The Hawthorn and the Yew
Harry Potter Universe
Meghan Jones, Hufflepuff
Chapter One
On May 15, 1991 Meghan Jones spent most of her eleventh birthday knowing she was a Squib. The school bully succeeded in taking her dinner money. Meghan sat on the sidewalk during recess and watched the other children playing. The teacher picked on her when she couldn't find the answer to the square root of 2. In spite of Meghan's best efforts at uncontrolled wizarding temper (she kept trying to catch herself off guard), the bully's hair did not catch on fire. Meghan could not stop a rogue ball from hitting her on the head. The eraser did not attack in Meghan's defense when the teacher told her that there is no square root of 2.
"But then it's a trick question!" protested Meghan.
"And you should have known that, you stupid girl. One times one equals one. One plus one equals—"
"Eleven."
For this Meghan was sent to detention, where she had to write, "I will be respectful to those in authority," one hundred times. By the time it was finished it was five minutes until her uncle was due home. When Meghan burst through her own front door at 5:25 pm with, "Sorry I'm late, Uncle Emrys!" she was late to her own birthday tea by a quarter of an hour.
"You're not. I just came home." Uncle Emrys's suit jacket hung on its hanger by the door. Emrys himself was in the kitchen, shirt-sleeves rolled up. He had a frozen dinner in one hand, the microwave door open in the other. "If I follow these Muggle directions precisely, tea should be ready in just a few minutes."
Tea consisted of half-baked microwaved bangers and mash. The birthday cake ("I had them write the 'eleven' in pink, just like you wanted") was store bought, enough for four people. So Meghan and Uncle Emrys decided to have two pieces each by cutting the cake in half. "I have to blow out the candles first, though!"
Uncle Emrys lit the candles with one match. "Almost as good as a wand," he told himself, nervously. It took him so long he almost burnt his fingers. "Right, then. Make a wish." Meghan leaned halfway across the table, squeezed her eyes closed for a few seconds, opened them and blew out the candles.
Three things happened at once. Uncle Emrys said, "What did you wish for?," the phone rang, and a bird flew against the living room window by the front door. Meghan shrieked, Uncle Emrys said, "Who would be telephoning us?", and the bird started tapping against the glass.
Uncle Emrys answered the telephone. "Yes? Yes, this is Emrys Prewett. She what?" Meghan went to the window. An owl hovered there, looking annoyed. It had a parchment envelope in its beak. "It's a letter. Uncle Emrys, I think it's addressed to— you!?"
"Open the window and give it money—No, Miss Hardy, not you—"
"What?!" said Meghan.
"That's not true. Everyone knows that the square root of two is equal to the length of the hypotenuse of a right triangle with legs of length one. Goodnight." Uncle Emrys hung up the phone. "That was your maths teacher. Apparently you left detention without turning in your sentences."
"I did?" Meghan looked even more bewildered.
"Yes, and she also accuses you of setting off fireworks. She heard a slight explosion, looked into the room, and you were gone."
"What?'
Uncle Emrys opened the window (The owl was very annoyed by now), took the letter, opened a desk drawer, took out coins that did not look quite right, put them in a little bag tied to the owl's leg, and said, "Thank you." The owl flew back out the window.
"Uncle, we've never gotten owl post before. Have we?"
Uncle Emrys said, "Close the window, please."
The envelope (in an ugly shade of purple) was addressed to:
Ambrose O. Prewett, Accountant Squib
Kitchen Table
7 English Stone
Raven Hall, Wrexham
Uncle Emrys sat back down at the kitchen table and opened the letter. His face became still.
"Meghan, what have you done?"
The birthday cake between them had pink candle wax hardened on the frosting. Meghan stared across it at her Uncle. "It wasn't my fault. She gave me a trick question!"
Uncle Emrys read the letter aloud.
Dear Mr. Prewett,
This is to inform you that at 4:45 PM your ward, Megan Jones, apparated from the detention room at Raven Hall Primary and to your home at 7 English Stone. Since
1) Megan's absence was noticed by her Muggle teacher and
2) Megan is now eleven years old,
this letter must serve as a warning. Miss Jones has violated both the International Statute of Wizard Secrecy and the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry. It will not do for children to act like little beasts. Any further actions of a similar nature on Miss Jones's part will result in severe discipline. I am sure that you will convey the gravity of the situation to Miss Jones.
Regards,
Dolores Umbridge
Under-secretary to Cornelius Fudge
"What is apparation?" asked Meghan.
"It is getting from one place to another without bothering with the distance in between," said Uncle Emrys.
