The day Katniss Everdeen turns eleven, she opens her eyes to find an owl perched on her windowsill. Downstairs a chair scrapes against the rough wood floor. Her sister's giggles are cut short by a brief murmur that must belong to their mother.
Katniss is eleven. Her letter has arrived.
The owl ruffles its feathers, scratching impatiently at the chipping paint now that it knows she's awake. The window is uncharacteristically open; she'd felt heady — rebellious — pushing it ajar before bedtime.
Katniss throws back her covers, not bothering to stuff her feet into her father's old work boots before her fingers fumble for the letter. She dashes downstairs, heart hammering as she tears into the envelope. The bird squawks behind her, wings flapping angrily.
You'll get your treat, you stupid bird, she thinks as her eyes catch on the words "Everdeen" - "Hogwarts" - "start of term." I've been waiting for this forever.
She skids to a halt in the kitchen, feeling suddenly foolish as her mother's smile warms her like the sun.
Prim bounces giddily in her seat. "Did you get it, did you get it?"
"Take a look, Little Duck."
Katniss drops the letter on the table, unable to push back the swell of pride as her mother gently retrieves the parchment to memorize its words. Prim ignores the thick paper, launching forward to wrap her arms around Katniss' middle.
"I knew you would!" she whispers into her sister's pajamas, smiling widely enough that Katniss can feel the apple of her cheek rise against her stomach.
"You will, too," Katniss promises, dropping a kiss on top of her sister's head.
Their mother, finished with her perusal, holds the letter carefully between her hands. "Congratulations, dear. We're so proud."
Katniss beams, tugging Prim against her side as she looks around the kitchen for the first time that morning.
"Where's Dad?"
"At the bakery," her mother says as Prim bursts out, "We're getting a cake. A real one! With white flour and frosting and everything."
"A cake?" Katniss repeats dumbly, looking between her mother and sister in disbelief. They both nod, in turn amused and enthusiastic.
A cake is almost as good as Hogwarts.
"You betcha," comes a voice from behind her. She turns to find her father framed by the tangle of trees behind their house, holding a large white box from the bakery in Dufftown.
"Did I miss it?" he asks, floating the cake to the table with a flick of his wand.
He opens his arms to her. Katniss dives into his warmth, burying her nose in the familiar scent of his cloak. Woods and morning dew; sugar from the bakery.
"You're just in time," she says, hugging him tighter before releasing him.
"I saw the owl outside her window when I fetched the morning paper," her mother breaks in, placing the letter back on the worn table. "I don't know how it found us."
Katniss' father's eyes twinkle as he leans in, motioning his wife closer as if imparting a secret. "Magic."
Prim breaks into another round of giggles. Katniss laughs, too, sliding into the chair beside her sister.
"So cake for breakfast- " their father announces, the box unfolding to lay flat, then folding under to create a raised platform for the cake. It's small and circular, with speckled gray frosting and a bird rising from the center. Flames seem to lick the bird's wings, scattering to embers that shift to a raging fire around the cake's base. If she didn't know any better, Katniss would've said it was made by magic.
"- and then," he continues, doling out a slice onto first her plate, then Prim's, "we'll floo to Hogsmeade for your wand."
Katniss feels a lump settle in her stomach that has nothing to do with some old wizard asking probing questions while he waits for a wand to choose her.
"Can we- " She bites her lip, unwilling to let the word afford taint the morning, "- do that?"
"We've been saving," her mother assures, reaching over to caress her daughter's hand. She nods to the threadbare armchair, where Katniss has failed to notice books and baubles and an old pair of robes. "And your father kept most of his old school things."
"We knew this was coming, Katniss."
Her eyes flick from her father back to her mother. The lump rises from her stomach to her throat. "I'll miss you." Traitorous tears well behind her lashes. She studiously examines the cake, willing them away. "What's with the bird?"
Her father rolls his eyes, an exaggerated motion. "Your mother's idea." His voice takes on a teasing lilt, "'It's symbolic, dear. She's entering a new stage of life.'"
"She is," her mother insists, but it's not really for Katniss. Her parents are looking at each other in that way they have, the way that makes the rest of the world fall away.
She turns to her sister, grinning, and scoops a frosting flame onto her finger to plop it into her mouth. Her sister giggles, flicking guilty eyes to their parents before her finger darts out to skim the frosting.
Katniss decides that there's more than one kind of magic, if only you know where to look.