Chapter 2: The First Letter

August was coming to quick close, and the summer was nearing an end. Phil had been spending his days at home, with his father, only going out to eat dinner, or to do a little bit of walking to think. They would visit his mother every day, whenever they had the chance. She still could only lay back and stare up at the ceiling in the lifeless way.

Phil's father had a job, however, as a reporter for the South Londing Newspaper, which meant that he would be away most days, at least until the evening. This left Phil to himself to think, or to walk, or to even venture a trip to St. Mungo's. But the worst part about spending his days alone was his worry that he would hear the news of his mother. That she died in her sleep, or fell horribly ill, and they had to stop treatments. That was the one thing that worried Phil too much.

As August 31st hit, Phil was wasting his day sitting in his lounge chair, watching TV, as most of his days were spent. His father was at work, but it was nearing six o' clock, which meant he would be home soon. He was watching an infomercial advertising some cooking product, and he had the window next to wide open, to let the cool breeze in. He couldn't remember a more boring time. As the infomercial progressed to the special deal offer, Phil heard a strange noise from outside. He quickly turned to the window, when suddenly, a bird flopped through, and landed head first onto the ground. It was quite obviously some kind of owl. It took Phil a second register what had just happened.

Phil jumped quickly out his seat, and carefully edged closer to the bird, hoping he could pick it up while it still sat confused on the floor. As he came closer, however, he saw that the bird had a letter tied to its leg. The bird was squirming, so he couldn't quite see what the letter looked like.

"Strange……." Phil muttered as he came within grabbing distance of the owl.

It suddenly leaped onto its feet, and whirled around to face Phil.

Something about the owl seemed very odd. Almost as if it knew what it were doing. Perhaps this bird did not just fly into the window, but it was looking for him. That was insane. Of course it wasn't looking for him.

Phil shook his hands in the owls direction. "Shoo!" he shouted loudly. "Shoo!" The bird made no move. It stood still, just looking at Phil, waiting. It then silently raised its leg with the letter, slowly, almost in an annoyed fashion. Phil realized the letter strapped onto its leg might be for him. Why would a bird be delivering him a message?

Phil decided, as long as the bird didn't already lung and attack him, and gouge out his eyes, that it probably wouldn't be planning on it. He slowly bent over the bird, and reached out his arm. The bird didn't move. He came a little closer. Still, the owl stayed still. He then went for it.

He grabbed the corner of the envelope, and slowly took hold of the small string holding it on its leg. Untying it, he carefully backed away, letter in hand. The owl suddenly jumped up, and flew quickly out of the window, gone as fast as it had come.

Phil turned the letter around. He stood up as he read the front of the envelope:

"To Mr. P. Ellis

Living Room chair

5. East Farthing Drive

South Londing

London, ENGLAND"

"What?" Phil was confused. Who would know where he lived? And how would they know he was just sitting in his chair?

Then he remembered. His mother is a witch. It must be…about her. He was afraid to open the letter. What if it told him that she had died? He didn't want to open it. But why would it be addressed directly to him? Phil walked back over to the chair, and sat down.

He turned the letter around again, and found the seal. It was a small crest, with the word "Hogwarts" pressed across it. This made Phil even more confused. If it wasn't St. Mungo's, then who was it? Hogwarts? What was Hogwarts?

No. Not for him to open now. His father should open it.

Phil suddenly had an image of his mother. When he was young. He was playing in their back yard, as she sat by the door and watched. All he remembered was her smile. She was smiling. It was different to see her smile. Not only did she not smile now, but she never used to smile. At least in front of Phil. He never knew why though. She always seemed unhappy.

Now that Phil thought of it, His father never seemed too happy either. They never seemed to talk, but Phil never seemed to notice. Phil stepped over to the table near the fireplace. He set down the letter.

He needed to see his mother again. Something didn't feel right. He knew he should see her today, and maybe try to clear up a little of the fog surrounding what happened to her. Maybe the healer Thomas Porden would have more information or insights.

Phil found a piece of note paper on the counter in the kitchen, and grabbed a pen nearby.

Quickly, he scrawled a message to his father:

"Off to see mum. Be back soon.

Phil."

He set it near cupboard, and picked up the bowl of magic powder sitting near the door. He didn't know much about the stuff, except how to use it. He wondered how his father knew how to use it, for he didn't seem to be magical in any way. Well, for that matter, neither did his mother. Why were they so quiet about her being a witch? Why didn't they tell him? Is that why they never talked? Did they have something to keep from him besides her being a witch? He knew it had something to do with their silence. He didn't know quite what though.

Phil approached the fireplace in the living room, and silently started a small fire. He had already traveled by the green fire six times now. Each time was to see his mother. This time was for her as well.

Phil arrived in the room behind the open entrance to St. Mungo's, where the fireplaces were kept, for those traveling by magic fire. Phil knew there must be a real name for this kind of travel, but he couldn't even venture the slightest guess as to what it was.

He made his way across the open hall, and came to the front desk.

"Back again are we? She is still in the Jonathon Materine Ward. You know where it is." the crinkled old witch said, just as Phil approached.

"Um, thanks." Phil replied, quickly walking away.

