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Chapter 1

I knew something was wrong as soon as I woke up back in my old room with my laptop no longer in my arms. (Sleeping with your electrical devices is perfectly normal thank you very much). That wasn't the only extraordinarily different thing, though it probably was the most scary. The most amusing thing of all was that, when I jumped out of bed, I appeared to have shrunk about ten inches. This was exhibit A of "What the ever-loving frig is going on?!" that came up during the course of the day. It was by no means the last, nor the most noteworthy. I didn't have any mirrors in my room, which seemed slightly different. I couldn't tell what was different, but the whole room, like my new one, just felt weird. Off, somehow. I descended the stairs, thoroughly freaked by the whole thing. Just as expected I found my parents sitting in our old kitchen. I opened my mouth to say something - probably something along the lines of "Why are we here? What the hell happened last night" - when my eyes found the huge banner on one side of the room. The banner said in bright, huge, polka dot letters HAPPY 11th BIRTHDAY, RUBY! Why? Was this their idea of some weird joke? Trust me, I'd been the butt of many a weird parental joke. I still don't understand why they found it necessary to put that hot sauce in my medication that one time I was in the hospital after a seriously hardcore case of headaches regarding the comments of an idiot on Tumblr and my refusal to move away from the computer. They said that Gryffindor was the best and that Slytherins were all evil. They couldn't honestly expect me to ignore that could they?!

However, their faces told me otherwise. Totally happy to see me, despite my "what the actual hell" face. No mischievous looks telling me that this was all a joke and that they were just messing with me.

Needless to say this made me the slightest bit worried this wasn't all a big, lets-just-laugh-at-Ruby type thing.

"Ummm...why does it say Happy 11th birthday up there?" I asked cautiously, only to have strange looks directed at me. "And why are we here?"

"Sweetie, it's your birthday, the 14th of July, the day you were born," she paused. "And the reason why we're here is the obvious reason that we live here." They were acting just as confused as I was; which only succeeded in confuzzling meall the more. They weren't the best actors and the perfectly straight faces they were pulling were not in their repertoire of skills. In fact if I wasn't positive I was 16, I probably would have believed them.

"Mum, this isn't funny, even for you, I know I'm 16. Nothing you can do will convince me I'm 11 for fudges sake! At least do something I could fall for if you're going to attempt a joke,"

"Sweetie, are you feeling okay? Here let me check your temperature, what an earth could have you think you're 16?!"

As she came closer to me, I began to see slight differences to her appearance. Gone were the small wild strands of grey hair she refused to dye. Disappeared were the slight wrinkles underneath her eyes. Disapparated was the scar she had got last year from me (accidently) falling down the stars, crashing into her, which hereby ended with her falling into a lamp.

"Blawhl?" was the sound that burst its way out my mouth as I took it all in. Mum, and Dad for that matter, looked younger. A lot younger. Like, five years at the least. It was mildly terrifying. Wait, five years? This would make me... 11. Ah it all made sense now. It was one of thosedreams.

Well...yeah, sense. Sense in the most expandable term of the word.

This was when common sense finally kicked in. This was a dream, notably a very realistic one by my brains standards, but a dream nonetheless. I'd just have to wait for the blue giraffe to appear for some proof.

"Gotcha!" I called, trying to do a realistic chuckle.

My parents visibly relaxed, obviously happy that their '11' year old, dream daughter wasn't completely insane. How little they knew.

"Thank god! You had us worried," my Dad ruffled my hair. "You're getting good at acting Kiddo; maybe we should sign you up for a talent agent."

I grinned at him."If you say so!" There was an awkward pause, that didn't quite fit the atmosphere of our family's usual constantly-fighting-to-be-heard mess.

"I'm just going to go to the toilet" I excused myself, flashing a quick 100 watts smile as I went- fake as possible. I half ran up the stairs, almost falling over in my hurry, to the only room I could think of which guaranteed a mirror. Quickly, and almost trapping my thumb, I slammed the door. It seemed the kitchen wasn't the only room in this house claiming to be lived in. The bathroom counter was the usual mess I'd come to expect, minus all my please-for-the-love-of-all-things-holy-get-rid-of-my-spots products.

I faced the mirror and promptly had my hands move as fast as they ever had towards my chest. Well damn, my boobs were completely gone. Talk about depressing, after years of waiting my body had only agreed to let me have them last year, well behind every single other girl in my year and now they were gone?! Just like that? Talk about depressing.

Of course that wasn't the worst thing. Not by a long, long way. The gap I had in between my two front teeth when I was - get this - 11 had returned, which meant that two and a half years of braces were wasted. Two and a half bloody years! Perfect. The simple fact of this all being a dream just going straight through my head as I attempted to search for anything else that was obviously different.

