Well, considering J.K. Rowling was kind enough to be vague in her (crappy) epilogue, she left a lot of loose ends, with the exception that Hogwart's School was still open, and that there was a completely new Headmaster, and since her book leaves endless capabilities for original characters, I've decided to do my own "My Character goes to Hogwarts" fic, set ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Mostly follows canon, with a few Artistic Liberties taken, and a few canons deviated. Due to my obsessive love for the guy, Snape was somehow saved after he was attacked by Nagini, and then proved his innocence with his memories in the Penseive.

My father was standing on the roof, holding the hose of a pressure-washer.

Now, normally that wouldn't be anything special, due to the flat roof and the stairs leading up to it, and the fact that if you didn't pressure-wash said roof then it would get slimy and mildewy from the humidity and moisture.

However, the exception here would be that my father was on the roof with the hose of the pressure washer, situated on the ledge that went around it, with the pressure washer's machine parts half through the chain link fence, with the edge of the added-on lattice roof missing, and said lattice roof's top gray fiberglass cover mud-dauber nest-free for once, and the pressure-washer still running.

Getting close enough to see my dad's 'oh crap' expression, I jogged up the side of the small, but steep half-hill the the front yard, grabbing Cha'lagu, my mother's rat-dog, and yelled up at him, nearly falling with a misstep where the ground was lower than I expected, the bluegrass in the yard having been trimmed to make it look smooth.

"Dreamer! Can you turn off the pressure washer?"

"Yeah! Hang on!"

I switched Cha'lagu to the other arm, opening the gate with one hand and a shoulder, and squished myself in the space that it opened, the pressure washer being lodged near the joint of the gate, It's a good thing I'm so tiny, and flipped off the switch to the washer, and dodged the hose, which dad had left to fall off the fiberglass when it had stopped spewing out water. I shut the gate, unhooking the leash from the harness and putting the chihuahua down.

She ran to my father as he came around the corner of the yard, almost tripping over the small dog as he did so, and shortly after getting hit in the face with the frond of one of the small date palm trees in a patch in that corner of the yard, with a "Gah!" of surprise and frustration.

I stepped up onto the red-tiled patio, now free of insect nests on both sides of its latticed roof, with most of the tile and the table and chairs wet from falling water, walking across it, and sitting on the small counter to the left of the built-in grill. I looked at the bag sitting next to it, broke a treat in half and tossed it to Cha'lagu

"I like what you've done with the fence."

"One of my more genius ideas."

I looked over at the fence, the pressure washer's base having smashed in part of the bottom of it, a few feet before the border of hibiscus bushes and the flower beds started. Cha'lagu took the opportunity to roll in the short ornamental grasses that bordered a flower bed that consisted entirely of a layer of flat, round, blue river stones.

As he went to pry up the machine from it's spot wedged in the bent fence, I spaced out, staring at the sky, listening to the squeak of metal-on-metal, grass being crunched, canine sniffs and snorts, and the hushed swaying of palm fronds and tree branches brushing in the island wind. Clouds above the island traced darkened spots across the sides of the hill. A large black butterfly visited the large bushes.

A huge mud-dauber decided to explore the wall behind the Bird of Paradise plant. I decided to go inside. I called Cha'lagu and opened the patio doors, leading into the living room, grateful for the cool marble floors and air con.

I plopped myself down on the large green chair, and unbuckled Cha'lagu's harness, giving her a belly rub as I dropped the harness into a basket next to the chair. She licked my hand and tried her best to turn my jeans from blue to white with fur in return. I got distracted and stopped, and she licked my hand again and looked at me with her huge brown eyes. I moved my hand to pet her head and got up, pushing my glasses up int the process.

Walking through the house, I set the basket at its usual home, atop a mound of paperwork balanced atop a box of more paperwork on a wicker barstool that mom was supposed to be dealing with set in the dining room, next to Cha'lagu's food dishes, and shut the linen closet full of mom's beauty supplies again, around the corner, past my bathroom and passed the room with nothing in it.

