Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the majority of characters in this fic.
Author's note: First story that I've written in a really long time, so apologies for mistakes deriving from my rusty vocabulary and literary technique. Um, yeah, not sure what else to say besides, I really hope you enjoy it and reviews are always greatly appreciated :).
Chapter 1: The Realisation
It was an icy December day, though the sun hung high still in the clear sky, it's pure, blinding light did nothing to aid the harsh winds of the British winter. The snow blanketed rooftops, lawns, pavements, and burdened the rough bare branches of dry winter trees, forming a vast white landscape which gleamed in the daylight. Scarlett walked along the icy pavement, passing the squares of identical suburban houses with smokey chimneys and floral-print curtains on either side of her. Her jaw clenched tight, as the biting wind penetrated the thick cotton of her scarf and jumper, and brushed against her arms like frosty-handed theives stealing away whatever heat she had left. It was the most brutal part of her day, the return home from school, this title shared only with the equally unpleasant morning journeys. She walked further, crossing the intersection, before reaching the block on which her own house was located. It still seemed, though, a long path down in this silent winter, when all sound seemed to be absorbed into the flawless layers of snow, and never travelled far.
Scarlett glanced quickly to her right, at the red telephone box as she passed it, its metallic cord dangling uselessly, and attached to it an apparently unfunctional telephone which was slammed periodically into the glass surrounding it by the strong, neverending wind. The 'out of order' sign which hung on its wooden door had not been removed in years, and Scarlett began to wonder whether the installment was truly unserviceable, or whether it was the work of a greedy oddball who could not bare for his cherished phone booth to be shared by anyone else, otherwise what would explain its delayed, and much needed repair? Her curiosity though, was not spontaneous, she had passed the area countless times and each instant she had felt as though the ordinary wooden booth, held an enormous power capable of swaying one off one's feet and carrying one to an unworldly area, millions of miles away, if that is, one dared to venture in. This, she waved off as an insubstantial product of wild imagination. However, many times she had observed curious situations, which this argument could not satisfy with a resolution.
On several occasions, Scarlett had witnessed a group of 3 or 4 men and women, dressed strangely in dark clothes that appeared rather outdated, who would push open the squeaky red door of the telephone booth and enter to dial some numbers quickly, proceeding to speak into the mouthpiece as though it were fully functional. And though she herself, noticed these bizarre occurrences, it seemed that no one else did. The persons themselves would meet her inquiring eyes and hold a steady gaze, as though not caring, or not expecting Scarlett to perceive their returned, and rather condescending glares. Startled at their boldness, Scarlett would turn her head forward again, breaking the connection, and only to turn back later, after she had covered a little more distance, to find that the phone booth, was again just an unoccupied red box sitting in its solitary upon the soft pillows of snow. But she supposed that that was only fitting of the unexplainable habits of the illiterate, homeless madmen who bothered themselves with unusable telephones.
Scarlett finally reached her home, an unextraordinary white-bricked square surrounded by two patches of what had been a colourful garden. Twisting the key with her numb fingers, she burst through the door and slammed it eagerly behind her. Warmness engulfed her, comforting her chilled skin and relieving the shivering tension in her body. She stood inside the living room, decorated with teacups of blue china, and royal purple drapery, as she brushed the flakes of snow off her dark damp jeans. The sweet powdery smell of pastry drifted in from the kitchen, visible through an bare door frame just in front of her. Pulling off her gloves and shoes she placed them on the wooden floor next to the carpeted staircase on her right. She could hear the familiar clinking of utensils from the kitchen, as she entered the kitchen to greet her mother, a brown-haired, freckled woman of average weight, height and age. She picked up a freshly baked brownie off the metal tray atop a plain wooden table, and returned to the living room where she threw herself onto the cushiony sofa in front of the TV. As she devoured excitedly the chocolatey, spongy brownie, her body shivered quickly for an instant to advocate the cold which still lingered beneath her skin. Scarlett dismounted the couch swiftly to obtain the small box of matches which lay on top of the television, in hopes of lighting the fireplace. She slid the carton open, though much to her dismay, she saw nothing but the emptiness of grey cardboard. Defeated, she resumed her fetal position on the sofa, her arms withdrawn within her shirt to share the mild heat radiating off her torso. She stared at the fireplace to her right, its dark-brown logs surrounded by a minature metal fencing, nearly completely hidden in the darkness casted down from the void of the chimney above the bricky area. Oh, how she craved its powerful warmth which would loosen her frozen bones in this freezing winter. She imagined the orange flames of the fire, dancing upon the charred logs, flickering with liveliness, and illuminating the dim room with its warm, natural light. Then, without warning, the wooden logs burst into fire before Scarlett's eyes, which cackled loudly and gave off the faint-red light and welcoming warmth which she had so desired. Scarlett stared, stunned, at the now-lit fireplace which without stimulation, abruptly burst itself into life - but more in stagnancy of surprise, of what paranormal power she had posessed at that second she lit the wood with what seemed like, only her mind.
At that moment, in the hidden world of magic, on the twelfth level of an intricately decorated building, a slip of parchment popped out of thin air, and floated slowly down onto the wooden table, where a witch retrieved it, proceeding to skim it quickly, and promptly with a wave of her wand, sent it to the neighbouring room, where around an oval table, a dozen wizards sat and worked away madly, scribbling instinctively the decided punishments of numerous cases of improper use of magic. The slip of parchment appeared in front of an elderly wizard, who grabbed it out of the air. It read:
Ministry of Detection of Improper Use Of Magic
Time: 3:12 pm
Spell Performed: Incendio
Name: Scarlett Newbury
Location of use: Cherry Hinton, Cambridge, UK
Age: 16
Wizardry school: N/A
The elderly wizard frowned, how is it possible that she was not enrolled in any wizardry school? - she had performed magic. Troubled as to how to proceed, the old man cleared his throat, and asked the other gentleman at the table to discuss the abnormality of the situation. The piece of parchment was passed around the table, and files were drawn up to search for the letter of admittance which was supposed to have been sent to this, Miss Newbury, 3 years prior to the present - though a time later, the men of the Ministry were without success, and the realisation dawned upon them, that the flawless magical system which detected and recorded the births of witches and wizards throughout the world, had made an oversight. Word spread of this quickly to the many Ministries which governed the magical world, and theories were conjured to explain how it was possible that the witch had escaped the system's detection at birth. And days later, it was decided, that Scarlett would be administered to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the oldest pupil in the history of magic to enroll in any school, where the professors had been instructed to observe the new addition and unravel the mystery of how she had escaped the flawless system.