On the small plus side I no longer had underarm hair (I was going to wax it tomorrow!), nor hair in, well, other places. The hair on my head was considerably longer as well, and much lighter (I lost a dare when I was 14.) I stared at myself, trying to relax in my much smaller and slighter figure. I'd presumably have to deal with being a gangly 11 year old until I came across the bit in my dream where I would undoubtedly turn into a Dragon or something. How I looked forward to that, after all who wants to get back to their awkward pubescent self? As someone who's in that current predicament, I can confirm it's rather disastrous, despite the lack of hair.

A worrying thought suddenly hit me, going along the lines that I've had lucid dreams in the past. None of what was going on pointing to the idea of me being in a lucid dream making my present troubles only worse. In those dreams, I'd summoned dragons and all sorts of great stuff; this time however, I couldn't even summon a push-up bra.

Okay, time to face the music downstairs. I meandered my way down the familiar stairs as slowly as possible, not sure how long it normally took my 11 year old self to go to the loo. When I reached the kitchen all I could smell was breakfast. A full English, or perfection in food form as I like to call it. I grinned at my parents. Who cares it's a dream? Bacon is bacon. On the table were a pile of presents and card. Slipping into my seat, I started on opening up the first in the pile. I wonder if they'd all be the same as they were when I was 11 the first time round. It would definitely be strange for my subconscious to remember that.

"Ruby dear," my mum interrupted my pondering. "Why don't you have a check to see if the birthday post has arrived."

I nodded, skipping down the hall trying to remember at what age my Grandma had started sending me advent calendars instead of birthday cards. How she'd managed to find advent calendars in early July had always been a mystery. The post had indeed arrived. Quite a lot of it in fact. I scooped them up and checked to see how many, if any, were addressed to me.

"One for me, one for dad, one for me, one for dad, one for mum, one for me..." I froze, staring down at the letter in front of me.

Miss Ruby Cara Thompson,
The room in the roof,
7 Anglington Rd,
Notting Hill
London

What. Was Harry Potter even out yet? How'd this even happen? Oh yeah dream... of course that didn't stop my hands from shaking though.

"There any post!" My Dad called, breaking me out of my dream like state. Talk about inception.

I wandered back into the kitchen, stuffing the parchment envelope to the bottom of the pile.
"Yup," I folded myself into my chair. It's was all just a dream. A terribly vivid and realistic dream. A plate of hot food was placed in front of me by my mother, who still looked much younger. Mmm, food. The one thing about this whole situation I could rely on. As I took my first mouthful, I passed the pile of letters to my dad, who seemed too keen. I hesitated for a moment, both on the food and the exchange, before letting things run their way. The food tasted real enough - hot and delicious. And just for a moment I forgot about my current circumstances - good food does that to a person.

However, I was quickly brought back to reality - if it could be called that - by a large proportion of the mail being slapped in front of me by my father. I forced myself to put the fork down, and to painstakingly rifle through it, trying to pretend that the letter I knew was there, wasn't. Of course it was, green ink on thick parchment. It seemed like my parents hadn't noticed, my mother filling up a plate for herself, dad already demolishing a small tower of bacon and eggs. Only when I stopped eating and pushed the letter to the middle of the table, did they pause, looking at me and then at the paper my fingers were still lingering on.

"Ha ha," I mumbled deadpanned. Their expressions bore no recognition, not even a flicker of amusement.

"Sweetie, what's this?" my mother asked, coming over behind me and picking up the letter with perfectly manicured fingers.

"I thought you could tell me." I muttered. Okay, if this was a dream, it was taking it's time getting to the good stuff. I thought when you dreamt, it skipped to the action? The vague idea that had been floating in the back of my head came to rise again, but I pushed it away. It was too ridiculous to even imagine, this was a dream. It had to be.

"Well it's not from us, maybe Auntie Liz sent it?" I glanced at my dad who just shrugged and went back to wolfing down bacon.

I raised an eyebrow at them as I picked up the letter of my dreams and attempted to open the envelope. I couldn't. Stupid seal wouldn't open. What's wrong with using regular envelopes, where you lick it? "God damn it." I cursed picking at it with my nails. Is tape too good for you wizards? Eh?

"Do you want me to open it?" My mum offered.

"No!" I clutched the envelope to my chest, giving her a horrified look.

"It's just that I think you'll need a knife to open it."

"So...?"

"I'm not sure it's safe for you to use a knife."

I bit my tongue before I could make a snarky comment, it wasn't like my realmum didn't say things like that usually, just then it was (usually) a joke, designed specifically to get on my nerves, that was just downright rude...or at least it would be if I was still 16...or not in a dream.

"I just want to open it myself, it's addressed to me, and even mentions my room! So clearly I deserve to open it!" Only seconds after I said it, I realised how snappy I sounded, my only consolation being that they weren't really my parents. Just figments of my vivid imagination.

"Alright sweetie, it is your birthday, just please be careful."

"I'll be fine!" I insisted. "I'm not a kid-" I cut off as I realised that yes, technically I was a kid. I grabbed my butter knife and aggressively cut into the wax, slicing the envelope open.

