From Nowhere…. To Here
The story of an American exchange student's trip to Hogwarts
August 13th
My name is Evelyn Miley Rost, and I have the most boring life of anyone I know. How original.
I'm sure that nearly every girl that has ever lived in the U.S.A. has said that in a diary at one point of her life. But with me, it's really, really, really true.
I hate diaries.
I wouldn't be writing in this stupid thing anyway, but on my birthday last week, I got it. (See, it shows how lame my life is. I've had this for a week and still haven't written in it.) Great-aunt Matilda gave it to me, saying that all young girls should have a place to write down their thoughts. But I already have about six diaries lying in various spots, no with more than a page written. All are so boring that I wouldn't care if my little sister published and put any one of them up for sale at $9.99 each. But the shiny blue cover and gold border looked nice, and it would have been a shame to leave it totally empty.
Note: I still hate diaries!
Oh, heck! This whole thing is pointless! I am talking to an inanimate object!
I hate diaries.
Maybe, if something EVER happens to me, I will write again. Probably not. Oh, the heck with it all.
Evvy
Five minutes later
No, nothing happened to me. I'm still normal. I'm just reeeeeeeally, reaaaaaaaally bored. Before I go, I might as well write something. Oh tralala, my life in BORING.
About me: I'm now twelve years old and live in the sleepy town of Sandalford, NY. The only slightly interesting thing about me is that I'm a witch. Plenty of people are, and some non-magic people have pretty good (but hilariously funny) guesses about us, but I'm so used to the fact that I haven't thought twice about it in months. On the outskirts of town and into the hills is a wizarding school called Alastors School of Education for Young Witches and Wizards. It's about as boring as an unsharpened pencil. (Well, you don't hear that comparison everyday.) Fine, Alastor's is know for it's admirable standards nation-wide, but it still is. I just noticed that the about me I planned to write is turning out more about my town. Don't care.
I tend to have two sides: one who lives for school and books and hates doing anything wrong, and another who loves jokes and fun and is hyper. The first seems kind of forced, but the second is natural. I.E. if I were to let myself do whatever my crazy brain desired, I would be a goof-off who has detention every day after school for putting cheese whiz in the principal's desk. I always wanted to do that!
But I don't. And for someone who still hates diaries, I've written quiet a lot.
Evvy
From the life of Evelyn Miley Rost, told by her
I awoke. More specifically, I woke and got up, promptly stubbing my entire foot on a heavy book that I had left it the night before.
I said a bad word. Do I sound cynical to you? That's to bad, because I'm not. At least, I don't think I'm not.
Yeah, I'm not a morning person. Sue me. I'm really not a crab normally, but I take and extremely long time to wake up. I made a mental note: move books. My dad was at work (some emergency thingy) and my sister was spreading orange marmalade onto toast. Our black lab, Frosty, was lying in a patch of sunlight, sleeping in a doorway like usual.
A big, brownish owl with amber eyes swooped up to the window, with a letter tied to her leg.
"Lulu!" cried Mandy, delighted. I had to smile now that I had woken up some. I love getting mail, especially owl mail. The owl I had gotten for my birthday was delivering a letter to my Pennsylvanian pen pal that day, so I didn't expect anything yet.
"Who's it for?" I called, emerging from the fridge. I nearly poured orange juice onto a bowl of cereal, catching my mistake in time. I still wasn't awake.
"Dad," she sighed. "I never get anything."
"You never get anything," I pointed, ''cause you have no wizard friends to send you stuff."
"Yet," she said vaguely, flipping through a magazine. Mandy was going to start in Alastors the year after next.
Pity on her.
I was about to go outside and read in the backyard, but instead I veered down the road in the direction of the Town Park.
The Town Park wasn't much more than a collection of picnic tables, old tall trees, and… empty space. There was a long beach with almost no sand and rocks that always seemed to be warm. What little sand there was on the beach instead of in the water and was gritting and stony. That particular day happened to be stifling warm, quiet, and humid. The kind of day when a storm comes eventually, but so slowly that you could be outside the minute before it starts to rain and get inside before you got wet, or it sneaks up on you so fast it knocks you on your butt.
From the hilltop, everything looked faintly dried out. Pitiful daisies clung to the hill and the murky creek separating the end of the hill from the beach ran low. But in summer, it was always like this, so I paid no attention to the landscape. I'd seen it a million times before and guessed that I'd see it a million more.
Looking like sunbathing lizards, three kids sprawled out on the large boulders piled on the lip of the lake. They stood out amongst the sandy-colored granite, even without moving.
