Chapter 2 - Monroe Interview

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The resounding echo of the knocks on the door could be heard all throughout the building. I sat straight up in my bed, listening carefully to make sure that I had really heard it. Apparently, the others seemed to think they might have misheard, Mrs. Cole included, because it wasn't until another knock that I heard her rush to open the door.

At the sound of a pair of unfamiliar voices, I leapt out of the bed where I had been reading and dashed to the window. Yes, there was a card in the courtyard! I ran out into the hallway and leaned over the bannister. There were people here…there were really people here!

A little more controlled, I went back to my room and shut the door to think a little. It had been a while since I had seen anyone come interested, but now it seemed like this was my chance. If I saw this through…maybe my wish would come true.

It was an hour later when I heard a door slam. I made it to the window in time to see the car driving out, but I wasn't worried. Today had probably just been a consultation. It always started out like this. They'd come, see the place, and then come back a different day to see us.

"I suppose you heard," I asked Tom at dinner later. He still had not commented on it at all, despite the room being more a buzz than usual.

"What, about that couple that was here earlier? Of course."

"I guess you still don't care?"

"Not really. But if you are, you should try to make an impression."

I sat up a little straighter. "I mean to, Tom."

"Good." He kept his eyes fixed on a spot in front of him, still utterly disinterested.

Tom might have not cared in the slightest, but I was sure he was the only one. The next few days, Wool's was a beehive of activity: cleaning of rooms, ironing of clothes. When the Monroes came back on Saturday, the place—and all of us—had to look the best we ever had. On the day of, I carefully combed my hair while wondering if all those people ever thought about what we were doing and all the effort we put into this one day—often to be let down.

They rang a little before lunch, quickly ushered into Mrs. Cole's office until we had all gathered in the mess to eat, at which point Martha would discreetly come in with them, stand, and point us out to them. Mrs. Cole was aware that some of us would act out in the presence of potential parents. She didn't like to make a big fuss and encouraged us to act like we normally would, so the people could see how we really were. This was, of course, a lot to ask of a large group of children who were all, essentially, hoping for the grand prize themselves, especially when we had all gone through this process before and knew that we were already being "inspected". When we were finished, we'd all file back to our rooms, passing the couple quickly, giving them a brief look before going our way.

Everyone knew the drill now. The couple would go back to Mrs. Cole's office, talk with her a little. Tell her which one of us had interested them, and they'd come talk to us directly to get to know us. It was usually just three or four lucky orphans who managed to reach this second, crucial step. Who were they with right now? Alice? Her pretty looks were always considered. But I hadn't anyone come upstairs yet. Maybe they hadn't started at all. Maybe they were still in Mrs. Cole's office, looking out pictures in her files. It'd be a little while before they got around to seeing us, then. At least, that was my experience…Or maybe it was the complete opposite. They decided no on here was what they were looking for. Most of us weren't babies anyway—isn't that what most people imagined when they adopted? A newborn baby, to be brought up as much as their own as possible. We weren't that; we were practically adults! I clenched my fists. This waiting always drove me mad. I stared at the door, waiting, wishing, praying for that knock—

And it came.

I bolted up, hardly daring to believe it. I was one of them! In my haste, I almost knocked over my bedside table. With shaking hands, I straightened it and went to the door. Taking in a deep breath, I smoothed my dress and opened the door slowly.

The three of them were there. Mrs. Cole, a man, and a woman.

"Evelyn Spencer," Mrs. Cole introduced. "Evelyn, this is Mr. and Mrs. Monroe."

I stared up at them. It had been so long that I had been chosen that I thought I had forgotten how to speak. In that moment, all I could comprehend was how very beautiful they were, like they had come straight out of the pictures from America. They were both very tall, Mrs. Monroe possessing lovely honey brown hair that fell to her shoulders and framing her face, her husband strong but gentle-looking.

"H-hello," I said, somehow unable to look them in the eye. As I fixated my gaze somewhere along their knees, I felt my face burn up. Don't ruin it! I commanded myself fiercely. I forced my head up and held out my hand, hoping they wouldn't notice its slight clamminess. "It's very nice to meet you."

"I'll leave you three alone, then," Mrs. Cole murmured. She backed away and close the door behind her, leaving me alone with the Monroes. Mrs. Monroe smiled.

"Please don't be worried," she said. "We just want to know you a little."

I smiled faintly. "Yes—of course."

"Why don't we sit?" Mr. Monroe suggested. "We may be here a while, so may as well be comfortable."

"I only have this chair," I began, embarrassed, but Mr. Monroe waved a hand.

"No matter," he said.

