Here you go, another chapter. Next one is our beloved Professor explaining Hogwarts to Daisy, and then, the chapter after that will finally have Diagon Alley. Hope you like this one. Like usual, some direct quotes from the first HP book, this time from ch. 3 Letters from No one (except for the actual Hogwarts letter which is taken from ch.4, The Keeper of the Keys. Anyway, here it is, tell me what you think!

Chapter 3

THE LETTER

By the time Daisy was finally allowed out of her cupboard, the summer holidays had already started. Daisy had done what she would always do when the Dursleys would punish her – and that happened rather often – she would read and pretend she was somewhere else, an exotic place, a fantasy land, on another planet even. Anywhere but the cage she was trapped in.

Her books were her friends, her teachers, her escape; Her books didn't just judge her, didn't punish her, didn't make her feel stupid. If she had a question, her books would most often than not have an answer for her, if she wanted to visit some remote place without leaving her cupboard, or if she wanted to be someone other than herself, her books would make it happen. It didn't matter that they didn't really belong to her – Daisy didn't own anything that was hers, that hadn't belonged to someone else first – because, even if she had to return them, they would always stay with her – inside her mind.

Sometimes, before falling asleep, she would remain with her eyes closed and imagined a library inside her mind. It didn't look like the local library she visited, it looked more like the inside of a gothic church (not that Daisy had ever seen a gothic church, only pictures of it), with a rib vault so tall it looked like it could touch the sky, the nave wide and so deep you couldn't really see the ending and beautiful windows made with stained glass, and when the sunlight would hit it, it would paint the walls in all colors of the rainbows.

The walls were covered on all sides with bookshelves, as tall as the ceiling, filled with hundred of thousands of books, all there for her perusal. But the books weren't just those she had read. Oftentimes, when she would open a book that had no title, a memory would replay in her mind – a bad one usually, not that she had many pleasant ones to begin with. If that were to happen, she would close the book with a padlock and hid it somewhere where it wasn't easily found (her favourite place was underneath the big, flat stones that made up the floor of her library). Doing that meant that, once awake, while she still remembered that memory, thoughts of it wouldn't bother her anymore. They became nothing more than an afterthought, easily overlooked until she would focus on it.

The only memory she couldn't hide from, the only one she couldn't just put inside a book, so to say, was the memory of her parents' death. Daisy had a theory about that, not that it made more sense than the fact that she could somehow organize her memories inside books. She thought it was because that particular memory was the only one she didn't remember clearly – she only remembered bits and pieces of it but the whole picture eluded her. It was frustrating because it was also the only memory that kept tormenting her. Daisy knew her mind wanted her to remember – it was what her mind always did, remember things, even those she didn't want to remember. But for some reason, she just couldn't. Was it because Daisy subconsciously didn't want to remember it? Or simply because she had been so young when it had happened and even her mind had limits when it came to memories.

Daisy didn't know and she was resigned to not know as well. While her books always answered most of her questions, when it came to the things she could do, she had never found anything. This was going to remain yet another question she would probably never learn the answer to, together with what had really happened to her parents and who her parents really were.

At least school was over. Daisy had passed her final exams by the skin of her teeth, like it was expected of her. She hated it. Hated pretending that she was stupid, it was humiliating. She desperately wanted to show those who looked at her with both pity and scorn that she was nothing like the image they had of her. That she could pass those exams with her eyes closed. That she wasn't dumb or a worthless delinquent. That she was worth more than any of them realized, that she would become someone someday, someone important. But she knew she couldn't. Not until she would get to live with the Dursleys anyway.

There was one silver lining for her however. Come September Dudley would go to Smeltings, Uncle Vernon's old private school and since the most Daisy could aspire to was the local secondary school, Stonewall High, she wouldn't have to deal with Dudley or his friend Piers during school hours anymore. Maybe without Dudley there to scare everyone who tried to approach her, she could finally make some friends.

But for that to happen, she first had to survive the rest of the summer holidays. Every day Dudley's gang (Piers, Dennis, Malcom and Gordon – all big and stupid but not as big and stupid as Dudley who was, of course, their leader) would come to the house and every day Daisy would make herself scarce.

She would spend most days outside – first she would go to the library to return the books she already read and to burrow new ones, then she would usually go to the park, when the weather would allow it (and luckily for her, that summer there were a lot of sunny days), in an out of the way corner she had found when she was 7. There she would spend her mornings, reading until lunch time, and pretending she was in her very own Secret Garden, where no adults – especially the Dursleys – and no Dudley and his gang were allowed.

