Chapter 1 – The Orphanage
Laura Kittson sat on her bed, staring out of the dirty windowpane, looking at the endless rain, now slowed to a steady drizzle.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
The rain dripped off of the roof of the orphanage where Laura lived. She had long ago given up hope that a family might come and decide that they want to adopt a child older than a year old. Laura lay back down on the bed with a sigh.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Laura was eleven years old, and without a family. She sighed and sat up a moment later, walking over to a cracked, dirty window on the wall opposite her bed. She saw her reflection staring back at her; dirty blonde hair that came to the middle of her back, crooked glasses, and bright blue eyes. She absentmindedly ran a hand over a fading bruise on her right cheek.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Laura sighted and returned to staring blankly out of the window. She heard laughter and shouting as some of the older boys chased each other through the halls of the orphanage. The Orphanage. The place didn't even have a name.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Oh, how Laura would love to be playing with people her own age, laughing her troubles away as she played tag with the others. But no one wanted her around. Laura had always been different than the other orphans; they called her strange; a freak.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
She made things disappear without touching them.
Plop.
She could light things on fire without using a match.
Plop.
She could make things fly.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
She hadn't wanted to though, in the beginning. The other kids had teased her for it at first, but eventually grew wary of her once they started getting hurt. Now she had no friends. But she got it eventually. She even had to stop herself from wanting to use it to hurt people on purpose a couple of times.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Laura heard more footsteps coming down the hallway, but these weren't the hurried steps of the orphans; they were slow and steady, and belonged to one of the owners of the orphanage. None of them liked Laura; they seemed to think that she would scare the soon-to-be parents away. Not that she blamed them, Laura thought, grinning slightly. She considered running, but immediately dismissed the idea. When they caught her, and they would catch her, it wouldn't be pretty. Laura ran a hand over the bruise again. With a resigned sigh, Laura lay down on the bed and waited, absentmindedly tracing the bruise on her cheek. After a moment, the door to her room, if you could call it that, slammed loudly against the wall as Madam Martha entered.
Madam Martha was old; with grey hair, and a wrinkled face that looked like a pug, she wasn't well liked, and had been on the receiving end of many of Laura's pranks and 'accidents'. Getting back at the adults was the only way that she felt that she was at least partially liked; everyone enjoyed seeing her covered with slime after Laura had arranged for her to 'fall' in the small pond on the property.
When Madam Martha spoke, her voice was raspy and full of dislike. "Get out here, girl. Someone wants to talk with you." Laura looked up, shocked. No visitor to the orphanage ever looked at any of the older children. Laura didn't know whether or not she wanted to leave. On one hand, almost anywhere was better than here; on the other, she knew what to expect here. She knew the people here, even if she didn't like them, and knew the best places to hide after pulling a prank.
"Have you gone deaf, girl?" Madam Martha screeched. "Get up and go downstairs."
Laura stood up and scurried down the rickety staircase; it was always a bad idea to anger one of the owners if he or she was already in a bad mood. Laura rounded the last corner and entered the main room, stopping short in surprise. Sitting on one of the torn armchairs was a woman with a severe face, and black hair drawn into a tight bun. Laura stared at the woman for a moment, before Madam Martha came in behind her and shoved her roughly into the room. The unknown woman looked at Madam Martha in disgust.
Instantly deciding that she liked the woman Laura walked forward and held out a hand. "I'm Laura Kittson. Who are you?"
Looking slightly taken aback at Laura's politeness, the woman shook her hand. "My name is Professor McGonagall." Laura frowned. Professor? Was the orphanage arranging to have someone from an asylum look at her? Smiling slightly at the expression on Laura's face, Professor McGonagall turned her attention to Madam Martha. "Might we have a private room?"
Madam Martha nodded curtly, sneering slightly, and showed them to an empty room off of the hall, containing only a couple of chairs and a table, and left. Professor McGonagall looked at Laura with a raised eyebrow. "Unpleasant woman, isn't she?"
Laura winced, fingering the fading bruise on her cheek, and nodded, still eying the woman suspiciously; she had liked her at first, but she was now unsure of what to make of her; on one hand, Laura was almost entirely sure that she was there to diagnose her with some 'mental illness', and then cart her away to an asylum, but on the other, she seemed pleasant enough, and she disliked Madam Martha.
Laura was jolted from her thoughts as Professor McGonagall started to speak again: "I am here, as you are probably wondering, to offer you a place at the school at which I teach."
Laura looked up, interested. The orphans had received a small amount of homeschooling from the orphanage, but they had never been allowed to go to real schools. "Really?" she asked eagerly. "What's the school called?"
"The school is called Hogwarts. It is a school of magic."
