Andromeda

Today is the day! I am turning 11. I can smell the cooking sugar in the kitchen from my bedroom. Mom is making the cake-pumpkin, my favorite. I know, it is weird to have a pumpkin cake in the spring, but it just tastes right.

Reach out, grab the banister and sliiiiiiide! One, two three, jump off the end and catch myself on the wall. In the kitchen, mom puts down her spoon and sniffs at me. "I do wish you wouldn't slide down the rail, An. You could seriously hurt yourself"

"I don't care. It is so much more fun to slide than to walk."

"Humph. Let's not fight on your special day okay? Now, what do you think is for breakfast?"

I inhale deeply, testing the smells in the kitchen. "Stewed apples and streusel, eggs on the side, scrambled. And you are burning Daddy's rye toast."

Mom is laughing now. "I can't ever fool you, can I, darling… oh!" she cuts off as the smell of burning toast becomes apparent to her nose. I am laughing now, and almost rip over my chair as I go to sit down. Mom serves me first, then pours coffee just as Dad comes down the stairs. He has something odd with him. Old paper, ink, and wax.

I can tell he is smiling as he comes up behind my chair to hug me. "How is my little princess this morning?"

"Hungry."

Chuckling, he sits down at his place as Mom serves him. Solemnly, he taps his fork against his coffee mug for silence.

"Attention, one and all. On this day, the 24th of March, our esteemed family member has turned eleven. To celebrate this momentous occasion, we shall present this letter."

Mom snatches the letter out of his hand. "Really? It came today? Oh this is so exciting. We must read it now, breakfast can wait." They know something that I don't, but it must be good. Mom breaks the wax seal, and unfolds the letter. There is a long pause. "Mom? What does it say?"

"Oh honey, it is written to you." Mom holds out the letter. I take it, and start to read the words, tracing the letters with my fingers.

Dear Ms. Merle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place 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.

Yours sincerely,

Filius Flitwick

Deputy Headmaster.

My parents were waiting for a reaction. I turn to my mother. "Is this some kind of sick joke? There's no such thing as magic."

That was not quite the reaction they wanted. Mom stood up and went back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. "Honey, remember when that bully pushed you into the street?"

Yes I do. I was hurt, and ashamed, and wanted nothing more than to get back at him. I felt all this pressure, a tingling sensation, and the fire hydrant exploded, soaking everyone around except me. It was weird.

Dad leans forward and gently takes my hand. "Honey, have you noticed strange things happening when Mom is around?"

"You mean like when I hear her talking in the living room and dishes being washed in the kitchen at the same time?

"Yes. You see, your mother is a witch. She can make magic too. And she learned at this very school. Hogwarts."

Mom came back, but the dishes were still being washed. As she sat down, various cupboards opened and shut, and I could hear dishes clinking. I can almost imagine the dishes floating out of the sink, shaking themselves dry, and flying to their places on the shelves.

Panic. A new school that I don't know my way around? I won't be able to find my way around. "I can't go there! I will trip or bump into something or get lost and everyone will laugh at me! I'm a freak!"

"Oh honey, no! You will be fine. Silverclaw will go to school with you and help you." As if to prove her point, our cat, Silverclaw, jumps up onto my lap and rubs up against my chin.

Dad reaches over to pet her. "The teachers are very understanding, and the headmistress enclosed a special list of supplies just for you, to make classes easier."

Silverclaw purred, and jumped off my lap to wrap around my ankles. Today is the day. I am starting magic school.

Adam

Today is the day. Today, I am going to ask if I can join the soccer team. Mom thought it was a great idea, but the decision depends on Dad. His say is final. I have to get him in a good mood. Down the stairs, avoid the creaky step at the bottom. Down the hall, into the kitchen, open the fridge as quietly as possible. Grab a beer, make sure it is cold. Tiptoe back up the hall to the den. There he is, watching TV. Oh no, his eyes are red. He is hungover. Quickly, back to the kitchen, replace the beer, quietly. Grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Approach from the side, not from behind. Place the lighter next to his hand, and step away. The channel changes, and he grabs the box. Lighting one up, he takes one, two, three deep drags before blowing the smoke directly into my face.

He grins as I gag on the pungent smoke. "Good to know you can make yourself useful for once."