Nobody had ever found her there and she wondered if that was something else she had made happen without consciously meaning to. Sometimes she only needed to wish for something to happen for that something to become true.

The afternoons she would spend tending to Petunia's garden, the only chore the Dursleys gave her that she didn't hate to do. She liked taking care of the plants, the herbs, the vegetables and fruits there – loved knowing what properties those plants had, it was fascinating. It was a beautiful garden and since Aunt Petunia hated to get her hands dirty, Daisy would be left alone for the most part there.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Daisy at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Daisy watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later in life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Daisy didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

The next morning when Daisy entered the kitchen she was assaulted by a horrible smell that it seemed was coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" she asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if Daisy dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Daisy looked in the bowl again and tried not to turn up her nose in disgust. "Oh," she said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia, not understanding her sarcasm as usual. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Daisy seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High — like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

How naïve of her, thinking she was finally going to have a fresh start. She would still be the freak in Stonewall High, the weirdo, the outsider, as she was everywhere else. The Dursleys would never allow for anything else.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Daisy's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Daisy get it."

"Get the mail, girl."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley. Girls should always know who they answer to."

Daisy dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail, wondering all the while how could Petunia let a comment like that slide. Did she agree to the sentiment that a woman's place was below a man? That a woman should be at a man's back and call? She couldn't really agree to that, could she?

Unfortunately, Daisy was rather sure that she did. Didn't Petunia's whole life revolve around her husband and child? She didn't have a career of her own, no hobbies except for spying on her neighbors. She even disapproved of other women who had jobs of their own, saying that a woman's place was the house, that a woman who had a job was neglecting her duty towards her family.

Daisy didn't want that for herself. She didn't want to be a woman whose only accomplishments in life were wife and mother. She respected those who wanted that for their own lives but she didn't want that for herself. She would never marry or have children if marrying meant giving up her freedom, her independence. She had experienced so little of those things, she had no intention of giving up on them once she would finally have a life of her own. She was going to have a career, she was going to be successful one day.

Daisy was brought out of her thoughts when she noticed the letters on the doormat. One was a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight; there was also a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Daisy.

Daisy startled. She checked that the Dursleys weren't paying attention and that they couldn't see what she was doing. They weren't, still fawning over Dudley's ridiculous uniform.

Daisy picked the letter up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives — and the library had never written to her because she had always returned the books she would burrow on time. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Miss D. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and theaddress was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Daisy saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Daisy had a decision to make. Return to the kitchen with the letter in hand, already suspecting the Dursleys' reaction to it and what punishment they would give Daisy for it – that it wasn't her fault in the least, didn't matter to the Dursleys, it never did – or hide the letter in her cupboard and read it later that night. Daisy had just gone out of her latest punishment, she didn't want a new one so soon. And she was so curious about this letter. If the Dursleys took it from her, she would never know what was written inside. And that thing inside her that knew things before they happened, was telling her that this was a letter that she needed to read.

Decision made, she quickly stashed the letter under her cot and returned to the kitchen. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard and sat down, not daring to make a sound. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk.…"

Daisy tuned him out, once again knowing without knowing how, that Marge Dursley was going to puke her guts out for a week straight and then return to her usual self. Daisy wished she could say she was relieved that Marge was going to be alright but she would be lying. She didn't necessarily want her dead but Daisy would not shed a tear if she were to die either, nor would she for Ripper. Daisy loved animals but Ripper was no dog, it was a hound from hell.

The rest of the morning passed without incidents. At about eleven, Dudley's friends showed up at the house like usual and Daisy decided to leave. She wished she could return to the cupboard to retrieve her letter but she didn't want to risk it. She had to be patient and read it that night.

When she crossed the threshold and went outside, she noticed a brown owl perched on the branch of the tree in front of number 4 Privet Drive. She had always thoughts owls were nocturnal animals. What a peculiar sight it was.

She spent the time till lunch in her usual corner of the park, reading the 'Encyclopedia of Medical Herbs', which listed some common and some not so common herbs and their medical properties. It wasn't the first time she had read a book pertaining to this subject but this book had been published just a few months ago and she had been curious to see if it had more comprehensive information that the others she had already read. For the most parts it listed things she already knew but once or twice some new information had shone through.

After lunch – not that what Daisy had been allowed to eat could be considered lunch – she had spent a few hours in the garden, until it had started to get dark. Dinner passed uneventfully as well, Daisy washing the dishes and counting the minutes until she could finally retire to her cupboard and read her letter.