I ignored the worried looks my parents were sending each other as I tried to keep my heart rate down.

I pulled out the letter roughly. Unlike all the other Hogwarts acceptance letters I had made up over the years, this letter felt real. The thick parchment was rough in my hands, the writing neat and slanted. The Hogwarts insignia moved; the lion thrashed, the snake hissed. I stopped bothering to quell the shaking of my hands. I skimmed over the first page. The words almost memorised already. It was the same as Harry's acceptance letter, I handed it over to my mum rushing straight on to the second page. The page for muggle-borns. Oh my Jesus, how many fake versions of this had I read online.

Dear Ruby Cara Thompson and her respective parents/carers,

I trust you have read the other parchment before this and are currently in a state of confusion and shock. This is understandable and therefore an issue I would like to rectify immediately. You are a Wizard. A child in possession of magical blood. An anomaly to the muggle world but, I should add, not alone. This news may be scary but not altogether unexpected. Magical children often show signs of their talents at a young age. These signs may manifest in the form of surviving falls which should have broken limbs, things you may not have liked/wanted disappearing. Any of these things and more are perfectly normal in a wizarding child.

Another thing you may be concerned about is the school from which this letter of acceptance is being sent from. A school which you will no doubt not have heard of, nor applied to. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is one of the best schools of its kind in the world. It caters for all witches and wizards in the region United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, teaching them all they need to know on the subjects which will soon become part of their daily life as their magic grows stronger. This may seem like a profound notion, but rest assured, it is no jest. And regarding the matter as to how your daughter's name came to be on our student list the answer is simple, her name was written in a book. An enchanted book which is filled with the names of those born with magic.

We understand that you will have many more questions which is why we have chosen a representative from our school to visit your home at 1:30pm to discuss the basics of having a wizarding child.

Kind regards,

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore

Head teacher of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
[Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizard]

Well, there it was. I placed the letter on the table with trembling hands, while my parents finished reading the first one. They looked up at me with confused and unbelieving expressions.

"There's another one?" My mum asked looked up from across the table.

I nodded shoving the letter across the table. Feeling the motion of throwing up, bubbling in my stomach, I stuffed down some more bacon in an attempt to quell the feeling, all the whilst watching them finish the letter. This wasn't at all like I'd fantasized it would be when I daydreamed about going to Hogwarts. I had been expecting more of a 'whoop, whoop I'm so proud of you!' from my parents but alas from their expressions they seemed to be under the impression that all of this was a scam. I tried to act calm, but my eleven year old self seemed to want to scream - I resorted to jiggling my leg rapidly under the table, waiting in trepidation for their response to the letter.

Finally they finished the letter (sending each other very easy to read looks) and glanced up at me.

"Now don't worry about that letter, sweetheart," Mum cooed. I forced my features not to morph into something resembling a derp at her tone. Condescending much? Even for talking to an eleven year old that was a bit extreme! "Why don't you finish opening your post so we can get on with opening your presents!"

I attempted to grin back at her but I'm sure it came out just as poorly as hers.

"Can I have some more bacon?" My dad glanced up at the clock. 12:15. Dear lord this was going to be a long hour and fifteen minutes.
****

The minutes passed by slowly, with me eating awkwardly and my parents sending not-so-secretive-looks to one another. No doubt communicating on just what the bludger was going on, not including me in their mind conversation because of my assumed lack of intelligence. Seriously, the patronising tones and condescending looks were enough to drive anyone crazy, how an earth I had survived as an eleven year old was still a mystery.

Soon after I had finished opening presents (which were, as far as I could tell exactly the same as the ones I had received those many years ago) ,fast as a hare, I cleared the table, wanting to get into private so I could react properly to just what was going on.

Before I could think of an excuse, Mum came up to talk to me, "Sweetie, why don't you go and watch the telly for a little while, me and your dad just need to discuss some things,"

"Your dad and I," I mumbled half heartedly, barely registering the shock on her face that Iher eleven year old daughter had just corrected her grammar and instead focusing on the small matter of convenience. Was I really so stupid back then that I would fall for something like this? It was an obvious ploy for them to talk about me and I had half a mind to refuse her, until of course I remembered that I wanted a few minutes on my own to compose myself.

Nodding wordlessly I floated out the room. Flopping down and stretching once I reached the sofa, I glanced at the TV. A small box with something a back attached taking up at least half the space. It was different to say the least. But then, so were a lot of things. News from two whole decade ago wasn't exactly shocking. Well at least, I assumed it was from two decade ago, God knows the anchors were dressed in full on 90's mode. I barely paid attention to the people on the screen, who were reciting news articles that meant nothing to me. So little in fact that I wasn't even sure they were from 2007 the year of my 11th birthday. I flipped open a newspaper on the coffee table and stared at the date. No there was no way that was right. It definitely couldn't be
1991. I hadn't even been born by then. So, this was getting even stranger.

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Susie, Ally and Rosa

A Terrible Trio