Laura's enthusiasm died. She knew now that they were trying to send her to an asylum. How stupid did they think she was; after all, they had spent the last eleven years of her life scorning anything out of the ordinary. Laura traced the bruise again, before saying, coldly and stiffly: "Please excuse me if I don't find a reason to believe you."
Professor McGonagall smiled slightly, pulled a long, slender, stick from a pocket in her jacket, and with a muttered word, created a whirling stream of bubbles. Laura's eyes grew wide as the bubbles began to mold themselves together, shrinking slightly, and become more solid. The bubbles, now a shiny silvery color, linked themselves together, and dropped down onto the table, now a beautiful necklace. Laura reached out and picked up the necklace, making sure it was real.
She looked up at the Professor again, having affirmed that she was telling the truth. "Why do you want me at your school?" she asked, curiously. "Why not some of the others?"
The Professor sniffed. "There are only a select few who have the ability to perform magic, yourself being one of them. You are a special case; technically, you are what we would call a "Muggle-Born', but you are actually descended from a long line of Squibs."
"Squib? Muggle-Born?"
"A Squib is a person who is from a magic family, but is are unable to perform magic. A Muggle-Born witch or wizard is the opposite; he or she is someone who is from a non-magic family, but is able to perform magic."
"I have done magic before! Unintentionally, of course," Laura said hurriedly, scared that she might be breaking a rule, "but I know for a fact that I've lit at least thirty people on fire…"
Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "…Thirty?"
Laura shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "Nobody here really likes me all that much, and they can be downright nasty about it… I don't do it on purpose of course, but sometimes I just can't control it…"
Professor McGonagall shook her head slightly, and said to her, "Don't worry about it. I know for a fact how hard underage magic is to control. It is one of the reasons that we encourage the teaching of children who are able to use magic; it allows better control. That way there's less of a chance that things could get… out of control."
Laura laughed quietly. "Meaning, there's less of a chance that I would end up blowing something up if I got mad."
Professor McGonagall smiled. "Something like that." Going businesslike again, she said, "You, being the descendent of a wizard, already have an account at Gringotts, the wizarding bank, so you will be able to withdraw money from there, if you decide to come to Hogwarts, of course. If you do, I shall accompany you to Diagon Alley, where you will get your school supplies." She reached into another pocket of her coat and pulled out a letter, which she handed to Laura.
Laura gingerly put the necklace in her pocket and gently pried open the heavy envelope, which was addressed to Ms. L. Kittson, Room 21, The Orphanage, Whales. She took out the letter, which was written on thick parchment, carefully unfolded it, and read:
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. Kittson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Laura stared blankly at the piece of parchment for a full minute before a grin began to slowly spread across her face. This place was obviously a boarding school; she wouldn't have to spend most of the year at the orphanage. Also, if Laura was correct, magic was the reason she couldn't make friends here; since all of her classmates would be able to do magic, she might even be able to make some friends. Laura looked up at Professor McGonagall and said, "I'd like to go." She paused and glanced at the paper again. "Do I still need to send an… owl?"
"No," the Professor said, smiling slightly. "Owls are the method of communication in the wizarding world; they are the equivalent of a Muggle Post Office."
Laura nodded, then asked, "Muggles are people who can't do magic, right?"
Professor McGonagall nodded. She stood up and said, "We'd better be going if we want to be finished and have you back here by sundown."
The two of them left the room and walked down the dirty hallway. They had almost reached the main room again when Laura thought of something. "How am I going to leave? I highly doubt that the owners are going to let me just walk out."
Professor McGonagall smiled grimly. "Magic isn't just for making necklaces, you know."
Laura was quiet again as they turned another corner and headed toward the door. Laura had just thought that they were going to make it undetected, when an angry voice from behind them barked, "And just where do you think you're going?"
Laura opened her mouth to answer, but the professor had already pulled out her wand, and muttered, "Confundo." Madam Martha's eyes, which had previously been glaring at them, glazed over, and she swayed on the spot.
"You will go to your office," commanded Professor McGonagall. "You will not tell anyone that I was here." To Laura's great surprise, Madam Martha nodded, and ambled away. Professor McGonagall put her wand away and briskly walked out the door, Laura following. Then, not twenty yards from the orphanage, they stopped, and Professor McGonagall held out an arm. Laura looked at it for a moment, and then grabbed it hesitantly.
Instantly, there was darkness: so thick that it was suffocating, pushing in on her head, her chest. Her lungs burned, and her eyes throbbed; her ears felt like they were being squeezed inside her head, which felt like it was in a pressure-cooker. Every muscle in her body protested the extreme pressure; it felt like she was being squeezed through a small tube. Just as Laura thought that she couldn't take it any longer, it stopped.