for it. She craved the sensation. On her arms, her thighs, her mind. She could clearly imagine all of her sharp silver razor blades laying neatly in the locked wooden box.
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud on her window. At that moment, thunder cracked, making her doubt she had heard anything. All doubt was erased when she noticed a shadow by her window. She smiled, walking over to open the window. She was glad the stray cat decided to visit her. She dubbed him Oliver.
Imagine her surprise when she looked out, seeing no cat. She caught sight of something on the ground, being soaked in the rain. It hit her like lightning. Excitement, joy, relief, all washed over her as she cautiously reached out, taking the object into her hand. She brought it inside and gently ran her shaking fingers over the red wax seal. She smiled, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. She realized it was a memory of how she had imagined this moment would feel, how her father had always told her it'd feel.
Carefully, she opened the envelope. She took a deep breath, reaching in and gently pulling out the letter. She grinned at the words on the parchment.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Sykes,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...
She couldn't believe it.
Wales, United Kingdom.
It is nightfall in the small city of Wales. Here, another witch resides. This witch does not have an abusive mother, does not have a dead father, does not have a broken home, is not locked in a basement and does not inflict pain to herself. No. She is not that lucky.
This witch has no mother, has no father, has no home. Never has. She is not locked in a room by anyone but herself, to avoid the other children in this small house. A home. A childrens home. The little ones humiliate her with questions. For example, why haven't you been adopted yet? The older kids aren't nice either. She sighs, running a hand over her pale skin, where a black and blue was forming, the edges yellowing. See, there is no self-harm in her life. She has the others to do that for her. She rolls her eyes, pressing a bag of ice over her swollen lip.
She has been in this humble home all her life. The headmistress tells her she was left at the doorstep, wrapped in a black hooded coat. Whoever her parents were didn't even have the decency to place her in a stereotypical basket. So, she has no idea who her parents are, or were, if they're even alive.
There is one woman. She does not know if she is her mother but she dreams of her, every night. It has never failed. It is always the same woman. Pale skin, curly light golden-brown hair, dark brown eyes. The image is never clear. All she can manage to get from the dream is that this woman knows her, she keeps calling her name. Izobel. The headmistress had dubbed her Ursula but then allowed her to change her name to one she liked.
Izobel. Izobel Whitlock. The name she kept hearing in her dreams. These dreams would get stronger and stronger every year but the image of the woman never clear. This year, on her twelfth birthday, she heard something different. Something she could not make into words. It was more like a whisper. Whoever or whatever it was, it scared her to the core. Her and the woman. There's a scream and that is where she wakes up, feeling like her heart was teared out of her chest.
Today, like every other day, was uneventful. She was beat up, made fun of and not adopted. She lays in the small white bed, staring out the window. She wondered when it did not rain in Wales. Lightning flashed outside her window and she flinched, absentmindedly plugging her ears with her fingers. She was not fond of the loud thunder.
With her ears plugged, she failed to hear a knock on her door. The thunder cracked and echoed, making Izobel's heart race. Imagine the pure fear she felt when a hand clamped on to her leg. Izobel squeaked and sat up, her eyes wide on one of the girls that beat her. The girl stared at her with loathe filled eyes as Izobel tried to avoid eye contact. She realized two busted lips and a bloody nose too late that staring back was a bad idea. Izobel quietly waited for her to leave. The girl tossed something at her but Izobel refused to look. The girl huffed and stormed out of her room to Izobel's relief.
Izobel could not have looked because she would stare at her eye. Her black eye. She may be two times smaller than the girl but she was not one to go down without a fight. Of course no one would want to adopt a beat up and broken girl. But she did not mind this. She did not want to be adopted by a muggle family. Izobel knew everything there was to know about her being different. Being a witch. The caretaker, Loreena Allgood. A witch. She somehow knew about Izobel and taught her everything there was to know when she had turned eleven years of age. Izobel can remember everything she said clearly. Muggles cannot know about their existence, it is forbidden to use magic in the muggle world and many other things. There was also something Loreena would always ask. Have you received any letters lately? She would ask every day during that year. Izobel couldn't help but feel she was somehow connected to the woman of her dreams.
Pushing the thoughts away, she glanced down to the object the girl had thrown at her. It was an envelope. She felt the red wax seal under her fingers and turned it to examine it. She was dumbfounded at receiving a letter addressed to her. Who could have sent this? She curiously opened it, ignoring the elaborately written address on the front.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Whitlock,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We apologize for the late notice, there seems to have been a mistake at receiving the witch census. Nevertheless, please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
To say the least, Izobel was shocked. She did not understand what this was. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? There is a school? There is a knock on her door and she hides the letter just as someone walks in. She sighed in relief seeing it is only Loreena. The middle aged woman smiles at Izobel. The girl is baffled, seeing the woman holding a silver cage with an owl proudly perched in it.
"It is time, Izobel."