The dark and gloomy cloud

Hogwarts. Harriet had told me all sort of things about Hogwarts, about the teachers – the great ones as much as the bad ones - about the castle – the sly and malicious rooms, the secret corridors, the forbidden forest - about the students – classmates she likes, classmates she doesn't like, and others she wouldn't even call classmates… She talks a lot, always talks a lot about Hogwarts. Mum says she can't help it but I'm sure she does it on purpose, to make me envy her.

I still remember that day when the owl delivered my letter - I was ten, almost eleven - and Harriet climbed the stairs laughing and shouting like some hysterical maniac that her beloved brother was officially a wizard. Yes, she's nice sometimes as unbelievable as it may sound. My parents were both upstairs, doing whatever they were doing upstairs but still, they immediately rushed down and congratulated me. It was a little embarrassing, I guess, being the center of all that display of attention yet I loved it, I loved them when they were just like that, enthusiastic and all happy about nothing. Yes nothing, my letter from Hogwarts was nothing for me because I already knew I was a wizard and apparently a very promising one –which got Harriet a little hot under the collar- since my 7th birthday when I started to levitate while taking a nap in the garden after an excess of chocolate cake. Weeks after that incident, people from the Ministry had to visit us three or four times because I had inadvertently materialized a dark misty cloud above my sister's head that even my father couldn't chase away or because I had accidentally made myself half invisible or started to melt everything I touched…

'Oh no, don't worry, Mrs Watson!' said the –what was his title already? Agent for reparation of unwanted mistakes of magical nature, I think, it sounded like that, more or less.

'It happens; some children are just blessed with talent. It will stop once he'll get his wand to contain all that energy. These are just minor accidents, believe me, I saw a boy blow up his entire house once, and god knows the house was big, an old manor of some sort. He also bewitched a violin so that the music would send people to sleep; you can't imagine the mess it created…. And then, last year, he stole his brother's wand, roped him up with enchanted brambles and managed a protection charm so strong around his own room we had to call an Auror to destroy it. '

'For Merlin's pants! The same boy did all those things?'

'Yes my dear, but he's quite an exception actually, an twisted genius, you know, that sort of arrogant, troubled child you sometimes found in very noble and very unhappy families… Your little John is a kitten by comparison.'

The agent patted my scalp to emphasize his words and I frowned but said nothing and the afternoon went on and… Whatever, I digress.

Let's get back to the point: Hogwarts and my admission...

Nevertheless, for some reasons that I won't enumerate now, my father and I left two weeks after the letter had come. We travelled to the East, and I never attended to school that year, nor did I the next two years .

We only came back home three months ago. It should have been joyful, but our long absence, my injury, Harriet's constant rebellion, had let my mother broken, distressed and angry. Resentment and culpability were darkening our minds, and a gloomy, dark misty cloud had settled above the house in the late July.

And at that point, I began to wander what would happen to me next: would my father want me to join him again next time he'll be called for help on the other side of the world? Would he rather have me safe and sound at home this time? Would I somehow be obliged to stay here and recover, bored, and barely tolerating Harriet's incessant droning when she would come back on holidays? Needless to say, I was anxious and furious at myself: If only I had been a little more vigilant that day, we would still be there, far away in the Orient, and I would feel useful. That's why I was pondering bitterly since I got back, cursing between my teeth when my leg wouldn't obey me, and even crying a little sometimes.

And then, yesterday, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I went down the stairs, trying not to put too much weight on my bad leg and it was there, glimmering in the dark dawn, flying a few inches above the lounge table: a new letter, written on a velvety parchment marked by Hogward's seal.

To Young Mr John Hamish Watson

In the brick house of Feathergrey plain

Under the odd looking misty cloud

HOGWART SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Teddy Sirius Lupin

(Order of the Phoenix, S.P.E.W, vice-president of the Society of Metamorphoses, Werewolves Community.)

Dear Mr Watson,

We are pleased to inform you that you still 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.

Yours sincerely,

Neville Longbottom Deputy Headmaster.

Hi everyone ! Just for letting you know, English is not my first language, so please, don't thrash or lapidate me if my syntax is … not that perfect :D. And by the way, if anyone would like to beta me and mark this fanfic, I'd be supremely glad!

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this!