"I'm sure I'll be very comfortable on the bed sitting next to you," Mrs. Monroe added. And just like that, she lowered herself onto the mattress while her husband took the chair. After a moment of hesitation, I decided I better join them.

"How old are you?" Mrs. Monroe asked.

"I just turned twelve," I said.

"Oh! Well, we should have brought you something," Mrs. Monroe said. "When was your birthday?"

"June 21st," I replied. "And it's all right. You couldn't have known." Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered that this was all information they probably already knew from looking at my file, and that this was just to make me comfortable. I heaved another breath as discreetly as I could.

"Summer birthdays are my favorite," Mr. Monroe said. "Since it's so warm out. Did you do anything special?"

I thought back. I had probably been studying for the final exams, but I remembered taking a break under the willow tree with Diana for a little while. I shrugged. "Nothing much," I said. "But my friend and I talked for a long time. I was in school at the time, you see."

"Ah. Do you like school?" Mr. Monroe said.

"Yes," I said automatically.

"What's your favorite class?" Mrs. Monroe said.

Impulsively, I grabbed a corner of my pillow. Favorite class? I couldn't very tell them Charms; they'd have no idea what that meant. I racked my brain, and then came upon the one subject that I remembered having a Muggle counterpart:

"History."

"Excellent!" Mr. Monroe nodded approvingly. "I quite agree with you there. The past is fascinating, isn't it?"

The memories of me struggling to understand those stupid Goblin Wars flashed through my mind, and I couldn't help but grin a little at the irony. Using my most dreaded subject as a conversation topic to get in with the Monroes.

Then suddenly I felt a wash of disgust. What was I doing? Creating some false picture of myself, that's what. Making myself out to be someone I wasn't, so I'd have a better chance at being The One. Was I that desperate? Shame began to creep up inside me.

"Come now, why the long face?" Mr. Monroe said. "What's wrong?"

"I…I…"

It had been a stupid reaction. Whoever it was…they'd have to know eventually, right? I was reminded of Alice and her meanness towards me, and how I always detested her putting on airs of sweetness whenever people came to see her. Was I not doing the exact same thing? Luring people in by creating the ideal me. The ideal me…not being a witch. Unfortunately, it wasn't the truth.

"It's nothing," I said, smiling. "I just—I don't really like history after all. I just said that. I don't know why, really." And I laughed a little.

To my relief, so did the Monroes. "It's normal to be nervous, isn't it?" Mrs. Monroe comforted. "It's all right. We all are here."

"Then what do you like?" Mr. Monroe prompted. "I promise we won't laugh."

"I…" I had a split second to make my decision. I could lie again, or say what I really thought.

"Charms," I answered. When I did, I felt like I had been cut loose from a line. A great weight had been released.

"Charms?" Mr. Monroe repeated. "I've never heard of such a class before. Is this something new?"

"I'm not familiar with it either," Mrs. Monroe said.

"I think only my school teaches it," I said, realizing it was all or nothing at this point.

"What school would that be?"

"It's called Hogwarts," I said, as casually as possible. "It's a boarding school up in Scotland, so I don't think a lot of people know about it here."

"Indeed…" Mr. Monroe said. I ventured to ascertain his expression and was almost brought down when I saw that his face was as open as it had been before, his wife as well. They weren't put off?

"What else did you learn at Hogwarts?" Mrs. Monroe wanted to know.

"We mix potions," I said. "And there's a class called Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Self-defense?" Mr. Monroe said. "Top job, then. Very important in this day and age, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes!" I said happily. "But it's one of the hardest classes. I like Charms best because it's a lot more fun, and the spells we learn are easier too—"

"Spells?" Mrs. Monroe repeated. "Did I hear that correctly?"

"Oh—yes, you did," I said, a little shyly. "The truth is, Hogwarts's official name is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This past year was my first year there. I'm a witch."

The Monroes stared at me.

"A witch?" Mr. Monroe repeated.

"Yes."

"One who does magic?"

"Yes."

Husband and wife exchanged glances.

"Well—that certainly is interesting," Mrs. Monroe said. "You've always been one?"

"Well, I think so," I said. "I didn't know myself until about this time last year, though. A man came and told me the truth, and then he said I'd go to this school Hogwarts, and I did."

"What man?" Mr. Monroe asked.

"He's a teacher at Hogwarts," I explained. "His name is Professor Dumbledore, and he's apparently very famous."

"I must read the papers more," Mr. Monroe chuckled. "I've never heard of him. Well, well. Would you look at that. A witch, you say? That's quite a story."

A/N: To the guest reviewer from the last chapter—thank you very much! You are too sweet :)

Reviews make me happy, so why not leave one? Thanks for reading, guys.