Robin O'Donnell's Witching Hours

Chapter One, In Which There Are a Lot of Unusual Incidents

Robin O'Donnell sat across from her mother at the kitchen table, the both of them eating in silence. Every once in a while, she would glance up at her parent, whose steely gaze was riveted on her own small plate of salad. If Lisa O'Donnell was at all aware of her daughter, it was not noticeably apparent, except perhaps through a slight tightening of the lips, a minute furrowing of the brow. Her grip on her cutlery would tighten.

Robin lowered her gaze, resigned, back to her own plate, taking small, tasteless bites of dinner. Her mother was angry, as any person could see. It had been this way for a few weeks now, ever since the Incident.

Even on goods day, Lisa wasn't the most affectionate mother, often sparing only a few words of greeting each day. Any real communication between the mother and daughter was often the bare minimum of necessities- chore list, groceries, appointments- and almost strictly through text; on the computer or via a yellow notepad on the refrigerator door. Lately, however, the verbal greetings had ceased entirely, and the yellow notepad had been blank for nearly a week, now. Robin's mother had been angry at her before, but never to this magnitude- and entirely unreceptive Robin's attempted explanations. 'He attacked me, I was nowhere near the Bunsen burners, he must have done something- has to be lying, mom! There just isn't enough gas supplied to those things for the fire to be that big- it was a freak accident! I never hurt anyone!'

But the veteran prosecutor could not ignore the facts or the records against her daughter.

Adam Pegler, Student Council member, star athlete, beloved by students and faculty alike, had been found in the secondary school science lab, unconscious, with angry burns covering almost half his forearm. He claimed to have been helping the younger Miss O'Donnell with her assignment to clean up at the end of the school day, - a punishment for having her teacher's hairpiece somehow mysteriously wind up on her desk, in the back corner of the room- when the girl grabbed the remaining Bunsen burners, turned up the gas, and came at him. Robin herself denied ever having touched the hairpiece- 'I was all the way across the room!'- as well as the incident with the burners.

'I don't know how it happened! They just suddenly blew up!'

That much seemed to be true. The room had been in shambles when the two were discovered; he, lying on the floor, and she curled up in a far corner, not a scratch upon her body. It was, to be sure, a puzzling circumstance, but it wasn't the first time Robin had been found guilty of some act of destruction, and Adam seemed genuinely frightened of the girl.

So, the boy was taken at his word, and eleven-year-old Robin was promptly expelled, awaiting a disciplinary hearing at the Juvenile Court.

Her mother was beside herself. The shame of having her own daughter charged with severe vandalism and assault! She had not even bothered to confront her daughter at home, after the primary explanations at the school, but proceeded to act as if she had no daughter. The table was now set only for one, and if Robin needed any money or food, she was on her own. Such was her punishment.

And so, Robin sat at the kitchen table in their small, two-bedroom home, picking dispassionately at a pile of slightly aged leftovers scavenged from the back of the fridge- remnants of the days when Lisa O'Donnell had a daughter. Robin watched her mother eat; she studied the way the electric lighting brought out dark circles beneath the steely eyes, and wondered, for the umpteenth time, how she could possibly explain to her mother that she really had been studying when the hairpiece slid onto her stack of notes. That she hadn't been the one to write rude messages on the blackboard behind the teacher's back. That Adam Pegler had been cornering her with hot eyes and a heavy body when the burners exploded on the table behind him.

Robin's melancholy musings were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She glanced over, a bit surprised- it was a tad late for visitors.

Possibly to further the establishment of her role as the house's sole inhabitant, Lisa stood sharply, her char scraping the floor, and answered the door before Robin had even set down her napkin.

A severe-looking woman stood on the doorstep, silhouetted by the streetlights behind her. She had sleek, black hair, pulled back in a bun which looked almost painfully tight. Her face was slightly lined, a sign of possibly middle-age, and she scanned the area intelligently from behind thin spectacles. She wore an emerald-green pant-suit, and carried a worn, brown leather handbag.

Lawyer, Robin though, recognizing a style similar to her mother's, and her chest contracted painfully. So. They were here for her, now.

"Can I help you?" asked Lisa, in a polite, if not slightly cold tone.

"Yes, I am here to speak to you about the matter of one Robin O'Donnell, if she is in residence."

