Author's Note: Hello all and welcome to this new story of mine! I have been writing on this story for almost a year, so I'm pretty excited to finally upload it and share it with you guys. This story will consist of three books (potentially even four), so know that it is going to be quite lengthy (and relatively slow-moving). I've got quite a bit already on paper, but will keep a weekly update rate just to keep things manageable for myself. The chapters that I'll post will most often be multiple "scenes", which are separated by a date and place.
Finally, a small note: I started writing this story (long) before the COVID-19 crisis, so even though the story starts out in June 2020, it is not actually "COVID-19 compliant".
Now, I hope you'll enjoy this first chapter. If you do (or don't), I would love to hear your thoughts in a review!
June 28, 2020
Warrington, England
She had been staring at the off-white wall for a full fifteen minutes, noticing every speck of dust, every remnant of squashed fly, every wear and tear that had gathered there over the past twenty years that her parents had lived in the house. It was absolutely brain-deadening, yet she could say without a doubt that it was a hoot compared to the story her aunt Irene was telling.
It was her eighteenth birthday today. Eighteen. Eighteen birthdays spent with her boring relatives sitting in a circle, gossiping about their neighbours, frowning at the young people of today, complaining about the price of food and clothing and pretty much anything else there was for older people to complain about these days.
This birthday should have been different. Maybe she would go out with her friends in nearby Liverpool. Or simply have a drink or two in a pub here in Warrington. Maybe she would dance the night away, only to wake up at some strangers' apartment surrounded by the smell of cigarettes, booze, and mistakes.
Of course, all those scenarios highly depended on her having any friends to do these things with. And, not entirely unimportant, any desire to do such rash and social things. Usually however, she and her single close friend and only pleasant remnant of kindergarten, Jessie, would end up sitting in either of their rooms, drinking tea and watching Harry Potter marathons – their shared fantasies about how they would change the timeline and save the world the closest they got to actually venturing outside.
The series, both books and movies, had always been an escape for her and her life of normality and, dare she say, mediocrity. Dreaming away to tales of wonder and witchcraft, she would almost be able to believe that life was something more, something special. And then, if she was feeling particularly fanciful, she would dare even dream of having a place amongst all that.
'… with the McCorvers' son, Daniel. Say Soph, do you still see that plump girl, what's her name again, from time to time?'
Soph. Sophie, that was her. Top 10 most popular names in the year she was born. Completely average. 'Jessie,' she supplied monotonously, knowing by now there was little use in telling her grandmother to stop calling her best friend such. 'Yes, we do still see each other now and then. She's going to move to Liverpool at the end of the summer though, university and all.'
And that was that. Her grandmother nodded, turned back to her neighbour, and she was again forgotten. Quite how she liked it too, were it not for the fact that she had to endure their company for a good few hours still before they would leave.
Her mind travelled back to Harry Potter, and how his family simply forgot about his birthday completely. Oh how lucky he was! In a sense though, she had often felt like the Boy-Who-Lived – parring his complete un-averageness of course. But he, too, was the odd one out. Misunderstood, forgotten. She could only hope that some measure of greatness would still be in store for her, too. Even so, with the passing of the years, her hopes grew smaller and smaller.
'… Cake! Sophie?'
'Huh?' She looked up, finding her mother had stood from the rickety old chair that had been pulled from the attic for the occasion, just so all of her extended family had a place to sit in their cramped living room.
'I said it's time for cake,' her mother repeated with a tiny smile, for once not commenting on her absent-mindedness, before moving towards the kitchen. While her mother was always adamant about keeping her out of the kitchen during the process, it was no secret what she was doing – for it was the same thing she did each year. This year, eighteen candles would decorate the face of her vanilla sponge cake, circling the simple message that covered the centre of the cake. "Happee Birthdae Sophee" it would read – a nod to her favourite book series that might be quirky if her mother would not repeat it each year.
When her father started singing, Sophie knew exactly what would happen next. Her family joined in, raising hands at every hurray – and the older members only at the final one – and her mother appeared with the cake with pink frosting and green letters, candles already lit on top. Carefully, she placed it in front of her, and as the crowd fell silent, there rested only one thing to do. After a dramatic pause, the same one she held every year, Sophie closed her eyes and blew, making the same wish she made every year.
As expected, when she opened her eyes, the candles were out and all else remained the same. By now, she was not even disappointed anymore, and allowed her mother to hand her a slice of the cake. After all, magic only existed in children's books and as of today, she was no longer one. Maybe it was something wrong with the cake, but suddenly she had a very bitter taste in her mouth.
-xxx-
That evening, she went to bed early, thoroughly worn out by all the socializing she had done. Eighteen years, she thought again. Her whole life was ahead of her – and as of today, she was free to do whatever she pleased. That thought lifted her spirits a little, allowing her to fall into a peaceful sleep.