I hoped from rock to rock, crossing the creek and occasionally wetting my sandals. The kids of the long-gone campers had always tried to dam it up, unsuccessfully, but a small line of stones still stood in the shallow water. There were two bridges, one metal, wide one, and the other an ancient wooden bridge with broad metal railing painted bright blue, but none of the kids ever bothered to use them.
The kids were all my friends: Tim, Monica, and Caitlyn. They all went to the same school as me, and we all shared the same opinions about it: boring.
"I am depressed," I announced, striding down the rock-strew beach. Monica and Caitlyn looked up, but Tim continued to stare at some vague point on the lake's horizon.
"Why?" asked Monica. She pushed a lock of dark brown hair from her face. Monica had long curly hair, which constantly got in her way, and yet she point-blank refused to have it cut.
"You know why," I sighed. "You know that exchange program?"
"Of course," replied Cait. "All we've been hearing for half a year now is 'if I don't get top grades I won't get into the exchange program!' and 'If I don't do this extra credit, I can't even think of applying to be an exchange student!'" She laughed. When anyone's down, Cait has a very special gift of cheering them up. When I first met her, it made her seem like a 'stay-on-the-bright-side' snot, but now I know her. But at that particular time, it did nothing for me, and I wondered if I really had sounded like that.
"Well," I replied, climbing onto a different rock, "I haven't gotten anything back from them. Nada. I am depressed," I repeated.
"You don't get depressed," answered Tim, contributing to the conversation for the first time. "Depressed is not in Evelyn Miley Rost's vocabulary."
"Yes it is," countered Monica. "When Flippy, her goldfish, died, she baked five batches of blueberry muffins. In conclusion, Evelyn Miley Rost does get depressed, just in weird ways."
"This is not about Flippy, or my full name, or blueberry muffins-" I started to say.
"Making blueberry muffins does not mean someone is depressed," argued Tim.
"How would you know? You were too busy to tell, eating blueberry muffins!" answered Monica.
"Shut up!" cried Caitlyn. "Stop it before my head explodes and let the poor girl speak!" After her outburst, everything was silent, except for a seabird squawking overhead.
"Thank you," I answered. "Okay, this is not about Flippy or anything! This is about Hogwarts!" Everyone paused uncertainly.
"How do you think they reject you?" asked Cait. "A big message just saying 'NO WAY, JOSÈ!?"
"Thank you for sharing your comforting and compassionate thoughts," I said sarcastically.
"I do my best," she deadpanned, the sarcasm either lost to her or she chose to ignore it.
A few minutes later, the lake suddenly turned a steely gray and the air coming off the lake cold.
"Better go home," shouted Monica, pointing skyward. It was covered with a blanket of ominous gray clouds.
"My mom says that we might get a tornado!" exclaimed Caitlyn.
"Your mom says that about every summer storm we get!" yelled Tim, halfway up the hill.
Yelling and arguing good-naturedly about whether I was depressed or not, we ran up the hill and back to our houses.
* * *
I'm still surprised that I even got it. The cloudburst still raged and left drops on our window by noon. Everything was soaked within an inch of its life and then some. Anyone stupid enough to venture outside was nearly as good as drowned. Okay, not really, but 'as good as wet' doesn't sound as satisfactory somehow.
Whatever. I got into the house, positively drenched.
"You're all wet and dripping," Mandy informed me.
"I hadn't noticed, thanks," I answered, grinning as she handed me a towel. I dried off and went searching for something to do.
Our house is an old-fashioned one, and almost no remodeling has been done since it was built. There is a tiny alcove built in, ideal for a small home office or library. It had been my mother's, mostly, and now it's rarely used. In fact, the room is nearly dead to our family, except me. And I still love it. The bookshelves are crammed with books and the window is always facing the sun in the mornings. Picking a book out, I satisfied myself by reading for a long time, savoring the rich words and willing the scenes to life in my head.
I finished the book, and placed it onto the shelf with care. I love books, I believe that they are one of the most precious things available worldwide. Opening the top drawer of the desk, I picked out a pen and a sheet of paper. I left the other drawers alone, but I kept some things in this room, because it was my favorite room of our whole dwelling. Thinking for a moment, I finally wrote a letter to Caitlyn. Some people think that sending letters to someone down the road from you is kind of weird, but I find it perfectly normal. You can say things better in letters sometimes than face-to-face, if you know how to write well.
Dear Caitlyn,
Well, in about a month, its back to bad food, boring classes and stiff teachers. Or is it stiff food, bad classes and boring teachers? Or boring food, stiff classes, and bad teachers? Take your pick. I personally like the first one. I am looking forward to school. Then only thing that surpasses the thought of school is a very PAINFUL root canal.
