Marcia stared out of the window of the Hogwarts Express as the familiar countryside slipped slowly by. She frowned, and adjusted her hand on her chin, and sank deeper into her seat. She had sat this way for half an hour, had ignored the Trolley Witch when she had come by, and was likely the first one to notice the insubstantial fact that it had begun to rain outside. Marcia closed her eyes and her expression softened, though her mood did not improve. She replayed in her mind the conversation her parents had chosen to have with her over her last birthday, just before the end of summer holiday.
Her mother had taken her aside, and after an odd, quiet minute or two, her father had joined them. Her mother had taken Marcia's hand and stroked it, and Marcia wondered what new horror justified this behavior. The last time her mother had grown so odd and quiet, she'd told Marcia about becoming a woman. That was six years ago, now. This time, her mother had started, "There's something very important your father and I need to tell you." And Marcia had nodded and waited for the rest. It was always so odd going through this dance. They had wanted to, she supposed, display the weight of the statement before dropping it on her all at once. Marcia wished they had just gotten on with it. Waiting hadn't, in the end, changed the news.
"Marcia," her father had continued, "You're old enough now to understand where you came from." Internally, she had grimaced. It had sounded more and more like that talk six years ago. "Your mother and I…we wanted a child very badly, but couldn't have one."
Marcia had realized, with great relief, where this was going. She had smiled gently, to assuage her parents, to show them they didn't have to voice what they were going to say out loud. "I see. I'm adopted. I did wonder where I got my hair." Both her mother and father were blondes. It was unlikely they could produce a child who looked as classically Grecian as Marcia with her dark eyes and olive skin and wavy, thick dark hair.
Her mother had nodded, seeming relieved, but the tension didn't quite disappear. This struck Marcia as odd. She had though, surely, such news was common enough that they didn't need to dwell on it. There must, she had deduced, be more coming. Her mother, almost teary eyed, squeezed Marcia's hand and said, "Honey, you're an Anthropomorph." Marcia had thought hard as to whether or not she'd heard that word before, but though she may have heard the word a few times, the meaning didn't come to her. "Do you know what that is?" Marcia had shaken her head and her father had continued.
"You know what an Animagus is?" Marcia had nodded. "It's very similar. The idea, at least. You see…" He glanced at his wife. She nodded. "An Animagus can turn from a wizard—or a witch—to an animal which suits their character. An Anthropomorph is an animal which has been spelled to become a wizard—or in your case, a witch."
Marcia had not, in the end, been ready for that news. At first, she hadn't believed her parents. Then, after a great deal of convincing on their part and Marcia forcing them to tell her how it had been done and from what animal she had been made—a barn owl—and general mincing of words and gnashing of teeth, they had finally left her alone in her room.
Though her parents had kept their distance for the rest of the holiday, Marcia was still grateful to have her own space and leave for Hogwarts when autumn came. Sitting here in the compartment alone was the first time she'd had any decent personal space in weeks, and she wasn't sure when she might get more. Marcia continued to sit glad of the silence for the rest of the journey from London.