Up the four flights of stairs, and down the corridor, Phil came to the Materine Ward. Quietly he entered through the small door. As he walked through, he saw his mother clearly in her bed closest to the door. Thomas Porden was walking around the room, when he saw Phil. He came, over with a slight smile on his face.

Phil sat in on the chairs next to his mother. Porden came and sat next to him.

"Phil, I've got a little bit of good news for you." Thomas said, looking at Mrs. Ellis. Phil turned to face him, keeping quite silent. "Phil, you're mother spoke last night. This means that she is on the long road to recovery. We are still trying to determine what curse was used on her however."

"Curse?" Phil was suddenly confused. "I know that witches and wizards are able to do magic…but curses?"

"Oh, right, um, Phil, a curse is a kind of spell, that is cast to have a very long term effect. Sometimes a permanent effect. But your mother is quite strong, because whatever spell was cast, it seems she was able to avoid most of the damage, and she is still fighting to recover."

"Wait, so she spoke last night? Does that mean she really is getting better?"

"We think. Its hard to tell, but we think she may have been hit by some form of the…killing curse…"

"…Killing curse? So that man tried to kill her?…" Phil looked down at the floor.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you this…" Porden replied.

"No, I think I needed to know." Phil said quietly.

"I'll…give you a minute…" Thomas Porden stood up, and walked quietly toward another patient. Porden was obviously a little older than the other healers. He had a few graying hairs, and a wrinkle or two, which caused Phil to guess his age around forty or fifty. He stood quite tall, and had a longish brown hair. His most memorable feature however was his bright green eyes. He obviously cared a lot about Phil's mother, for he was spending so much time helping Phil and his father.

Phil then turned back to his mother, the reason he was there.

Laying there, just as lifeless as before, staring blankly at the wall now, Phil's mother looked quite hopeless. Something was so sad about the scene, even though his mother almost seemed to have a faint smile across her frozen face. She seemed almost peaceful.

"Mum?" Phil whispered. Maybe she would speak again. "Mum? Can you hear me?"

There was no reply. She lay just as lifeless as ever. This was the last time he would ever see her real face again.

When Phil arrived home, he found his father sitting in the lounge chair, watching some srange show. Phil stepped across the room to face him.

"Oh you're back!" Phil's father jumped up and clicked off the television. "How is she doing?"

"Mr. Porden said that she was talking last night. I think she's getting better!" Phil smiled for the first time in a few days.

"What? That's wonderful news!" Mr. Ellis smiled as well, for the first time in a few days. "I wish I could go see her, but I think visiting hours end at eight o' clock… Hey, Phil, why don't we celebrate? We could go out to eat somewhere nice!"

"Eat?" Phil was not the least bit hungry. "Um… I'm really not that hungry… But if you want to, I'll go with you."

"Oh, no, if you don't want to, its fine, I'll make something here." Phil's father seemed happy.

The dark brown hair hanging slightly from his father head, hung forward into his face. His brown eyes lit up from the very words 'she was talking last night'. Phil was happy to see him happy. And he was happy to know his mother was recovering.

Nothing could dampen his spirits right now. Phil walked over to the small table, where he had set the bowl of magic powder. He then noticed the letter. Atop the brown end table sat his letter from Hogwarts. He thought suddenly, tat maybe this would be the time he should ask his father about it.

The bright blue kitchen was just off of the living room. Phil walked in and sat at one of the tall chairs that were placed in front of the marble countertop. He put the letter on the table, as he slid he magic powder, which seemed so much lighter than the first time he had picked it up, over to the wall. His father was at the stove. He was attempting to light it up, so he could cook up some leftovers of chicken and rice. Phil looked up at him, while he bent low to grab a pot from under the counter.

"Hey dad, I got a letter today. I was wondering if you could explain it to me." Phil said, picking up the letter to look at it a little closer.

"A letter?" Phil's father asked while he put the chicken in the pot, then placed it on the stove. "Whose it from?"

"Um, Hogwarts? I think that's it…" Phil said, trying to pronounce the strange word.

His fathers reaction was a bit unexpected. He suddenly flinched, knocking the pot to the ground, and spilling the chicken pieces across the floor.

"Howgarts?" Phil's father turned quickly to him. "Um, can I see that?"

"Yeah." He handed the unopened letter over to him. "What's wrong?"

"Um, oh, nothing. I, uh, might need a minute to read this, okay? Why don't you clean up this chicken, and I'll take a look."

"Okay…" Phil said, disappointed. What was wrong? What was the letter? Why did his father flinch?

Phil stepped over to the fallen chicken, and picked up the warm pot. His father quickly stepped out of the room, into the living room, ripping the letter open.

Phil put the chicken in the sink, and stepped over to the door to the living room. He peeked inside, just enough to see his father reading hastily through the letter.

"Shit… Fuck… This is bad…" He could just barely hear him say. He was obviously not too happy about something. What could be wrong? He decided he shouldn't bother his dad, especially if he was this aggravated.

He sat himself back into one of the kitchen chairs, just as his father came back in.

He was silent. He didn't have the letter with him either.

"Hey, dad?"

"What?"

"Um, what was in that letter?" Phil asked cautiously.

"Oh, just a bunch of gibberish, nothing to worry about."

"…Okay…" Phil said quietly. "Can I see it though?"

"No, I already threw it away."

They didn't talk for the rest of the night.