Maybe I'm judging too soon- I haven't gotten the letter yet, but I think I might not get one at all, rejection or not. But Hogwarts sounds SOOOOOOO cool- I wish that your parents had let you apply. But even if you did, we would have had to compete against each other. And last time we competed in something big- well, I'm sure that I won't forget that sprained ankle. Do you think the rain is winding down? I'm not sure yet. When Silver comes back, I'll mail this to you. Or maybe Lulu's home.
The Very Insane Person of Hastings Drive,
Evvy
P.S. Would you rather be an aquarium or a walking tree? I would rather be the walking tree, because then people would go, "Look at the walking tree!"
Rolling the letter into a tube, reasoning that it was the best way to keep it waterproof, I walked into the kitchen. The tawny owl, Lulu, was perched on the owl's stand. As I tied the letter to her, she gave me a look of deep resentment, as if she was telling me that I must be crazy to make her go into the damp. Ignoring this, I opened a window. Animals can be as expressive as people can, if you know how to look at them. Some, like Lulu, can be extremely snotty. A very good thing about living in a town where the houses are all about an eighth-mile apart or more is that you can send letters without much worry.
Only about five minutes later, a soft rapping struck the window. It was hard to hear, as I had become so accustomed to the rain in that morning that I regarded it as background noise. But the tapping sounded different. The sound of owl claws…
I opened the window, grinning. What'd you do Caitlyn? I thought. Start writing a reply before you even got my letter? I let the owl in. But it wasn't Lulu. The owl was larger, and gray and black colored. It was glossy and regal, but looked extremely tired. Taking pity on it, I put the strange owl onto the stand.
I took the letter from it. I was surprised to see my name on it- I never got anything, as much as I loved mail. The envelope was made of thick parchment and in a flowing hand was my address, written in green ink.
Hands shaking and holding my breath, I turned it over. A seal held it shut, a coat of arms bearing a lion, and snake, an eagle, and a badger. I slid my nail across it to open it….
From the life of Harry Potter, told by him
I think that ever since I started Hogwarts, I've enjoyed my summers a bit more. Not much, but a little more. There's always the prospect of going back at the end of each summer, so that makes it much more likable. Dreading going to the same primary school as Dudley was never fun.
After last year, with the letter from the Weaslys, Uncle Vernon seemed to finally be convinced to let me send letters when I want. I think that he decided that wizards still could reach him and his family even without owls. Even if they wasted more money than necessary on stamps. Paranoia can work great things in the Dursley's minds. Hedwig, my snowy owl, greatly enjoyed this newfound summer holiday freedom, being able to fly as she pleased.
It was night. When I had come home from school at the beginning of vacation, the Dursleys insisted that I hide my trunk and everything else that linked me from the magical world underneath the stairs, in my old closet. I held out, threatening to tell my godfather about the restrictions they had made for the household. They quickly agreed, but Aunt Petunia gave me a sharp warning about never mentioning or showing any sign at all about my 'abnormality.' But the loophole in this was obvious: I could do whatever I wanted in my room, and they would never know.
Groaning inwardly, I watched the small fuzzy bird pelt closer to my window underneath the streetlights. I swung it open, lest it be squashed on the panes of glass. The owl carried a letter almost too big for itself. Reliving the bird from the burden that was throwing it off-balance, I let the owl fly around the room, fluttering and making a sound that was halfway between a chirp and a hoot, it flew out again. I wonder whether or not Sirius knew about the owl he had picked out for Ron. If birds could snort aloofly, Hedwig would have. With the picture of a aloof owl in my head tickling me, I unfolded the letter.
Ron had creased the letter quite a few times so it would be the right size for Pigwidgeon.
Dear Harry (wrote Ron),
Sorry, but mum says that you can't come as soon as we planned- we've agreed to host some exchange student for Hogwarts, and we couldn't get you that day. How about the Thursday after we'd planned?
I guess you hadn't heard about the exchange thing. It's new, I guess, and I think that the person will be a seventh year. It would make sense, right? Dad said something about this not working before… what d'you reckon he meant? I asked but he wouldn't tell me.
Ha! The Cannons actually made the playoffs! I told you they would come back eventually!
Ron
I sighed at this news- it's rather tiring to have people constantly pretending that you're an inanimate object, and I was looking forward to the visit to Ron's. I wondered who the new student would be. I whisked out a sheet of parchment and started a reply.
From the life of Evvy Rost, told by her. Again…
I started to rip the envelope open. Every so slowly, I might add, using every amount of self-control I have. Not much, I must add also.
