Disclaimer: I own Sarah (to be known as Caroline in later chapters), Nicole, Brittany, and all of the people and places not invented by J.K. Rowling. I do not claim to own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, or any of the characters, things, or places in any of the first five books. I cannot vouch for the sixth or seventh book, because neither of them have come out yet.
And now, for your reading entertainment, I present to you...
Storm Watchers: Cat's Eye
Sarah Madison
When I was ten, just weeks before my eleventh birthday, I received a letter stating:
Dear Ms. Madison,
The AAFAMB (American Association for all Magical Beings) would like to inform you that you have been accepted to be a witch-in-training. If you so choose to undergo this serious training, you shall either need to go to a private school in California (I lived in Georgia) or hire one or more private tutors to instruct you. Please owl us at once.
Sincerely, Henry S. Apple Secretary for the American Association for all Magical Beings
I immediately showed the letter to my parents, who, after a long discussion, decided I could go, though we just couldn't figure out what 'owl us' meant. Just then, however, a tan spotted owl with sharp talons and soft, brown feathers flew in the window. We 'owled' our reply straight away. Within days, another owl, though similar, brought another letter. This one, from the NAME (National Association of Magical Education), brought a list of tutors, and we chose to hire Madame Sondra, a well-respected tutor of 135 years.
Every day, I went to my normal school, came home, and started studying with Madame. I worked extremely hard in this manner for the five years, but during the summer before my sixth year, my instructor suddenly disappeared. We owled the AAFAMB, but they only told us that she would not be coming to class anymore and that we had to move as soon as possible.
We were going into some sort of Witness Protection Agency, only for Wizards. We hadn't done anything, I tried to argue, but no matter what I said, it seemed no one would listen to me and nothing was working. So now we are moving to England, where my new identity will be Caroline Winchell and I will attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Nicole Lucien
I was perfectly happy living in North Carolina. My mother was a half witch and although my father died when I was a baby, my mom's sister Lindsey and her husband, Robert (who was a wizard) lived with us. We all lived in a picture perfect countryside and since it was so rural, my uncle instructed me in all of my magical and educational studies. My mother ran the nearby (and when I say nearby, I mean 20 miles!) schoolhouse. My uncle started my magical training when I was ten years old, first by getting me a wand and all other necessities, then began to instruct me, but always told me that I could tell absolutely no one. Secrecy was always our number one rule.
We lived happily until about a month before my sixteenth birthday, when after one little accident, memory spells soon became an everyday event. We were finally forced to move to England, where Mom had grown up, because of how messed up our lives became. Aunt Lindsey and Uncle Robert decided to move to Italy, where most of Uncle Robert's family lived, so Mom had to send me to an actual school, with other students. My Uncle wrote to the NAME and they recommended a school with some weird name. I can't remember its name, but it sounds really neat. Tomorrow we leave for Diagon alley, where I will get all of my school supplies.
Brittany Camdyn
Not many people have heard of Woolsworth Academy. Woolsworth is a school for children and teenagers with the gift of magic. Yet still, even those in the magical community usually haven't heard of Woolsworth. Perhaps they never will. From the ages of seven to fifteen, I, Brittany Camdyn the fourth attended this high-demanding academy. Every year, from September 1st to July 31st, I was taught by England's finest. I woke at six, ate breakfast, attended my first seven classes, the first of which started at six-thirty, ate lunch, went to my next eight classes, had dinner, headed back to my dormitory at eight-thirty and was fast asleep by ten (with all of my homework done, of course).
Every year, I followed this schedule, as was required of all students at Woolsworth. My mother and father had done the same, as had all of my ancestors, and being the only child of my parents, I had to uphold my family's honor. I never complained or argued; I was not unhappy. I'm sure any other student would protest with all of the hard work that had to be done, but as a Camdyn, I find it worrisome to be off task or schedule. Never had I even dreamed of such a horrendous crime. To dishonor the family name by tardiness or misbehavior was unspeakable.
When I had reached the age of fifteen, however, something unimaginable happened. Our headmaster, Professor Wimblewax was found one late evening in her office, beneath her desk, shaking like an earthquake. The room was in shambles. No one could even imagine the mess of it. I had just been on my way to ask the Professor if I could take more classes next year when our Librarian Madame Steerce pulled me aside and accused me of returning a book late. I calmly explained that I had never in m life turned in a book late and concluded that her glasses were over prescribed (poor doctor, probably a muggle, not that I would ever hold it against him or her, I just find that muggles so often make mistakes. How they ever survive without magic, I suppose I shall never know).
Anyway, I continued on my way to my headmaster's office. Just as I was approaching the furnished oak door, however, I heard the unmistakable scream of Amanda A. Abner. I opened the door at a reasonable but hurried pace to find Amanda and Professor Wimblewax trembling as if there were a chilled breeze (not that it could ever get into the school, the walls are magically insulated). I called out for help, and left the premises to return to my bedroom, but as I did, I saw something slinking off into the shadows.
Professor Wimblewax never said more than three words after that ("help me please!") and Amanda, after returning from the hospital wing reported remembering nothing of it. There were more problems in the school after that, and soon it was shut down. My father soon informed me that I would be sent to another school, which my parents had actually considered before sending me to Woolsworth. I didn't complain, as Father always says that manners are number one and always shall be. So I shall continue to hold my head high and maintain the politest manner possible.