Chapter One
The Leather Bound Book

Shanleigh had been given the name of her great-great grandmother who had died very young. Her mother had been given no say in the naming of her first born child and was told after delivery what had been entered into the hospital records. Her father had been absent during the birth, but her mother had silently nodded, accepting the terms which had been dictated to her by an elderly family nurse. She knew the circumstances and the situation, including the rule of naming a first born, she didn't want to be reminded after she had just spent eight hours pushing the child out of her body. Shanleigh's father made sure that his daughter be taken immediately home along with the mother so that both could rest in a familiar environment. Once the wheelchair had been pushed through the foyer, her mother was told to go straight to her bed to rest. Her father lovingly scooped the bundle of pink blankets into his arms and rushed to his library, shutting the door and refusing to surrender his daughter for anything except her feedings. The nursery had been built inside of the library so that, according to her father, the baby's inability to sleep would not wake her mother.

Shaun, as everyone called her, had been cast aside by her mother completely by the age of two and raised primarily under the watch of her father's vast personal library. Instead of a box filled with brightly coloured toys, her father read to her frequently. She would sit in a playpen or, as she grew, on her father's knee, listening to adventure stories of heroes who fought dragons and villains who never quite succeeded in killing said heroes. Her love for books took the place of all desire or need to have friends which lived and breathed, for in her mind, the characters of her father's books were more deserving of attention. By the age of ten, she had read every adventure book in her father's possession except one. It sat on the highest shelf, bound in black leather with golden letters, bound shut by a metal lock. This was the only book she was not allowed to read.

On her tenth birthday, Shaun had wandered away from the party her mother had thrown. There was no point in staying at the party, for all of the women were her mother's friends and their daughters never wanted to talk about anything other than dolls and television. The only reason her mother even bothered with the decorations and time was so that she had a reason to host a get-together for all of her friends without her husband being able to reprove. Shaun had been sitting in the corner of the living room staring out into the backyard when she heard the whispers. At first, she dismissed them as nothing more than one of the women or girls telling a secret or letting one of the others in on a piece of gossip, but the second instance grabbed her attention enough to bring Shaun to her feet. Slowly, she made her way through the living room and down the longest hallway in her family's house, listening intently for a third whisper. As she neared the end of the hallway, she began to think the whispers really had come from one of the partygoers, when a distinct female voice echoed from under the closed door of her father's library. It sounded familiar and inviting, but since she was unable to make out an exact meaning from the sounds, she remained at the door, listening.

Enter. Come, read me.

Shaun took a step back and waited for the voice to repeat itself. She looked down to the floor and noticed no shadow or signs of movement. Even when her father would be drunk, spouting poetry from unknown stories and books, Shaun could always see his shadow float from side-to-side beneath the door. After a few moments of silence, she decided to return to her spot in the living room. She turned and took one step forward at the exact moment a second voice sounded from behind the door; this time commanding rather than inviting. This voice also sounded male and not as friendly, but still familiar.

Come read of your blood. Open my lock and seek the truth.

Her entire body shuddered in a mild shiver, her back still turned towards the door. She wondered who could have gotten into the library if they had not come to attend her mother's party. There were no windows in the room. Each wall had been converted into shelves for books. The doorway was the only space which had been left open unless there was a secret passageway like the ones in the stories about castles her father used to read to her when she was little. She shook again and turned to face the door, raised her left hand and placed it on the brass handle, but before she could turn it to open the door, it pulled her hand downwards and released itself from the catch. A short rush of cold air made its way up Shaun's spine, causing her to shudder once more and step into the room.

It was dark and empty. The books were all in their places and her father's leather chair sat untouched in the right corner. None of the lights were on, but the only oddity in the library was a lighted candle sitting on the top shelf near the leather bound book. It was providing enough light for the entire room and flickered and danced with an unfelt current of air. Shaun watched as the book itself moved slightly left on the shelf, closer to the candle. She walked towards the flame, her mind swimming through ten years of stories, searching for a reference to a dancing candle in a room with no draught or windows to let in air. She bumped into the ladder which would take her to the top shelf and stepped off of the ground warily, waiting for someone to grab her or to hear another whisper. Her foot reached the second step and nothing happened, then the third, fourth and finally the fifth without so much as an audible breath. She stood at the top of the ladder motionless, waiting for the candle or the book to move. Nothing happened. She moved her face in closer to the flame and stopped just before it blew out, causing her to squeak and fall to the floor.

