Stay Wide Awake

Boy you think your clever, don't ya?

Girl you think you're so smart?

Come with me to another side in a world so cold and so dark.

She fiddled with her locket as she climbed down the stairs in the cold morning. There was a fire going in the fireplace in the sitting room, but it was not enough alone to warm the cold halls of the small house she lived in. Although it was cold, she felt warm. A thousand twinkling lights mingled with threads of evergreen and holly as she entered the sitting room. In the corner towered the beautiful Christmas tree, decked in ribbons of gold and silver, green and red, blue and purple, and many other colors. Underneath the tree there lay quite a few large wrapped boxes, many that weren't there last night.

"Dad?" she called out, peering around the corner down the hallway to the kitchen, the sound of light baritone voices drifted back to her and she smiled.

"Merry Christmas Princess," he said as he entered the sitting room with a tea tray. He set it down and gave his only daughter a hug before handing a cup of tea and taking one himself.

"Merry Christmas dad," she replied, taking a sip of her tea. She spat it back out, "What is this?"

He laughed, "It's Earl Grey, my favorite."

"It's horrible."

"That's because you didn't add anything to it."

She smiled at him and politely set her cup down on the tray, earning another round of laughter from her father.

"What's with all the politeness today sweetheart? Not a fan of Santa anymore? Or are all those for me and none for you?"

She smiled at him and moved to the floor, "Alright, I'm going, I'm going. Here this is for you."

And so she passed him his presents, opening hers happily as he did the same, the two of them quite content with their company- until she reached the last present. She flipped over the card and read it.

To Melanie

With Love Your Mother.

She was stunned, but stared at it. The wrapping paper was faded and old, and there was a fine layer of dust on it. She looked up at her father with curiosity, watching him as he wearily stared at her. Her fingers fiddled absently with her locket as she flipped the package over.

"Go ahead, open it," her father coaxed.

"But where'd you get this? She's been gone for years."

"She told me to give it to you when I thought you were ready to have it. I think 21 is a good age," he said.

"I can't," she spluttered shoving the present away, "It doesn't feel right."

"Oh don't be silly Melanie," he scolded, "Your mother wanted you to open it."

"It…it just doesn't feel right."

"But does it feel better to ignore her wishes?"

"Did you just play the last wishes card with me?"

"Why, yes, yes I did."

Her father smirked happily and she shook her head before pulling on the string that held it together. The wrapping paper fell away to expose a cardboard box. She smiled at her father.

"Go on," he encouraged. She shook her head but pulled on the lid, lifting it off of the box.

Nestled inside was another box, but this one was made of satin, a white color and obviously very old. She pulled out the box, flipping it over and over in her fingers, excitement growing in her as she opened the box. Inside was a key.

"Well," her father asked, "What is it?"

She held up the antique key and furrowed her brows in confusion.

"It's a key?" she questioned, staring at the old fashioned key, "To what?"

Her father gestured for it, and she handed it to him, watching as he turned it over in his fingers, over and over. He shrugged.

"I haven't the slight idea," he said then, noting his daughter's sad eyes added, "I'm sorry honey."

"No don't be Dad, I really like it, even if I have no idea what it does."

"Okay then sweetheart," he said, ruffling her black hair. She smiled at him before standing up.

"So, what are our plans for today?"

"Well," he began unsurely, "Tom, you know he's alone and I said I'd go see him-"

"That' fine dad," she said laughing at his nervousness, "I was going to go see mom today anyways."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice unsteady, but she shook her head.

"Yeah dad, don't worry about it, I want to thank her."

"And?"

"And you dad," she added with a smile, "Your gifts to me were really wonderful. I could always use a new hot pad?"

He laughed loudly, wrapping her in a hug, "Of course you can. I was thinking that was more for the kitchen, but if you really wanted it-"

"Dad!"

"Okay, enough said!" he said in defeat, "Just be careful okay?"

"Always am, dad, always am."

She wrapped herself in a sweater tightly, pulling a scarf up around her rosy cheeks as she stepped out in the brisk English air. The sky was clouded over and off in the distance she could see darkening clouds moving at an alarming rate. Almost unnaturally fast. She watched them approach for a moment before hustling into her car and heading off to the graveyard.

Her mother had died at when she was the tender age of ten. Her mother, whom she kept a picture of in her room, was a compassionate woman, often times stubborn and prideful. She loved her daughter Melanie, with all her heart. Then, one morning when Melanie was ten she woke up and her mother did not. She had died in her sleep. The police and paramedics thought it was a suicide, but her and her father knew it wasn't. The autopsy said it was heart failure-her heart just stopped. It was a painful time for her and her father, who was left to raise a daughter. She chuckled at her memories of her father trying to talk to her about make and boys and such. Some things were just for mother and daughter talks, but she would never have those. Starting the car, Melanie backed out of the driveway and turned down the road.