"You're welcome" He frowns. I sounded sarcastic. Backtrack, backtrack! "is there anything else I can get you?" the commercial ends, and he huffs as he turns back to the program, blowing smoke. "get the paper."

run out onto the front porch, grab the paper off the step. Walk back inside, hold it out to him. Commercials again. He takes the paper and another drag on his cigarette. "okay boy, now what'd you want?" he is on to me, which is not good, but I have to reply.

"Dad, soccer tryouts are this week, and I was wondering if I could go."

"Why would I pay to put you on a wimpy sports team so that you can sit on your bum at games?"

"Hey, I could be good if I got the chance!"

That was a mistake.

Dad makes to get up out of his chair. Mom is behind him in an instant, beer in hand, popping it open, placing it in his hand. She was waiting for something to go sour. "Honey, he could certainly use the experience...think of it as a way to keep him out of trouble." Mom is throwing me under the bus, and I'm grateful. I have never been in trouble with anyone but Dad. However, he likes to be right.

Dad huffs and sits back down. "Well, he certainly could use some straightening out, but I can do it with my belt, and prison does it for free." Mom tentatively comes forward and starts to rub his shoulders, crooning in his ear. "It will help him learn important things like discipline, respect, and teamwork."

That struck a nerve. "Teamwork? The only thing teamwork will teach him is how to avoid his rightful place." He shrugs mom off, stands, and points a dirty finger at me. "I don't want to hear one more word about sports. As long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules, understand?"

He turns to mom and looks her up and down. In coming to my rescue, she failed to complete her morning routine makeup and hair. "You look terrible. Clean yourself up, and get some breakfast going."

"But Honey-"

"I said NOW!" Roaring, he lashes out with his fist and punches her, knocking her down.

"NO!" Without thinking, I grab the remote and throw it at him. It hits him on the back of the head, hard. Time seems to stop. Mom is on the ground, holding her cheek, eyes begging me not to push him, but it is too late. Dad turns to face me, murder in his eyes. When he speaks, it is dangerously soft. "You're gonna wish you'd never been born, boy. I will teach you respect."

No, he wont. He can come at me all he wants, but Mom didn't do anything. As he starts toward me, fist raised, I feel a rush of heat flood my body, and pressure in my head. Without warning, the beer bottle in his hand steams and boils over, spraying him in the face with hot beer. Howling in pain and clutching his face, he swings at me with the bottle, blindly smashing pictures off the wall. Mom is up, backing into the kitchen. I hear her over my Dad's tirade. "Adam, run."

I don't know what just happened, but I know she is right. If he catches me, he will kill me. Run out the door, down the steps, across the street, and keep running. Turn off the sidewalk into the woods. Run and run and don't stop until you can't continue. There. The old playground. A few young kids are playing on the seesaw and the slides. Some kids call out, and clamor on the swings, wanting me to push them on the swings and spin the merry go round. Forcing a smile for the kids, I push all the kids on the swings, give a big spin to the merry go round, and then I pick a seesaw. Four kids scramble in a large pile to be on the other end. Up and down, up and down, then I stop and let the kids rotate so everyone gets a ride.

I'm gonna be here for a while. It is a delicate art, laying low. If I come back to soon, he will still be mad and I will get punished worse for running away. If I come back to late, I will get punished for getting myself into trouble. Mom and I have this system worked out. I stay at the playground all day. If a small pizza gets delivered to me at the playground, it means I should spend the night there. If not, then I wait until dark and then walk home. Mom will leave the back door unlocked for me. Dad should be asleep by then.

It doesn't matter though. This time I have gone and done it. Today or tomorrow, I will be punished, but I don't care. He doesn't hurt mom. The kids clamor around me, asking for pushes, asking for rides, asking for a game of tag. I oblige them, because I'd rather do that than think about what is possibly happening at home. I'd rather not think about what is waiting for me when I get back. A beating, I'm sure. Probably being locked in the cellar for a week at least.

The sun is starting its downward walk, and parents come to collect their children. I sit on the swings and wave to the parents as their kids come up and give me one more hug or high five. I chuckle a little as the thousandth child begged not to go yet. Lucky kids.

