Eleven-year-old Marissa Hawthorne stared sullenly out her bedroom window. It was the kind of cheerful, overrated morning that she detested. Marissa's mane of dark curls frayed about her head like the fringe of a fallen halo. Any moment now Marissa's mother would be coming in to plan some new "adventure." Marissa despised the very thought of quality time, and when she heard the knock, she cringed. She stood to answer the door, but with a start realized that the tapping was coming from the opposite window. Marissa did a double take. Was that really an owl?
Unsure of what to do, Marissa stood away from the window, wondering vaguely if this bird had rabies or some sort of other disease she should be wary of. Marissa had never liked fowl very much. The owl persisted though, mimicking a woodpecker with short blows to the pane of glass.
"Okay, okay," Marissa gave up in exasperation and opened the window. The owl dropped a thick, heavy envelope and sped off, knocking a black-and-white drawing off the wall and smashing the frame on the floor. Marissa wondered curiously what this letter could possibly be. It looked very official. And why on earth had a bird delivered it? Was the postman on a holiday?
Marissa slid her finger along the crease, trying not to ruin the purple-wax seal. It was a very bizarre seal. Marissa pulled out a sheaf of parchment and dropped the envelope on her bedroom floor. As she read, her brows furrowed, unknitted, and rose upwards in surprise. Marissa re-read the letter, sure she had been mistaken.
"Moooooom!" She shouted down the stairs, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke.
"Witchcraft?" Her mother had said when she finished reading the letter. "Witchcraft? This stuff actually exists?" Marissa's mother paced the bedroom floor feverishly while her daughter perched on the bed, pale and nervous.
"You-you mean…You didn't send that letter?" Marissa knew the question's answer the moment it escaped her lips. Her mother was a devout Catholic, and there was simply no way that she would have even found it humorous to joke about witchcraft.
"Of course not," Marissa's mother snapped.
"Well, can I…Can I go?" Marissa questioned, hoping the answer wasn't what she predicted.
"Don't be ridiculous! You're going to the public school." Marissa's mother did not sound quite as sure as she could have, however, and Marissa could have sworn she saw a flicker of indecision in her mother's eyes. Without another word, however, Marissa's mother stormed out of the room, mumbling incoherently and clutching the letter between her fist, clearly lost in thought.
Marissa sank into a chair by her desk, furiously wondering if this would be her only chance to escape Yorkshire. Marissa had never been popular at school, her cynicism was commonly revered as "creepy" and "gothic," both of which Marissa hated. She had gone from being feared to ridiculed, and she had been sick of it since first grade. Maybe this Hogwarts would be the only way to leave.
Witchcraft, though, Marissa thought pensively. Why on earth would they pick me?
Several hours later, Ms. Hawthorne re-emerged into Marissa's agora. Marissa knew better than to get her hopes up about this new school, Catholicism despised anything different, which was exactly what her mother wanted.
"I've thought about it," Ms. Hawthorne said, in what she clearly thought was a calm tone, "And decided that you can go off this year."
Marissa leapt into the air in joy before remembering that she was pessimistic, and never showed signs of joy. "Thank you, Mommy."
"But—and it's a big but—if this Hogwarts conflicts with your Catholicism, then you will come back and attend the public school. Is that understood?" Ms. Hawthorne hated to see her daughter unhappy, but also hated the prospect of having a daughter break the mold. She settled for a compromise.
"Thank you, thank you ever so much!" Marissa screamed into her pillow once her mother left, she was so excited. There was only one thing left now, Marissa decided. Where to go shopping.