She opened her eyes to darkness. It wasn't a very long fall and she hadn't been hurt. She grabbed her knees and brought them to her chest, thinking that her best move at this point would be to sit in place and wait for her father to come and see why she wasn't at dinner. She didn't want to move. The books had been her only friends, but now the library seemed to hold some presence that scared her. She closed her eyes and held them shut tightly, then looked up and opened them, hoping to wake up in the leather chair to find that everything had been a dream, but all she found was the faint outline of the bookshelves. She closed her eyes and buried them into her knees. She couldn't yell out for help. Her mother always punished her for making loud noises of any kind such as breathing at the dinner table. She didn't want to think of the punishment her mother would place upon her for yelling in the middle of a party; she might take away the books.

Shanleigh. Don't be afraid. You need to read.

It was the voice of the friendly whispers. The words seemed to echo from everywhere in the room, making it impossible for her to tell where exactly it had originated. She buried her face deeper into her knees and pleaded, "Please, please stop. Who are you?" The whisper didn't respond, but instead she heard a soft dragging sound from above her head. She looked up and was met with the bottom edge of the leather bound book. "Oof!" Shaun felt around on the floor and ran her fingers along the binding of her father's forbidden book. It felt almost warm to the touch. She used her fingers and slid it across the floor, bringing it closer to her feet. The light on the ceiling turned itself on, but she was still alone. Her father was not standing at the doorway waiting for her. Instead, the door shut itself quietly.

Come…Read of your blood.

"I-I don't understand," she whispered, "what does that mean?" She placed her left palm on the book's cover and used it to brace herself as she stood up, then picked it up and walked over to her father's chair and sat down. She looked down at the old, leather bound book, admiring the intricate detail of the binding and the Celtic knot patterns which decorated the entire outside of the book. The golden letters on the binding had always been impossible to read, even from the ladder, but now she could read the words Lynch Family History. It was a book about her father's family; it had her surname on the binding written in gold. The fingers on her right hand traced the letters slowly, absourbing the same warmth she had felt when she had first touched the book. She turned the book and looked at the metal lock which held it shut, wondering if her father had the key or if it was lost. She wished she could open the book to read whatever it may contain and as she began to set the book down on her lap, the lock popped open. It fell to her thighs and landed, open. The same unfelt breeze which had made the candle dance returned and made the pages turn wildly before stopping on a man's photo. She read the caption, Seamus Conor Lynch and then looked at the next page. It gave a brief history of Seamus including his birthplace, year and the usual information found in books which told of certain people, however, her eye caught the word "wizard" and refused to move past that line. She focused and read the entire sentence:

Seamus was an accomplished wizard, having graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1890. He left Britain for a period of five years in order to see the world before returning to Hogwarts to teach a course in Potions. After his death in 1925, Seamus was buried in his native Ireland. His accomplishments in the field of magical herbs and antidotes lead to the creation of many potions which are now mandatory for students to learn…

Shaun blinked, waiting for the words to disappear. She read the page on Seamus Lynch three times, unable to believe what she was seeing could possibly be true. How could something like this be written in a book which claimed to be the history of her family, she wondered. She closed her eyes and then opened them to find the picture of Seamus moving. He was sipping tea, winking up at her. Shaun threw the book to the floor, shuddering repeatedly. "What's happening?" she asked the book. It said nothing, but instead opened itself to a new page. She covered her eyes, not wanting to look. She was afraid that something bad was happening, or that she was trapped in a nightmare. Not wanting to be surprised or grabbed by whatever had been whispering before, she slowly moved her hand down away from her face and looked at the page which the book had turned itself to, never expecting to see a picture of her father smiling and petting a scraggly black cat with overly-long ears. Feeling sick and forgetting the possibility of punishment from her mother, Shaun screamed and fainted, fell to the floor from the chair and landed on top of the leather bound book.