The cemetery was peaceful and quiet. Melanie wandered her way through the frozen trees, down the cobblestone path towards the lake edge before stopping at her mother's grave. It was well kept and clean with no cracks or leaves blown in the way. At the very base there was a small bouquet of flowers. This puzzled her. She had not brought them, and they were far to fresh to be left by her father a few weeks ago. Melanie bent down to take a closer look at the mysterious gift.

Wrapped around the green packaging was a black ribbon. Melanie grasped it in her hands and stared and it, the silk slipping in her grasp. It was a necklace. A tiny serpent was place on a silver medallion that was latched onto the ribbon. But there was something strange about it. Melanie leaned closer, only to realize the snake was moving. She dropped it in surprise, letting it fall back into the snow at the base of the headstone. She was in shock.

There was no plug to the necklace, and there were no batteries. Picking it up again, she watched at the snake, and only the snake moved. It made a circle around the edge of the medallion before coming to rest in the middle. Then it appeared to turn back into the necklace. Melanie fumbled with the necklace, trying to figure out how it worked. It was solid stone. With a frightening gasp, she let go of the bewitching necklace and staggered backwards, sticking her hands into her coat pockets. It was then she felt the key.

She turned it over in her palm, letting it be exposed to the air around her. She stared at it, then at her mother's grave, confused.

"Hey mum," she whispered, "Just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas, and ask you how it's been. Me? I'm just fine, just getting out of university soon. Dad misses you. It's funny, this morning he was singing sweet Caroline in the kitchen when I came downstairs, he told me it was your favorite song. I know, you still shocked I'm living at home? Ha, me too. But I can't just leave dad, he's the only thing I've got, we've got-"she choked, but swallowed hard, "The only thing we've got is each other. He misses you like crazy, we both do. Today especially."

"So," she started, "I opened your present today. I was shocked to see it was a key. What's it do mum? I don't have any clue what it does, but I haven't given it much thought anyway," she rambled, "But I know it meant something to you, otherwise you wouldn't have given it to me. But I need a sign mum, cause I don't know what to do with it."

As if there was an answer to her prayer, the wind blew, tangling her dark hair around her face and knocking the key to the ground. She bent down; stuffing back her black curls and reached for it. Then she saw it. Her locket. There was a keyhole in the back. Had it always been there? No, it wasn't there that morning, she could remember running her fingers of the smooth edges! Was this her locket? Could she have lost it? No, she always wore this one, with the emeralds encrusted on the outside with the old Victorian floral pattern. Her initials were still engraved on the back, M.L.

She fumbled with the keys clumsily before sticking it in the keyhole and turning it. The locket clicked. For as long as she could remember the locket had never opened! And most certainly never had a keyhole! Carefully she pulled back the sides and opened it.

A strong blast of air hit her, knocking her off her feet and a good fifty feet backwards. She let go of the locket as she went sailing backwards and hit the ground in a thud. Dazed, she rubbed her head from where she hit the tree and stared down in her lap. There was the locket! She looked at it, staring at the inside. Inside the locket there was a tiny rose, made of solid silver it looked like, and it was glowing! She reached out to touch it, but it burned her. She cried out in pain and stared at it, a drop of red glistening from a thorn. Slowly she watched as the blood faded away, and the petals of the rose began to glisten the very red color! Freaked out, she closed the locket, slamming it shut. She scrambled around for the key and found it, shoving it in her coat pocket in a hurry.

She drove in a flurry, for the sky had grown an oddly greenish black color and it looked like a storm was approaching. She turned the corner, her tires screeching as she fled the graveyard and the freaky things she had seen. Her heart raced as she rounded the next corner only to press on the brakes as hard as she could. Her car skidded along the black top, halting as she stopped. There in the middle of the road was a hat.

It was a top hat to be exact, placed strategically in the middle of the road, as if someone wanted it to be run down. Curiosity taking hold of her, she opened the car door, the wind ripping off her scarf. She didn't seem to notice, the hate drew her in, like a trance. Her honey colored eyes focused on the silken material of the hat. She crouched down near it staring. Who would leave such a fine hat out in the street?

There was another gust of heavy wind and she looked up, watching at the greenish clouds rolled overhead. There was loud crackling emanating from the sky, a threat of storms coming. She shuddered and reached out, taking hold of the hat.

Little did the muggle know, it was a trap, and a portkey into the wizarding world.