"Like in A Wrinkle in Time?"
"Well, yes, actually. Only it doesn't take you to other worlds or times—just where you want to go in this world. Meghan-"
Uncle Emrys looked stern. Not angry, but stern. The smile faded from Meghan's face. "This is very serious. You cannot apparate without a license, and you have to be at least seventeen. There's something more important, though: How did you apparate? You'd need a wand to do that. Do you have one? Did you take the one from the—"
"No! You told me never to touch it!" Meghan was hurt. "And I don't know how I did it or even that I did it. I was finished with my sentences and saw that you would be home in a few minutes so I jumped up from the desk and—"
"And?"
"I thought I ran really fast. I thought I was late. The next thing I saw was the front door."
"Have you done that before?"
"Maybe once, when I was little. I don't rememb-"
"Never mind that now. Meghan, the fact that you can apparate without a wand means only one thing."
"What?"
"It means that you must never do that again. If people knew you're descended from—"
THUNK!
Another owl at the window, and this time the envelope was addressed to:
Meghan Jones
Bwrdd Cegin
7 Maen Saesneg
Plas Gorax, Wrecsam
["Best open it," said Uncle Emrys.]
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 Miss Jones,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 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
"Let me see that!" Uncle Emrys grabbed it from Meghan's hand. "Sorry, but I have to see."
Meghan served herself half the cake while Uncle Emrys read the letter at least twice. His face went from somber to slightly cheerful to maybe jealous.
"I don't understand. You can't get into Hogwarts just for apparating can you?"
"Don't you want me to go?
"Of course I want you to go! It's just that we're part, err,"
"Squib?"
"Well, no. I'm a Squib—from a wizarding family but no magical ability whatsoever. You, if your apparation is a sign, are not a Squib. But we're both part—"
THUNK!
"I was being nice. It was actually your turn this time," said Meghan, returning from the window. "Anyway, it's addressed to you."
Emrys O. Prewett
Bwrdd Cegin
7 Maen Saesneg
Plas Gorax, Wrecsam
Dear Mr. Prewett,
First, congratulations on Miss Jones's acceptance into Howarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am sure you must be very proud of her. Second, based on the events of the last two hours (or, more specifically, the last fifteen minutes), I must hasten to assure you of a few things:
1) Miss Jones is by no means in trouble for apparating this afternoon. The Ministry of Magic does not make a habit of prosecuting children, much less underage children too young to be accepted into Hogwarts. Since the event technically occurred nearly an hour before Miss Jones's eleventh birthday, and since the event proved that she does indeed have magical ability (and therefore has been invited to attend Hogwarts), no warning is needed. Nor should a warning have been issued. Miss Umbrage, although devoted in her duties as undersecretary to the Prime Minister, has occasionally shown herself to be overenthusiastic. Any warning of such a nature should have come from Malfalda Hopkirk at the Improper Use of Magic Office, not from Ms. Umbrage. Miss Umbrage profusely apologises for any distress she may have caused you.
2) As Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is my policy to accept all humans—Muggle, so called "Pure-Bloods" and half-breeds- who show magical ability and a desire to improve upon it. Elven blood may have given Miss Jones a genetic predisposition to apparate without a wand, but the ability is her own. I do not discriminate against my students, no matter their ancestry (or parentage).
Congratulations again to Miss Jones. I look forward to meeting her September 1.
Regards,
Albus Dumbledore
"IgeddogoIgeddogoIgeddogo!" sang Meghan around a mouthful of cake. "Whaib a minub," She gulped, winced, coughed and said,"We're ELVES!?"
Uncle Emrys set the letter down, stared at the other half of the cake, placed it slowly on his plate, and deliberately picked up his fork and knife. "No," he said between small, precisely cut bites of cake—not even chocolate frosting appeared around his mouth. "We're descended from AN elf. It was a long time ago."
"When?"
"A long time ago."
Meghan knew Uncle Emrys wouldn't speak again about it until he finished his cake at least. So she crammed the rest of her cake into her mouth and began washing up the dishes. He didn't mention elves again.
On the way upstairs to do her homework, Meghan stopped on the stair. "Uncle Emrys?"
He did not look up from his crossword puzzle. "Hmm?"
"I do get to go, don't I?"
The pencil stopped. Uncle Emrys did not look up. "I don't know yet."
"But Uncle Emrys-"
"GO TO BED!"
Uncle Emrys looked as shocked at his outburst as Meghan did. He broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Meghan, I—"
Meghan ran upstairs and slammed her door.