She awoke violently, her arms shot outwards and her head whipped backwards, causing her spine to jolt. She had been falling in her dream. As her vision faded from a colourful blur into focus, she met with the soft brown of her father's eyes. He sat in front of her on the floor, something she never would have

imagined her father capable of doing. He looked away from her and to his lap, where the book had come to rest.

"I always knew you'd find it, I just didn't think the time would come so soon."

She sat up and took the book from his lap, placing it in her own. It was still open to the page where her father's picture resided.

"Daddy, is this really you?"

He looked at his picture and smiled as if lost in a fond memory. His left index finger traced the outline of the leather book tenderly. Shaun looked up at her father's face. She wanted to know why the pictures in this book could move and why it referred to her relative as a wizard. She wanted to know what Hogwarts was and why he had always told her this book was forbidden. Then, as if reading her mind, her father began speaking.

"You come from a long line of wizards and witches, Shaun. Not on your mother's side of course, they're muggles – normal people. But my family – we're different. My family traces back to the beginning of recorded history. We have always had witches and wizards, never any squibs – people like us who can't actually use magic. This book tells the stories of every family member."

"But, Daddy, it's not thick enough to hold everyone."

"It is. You see, when you reach the end, you go back to the first page and it picks up where it left off. It's magic, Shaun. I didn't want you reading this book because I didn't think you were ready to know, about this. But, since you'll be turning eleven soon, you should be getting your letter to attend Hogwarts. I guess the book decided it wanted to beat the owls this time."

"But, what about Mum? Why isn't she magic? What is Hogwarts? Do I have to change schools..."

"Your mother's family knows nothing of our world. We live in the muggle world because my family was very upset by my decision to marry your mother. They cast me out and I was only able to take this book with me before leaving." He looked down at the book in her lap.

"Okay."

"And, Hogwarts. It's a school for people like us. You get to go there and learn magic."

"Oh, Daddy. That will be fun!" She turned the pages of the book, all traces of her fear from earlier gone completely.

Shaun turned through a section of family from the late 1800's and then stopped on a page which had a picture of a witch sitting on a tree branch, swinging her legs in the air. It was like watching an older version of herself from where the camera would have been. The woman in the photo had long hair down to her chest and gleaming eyes. It was black and white, but Shaun was sure that they would have been the same colour as her own. She looked up at her father.

"Is that—"

"Your great-great grandmother? Yes. That is the woman you are named after."

Shaun's eyes sparkled with interest and small tears escaped from the corners. She had only ever heard stories of her grandmother which weren't very detailed and gave hardly any information on who the woman had been, what she had done in life and why her father had named his first born daughter after her. She began reading the page. It told her that Shanleigh Mary Lynch had been an animagus, gifted in the sport of quidditch and extremely intelligent. She had left Hogwarts a year before Seamus and had gone on to teach a small qudditch team in Wales. Shaun read the word "animagus" over and over, unable to figure out its meaning.

"What an – ani-magus?"

"It means someone who can transform into an animal. Your grandmother could transform into a calico cat."

"Really? Do you think I could learn how to do that? Is it hard? Can you transform into anything?"

"No." he replied, laughing softly, "I can't but you might be able to, with practise."

"When do I get my letter?"

"It should come any day now. Your eleventh birthday is getting close."

Shaun returned to her book, staring at the picture of her grandmother, dreaming of what Hogwarts would look like and what kinds of things she could learn from the teachers at a school that taught magic. Her father got up from the floor and stood over her, looking at the picture.

"I think it's time to return to your mother's party now. You can take the book, but make sure you put it in your room before you go out to the table."

"Okay Daddy, thank you."

"Oh, and Shaun--"

"Yes?"

"Where did you find the key?"

"I-I didn't. The book just opened. Was it magic?"

Her father smiled wider and brighter than she had ever seen. His chest swelled with pride.

"Yes. It was."