I watched the dust fall from the ledge of the window, floating to the ground in a seemingly endless pile. It crashed, tumbling down the side of the mountain until it rested just at the bottom.

I ran my finger along the edge once more before rubbing the dust off slowly. There was something about the dust... something magical.

"Bovary, the children are out back playing," Mrs. Littleton interrupted my entrance state.

"I'll be there in a minute, Mrs. Littleton," I responded, watching the dust fall through the air.

"Don't mess with that dust, you'll get much too sick-"

A loud knocking noise in the room below, the foyer, interrupted whatever the woman was going to say. My head turned slightly in acknowledgment, my eyes flickering away from the dust before it crashed, to the foot of my desk. "There is someone at the door."

"Hmm?" Mrs. Littleton was saying, as I had interrupted her before she had the chance to continue. Thank God for that. I couldn't stand her voice.

"There is someone at the door, Mrs. Littleton." I glanced up to meet her eyes, and she shuddered as he very pretty blue met my black. "Go and check it out, yes?"

She stumbled out of the room and I waited until her footsteps had retreated before raising my hand and sweeping it over the dust. It seemed to disappear instantly. I did not know how I did such a feat, but it astonished me no less.

The muffled murmurs of conversation could be heard through the floorboards, but I understood not a word. Whoever the visitor was, they must have been adopting. I didn't know why they'd come here. Out of all of England, this had to be the most dreadful.

I moved to my feet, my fingers running along the clean ledge absently before I touched the glass. Raining, as usual.

"Bovary?" a voice said from the door. I glanced up sharply, not recognizing the voice to see a withering old man in lavender robes. He was old, well into his nineties, perhaps, and he had half-moon spectacles that covered his blue eyes just barely. His withering hand gestured towards the door, "May I come in?"

I bit back a frown of distaste but nodded my ascension and watched him carefully.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked boldly, as he certainly did look intelligent and perhaps had a few medical degrees under that golden chain of a belt. Perhaps he was from the House of Lords. Certainly looked rich enough.

"Not quite, Miss Mauvais," he gave a kind smile. He gestured to the bed, "May I?"

I nodded once more, "A lord, then?"

"Hardly, my dear girl. I'm a professor. Professor Dumbledore," his blue eyes twinkled in delight as I assessed him once more, but I could not see what subject he could possibly teach other than astronomy, or something odd like it, and that hardly counted as a course.

"And why are you here, then, sir? I am only eleven."

"Precisely," he gave a kind smile and reached into a robe pocket, producing a letter. He placed it on his lap, folding his hands over it so I could not read the address. "Are you able to do things other children can't?"

I thought of Elizabeth, the girl just across the hall, as I had made her homework stick to her ceiling. She had been desperate to get it down, begging Mrs. Littleton for help. I had no idea how it had ended up there, but I had been annoyed that she could not give me any help on the assignment. Another event, just a few hours before, when my hair had been cut short once more by Mrs. Littleton. I absently touched the long curls. They had grown back just within fifteen minutes.

That was why Mrs. Littleton had grounded me in fright before blaming me for wearing a wig.

"Define what others cannot do," I stated instead of agreeing.

"Can you... make things disappear?" he explained. "Can you do impossible things?"

I glanced towards the clean windowsill before swallowing, "Are you going to cart me away if I say yes?"

"Why, Miss Mauvais, would I do that?" I glanced back at him in surprise to see the wardrobe burst into flames. "I can do them as well."

I glanced at him, then the wardrobe, before taking short steps and staring at the flames a moment before reaching my hand out and letting the warm fire lick at my palm. It tickled, but no pain. "Fake fire?"

"Indeed," he nodded. He glanced at the letter, "There is a place for those that can do these things. We teach one how to use their magic, how to make it stronger, and you interact with others of our kind."

"And what is our kind?" I questioned.

"Magic folk, Miss Mauvais," he said patiently. "Witches and wizards."

I clenched my jaw, "You really are taking me to the psych ward, sir, aren't you?"

He gave a small smile of amusement before handing me the letter, "Certainly not. You are eleven, when admission into Hogwarts is taken. You, along with thirty-nine other witches and wizards are allowed to attend."

I took the letter slowly and saw my name, room number, and a few more notes on my whereabouts, before flipping it over to the seal. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchery."

"Indeed. It is located far north, within the lochs of Scotland," he stated. "The train at Kings Cross Station leaves September first, at eleven o'clock precisely."

"And how am I to go to a school and learn about something I do not know of?" I asked.

"There are many like you, Miss Mauvais," he insisted. "Many come without even knowing what they are capable of. You, my dear, have the concept quite in grasp."

I set the letter down on my table and stared at him a moment, one question burning into my mind like no other, "Were my parents these... witches and wizards?"

He didn't seem surprised by the question at all, "I believe they were."

"Believe they were?" I continued. "Does that mean yes, or no?"

"There is a very prominent family in France called Mauvais," he admitted. "Though if you are related, it is difficult to tell. I was not aware of any Mauvais in England."

I was of French ancestry. I knew that, at least, but it was very interesting to have confirmed. I felt... like a piece of the puzzle was put together, but the puzzle was still far from finished.

"I see, and if I decline the offer?"

"We would have to urge you accept," he stated. "After all, you are a young witch with hardly any control over the magic you have. It is very dangerous to keep you away from studies with such untamed magic."

"And my school here?" I asked, gesturing to the notes from my years previous organized neatly under my desk.

"Hogwarts would be your school, once you decide to attend," he said. "Another colleague of mine will arrive August twenty-fifth to hear your answer. You need not go to primary schooling again."

He rose and headed for the door, but I had more questions, "I talk to snakes, in the garden." He stopped abruptly and turned his head to face me, the most puzzling expression on his face as though he were trying to put the pieces together as well. "Is that normal for someone like me?"

"No," he answered.

Not discouraged, I continued, "Is it bad I talk to snakes?"

"Once must use caution when talking with creatures," he stated. "For the creatures may have a way of talking back at the wrong moment."

He turned and strode down the hall before I could make sense of such a sentence. Well, of course they talked back. After all, I wouldn't have known I could talk to them in the first place.

As I watched him leave, the letter drew my attention. Yes, it was indeed my name printed on the front: Bovary Emile Mauvais.

I broke the seal without a second thought.

So, I'm revamping this story so it's not so... blah-y. With that being said, I hope you like it. Afterall, I only write for my pure happiness and for my readers:) Review, please?

Lots of love,
Ana xoxo

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