Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognisable from the Harry Potter world, that all comes from the amazing pen of JK Rowling

AJP

There are many things that you never expect your parents to say. These might range from "I used to be female" to "Your Grandfather was an alien" they are things that come out of kids stories or stupid CITV television programmes, worse than that they are stuff of nightmarish embarrassment! The most unexpected of these, however, can knock you back. You stand there as they tell you this piece of information and you can't breathe, you think they're joking but then realise it's the middle of October so why would an "April Fool" follow?! This sort of thing is flung at you seemingly randomly. One minute you're stood making a chocolate spread sandwich and telling your dad about your day, before going off to attack the pile of homework which is in your bag, as you always do. The next he's looking shocked and blurting out a secret so deep it must have been buried under mounds of memories and stone. No my father did not used to be a girl, nor was my unknown dead grandfather an alien (or at least I don't think so, it wouldn't surprise me at this rate!). The crazy secret my dad felt necessary to unload on me as I stood with a knife in one hand and a jar in another was that he is a…wizard?!

Well what can you reply to that?

"Oh great"?

"Ha-ha Papa pull the other one"?

In fact I try both, but the look of utter devastation brings me to the awful truth – my father is insane! There can be no other explanation. I'm slowly reaching for the phone book but he catches my movement, stares intently at me and says

"I know what you're thinking Auriella"

Well this is great, not only is he insane, now he thinks he can read my mind. I turn to him guiltily and he looks me in the eye and quite calmly says

"I know it's hard to believe, and I know that you think me insane, but I can show you."

I stand back and look at him, unsure of where this is going…show me?! How?! Has he pictures of him in a hat and a cloak holding a wand?! I stare at him, my tall handsome blond haired father as he moves over to the bookcase in the corner, and lifts one of our photo albums from a pile. I know which one it is. A red, leather, A4 size book, with the words "Photo Album" in gilt letters across the front. It's full of photos of my mother. I stare at him as he tells me to pull up a chair to the kitchen table. He sets the book before me and tells me to look inside. This is ridiculous because I know everything there is to know in this photo album. My mother with her black hair and green eyes staring at me. It's not a nice photo, in fact she doesn't look like a mother, but then maybe her dying in child birth was God's way of telling her she wasn't. I look up at my father with incredulity as I turn the cover over.

I stare at the picture in front of me. If my memory serves me correctly it should be of my father and mother sat on the beach. She should be wearing a bright red bikini with matching sarong and her large round sunglasses perched on top of her head. My father should be sat stiffly with his arm around her grimly smiling. The picture that faces me is an entirely different one.

"Papa what is this, where's Mama?"

He just sits silently, I turn back to the book. What faces me is a large castle, a magnificent castle that looks warm and inviting at the same time as scaring me. This is the unknown, a life of a wizard (if papa is to be believed) I shut the book quickly, get up from the table and turn to the counter where the coffee pot is standing. I'm in need of a drink, and I can't stand alcohol. I turn to face Papa as he continues to stare at the photo album.

"I'm sorry"

I hear him whisper as he picks the book up and places it on the shelf. As the kettle boils and he turns around my shock and confusion turn to anger.

"How dare you Papa, how dare you not tell me."

This is like something out of a nightmare, I can't face it that he has lied to me for fifteen years.

"How do I know anything about you? About my identity? For God's sake I'm a teenager identity crisis is a given thing, but this…my father was…is…a wizard, and my mother…"

I stop, he finishes for me

"Was a witch."

Witch, that word has so many connotations that wizard doesn't. With wizard you see Merlin counselling Arthur or small white haired men stumbling over spells. 'Witch' brings up images of all sorts of things. The Weird Sisters in Shakespeare's Macbeth, with their cauldron and maleficent spells. Pamphlet images of old crones meeting with cloven hoofed men. The murder of children, innocent children. But of course this is all fiction.

"Witches don't exist"

I say in a whisper. I want to cry, to be held, but I have no one to turn to. I have no mother and my Papa is a wizard. He looks sad at my words, I close my eyes, but only for a second as he walks over to me, takes my chin in his hand and wipes away the few tears that have escaped.

"She was a good witch, a beautiful witch. She helped people…in the war."

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. As we're being truthful I decide to voice a feeling that I have had for a long time,

"She doesn't look caring to me"

He stares at me, I think he's going to shout, but then he turns to photo album and turns the cover. No longer is the castle on the front page, now I see the picture I am so used to. He points at the cold dark haired woman,

"Not her, she's not your mother".

Before I can say anymore he walks back over to the bookcase and places the book in its place. With that he looks at me once and smiles sadly. I look away unable to comprehend all that he's told me. The next thing I hear is the front door closing. I sit down at the table and finally cry.

A/N: This is my first attempt at a novella length story. Please review, constructive criticism is always good, but no flames please, they make me cry! Thanks