By nothing, I mean, a cat box, a screen, an entire extra double-door mirrored closet full of shoes, and a stock of 'puppy pads' that my mother was inclined to train the dog to use, until both me and dad put our feet down and insisted that it be housebroken. A wooden beaded curtain resided on the doorway. I ran my hands over the bookshelf in the hall, filled with fantasy novels that my father so enjoyed. I myself enjoy manga.

Past another closet, this one with actual linen that smelled like cedar, and mom's scrapbooking/computer room, which I've never seen her actually go in, except to set it up and to check her email. I used to use it, until I got my laptop, but I think that's mostly because mom was sick of me being on that computer all the time. I ran my tounge over my braces.

End of the hall. My room. Covered in super-bright pink and neon color patterns, as nine-year-old me was going through a phase that insisted that everything be loud and bright and my mother decided that meant hot pink. I decided to finally break into my new anime DVD boxed set, it having been a gift from dad for my birthday, the only thing I received that I'm actually interested in, besides a few volumes of manga. What am I meant to do with half a dozen make-up kits and hairbands with little charms on them?

Four episodes later, and about a dozen changes in position, I was hungry, rather, I knew I needed to eat something. And popcorn with my anime sounded delicious. I woke Cha'lagu, she'd fallen asleep on my lap, and stretched my legs to go break out the pot. Yes, instead of using the modern convenience known as a microwave, I, well my father too, prefer to pop the popcorn on the stove with a little bit of oil in the wide pan.

I entered the kitchen, and called in through the garage door to see if dad wanted me to make extra. It's a lot of responsibility having a father who burns water. If it weren't for me, the man would've starved by now, between having no sense of direction and no talent for cooking. Can't but the food, and can't cook the food. I mean, mom can cook, if it's not meatloaf or any kind of sweets which will come out like foul cardboard, but she rarely does so. But at least she can make it to the commissary and back before one of us starves to death.

Hm. Four twenty-seven. At least, that's what the stove clock said, I noticed as I poured the corn into the pot over the heating oil. Now time to shake it like if I don't my arm is going to fall off. Or something like that. Shake the pot, that is what I have to do. That and not care what the orthodontist says. Sure, gum is a pain to get out, but it's not that hard, and I've never had a problem with popcorn kernels.

After it was almost popped, my dad decided to show himself, grabbing the big popcorn bowls from the corner cabinet as I reached across to turn off the stove. He went into the fridge to find some butter to melt, I poured the popcorn into the bowls and set the pot in the sink to cool off. I couldn't help but imagine my mother's reaction to our her-not-at-home eating habits. 'Don't pour that over the popcorn! It's full of fat and calories!'

"You gonna come eat in the living room with me?"

"Actually I was gonna go continue watching the box set you bought me."

He nodded, and I made my way back down the hallway, and heard a loud crash that sounded like it came from the living room windows. I ran back.

An owl.

An owl was perched on the gates in front of the windows.

Which may protect during typhoons, but are probably a hazard if there's ever a fire. Owls don't live on Guam. What is this, rather exhausted-looking, owl doing here? It seemed to have something paper-ish attached to its talons.

"Dad, why is there an owl with paper on its talons hanging off our typhoon grid?"

"I wish I knew."

"Should we... Help it?"

"Probably."

I set the popcorn down on the table, then thought for a second and grabbed a handful, the butter may not be the best for it, but maybe it'll let us near it if we have food. Do owls eat popcorn? Well, we'll find out soon enough. I walked over and slowly opened the door, trying not to scare it. I mean, I'd seen owls, before we moved here, from a distance at least. But I was only three when we left Britain and moved to New York, and it was three years after we moved to Italy. Then we moved here. There's only two places in that list that have owls.

Dad walked towards it slowly, when it jumped off its perch towards me, I jumped, and accidentally chucked the popcorn in that direction, it hopped twice in my direction, dropped the thing in its talons, and hopped off towards the popcorn.

What?

Still trying not to scare it, I slowly bent down and reached toward the paper. The owl stopped nipping at the popcorn and watched me, almost expectantly as I picked it up. It was and envelope. Addressed to me.

"What is it?"

"It's a letter... To me..."