Robin's stomach flipped.

The sharp woman on the doorstep peered through the doorway, "May I come in?"

Lisa hesitated, though to any who didn't know her well, any hesitation would not have been obvious. She instead appeared to be lightly pondering the question. Coming to a decision, she stepped aside, "Certainly, find yourself a seat at the table. I was just finishing up."

Robin, who occupied the only remaining chair, aside from her mother's, grabbed her plate, intending to flee to the stairwell, resigned to finishing her meal there. She was stopped by a light hand on her arm.

"Why are you leaving? There are plenty of chairs," said the sharp woman, in a tone which seemed almost reprimanding.

"Oh, no, that's my mother's ch-," Robin glanced at the table, and paused, bemused. There were now three chairs at the kitchen table; two, the polished wood she was accustomed to, and one, dark and straight-backed, which she had never seen before. "How…?"

"Ahem!"

Robin and the sharp woman turned to face Lisa O'Donnell, who had cleared away the remaining dinner and now stood, arms crossed, beside her own chair. She made no comment about the new seat which had appeared so suddenly, but merely glared in Robin's direction- not directly at her, for that would mean acknowledging that she was at all connected to the girl- like it had been her doing.

Robin dropped her gaze to the linoleum flooring, while the sharp woman merely gazed calmly at the older O'Donnell. "Shall we not all sit?"

A muscle worked in Lisa's jaw at the reference, potentially inclusive to her daught-…. juvenile tenant. "Certainly." She sat, followed by the sharp visitor.

Robin loitered for a moment, and then eventually resigned to sit- in her own chair, and as far away from the sharp lawyer woman as possible.

The visitor, seemingly unaware of her hostesses' fear- in Robin's case, and chill- in Lisa's case, set her bag upon the table, opened it, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. She scanned them, adjusting her spectacles.

Lisa grew mildly agitated, "Pardon," she asked, her American accent sounding harsh and nasal after the sharp visitor's Irish lilt, "but may I ask whom I have the pleasure of entertaining?"

The other woman looked up, fixing Ms. O'Donnell with sharp eyes, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall," she replied, "And, as I said, I am here about the matter of your daughter, Miss Robin O'Donnell."

Both O'Donnells flinched, then- Lisa, at the word "daughter", and Robin, at the mention of her own name.

Professor McGonagall continued, "I understand that she has been involved in a great deal of unusual circumstances; one missing hairpiece, the replacement of the scheduled school lunch with birthday cake-"

"Yes, and those issues have been dealt with," Interrupted Lisa, tersely.

The eldest O'Donnell once again found herself skewered upon the razor-like gaze of Professor McGonagall. "Indeed," her tone had dropped in temperature, not really all which warm to begin with, "However, in regards to the matter of the more recent incident with that young boy-"

Once again, Lisa interrupted, "Both the school and the Pegler family have pressed charges. Robin's been expelled and has a disciplinary hearing scheduled for-"

But now it was McGonagall's turn to interrupt, "I'm afraid that that hearing has been cancelled, and those charges, annulled."

Lisa was stunned. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was slightly open. This slip in composure, however, lasted merely a second, "If you don't mind my asking, exactly how did this come about?" A dangerous edge had crept into her voice.

"You will find that neither the school, nor the Pegler's will have anything further to say on the matter," McGonagall replied, smoothly, "The court appears to have forgotten about the matter altogether. I would think this would come as a relief?"

Robin had been sitting silently through the entirety of the meeting, and could now hardly dare to believe what she was hearing. She had gotten off? How? Had someone finally realized that the whole thing was a freak accident?

"In fact," McGonagall continued, without waiting for Lisa to give an answer, "I believe you will find that all of the unusual instances which have previously been thought to involve Miss Robin have been reanalyzed and excused as mistakes and accidents. As I am sure that is what they are. I highly doubt that you, Miss O'Donnell, intended any of those things to occur."

Robin gave a start, as the sharp Professor addressed her for the first time. "P-please, mam, I really had nothing to do with any of it!"

What was almost a whisper of a smile seemed to twitch across McGonagall's face, so that Robin was almost sure she hadn't seen it at all. "Oh, no, Miss O'Donnell, you most certainly were the cause of each and every one of these incidents, for the simple reason that you are a witch."