The kids are all gone, and no pizza has arrived yet. Either he has calmed down enough for me to come home or... I'm not going to think about it. Glancing up, it has to be about 3 in the afternoon.

"May I join you, young man?"

The voice startles me. I turn and take in the man next to me. I was facing the fenced playground gate, and did not see him come in. Weird. He is waiting for an answer. "Sure. It's a public area."

"Thank you." He takes the swing next to me, and we swing in silence for a minute or two. I take the time to get a good look at him. He is wearing a suit that is rather old, but not out of style. He has a pair of sturdy boots that are caked with earth, and his long coat has a piece of ivy peeking out from under it. A pair of gardening gloves are tucked in his pocket. He turns to me, and the tiny piece of ivy seems to wave as he does. "Lovely day we are having, wouldn't you say? A bit cold for mid-august, but not enough to chill the summer flowers."

This guy is weird. He seems to belong to another time period, he has plants on his clothes, and what adult uses a swing set? He seems nice enough though, so I will oblige him. "I prefer autumn. All the great colors, and the wind blowing them down while small animals set in for winter. It's like music, really."

"I concur. Say, what is your name young man?"

"Adam, Sir. Adam Walworth."

"Ah, just the man I was looking for. I was supposed to call on your house this afternoon, but I seem to have gotten a bit turned around, and I'm actually quite a bit lost. How fortunate that I happened to meet you here. Would you mind escorting me to your house?"

"Um, okay, Mister..."

"Longbottom. Professor Longbottom."

I have a weird feeling that he already knew all that, but I get up, and so does he. We set off. I don't know what made me decide to do this, all the bells are going off in my head. It is too early. Dad will still be furious. Even more so now that I'm bringing a stranger home with me. The professor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bundle wrapped in paper. "Here. Have a pie. You look a bit peaky."

"Thanks. I am starving" I am. I didn't have breakfast this morning, and it is almost dinnertime. I take the pie, unwrap it, and carefully bite into it. The crust is light and flaky, with a slight tang I can't place. The inside is a warm mix of tender beef and smoothly mashed potatoes. I am too hungry to be suspicious. This is amazing I wolf it down and lick the gravy from my fingers. I can tell he is looking at me out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't comment and I don't care. Hunger beat, the angst returns. My dad will be furious.

We are walking down my neighborhood, and I am not sure who is leading whom. We arrive at my house, and the professor walks right up to the door and knocks. There is shuffling inside, and mom opens the door. Her favorite dress is ripped, she limps heavily, and her lip is cut and swollen. She has a nasty bruise under her eye from when he hit her this morning. Anger floods me at seeing her. I am going to kill him.

As if reading my thoughts, the professor puts a hand on my shoulder. "Mrs Walworth, I presume? I am professor Neville Llongbottom. May I come in and speak with both the adults?"

"Oh, of course! Do come in. is something wrong? Please, make yourself comfortable. I apologize for the mess, we were not expecting visitors."

"Not a problem at all. No, nothing is wrong, but I came here to talk about your son." The professor flipped his hat and landed a perfect ringer on the stand, before plopping himself down on our saggy couch. Mom follows, turning off the television. I stand in the doorway, prepared to run, just in case. Dad gives an irritated huff before turning to the professor. "So, what's the little scamp done this time? Broken into someone's care no doubt. I will not pay for it." Dad is very drunk, which is not good, but the professor doesn't seem to notice anything but the words, and continues to use the same pleasant voice.

"Not at all. In fact, Adam has been selected to attend a prestigious school in Scotland. Hogwarts."

Nothing happens. Then, Dad starts to laugh. Great heaving hoots of laughter that shake his belly and make the chair under him groan in protest. "Our kid? Hah! That's a good one. He couldn't find a lit bulb in a windowless room, and you're telling me he got into some prestigious boarding school? Hah! No way am I paying for that!"

I hang my head, and my ears and cheeks burn with shame. I have always gotten good grades, but he always wants to put me down. And in front of a stranger too! The professor must have seen some incredible things, because he seems not to notice his derision as he replies. "Actually, his room and board, as well as tuition, have already been paid in full. Only uniform and tuition are necessary"

Mom is happy. You can see it in her eyes. Boarding school. Safety for me. I wont have to come home every day to the monster in the armchair. "What is this school called, and how much should that cost?" Oh yes, she is going to get me there, no matter what the cost.

