After Ms Trunchbull left her school, Matilda Wormwood's life improved immensely. The years following, living with Ms Honey in a mansion surrounded by good literature were possibly the best in her life. Despite her diminished powers, she didn't need them, and tried not to use them either. After reading several books on anatomic science and health, Matilda realised that relying on her now meager powers every time she needed to lift something would be the death of her! She already didn't play sports as it was, and not needing to move at all would soon cause her body to die, long before her mind wanted it too.
It was a trade-off. Long periods of exercise where her mind wasn't being engaged vs constant stimulation with minute breaks when she needed to grab another book from the shelf was an easy choice. Sure she wasn't fit, but if her personal happiness demanded she live in a way that would keep her from being so, who was she to fight it?
School had become increasingly boring for Matilda as she moved further and further away from the curriculum. She loved her friends, but each year, she found herself becoming sadly distanced from them as she worked ahead, while they just seemed to... Stagnate.
What was even more frustrating was the lack of respect she had begun to get. While she retained it in her first and second years of school, as time went on she became less of a novelty and more of a threat. After a new student in her second year, Nancy Skrewm, decided that Matilda was a threat to her power and came up with the witty nickname, "Bookworm," shortly followed by "Nerdbird," it became a free for all. It became ok to tease the principals daughter about not playing sport, and "only losers read all day."
Matilda understood why, having read several books on Marxism and politics, but nevertheless, the loss of her friends' esteem still shocked and hurt her. Tears were involved, and most of them alleviated when she approached Ms Honey. Being the independent person she was, seeking revenge did occur to her, but she new that Ms Honey would scold her for using her powers for something so petty. And she would know too. Ms Honey seemed to be becoming paranoid about accidents that occurred around the house, but being such a good person, she had never once blamed Matilda for them. Matilda was slightly suspicious that she was the suspected culprit though.
Despite the troubles that come with every child's life, Matilda thought that it could have been much, much worse.
A day ago, Matilda had turned 11, which coincidentally was the last day of school before the summer holidays. Logically, the only way to celebrate the end of school and receiving a pile of new paperbacks, she was required to pull an all-nighter under a lamp next to her bed.
And so, we find her wrapped comfortably in a feather-blanket, shoulders huddled as she leans forward over her pillow engrossed in a book about potato-agriculture (Having read most fiction the moment it hits the library shelves, Ms Honey had given up buying it for her. Instead she purchased the most obscure irrelevant things she could possibly find so as not to buy something Matilda had read before) when she hears the unmistakable sound (for her at least anyway), of a Horn-beak owl. Said owl is rather frustrated, as this night it has been all over the countryside. It's owners never even considered hiring owls to deal with the workload it had to on this singular night every year, and when you remember how close W is to the end of the alphabet its frustration becomes more apparent, because like hell it wanted to still be working when light came again. It was for this reason, that rather than calmly slipping the envelope through the slot in the front door, and being forced to negotiate through the thick brambles that had cropped up over a few years of lazy gardening, it instead threw it's letter through the window straight to the receiver. Who was promptly walloped in the face as she turned her head towards the projectile.
"What the hell?" Matilda thought, rubbing her face in a futile attempt to wake herself up. She had been sleeping less and less lately. Sleep had become the most annoying part of the day as a lack of exercise gave her insomnia. She'd never hallucinated before now though. As the minute pain caused by the heavy parchment left her, she searched for the missile. It was a letter with an old fashioned red wax seal, bearing the letter "H" in the middle.
Ms M. Wormwood
The Bedroom Upstairs
15 Merryton Avenue
High Peak
Derbyshire
Slowly, Matilda pulled her finger under the seal, gently prizing it open, while trying not to tear either the wax or the paper. This was easier than it sounds, as the hard parchment didn't tear anywhere near as easily as most. She pulled the first sheet of a wad of paper out, hoping it was the most relevant one.
"Parchment? That's so... Bizarre? Is this some kind of prank? Well it's too late to catch whoever threw it now... I could've sworn that the owl did. No, it must've been sleeping there and someone climbing up the vine grate chucked it at me when they realized I was awake. Now what does it say?"
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Ms Wormwood.
We are pleased to inform you that you are being granted a scholarship position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find the enclosed list of necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. As a Muggle-born scholarship holder, you will be approached by a staff member before 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Shocked, Matilda let the letter fall backwards out of her hands as a cacophony of questions ran through her mind, "Does this mean I'm a witch? Aren't witches supposed to be evil? This could easily explain my powers! Does this mean there are more people like me? Or is this some sort of elaborate prank? Why did the letter come through my window? What am I going to say to Ms Honey?"
And so Matilda's brain, strained from her long night of reading began to break down into a cathartic state, "No. I don't think I can handle this right now. I'll deal with it in the morning."
Authors Notes: And so we begin. I'm hardly interested in constructive criticism right now as I haven't produced enough substance for it. Praise however, will bring you far. This will be my first epic, and possibly only.
vV Push the little button that makes me happy! Vv