Finally, at eight of clock, when the Dursleys had no more use of her, Vernon dragged her to the cupboard and pushed her inside. Alone at last, she summoned a small light in her hand – not big enough to attract the Dursleys' attention but bright enough for her to see – and retrieved the letter from under her cot.

She opened it with shaky fingers; there were two sheets of parchments inside. She took the first one in her hand and started to 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 Miss Potter,

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

The second sheet of parchment contained a list, obviously the list of 'all necessary books and equipment' that the first sheet referred to. Daisy spent long minutes just looking at the two pages, rereading them though she didn't need to.

It took a little while for the words to penetrate her head. A school of magic? Was it a joke? But who would bother to create such an elaborate joke. The Dursleys weren't that creative to come up with something like this. And they hated even hearing the word 'magic' anyway. No, they couldn't have done this.

What if it was real, though? Was it possible that a school of magic really existed? Was it magic what she could do? It made sense, in a strange way. But how this letter knew where to reach her? How did these people at Hogwarts knew who she was? She had so many questions, though she was rather unwilling to ask them. Nothing good ever came from her asking questions.

The letter though, the words in it, it made it seem like she was already supposed to know about Hogwarts, like she had been expecting their letter or something. And what did it mean, 'we await your owl'?

Daisy suddenly remembered the brown owl she had seen that morning, perched on the tree outside the Dursleys house. Did they use owls to send letters? Peculiar maybe but not completely impossible. In the past, Daisy knew, they had used ravens and pigeons to deliver letters.

Daisy decided to write an answer tomorrow and then, hoping the owl would still be there in the morning, that it would deliver it to the person who had sent the letter. She had no intention of asking questions since doing such a thing never went well for her but she would still make sure to underline the fact that she had never heard of Hogwarts before that day.

The next morning, after visiting the library and burrowing a manual that explained how to write letters – Daisy had never written one before and she didn't want to make a bad impression – she went to her corner of the park, white piece of paper she had ripped off one of her school notebooks and ballpoint pen in hand and she started to write. After a few failed attempts, she finally came up to what she considered a good response. It convened everything she needed to without outright ask for anything and it was sparse enough in details that her circumstances or her life at the Dursleys remained rather vague.

Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,

I thank you for your letter and I would be delighted to attend your school, if not for the fact that I would be unable to pay for tuition or even for the necessary equipment, for my guardians would not take on the expense themselves. Moreover, even if I possessed the money necessary to buy what I would need for the school year, I wouldn't know where to go about to acquire them, nor am I aware of where to find your school in the first place nor how to reach it.

It is, unfortunately, my belief that my aunt and uncle would not be agreeable to the idea of me going to a magical school; while they have never mentioned Hogwarts to me, they've made sure to impress upon me their belief that magic does not exist. If it weren't for the fact that the Dursleys don't possess a sense of humor, I would have thought Your letter a prank at my expense.

If, however, this letter is authentic as I hope it is, I am not ashamed to admit my relief in being able to put a name to the strange incidents that happened around me during the years. Nevertheless, due to my age, I would presume that I would need my guardians' permission to attend school and, unless they could be persuaded otherwise, I do not think that permission to be forthcoming any time soon.

For this reason, I cannot, in good conscience, accept the invention to attend Your school, though I am most regretful to do so. I would very much like to attend Hogwarts but, at the moment, the circumstances make it impossible. Perhaps, if a professor of Your school would be willing to visit the Dursleys' residence and explain to them – and me – what we need to know about Hogwarts, it could perhaps help them change their opinion on the matter.

Hoping to receive a favourable answer to my missive, I bid a good day.

Yours faithfully,

Daisy Potter

She decided to put her letter into the envelope of the Hogwarts letter before going to look for the owl. Luckily, she found it in the same place as yesterday. The yellow eyes of the animal looked at her expectantly. Daisy reached her hand out and the owl immediately grabbed her letter with its beak.

"I don't know how this works. I don't know if you can really understand me, though I think you can. Could you bring this letter to Professor McGonagall for me?"

The owl hooted at her, a sound that Daisy took to indicate that it understood what she asked (at least she hoped so) and then it flew away. Daisy watched it go for a few seconds before sighing and returning to the house. She didn't know if the letter would reach Hogwarts, nor what their answer would be.

Daisy was gambling on the fact that they wanted her to attend Hogwarts or they wouldn't have bothered to write to her in the first place. But did they want her to attend Hogwarts enough to bother to do something about her relatives who, she had made clear, wouldn't want her to attend a school of magic of all things? And if they did want her enough, then what did that tell her? Who were these people who knew where she lived, knew that she was magical – clearly – and wanted her to attend their school but they had left her under the Dursleys' 'kind' hands for ten years?