"Wassdat?" my sister rushed in, demanding.
"Something from Hogwarts! Go away, please!" I yelled, wanting to be left alone.
"Ooh," Mandy shook her head. "Can't. You can't open that without Dad here. It's like… opening a report card on the bus."
I hate it when Mandy's moral sense gets the better of her. Not only does she act perfect, she tries to make everyone around her perfect, too.
"Tell your conscience to go and stuff it!" I shouted back. "Don't care!" I rushed to my room and quickly locked the door. Actually, I placed my nightstand against the door, but the minute or so it took would be worth it. I don't have a lock on my room.
Leaning against the small table to ensure no little sister break-ins, I carefully ripped the rest of it open. It was thick. I gulped, reasoning that it wouldn't take that long to say, NO WAY, JOSÈ! A few other papers fell out before I got to the main letter.
Dear Miss Rost,
We have taken utmost care in picking our new exchange student. We have gotten over 739 entries from 15 different countries. The one pupil chosen to go would have to be a gifted person in schoolwork and have top marks. As in our school you would be only a second year and most entries are from older students, it would be even more of a privilege if we chose you. There is no record of a second year ever being an exchange student to a magical school. Even so, we have picked you to be our foreign exchange student for this school year of 1995 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All information necessary is enclosed. Please mail us your reply as soon as possible and we shall get back to you.
Minerva McGonagal,
Deputy Headmistress
I really wanted to jump for joy. Actually, I did hop onto my bed jump up, but then I hit my head on the fan. Which was not exactly pleasant, mind you. But as I was used to hitting my head on things, this brought me to me senses. Well, as much as I have ever came to of my senses. (Not much, that is.)
Just then, I became aware of my sister pounding on my door.
"Well?" she demanded. "What is it?"
"A letter from the men in white coats," I replied, barely containing my joy. "They demand that I get back into my small padded room ASAP."
"Really?" she asked doubtfully.
"Guess," I replied. I paused and waited for a few seconds. "Okay, long enough to guess. Now what's inside-" I deliberately stopped. Mandy leaned closer eagerly. "What's inside- I'm not gonna tell you 'cause it's none of your business!" I laughed.
"Evelyn Rost, you are an evil, evil girl!" Amanda yelled.
"And Amanda Rost, you are an annoying little sister!" I shouted back, leaping over my bed and running down the hallway. I galloped down the stairs. I skidded into the living room with her on my tail, waving my letter. "Ain't gonna get it!" I sang to her. I jumped over the top of the couch, landed and entered the kitchen. With Mandy nearing, I went into something that resembled an ungraceful baseball slide. I landed on the floor. As I lay on the cool tile, she leapt in front of me and went into spin drive on her socked feet.
And what happened next was quite simple to guess if anyone had ever been in a position like we had been at the moment. Yes, right then, the doorknob turned and my father stepped in.
My dad was tall and had sandy hair and light eyes and seemed tall, like Mandy. When he wanted to, he could look extremely scary. This occasion, however, was not one of those. That afternoon, he just looked tired and worn out.
"Please, girls, I had a hard day. Could you just forget what you were arguing about for awhile? Today was extremely trying at work." He did look exhausted, so we obediently went up to our rooms. Dad rarely snapped, but when his temper had been stretched to the point of cracking, it was a good idea to get out of the way. It was never what anyone would call pretty, so we decided to stop the chance of it before it was seized.
We obediently went into our rooms. Unfortunately, both of our rooms are in the same hallway, so I never get peace. So I was expecting her to come bursting into my room very soon.
"So, what did you really get?" she asked, opening my closed door and jumping on my bed.
"What do you know about my room?" I asked her impatiently.
"Um, please?" she asked.
"Knock," I said, rolling my eyes. "Fine, I'll tell you. I got a letter-"
"Well, I know that," she said impatiently.
"Who is telling this, dear?" I asked.
"You," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Get on with it."
"Good. It's a Hogwarts letter-" Mandy's eyes nearly popped out, "and it said that… I am the exchange student!" I flourished the letter.
"Lemme see!" she demanded. Snatching it and mumbling under her breath, she read. "Wow," Mandy said, dropping it to my bed. "Out of all those people, they picked you." Noticing the evil eye I was giving her, she hastily added, "I meant that in a good way."
"Thank you, O Small Oddity," I replied sarcastically.
"No problem." She skipped out of my room, humming something. The smallest look of sadness crossed her face.
"That girl is weird," I said to myself, aloud. I hopped down the stairs two at a time, determined to get downstairs and tell dad before my sister did.
I found my father at the kitchen table, with a bunch of scrolls of parchment rolled out in front of him.