"The approximate cost is about 175 pounds, and the school is called Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. Classes start 1st September."

Silence, as everyone processes this fact. Witchcraft and wizardry? But there is no such thing as magic! Then again... this guy appeared out of nowhere in a fenced off area without coming through the gate. He seemed to know that I needed food, and that little piece of ivy on his collar. I am not imagining it. It does move of it's own accord. Dad seems to put two and two together. Uh-oh. Dad lurches out of his chair, roaring at the professor. "You want me to pay 175 pounds for my degenerate son to learn magic tricks?"

Mom shrinks back, steps backwards through the doorway into the kitchen. I step back as well, but I am ready to jump in if necessary. The professor just shrugs, pulls out a polished stick, and mutters a few things under his breath as he points it at Dad. He stops, and looks around, confused. "what is going on? "Who is this? Why is the TV off?"

Professor Longbottom stands and puts the stick back inside his coat. "I think it would be best if we continued this conversation elsewhere. Mrs Walworth, would you care to step outside?"

Dad sits back down in his chair, still looking befuddled. Mom quickly turns the TV back on and follows the professor, who is already on the porch. He turns and speaks to my mother in a low voice, ensuring that Dad can't hear him over the TV. "Your husband will not remember what just took place. In two weeks, have Adam here pack up his clothes and things, and I will come and get him. That should provide adequate time to gather supplies and things, and in general get him accustomed to the world of magic. That is, if you want to attend?"

Mom limps forward and cuts in before I can open my mouth. "Oh yes! Thank you so much! Is it possible, perhaps, that he stay at school for winter break? My husband-"

"You needn't worry Mrs Walworth. He certainly can, and we shall have special post to get Christmas presents and the like delivered. Letters and other correspondence will be delivered by owl. In the case of your husband, why don't you tell him that Adam is at military school? That should sit well with him. I must caution you: breach of the laws regarding the secrecy of the muggle world is a serious offense. As such, whatever school alibi you choose, you must use it for everyone."

This is cranked. Some random guy I met in the park comes into my house and invites me to become a wizard. He did stop my dad from tearing him to pieces though. If I could do that, well, if I could do that, then Mom and I will never have to worry about him anymore.

I have so many questions. Was that a wand he had? What did he exactly do to stop my father? Can I heal my mother's wounds? What is a muggle? But before I can ask anything, he steps off the porch and crosses the street. A car passes between us, and he is gone. Completely disappeared without a trace. Pinned on the porch is a note with a date and a time.

Mom grabs me in a tight hug. "Oh honey! You won't have to be near your father for most of the year! I am so happy that you are going to be safe."

But she wont. I will be off in Scotland and unable to protect my mother. And if my dad gets mad again...

I don't want to think about it. I look out at where the professor stood. I am going to magic school. I will learn those spells, and I will make sure my dad never hurts me or my Mom again.

Today is the day. Today, my future looks a little brighter.

Thuban

Today is the Day. Therapy at St. Mungo's. Again. Another day of sitting around for hours in a stale-smelling waiting room with all those annoying doctor portraits. If things go smoothly, which they never do. At least Archie will be too tired to bother me for a few days afterward.

Archie. Arcturus, my older brother. He is 13, but unable to take care of himself. Dumb as a brick with unstable magic. The entire day revolves around making sure he doesn't hurt himself.

Twice a month, we complete this therapy dance. Mom slips a sleeping draught into his breakfast, and I wrap him in a heavy cloak when he starts to nod off. Dad picks him up and carries him outside, and we all get on the knight bus. When we get to St. Mungo's mom buys a chocolate frog as Dad Checks us in. Archie gets the frog, I get the card.

The healer comes to take Archie back to the therapy room. We sit and wait. On rare occasions, everything goes smoothly and we are back on the knight bus three hours later. Sometimes the wait is as long as eight hours. Usually it is four or five hours. It happens all the time. We are waiting, and some doctor painting is jabbering me for being bored, and then a massive explosion dully rocks the waiting room. An orderly comes in and takes us down to the therapy room so that mom and dad can calm Archie down and bring him back under rein. People stare. It is so embarrassing.

