I've been told from a very young age to never let another person see who I really am. It wasn't because I had anything to hide, and it wasn't to keep me from having friends. I was told to always remain calm and collected; never let anyone in enough to use me. It wasn't to keep me alone. It was to protect me. For the majority of my life I didn't know why my family told me to stay away from people as much as possible. It wasn't like I wanted to, because people intrigued me, and I wanted to know them all.

But my parents didn't care so long as I was always safe. I never went outside much because of them, and the friends I managed to have eventually disappeared, having moved or just forgotten about me. During the school year some of the kids thought I was a new student until they realized who I was, then they sort of stayed away from me and talked about me behind my back. During the summer no one came to my house to ask if I could play. In their eyes I guess I just ceased to exist. Almost like I was a ghost who couldn't move on. They knew I was there but they never saw me.

For years and years this treatment persisted. I held up the hope that maybe my parents would ease up and let me have friends again, but they never did. We stayed inside all the time. My mother and father were my best friends for years and years. They knew everything about me and I knew everything about them. We played games and had funny conversations at the dinner table when we ate, and my mother liked to tell me stories before bed. It was normal and I didn't find anything wrong with it.

And then something not normal happened.

Mother and father got mail all the time. Bills and letters and things like that. Normally on Mondays they got the bills, and that's when they complained. Whenever they don't complain, it's because they got a letter from someone. I remember it was a Tuesday. The bills had been paid the day before, mother and father weren't complaining anymore, and I was eating waffles at the table while mother watched TV and father read the newspaper before he left for work. A really thick envelope slid through the mail slot in our door and hit the ground with a dull clatter.

"I'll get it!" I had shouted excitedly, surprised that there was a letter so early in the morning. I remember sliding across our wood floor and mother yelling at me with a smile to slow down, that it was only a letter from her friend Nancy. I snatched the envelope from the ground and slid back to her, tossing the letter onto the couch so I could hurry back to my breakfast. A few minutes had passed before she reached for the letter, looked down at it, and then shot a wide-eyed glance at my father.

"Tom, could you come over here for a moment?"

"What did Nancy say?" My father hadn't really cared much about what my mother's friend had to say. Nancy and mother usually talked about girly stuff and when they could go shopping when Nancy returned from her latest business trip in America.

"Tom, come here."

My father, shocked at my mother's tone, had decided that it was probably a good idea to get over to her to see what she was so worked up about. When he looked down at the envelope too, his eyes also went wide. Well, by that point I was really curious. My breakfast was half eaten and cold and I was nearly falling out of my seat.

"Can I see?" I had whined, jumping up and down. My mother waved me over and I slid out of my seat and ran so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. I jumped onto the couch and all but sat in her lap so that I could see the letter that was addressed to no one other than me. I remember snatching it from her hand, and for a few seconds being unable to move, before I started screaming and laughing.

"Mallory, calm down," my mother had said, raising her hands to grab me, "and open the letter."

The best part of opening a letter is ripping it open and taking out the paper. The paper the sender used was really thick paper, kind of like parchment. My Nana used to use parchment when she wrote us letters on Christmas or my birthday. I didn't know why, but because no one else used parchment, it was the coolest thing ever. When Nana came over, she told always better stories than mother.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY. Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards). Dear Ms. Scott, 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."

I hadn't known what to say and neither had mother and father. Needless to say, my life was turned upside down. Now I know why my mother and father wanted to keep me away from everyone else. They wanted to protect me from what was coming. They could've kept me from going to that school, but I wanted to go. I was getting older. I was asking questions and they couldn't keep things a secret anymore. I said before that I didn't have anything to hide. Well, I was eleven at that time. The most an eleven year old ever has to hide is their mothers favorite vase they broke when they were running through the house. I know now that nothing can ever be kept a secret. And I guess I should've known.

The truth will always find its way to the surface.