I'm only going to write this once at the beginning here; I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ITS CHARACTERS but the story and original characters are my own. Thank you for reading and leave your thoughts and comments please! It's my first story, so don't be too mean, thank you!

To say finding out magic really exists was a surprise is an understatement. Finding out I could do it was simply the most unexpected thing that happened to me.

Yet it made sense when Professor Flitwick explained everything to me and my father. I had always been able to do things that weren't particularly the norm. When I was only three years of age, I wanted a book from the top shelf in my fathers office. The book somehow fell from the shelf, right onto my waiting lap. When I was in year three of school, I somehow managed to get the door of the library to unlock in order to get my book from inside.

Now I understood how I was able to do these things. Magic.

The irony in that joke is simply hilarious.

Lying in my twin size bed, I couldn't help but grin at the new world I was about to discover, the new culture, the people, everything. There was a world that no one knew about this whole time and I was going to be apart of it.

Sadly, Professor Flitwick explained that as my birthday was in October, I'd have to wait till the next September to enter Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dear god, who named the school Hogwarts? Then again, maybe such a name was normal in the wizarding world.

'Perhaps I can read into that... I'll have to ask dad when we go to get my school supplies'

My father was going to take me shopping for my books and 'robes', as Professor Flitwick called them, in two weeks.

Oh god just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm going to burst with happiness! I get to be apart of something amazing, and learn so much.

Turning over, I looked at my white painted wall. It was covered with school awards, as well as ballet and piano medals and certificates. Going to Hogwarts meant I'd have to leave this all behind. And there were children who had already know of magic, maybe even knew the subjects we'd be learning about, whereas I'd know nothing.

'I have nearly a year to study everything in the course and perhaps more! I will be the top student and make Dad proud...'

I knew Dad loved me with all his heart, but I also knew he wanted me to do well in everything I did. I was 'his little flower', the one thing he had to depend on when times were hard or he started to miss Mum. Though I never knew her really, I knew I loved her, and Dad did too. And now I was going to be going to Scotland, thousands of miles from Dad.

Though I could write him, the short professor did tell me. He said I could 'owl' him, is that some sort of way of mailing? Did they use ACTUAL owls? I'd have to check on that.

"Abella! Dinners ready!"

Sitting up, I straightened myself and ran down the hall and into the kitchen, where I saw my dad setting up the dining table. Corvin Duval was a rather handsome man, tall and slim, with slightly curly dark hair. He had a strong jawline, intense deep blue eyes and smile lines traced his face. Those lines were my favourite thing about him, because it meant he was a kind, happy man, though he'd say they made him look old.

Far from it if you asked me.

As we sat down, my father looked at me. His look wasn't intense or joyous. No, it was thoughtful.

"Little flower... I was wondering if you have thought about this new school? As in really thought about it," my father watched me as he asked this.

I ate a spoonful of mash before answering. I had to think this through and talk to him about what I was thinking. That was how we worked. We never hid things from each other, and always spoke honestly. Even though I was only eleven, my father treated me as a equal, never pulling the superiority card unless I misbehaved.

Setting down my spoon, I breathed in.

"Yeah, I have. Dad, I really want to learn about who and what I am. This is a new world, a new culture that I have the opportunity to learn about. And I can meet people, people like me! And this is an amazing chance to see parts of the world that non magical people never knew existed," I stated. "And you can read books about it, and even go with me to the places where I get my school things"

My father smiled fondly as I spoke, as if to silently agree with me and to show he was understanding my curiosity of magic.

"You'll do amazing, I know it. Probably top of your class and everything. The magical world won't know what hit them when Abella Duval enters Hogwarts. I just want you to know what you're getting into. You still have till September to decide, but if you choose now it won't make a difference." I smiled at my father.

"Thanks, Daddy."

Later that night, I sat at my white vanity mirror, brushing my curly dark hair and stared at my reflection.

Yesterday I thought I was ordinary. Odd, but ordinary. Now I knew I was different from my other classmates. I was almost expecting to appear differently, as though learning I was a witch would turn me to look like the wicked witch of the west.

Yet my skin didn't change color and I didn't have a wart or overly large nose.

I admired myself more closely. I wasn't extraordinarily beautiful, but I wasn't ugly. I have thick long hair that was as dark as my fathers and just as curly. I had his clear pale skin with his high cheekbones. But the rest was my mother. Her full pink lips and evergreen eyes with gold flecks enhanced my face. I had her jawline too, not too strong but very feminine.

My father joked that I was very French looking, thanking the gods above for giving him a daughter who got his side of the family's genes as he was born in France, later moving to England for university to study history and meeting my very British mother who was studying to be a doctor.

I smiled softly at the thought of my parents and looked out my window. We lived in a flat in central London, overlooking the city below. My room had a small balcony where I grew my flowers, pale pink roses. I loved my room more then anywhere else in the world. White walls, with one covered with four bookshelves that reached the ceiling, a ladder so I could reach the higher shelves. Black and white photos of me, my father, mother and places in the world I have or will go to hanged above my twin size bed that was opposite of my books. My black piano stood proudly against the wall beside my door. But the ceiling was the best. On the ceiling were the stars, constellations that my father had wired to light up when the lights were turned off. And a chandelier hung from the ceiling, a simple one yet it was eye catching and beautiful.

I'd miss this place when I was gone to school. But the adventure that awaits should be even more amazing.