I mean, what can you do? Mom swears that the therapy helps Archie, and I honestly think she might be right. But it doesn't make it any easier. We never go out to eat, because Archie can't handle the change in routine. We can't have company over, because Archie doesn't like strangers. I can't even have a toy quidditch set because mom is worried Archie might hurt himself with the soft bludgers. All the stuff in the potion cupboard is tightly locked down, and the only available game to play is chess.

It makes for a boring life, to pass the time, I started reading. I would sneak into Dad's library and spend hours in the corner, reading book after book after book. Our house elf, Gilly runs herself ragged trying to find new books for me.

The only other thing I have to amuse myself with is my broom. It took me a year to convince my parents to let me have one. Even so, I can only take it out while Archie is tired and lethargic from therapy.

Eager to fly, I clamor off the bus, almost dragging my brother behind me. Once he is in bed, sleeping, I can retrieve the key to the broom shed. Then I get several hours of sweet freedom.

My broom is a sturdy, rather old nimbus 1000. our back yard is great for practicing. Mom let me build an obstacle course for practice. With help, I got trees and shrubs to grow in an arrangement of patterns to weave through. On the ground, it simply looks like a landscaped garden. There are zigzags, curved hedges, and a wicked loop through the branches of a tree, followed by a flipping turn at the end.

I zip around the obstacles with ease, not even grazing the plants, even on the two way dodging part. This course is becoming too easy. I will have to build a new one soon. These are the moments I live for, flying up in the air, not having to deal with my brother or slinking around a dusty old house with nothing to do but read.

Too soon, I notice the yard turn gold as the sun sinks. No, not yet, please; I'm not ready to come back inside. Time can't stop though, and mom comes out on the balcony. "Thuban, it is time for dinner. Put away your broom and come inside." I don't want to go. I turn and make one final run for the last leg of the course.

"Oh, and honey? There is a letter on the table for you."

I swerve in surprise and nearly crash. Good thing she didn't see. A letter is different. In record time, my broom is down, cleaned, and put away. There it is, sitting on the dining room table. I have been waiting for this all summer, worrying that it might not come.

My brother never got one.

It terrified me when I was younger, the possibility that I might not get one. That I might spend the rest of my life like my brother, alone, bored, and dependent on my parents. So I studied, hard. I read every book I could find on magic theory, history, and lore. I used my entire allowance on buying spell books and guides. I read those books over and over, memorizing them, practicing them in the backyard with a twig. I was not going to be left behind.

Excited and terrified, I opened my letter. Yes! Right there, neatly scrawled on official parchment, "You have a place at Hogwarts" The world blurred and my eyes burned. Mother was on me in an instant. "Darling, what ever is the matter?"

Dad glanced up from the Daily Prophet. "Nothing is wrong with the boy, he is just happy. Remember dear, he is the first one to get a letter in this family."

I'm shaking, I'm so happy. Archie looks at me and reaches out to touch the tears on my face, but I don't care. Today is the day. Today, I received my ticket to freedom.

Laura

Today is the day. Today, I get my first tattoo. I have been saving up for three months, cleaning cages, both at the menagerie and at the muggle pet store. I had to carefully plan out what I wanted. Because I live in a muggle neighborhood, it can't move around too much. Not like the one I saw on that guy's shoulder. The owl that turned it's head, hooted, and flapped its wings. It was cool, but mine has to be a little more subtle.

Mom is going to be furious when she finds out.

At breakfast, I asked dad if I could come with him to Diagon Alley, and wait at the ice cream parlor when he went to Gringott's. He thought it was a good idea, and Mom didn't see a problem with it. I grabbed my coat and stashed my money inside the pockets.

We traveled by floo powder, landing just outside the leaky cauldron. Dad gave me a galleon for an ice cream cone and left me outside the parlor. Now I have to be careful. Walk down the street, not too slowly, don't draw attention to yourself. A ten-year old entering Knockturn alley alone is a very rare sight, if not completely unheard of. Look around, no one is looking at you, go go gogogo!

Okay. Down here alone, time to look the part. Hood up, head up, walk confidently. Act like you belong here. Three doors down, turn left, two doors, on the left. A mobile of bones rattles as I push open the door. Like everything else in Knockturn alley, the tattoo parlor is dim, dirty, and ominous.