"Dad?" I said. "I gots a letter."
"From who?" he asked. "Caitlyn?"
"No," I said, hoping that my life would never get so boring that I only mailed one person, "from Hogwarts."
Even after a long (okay, not that long but probably hectic) day, this was enough to get his attention. Dad practically jumped up.
"What did it say?" he asked nearly as excitedly as I felt.
"I got it!" I practically yelled. "I'm going to England!"
From the life of Amanda Rost, told by her
I'm sure that in some point of their life, everyone's been a little jealous of their siblings. For me, this was one of those times. Dad and Evvy were in the kitchen exclaiming over this, while I was on the stairs, wishing that I were the older child. In my mind, I was thinking that it wasn't fair. The older kid always got to do the cool stuff. Of course, I couldn't even go on the exchange program, but it seemed that the younger child never got to do anything a cool.
Evvy walked up the stairs, looking happy. I could tell; whenever she was really happy, she had a huge smile on her face and a certain look to her eyes and looked very zoned out, with a feel that said that she'd agree with almost anything. And plus, she was bouncing up and down in place.
"Isn't this great?" she asked hyperly.
"Yes," I answered, not looking up from a book I was reading.
She hopped onto my bed. Looking quizzically at my stuffed animals, she picked up a small bear.
"Is something wrong with Mr. Tickles? He looks sad," Evvy said, lifting him over her head. His small yarn mouth was stuck in a limp frown.
"Nothing is wrong with Mr. Tickles and he would thank you to leave him alone," I replied a bit snappishly.
Evvy dropped him. "Are you mad at me?" she asked innocently.
"No," I replied.
"Yes."
"No."
"No."
"Yes," Evvy sniggered at the fact that she had tricked me. "Crap. Okay, I guess so," I added.
"Why?" She smoothed back her black, wavy hair. Normally, she wore it in a long plait, but she'd had it loose since she had gotten wet.
"Because you get to go to England," I pouted. "'Cause you're the older kid."
"Mandy?" Evvy leaned against my doorframe. At small flash of worry crossed her pale blue eyes. "Didja know about the Death Eaters?"
"What about them?" I answered. There had been some uprisings in England lately, and a boy a few years older than Evvy had been killed.
"That boy who was killed? He was at Hogwarts when it happened," she said. I froze. I wasn't very up on reading the news, so I hadn't heard that part. That was scary. "I don't think that anything would happen," she added quickly, "but they've increased security and stuff. And it's a lot harder to get in the exchange program than it was going to be before, I guess."
I sat quietly thinking of what might have happened if the exchange program had been a year earlier and it had been Evvy to be killed. Suddenly, I wasn't jealous anymore.
"Ah, what could happen, anyway?" she asked, twirling a lock of hair that had escaped from it's prison. "Not much, right?" Then, Evvy's eyes lit up. "Wanna go play with the toaster?" She laughed like the maniac she was, and stomped downstairs.
From the life of Harry Potter, told by him
I sucked on a quill, and scribbled a reply.
Dear Ron,
That's okay, I guess. I don't mean to complain, but it's basically a hellhole here. Dudley has the stomach flu and my aunt is in a fit, so it doesn't help her temper. I'm sure you're having as much spectacular fun at your house as I am! (Haha. Note the sarcasm.) Sooooooo.
You're probably right about the exchange student. Another Hermione! Urgg, I couldn't take it! Or maybe we don't have to worry. Maybe they'll be a seventh-year Ravenclaw who lives in the library. I dunno what your dad meant, your guess is as good as mine.
Can you get the last question on our Charms homework? I don't understand it.
I wouldn't think much of the exchange thing. After all, what can happen?
Signed,
Harry
A/N: Okay, anyone familiar with Someone Named Harriet? She has something to say.
Someone Named Harriet: Evvy IS A MARY SUE!
Me: Yeah, I guess she is right now. But in the further chapters, it'll be different! I swear on the five pixie stix I ate today! Okies, um…. Yeah, I know it stinks. But don't you have the heart give me a review, even a flame? NO? I slaved over a hot computer, working to nine thirty at night some days, and this is all the thanks I get? YES? Dangit. Well, couldn't you review ANYWAY?
SNH: Probably not.
Me: GO and stuff it, you grape-obsessed freak! *A-skips merrily into the sunset.*
Disclaimer: I own everything! MINE MINE MINE! Okay, not really. Just the delirious ranting of a fanfic author. As you know, all real HP pplz belong to J.K. Rowling, and I own everyone in Sandalford, plus the plot. Actually, I don't as there is none yet. Oh well!