"Lizzie, wake up," Hannah Colfer murmurs, shaking her daughter's small frame. "You have an important visitor downstairs."
The girl in the bed moans quietly before sitting up, tired blue eyes focusing on her mother's brown ones. Her hair is crazy, a rat's nest of curls and tangles, falling over her shoulder and reaching down to her hips. "Sure, Mom," she yawns. "Who is it?"
Hannah smiles. "You'll see. I would recommend getting dressed, though." She stands and leaves the room, presumably to go wake up Michael, Elizabeth's father.
The girl in the bed, Elizabeth (but don't call her that, she hates it), rolls over and stands up grumpily. Surely no visitor's important enough to wake me up on my birthday?
As a way of expressing her anger she doesn't even comb her hair before braiding it, and puts on only a t-shirt and a pair of black yoga pants. She looks at herself in the mirror for a minute, focusing on the dark circles under her eyes. Her mind is still haunted by last night's dream.
A small boy is screaming as the black waters of the lake lap over him. His body sinks below the surface and then bobs up again, eyes desperate as he reaches for Lizzie. She stands in horror on the shore, watching him be swallowed up by the waves…
What does Mom always tell you? Lizzie chides herself. Don't focus on them and they might not come true. She forgoes shoes and socks and pads her way downstairs barefoot, creeping down the stairs silently.
When she reaches the bottom she stops, then continues walking into the living room like she has every right to be there. Which she does. To her surprise, her father is already up, sitting on the couch facing Lizzie. Hannah, her mom, sits next to him, hands clenching, opening and closing in her lap. No one notices her, not even her parents, before she clears her throat.
Her mother jumps and hurriedly beckons her over to sit by her on the couch, facing the strange, gray-haired, tall, thin man on the rocker. Instead of sitting next to her mother, she makes a beeline for the cozy, plush armchair, her favorite. She sits formally before a second before curling up like a cat sunning itself in a window.
The man is wearing star-covered violet robes, with a long gray beard and thin strip of wood in his hands. He smiles at Lizzie and she hesitantly smiles back.
"Hello, Elizabeth. My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am a teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry." he says calmly, ignoring the look of shock on Lizzie's face.
Her mother sighs and turns to Lizzie. "I know what you're about to say, Liz, baby. Just because you think you're a Squib, because you haven't had any magical incidents, doesn't mean you aren't magic. Remember your dreams? Or your visions? Those are magic."
Effectively shut up, Lizzie gapes for a moment before turning back to Dumbledore. "Is that true, sir?"
Dumbledore chuckles at her politeness, a severe contrast to her minimal effort in getting presentable. "Yes, my dear girl, it is. Your psychic abilities have caught the attention of one Professor Trelawney, the Divination professor at Hogwarts, I expect your parents have told you about her?"
Liz nods a bit. "Am I going to go to Hogwarts?"
He laughs again. "Yes, my dear, if you want to. I believe you do?"
Liz nods and takes the paper the professor hands her. "I have one last question, Professor."
Dumbledore turns and twinkles at her. "Yes?"
"Why aren't you dead?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand, my dear."
Liz stutters a bit. "Well, sir, it's just that you died, at the end of the series..."
He laughs again, surprising Liz. "And that, my dear, is why Professor Trelawny wants you in her classes."
And in a flash, he was gone.
Liz turned to her parents, stunned. "But he dies, right? On the Astronomy Tower?"
"Well..." Hannah turns to her husband. "We have a lot to explain." she finishes.
Her father looks at Liz with a proud, nervous expression. "We are the only family in the world that has access to those books, Lizzie. Your mother's mother put them together from her visions. Those books have not happened yet...but you must not tell anyone, ok, baby? No one can know what happens at the end. Don't tell Harry anything at school; Dumbledore and teachers are the only ones who know. They, you can talk to. But please, baby, don't tell anyone about this, ok?"
Liz gapes at her parents for a second, then spins on her heel and storms out of the room. She hears her father try to get up to follow her, but Hannah pulls him back down, murmuring "Give her some space."
Once in her room, Liz throws open the blinds and sits down to really comb her hair. Yanking the brush through the tangles, she reads the green-inked letter printed on golden parchment that she has propped up on the table in front of her.
Dear Miss Elizabeth Colfer,
It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been invited to join and attend Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.
It has come to my attention that your bloodline has a strong psychic ability, and that that ability has in fact been passed on to you. Our Divination professor, Sybill Trelawney, has foreseen your attendance of the school and would like me to inform you that no, the tapestry on the third floor is not depicting the Muggle singer commonly known as Taylor Swift.
She looks forward to your private lessons in the third year and beyond.
Professor Dumbledore has also informed me that you are in possession of a special set of books crafted by your grandmother. These books chronicle Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts. The staff at Hogwarts would like to ask you to not share any of the information contained within the pages of those books for fear of dangerous acts concerning the future.
