I've always known that I'm not like the rest of them; I've always been a bit of a black sheep. I found growing up in the manor house to be stifling, boring, unlike my sisters, who were always content to sit and sew, or draw of learn their lessons. The first time that they all realized I was different, however, was when I was eight years old. We were all neatly done up, hair curled and pinned, matching red dresses and shiny black shoes, to be shown off at the family Christmas party. Lined up in the front hall, we waited to greet the guests, instructed only to smile and curtsy politely, to be the perfect trophy children. But I couldn't hack it, all the fake smiling and pleasantries, the anger welled up inside of me and I wanted to run out into the freshly falling snow. All of a sudden, there was a great smash and a tinkling of breaking glass. The great double doors and all of the windows in the front hall had slammed open, glass shattering everywhere, snow and cold wind swirling in onto the oriental carpets. Guests shrieked, ladies pulled their children out of the way and gentlemen looked around, investigating outside. They all took no notice of little eight year old, doll faced Amelie, but I knew it was my fault, and so did my mother. Looking down at me, I saw the disbelief in her eyes. It was as clear as her saying "Who are you, how did you do this?" I knew it was my fault, I knew I was different, I knew it was magic.
– – – – – – – – –
It was a relief, to me at least, when the letter came. Three years of struggling to figure out who I was ended with the delivery of one letter. Suddenly the fearful looks of my sister's friends as they heard that I was different, upset, dangerous, were all worth it. The blame for every broken object, every disaster, whether my fault or not, seemed a small price to pay. Everything clicked.
Dear Ms. Moore,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Cressida Caramore
Deputy Headmistress
My parents, of course, were not so accepting. The letter was first delivered during Sunday dinner, when father was home and everyone was pretending to be civilized and dignified. Agnes was waxing on and on about some ladies society she had joined, and the revolutionary speaker she had heard full of ideas about the importance of "propriety in the home". We were just about to have pudding, when a large tawny, golden eyed owl appeared seeming out of nowhere, swooping about in an alarming manner, cawing and flapping and looking altogether out of place in the formal dining room, with its crystal chandeliers and polished silver. Mother shrieked, as grown up ladies always seem to do, and everyone leapt back from dinner as if their victoria sponge was on fire. But somehow, as usual, I knew I was for me. The Owl landed right on my dish and offered me the letter in its beak, which had been previously unnoticed in all the commotion.
For at least the first six letters, my parents were quite certain the invitation was some sort of cruel practical joke, meant to prey on my "well know oddities" as my mother put it. Father even spoke of phoning the police, but mother wouldn't hear of it. A seventh letter arrived, different from the six before it,
Mr. and Ms. Moore,
I am sorry to hear of the misunderstanding we seem to be having. I would like to personally assure you that this is no practical joke, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is indeed offering a place for your daughter. I urge you to please respond swiftly, as the start of term is rapidly approaching.
Thank You,
Cressida Caramore
Deputy Headmistress
P.S. you may send your return letter with Anowyn, as I have been informed that as muggles, you mayn't have owl post.
Finally they were forced to accept that the invitation was, in fact real. I personally think that by then, they were at the point of desperation and were willing to accept anything that provided a reason for me to be shipped away. I had been "not invited to return" to three schools by that point, and since the letters had been arriving, my "incidents" had been getting closer and closer together. The evening before the finally gave in, I had accidentally set my mother's gloves on fire, and turned all of my father's bridge cards to pictures of owls. Even my sisters, who had resented me for all the rumors circulating, begged Mother and Father to send me to the "freak school", just to get me out of the house. Sending my return letter, accepting the place at Hogwarts, a school that I knew nothing about, was the happiest moment of my young life. I didn't even care if it was a sham, simply the possibility that I was not alone, a freak, an odd girl among straight-laced parents and even straighter sisters, was enough.