It had neat cursive lettering, and a red seal on the back of it, an H, with four little animals around it, like someone put four shields together. Miss Dreamer Tabitha Moore. Oh god. They used my full name. It'll haunt me. Whenever anyone finds out my middle name is Tabitha they start calling me Tabby. Because they can't shorten Dreamer. I tore it open. The owl flew up into one of small loki-loki palms next to it, having finished its popcorn treat.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

Headmaster: Silvester Vimes

Dear Dreamer Tabitha Moore,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued reading aloud, "Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st."

"Does it really say that?"

I nodded. My dad looked about as puzzled as me. I looked up and thanked the owl anyway. Even though I didn't know what the letter meant. Time to go back inside and go through the rest of the letter, more thoroughly.

"I looks pretty legit. And it did come by 'owl.' How do we send a reply? Hope the owl sticks around?"

"I dunno, maybe."

I read over the rest of it, "UNIFORM, Oh god, not there too, -Three sets of plain black work robes, one plain pointed hat, one pair of protective gloves, dragon hide of similar, one winter clock, with black and silver fastenings, white, longsleeve Oxford shirts, gray longsleeve jumper or gray waistcoat, and either gray knee-length or longer pleated skirt or gray trousers. All pupils clothes should carry nametags."

"Sounds like it's in Britain. Trousers, Oxfords, jumpers, waistcoats..."

"Does it? I don't remember anything from when we were in Britain. Except the ducks." He leaned in closer to the letter from his perch next to me on the couch, and I kept reading, "Course books: All students should have a copy of each of the following, The Standard Book of Spells, A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection."

I didn't bother reading the authors.

"Where are you supposed to get this stuff?"

"I dunno, maybe they tell you when you send back a letter saying you want to go."

"Other equipment: A wand, A cauldron, standard size 2, pewter, 1 set of glass or crystal phials, a telescope, and a set of brass scale. Students may also bring a cat, toad, OR owl, or a similar animal which MUST be approved by school staff. Only one animal is allowed per student. Parents are reminded that first-years are not allowed their own broomsticks."

I think I've never been so happy for both my and my father's habit of under-reaction when we should be reacting violently to something. Or the other way around. That's slightly less fortunate. We were both oddly calm as we sat on the couch taking in the details of the letter. Bofore I realized it, an hour had gone by, just looking at the slight insanity of the letter.

And that's my mother's cue, luckily we had finished off most of the popcorn which digesting the letter, to come home, and panic after seeing the owl in the tree and the letter in my, and my dad's, hands.

She dropped her designer purse on the floor upon spotting it, cursing under her breath, then picked it back up, muttering something under her breath that sounded completely unintelligible to me. She nearly ran to the pile of paperwork on the stool, as my father and I watched her, mildly curious. It didn't take her much to freak out, but this was an interesting thing to freak out about. She hadn't even actually seen the letter.

That struck something in my brain. She must know what it means then...

"Uh... Mom? Is there something we should know about?"

She seemed to pull herself together, and left her bag on the kitchen table, walking out to us, and sitting down next to me. I immediately moved over towards my father. I don't think I've ever heard her talk to me for so long, unless it was when she gave me the puberty talk, that was awkward, or the time she stuttered all over herself when I caught her trying to shove her mombutt into an old miniskirt and she told me I could go outside and throw apples at passing cars as long as I'd leave her alone.

Holy crap. I think this is my longest chapter ever. I went all "Yes! I'm gonna do 1500 words! Alright!" and then I went to save when it was all done and it was like "2732 words! Holy crap!"

Yes, the owl was exhausted, you can't really blame it. It did fly all the way to Guam. The reason she's there: Dreamer's father is in the American Navy. He was stationed for a few years on a Naval Base in Britain, where he met Dreamer's mother. They had Dreamer. So Dreamer was born in Britain, therefore her name was written down for Hogwarts. Dreamer's mother, who always viewed her magic as a curse, got rid of her magic and came to live in the muggle world with Dreamer's father. They moved to several places, the ones mentioned, and due to her mother being the magical parent, and the school not being aware of her denouncement of her powers, she was listed under Hogwarts schooling, as Guam doesn't have a significant Wizarding population.