Please see the contained supplies list. We expect your owl 31 July (although Madame Trelawney tells me it will in fact be the 26 we receive your response).
Sincerely, Prof. Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House
She leans it down and stares at herself in the mirror. Her blue eyes are much calmer than she thought they would be; but that makes sense, too. She's very calm, considering that the self-doubt that had been eating away at her for years was finally gone. Her only magical incidents have been her visions, and when her older cousin Dalya had confronted her about her lack of magic, the fear of being a Squib had locked into her mind.
She quickly grabs her bag and shoves the papers inside, then pulls open her window and drops the note on her bed.
Give me four hours. I'm going to Diagon Alley to get my things. Don't follow me. I need some space.
She slips down the roof and lands neatly on the sidewalk outside. Glancing at the signs, she heads left then right, weaving through the crowded London traffic. She pads down the stairs to the Underground station, grateful no one glances at her. Her hair slides onto her back and she grabs it, annoyed, and pulls it back over her shoulder.
After sliding her pass through the terminal she proceeds to enter the train and sits down close to the window. The hard plastic seat bites at her clothing as she bends down to pick up a yellowed newspaper from the floor.
A bit to her surprise, the pictures are moving. The front cover of the Daily Prophet shines up at her, with a smiling witch's photo on the paper; the headline reads Famous Singer Celestina Warbeck to tour France and Perform at Beauxbatons School for Magic. Rolling her eyes a bit (Liz doesn't really like Celestina, but her mother does), she flips through the rest of the paper before the train suddenly shudders to a stop. Quickly stowing it in her messenger bag, Liz stands up and walks to the front of the car. A hand grabs her shoulder and pulls her back.
"I'm sorry, miss, but this isn't a scheduled stop. The train has run out of gas."
Liz giggles and turns to face her best friend. Iris' hair is just as colorful as ever. Today it's a bright teal, matching her eyes. Her red dress sharply contradicts with the yellow flats and green belt she has on. Iris has a crazy personality that often lends itself to some crazy fashion decisions. Liz has seen her wearing a pink-and-green polka-dotted tunic with black zebra-stripe leggings, red heels, a yellow headband and a purple scarf. Her Hogwarts robes will probably be too dull for Iris' liking, but knowing her she'll change it up.
"Are you going shopping too?" Liz asks as Iris drags her onto the platform.
"Yup, got my letter a couple days ago...Mum said I could go alone, you?"
"I snuck out. Letter came today. I should probably stick with you, Mom'll freak if I'm wandering alone, if she hasn't already."
"Nah, knowing yours, she already has. Anyway, your letter? You got it?" Iris gazes quietly at Liz for a minute. She's the only person Liz confided in about her fear of not being magic.
"I got it. McGonagall seems determined to get me into Divination private lessons...there were, like, three whole paragraphs about me and my 'innate psychic talents passed on through my mother's blood' or something like that. I dunno, other than that it seemed pretty normal, except for the part about Taylor Swift."
"Taylor Swift? Who's that?" Iris chokes as they enter the Leaky Cauldron.
" Some Muggle singer woman, I'm not sure how she knows who she is...'Our Divination professor, Sybill Trelawney, has foreseen your attendance of the school and would like me to inform you that no, the tapestry on the third floor is not depicting the Muggle singer commonly known as Taylor Swift', is what it says."
Iris raises a teal eyebrow. "Okay then. Where to first? Malkin's?"
"Sure, but let's leave Flourish for last. Knowing us, we'll get a lot of books."
Agreeing, the girls walk into Madam Malkin's store, not noticing the slim, dark women crouched high up on the roof of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Her golden eyes hold a dark sense of pleasure. Her whole being, every atom of her, feels the girl's power, that one in the black pants. Her aura radiates off her, a rippling, pulsing force that shakes the woman's spirit. Untrained, with so much rawness and innocence, she's a force to be reckoned with already. When she knows the force of her power she will become Vahva indeed. A strong witch like her will turn the tide of the war.
The woman turns and bounds back up the roof of the building before turning back to briefly look at the girl and her friend chatting again as they leave the store.
"We might not have gotten Cassandra," the woman hisses quietly, gold eyes gleaming and mouth stretched up into an unearthly smile. "But we'll get her granddaughter. And with her power we can stop it forever."
"Gone! To Diagon Alley! FOR FOUR HOURS!" Hannah screeches, eyes wild with panic. "But she's alone! She's never been there without us! What if Destiny finds her?"\
Her husband chuckles. "You're scared of fate finding her?"
Hannah shakes her head. "Not fate. Destiny."
With scared eyes she gazes out the window, clutching the crinkled note from Liz like a lifeline. The cars zoom by outside, oblivious to Hannah's fear, crashing over her like a tidal wave. The soft click of the door startles her a bit, but she doesn't move, or come out of her reverie.
They couldn't find Grandmere, but they found me, and if they can find me they can find Lizzie. Oh, my baby girl, be careful. Come home safe, and whatever you do, don't let Destiny find you.