Perhaps she was being paranoid but none of it sit right with her. It reminded her of those strange people who would bow to her and shake her hand and then disappear. Were they magical too? And how did they know her? Why there were so many people who seemingly knew who she was and yet no one had bothered to even check that she was alright? Why had they all abandoned her for ten years if they knew she existed?

All these questions would make her go crazy if she kept pondering on them. Since she didn't have any answers, nor a way to acquire them – there wasn't a book in the world that could answer these questions, she feared – all she could do was wait, hoping someone from Hogwarts would come. But what if they didn't? Could she survive the disappointment if no one came?

Daisy shook her head. Of course, she would. If she knew one thing about herself was the fact that she was resilient. The disappointment would be crippling, certainly, but she would overcome it. She only hoped she wouldn't have to.

Four days later and there was still no sign of anyone. Daisy sighed and decided to wait a week at the most and then, if no one had come by that point, she would forget about Hogwarts altogether. She had tried, perhaps they really didn't care if she would go to their school or not. Who knew how many students they had? What did they care if one of them couldn't attend Hogwarts because her guardians hated magic?

Daisy couldn't regret the way she had worded her letter. She remained firm in her believes that asking questions was bad – it left her vulnerable to scorn, made her look pitiable and stupid. If she'd ever manage to attend Hogwarts, she would make sure to never appear ignorant even if she weren't – knowledgeable, yes, but not a not-it-all, no one liked those. If she really was ignorant in something – and she would probably be ignorant in a lot of things since she didn't know anything about Hogwarts – she would do what she always did, look for the answer in a book.

Finally, almost a week later since she had sent her letter and a day away from her birthday, the doorbell rang. Daisy was still locked in her cupboard, but the sound of the doorbell ringing almost made her bang her head against the ceiling she sat up so fast. She knew, somehow, she knew, that the person on the other side of the door had come for her, that they were from Hogwarts.

Daisy heard Aunt Petunia's footsteps – she recognized them as her aunt's because they weren't as loud and heavy as Dudley's and uncle Vernon's – coming towards the door. When Petunia opened it, Daisy held her breath. She didn't have to wait long for Petunia's reaction.

"YOU!" Daisy had never heard that particular tone of voice Petunia usually reserved for her, directed towards someone else. Daisy frowned in confusion. Petunia clearly knew the person standing on the threshold.

"Hello Tuney." The person on the other side was a man. His voice was low and smooth, velvety even – it sent a pleasant shiver running down her spine – but also cold, unwelcoming. Daisy was used to loud, screaming voices – not only the Dursleys. Everyone was always so loud and obnoxious. They all wanted to be heard and their tone of voices reflected that. But this man – his voice would make you pay attention to him even if you didn't want. If he was a professor, like Daisy suspected, then his voice was perfect for teaching. No one would dare make a sound and risk disrupting his lessons.

"VERNOOONNNN!" Petunia screamed, at the top of her lungs for her husband's aid.

"No need for such theatrics Petunia." Daisy could almost hear the man rolling his eyes, his tone was so expressive. "You knew we would come eventually. Dumbledore's letter said as much, did it not? Where is she?"

Petunia stayed silent, Vernon's heavy steps making an appearance descending the stairs. "Where is Daisy Potter?" The man asked again when no answer was forthcoming.

Daisy decided that that was her cue. The Dursleys would have found reasons to punish her anyway. "I'm here." She called out. Daisy heard Vernon tried to protest, his loud voice threating the man that he was going to call the police if he wouldn't leave the house immediately. The man ignored him, his steps closer and closer to the cupboard's door that hid Daisy from view.

Daisy heard a murmured word she couldn't make out and then the door to the cupboard was open. Daisy blinked at the sudden light and then found herself face to face with a tall man, with dark, lanky hair, pale, yellowish skin and deep, fathomless eyes so dark they looked almost black.

Daisy stared, unable to utter a word. The man's expression had been unreadable a moment ago, a sneer about to form on his lips. Then he stopped abruptly too, a look of pain crossing his face when he looked into her eyes so quick Daisy almost thought she had imagined it. Then the man's expression became unreadable, blank like a white canvas.

"Hello Miss Potter." His voice was still smooth and velvety but it had lost that cold edge it had assumed while speaking with her aunt. It wasn't warm exactly but it wasn't unwelcoming anymore either. "My name is Severus Snape, Potions Professor at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House. I believe we have a lot to talk about."