The owner of the shop comes in from a back room, and starts a bit when he sees me. I don't blame him. A little girl, alone on the shady side of town? He grins and leers at me. "Aren't you a little young to be hanging out here alone, Darlin'?"

This guy is used to being a predator, but I won't be his prey. Crossing my arms, I flip my hair over my shoulder and huff through my nose, head high. "Is that any way to speak to a paying customer?" It works. His tone and manner change, and become more respectful.

"Ah, yes. And what can I do for you, Miss?"

I roll up my sleeve, and tell him what I want. The price turns out to be cheaper than expected. I will have some money left over for an alibi. Probably Weasly's. It is their 20th anniversary or something. He pulls out his needle and gets to work.

It hurts, but I don't care. Pain is something I can handle-most of the time. He finishes his work, and I roll my sleeve down. As I pay and leave, he calls after me. "Miss? Will we be seeing you again soon?"

"Maybe, but probably not for a while. I still live in a muggle neighborhood." He chuckles and nods sympathetically. I will have to watch out for him. He knows, or at least understands part of my secret.

Pulling my sleeve down to cover my new ink, I rush back out into Diagon Alley, and rush to Weasly's Wizard Wheezes. I don't know how much time I have before dad gets back from the bank. Rush into the store and grab something off the shelf. Pay, grab my purchase, and get back to the ice cream parlor. I am paying for my cone as Dad comes in.

"Laura, what have you been doing all this time? I left you here more than an hour ago."

"Oh, I brought some of my own money, and went to Weasly's."

"Really now? What did you get? C'mon, let me see."

He peers inside my bag, and I do too. Apparently I bought Fever Fudge. Good; if I had grabbed a dung bomb or love potion, I would be in trouble. I would at least have a lot more to explain.

"Planning on playing hooky?" He laughs before I can say anything. "Don't worry, Hon. As long as I get a few pieces, we will keep it our little secret, okay?"

"You got it."

Back at home, Mom has chicken sandwiches for lunch. Yum. As we eat, Mom talks about her job, and Dad talks about his, as well as the bank visit. Mom is an editor for one of the local newspapers, and Dad inventories at the apothecary. We don't make a lot, but it is enough to get by. Mom scolds dad for buying me ice cream before lunch as we clear the table. Dad just laughs and claps me on the shoulder. "We have reason to celebrate." He pulls out an envelope and drops it on the table. "Laura got her letter today."

My Hogwarts letter! I had completely forgotten about it. I reached out to open the envelope. Wham! Mom's hand slams down on mine. "What is that?" She pulls up my sleeve, revealing the tattoo on my wrist.

Mom's fury drops the temperature in the room to freezing. Dad says nothing, just stares at my wrist in shock before getting up and leaving the house, slamming the door behind him. He won't be back for hours at least. On my wrist, positioned like a watch, encased in swirling gold details, is a perfect three-quarters moon. What I have done is taboo in our family on so many levels.

My Father is a werewolf. Lower in status than even a muggle born wizard, werewolves are treated like animals more than men. Because of a monthly event he can't control, my father is valued as lowest in society. It isn't fair. Werewolves are people too, and they are treated like dumb animals. My father can never get a job higher up than menial tasks, because no one wants him around, despite the fact that he is harmless the rest of the month.

It doesn't matter in this moment though. I am in the most trouble I have ever been in. There is nothing that can be done about my tattoo, and Mom knows it. She scoops up my letter and tucks it into her pocket. "You are grounded until you set foot on that train."

As she goes upstairs, I can feel the waves of disappointment rolling off her. I hear my parents talk at night. They have hoped and planned for the day when I will make a name for myself, without the shadow of my father's 'condition' barring opportunities. But I marked my skin, and destroyed their fantasy. Even though I am not a werewolf, such a mark indicates at least an association to werewolves.

Today is the day. Today was supposed to mark the beginning of my life without my father's legacy shadowing me. But I blew it.

Author's Note: Well, this is the end of The Letter, but the saga is not over. Come back next week for the next installment. Hogwarts Diaries: Diagon Alley. If you have any questions at all about this story, by all means shoot me a message or leave a comment. I will answer all questions honestly. Thank you all so much for being a dedicated audience.