?
?
She woke up to a blue sky and the feeling of soft grass beneath her body – and a feeling of disorientation in her mind. Scrambling to sit upright, she noticed she was in the middle of a small field, though a line of houses only a little to her right told her she couldn't be too far removed from civilization. Regardless of the distance however, this was all wrong. She was supposed to be in bed, in a small house in the suburbs of Warrington, not in some countryside grassland.
The only possible option – no matter how implausible – that she could come up with, was that someone had played some kind of joke on her. They must have moved her while she slept, and then unceremoniously dropped her in the middle of… well, where ever she was. She made a mental note to give the culprit an earful once she figured out who it was.
'There you are!' A woman's voice called out, part relieved and part agitated, as a figure appeared between the houses. As she came closer, Sophie noticed she was carrying a heavy shopping bag in her left hand, right hand placed on her hip as she regarded her. 'I told you I would only be a minute at the bakery. Sophie, you cannot keep wandering away like this. It's dangerous!'
'I didn't…' she started, unsure even what she was going to say to this woman who seemed to know her – and have expectations of her – even though she herself was certain never to have seen her before. As she started, however, she noticed two things. First, her distinct Liverpool accent was gone, replaced by a subtler, more southern twinge to her tones. Second, her voice was at least an octave higher than last she remembered. Clearing her throat, she tried again. 'I am not sure how I arrived here, but…'
The woman did not give her a chance to finish – again in that high-pitched voice that was hers and yet was definitely not hers – for she grabbed Sophie's left arm and gave it a pull. 'Save the excuses, Soph, you know I don't care for them. Just remember not to run off next time; there's all sorts of people about and you cannot be careful enough these days. Come, let's return home before our milk turns warm and sour.'
If her words were any surprise, more so was the fact that when the woman appeared at her side, she was easily four heads taller than herself, the hand pulling at her arm so strong that she would not be able to tear away even if she were not so dazed. In her confusion, she therefore allowed the woman to tag her along without a struggle, back to the houses and into the streets of a small village. Here, too, she was baffled by the sheer size of the things around her. People, cars, even dogs, had taken on monstrous proportions, and she was suddenly grateful for the unfamiliar woman who had taken her under her wing.
They walked for a good ten minutes or so before stopping in front of a small cottage just off what Sophie presumed was the main road. It had been a silent walk for the most part, with the woman only commenting on the nice weather. For her part, Sophie had kept quiet as she mulled the situation over again. More than an elaborate joke, it seemed almost as if she had appeared in some sort of alternate reality, where all things were out of proportion – almost like Alice in Wonderland. How such a thing was even possible, however, remained unclear. Yet, her musing occupied her so much that Sophie was caught off guard when the woman stopped in front of the door to fish the keys out of her purse. 'Your father said he'd be home early,' she remarked, 'So you go ahead and play some in the backyard while mummy puts away the groceries and starts dinner.'
'Mummy?' Sophie repeated in that same high-pitched voice, now even higher with confusion bordering on panic.
The woman gave her a strange look before opening the door, 'Well? What is it, Soph? You don't remember your ol' mom?' She shook her head whilst stepping inside, 'You are acting awfully strange today, even for your standards.'
As the woman – her mother? – passed through the narrow corridor they were now in and further into the house, Sophie was left to stand and process this newest bit of information. Could it be? Could it be that this universe did not only contain strangely sized objects, but also a new set of parents? She stepped further into the corridor, allowing the large wooden door to fall closed behind her. Not knowing what else to do, she started moving in the same direction as the woman, only to find herself coming to a stop only a few steps further, where a mirror was hung against one of the walls. What she saw there caused her to pause.
It was her. It was her own face looking back at her. And yet, it was definitely not her.
The face looking back at her was that of her younger self, familiar to her only because of the elaborate photo albums her mother – her old mother? – had kept. The same button nose, the same dark blue eyes that still seemed too large for her head, the reddish brown hair that she shared with half of England now long as it hung in a ponytail from the back of her head. She couldn't be more than eight. Well, that certainly explained why everything had seemed so large…
In the end it seemed she had spent more time in front of that mirror than she'd thought, for suddenly the front door had opened again and a man had appeared, wearing dark jeans and a plain grey jumper. When he noticed her standing there, he put down his briefcase and opened his arms as in invitation. A second passed, and then she felt the woman from before moving past her to envelop him in a hug. Quietly, though not quiet enough as to not be overheard, she said to him, 'Do not mind Sophie, she's been acting strange all afternoon.'
-xxx-
'Come on,' she said then, in a louder voice, 'Dinner is ready; best not let it go cold. Come along, Soph.'