That Strange Day
"Come on Liz," said a little 10-year-old girl. Her hair was a deep brown and had finger curls. Her skin had a tanned Arabic look and she wore a pair of baggy jeans and blue shirt.
"All right, Emma," said Liz. Liz had straight blonde hair. Her skin was pale and she wore a pair of blue bell-bottoms and a green tank top. But the most distinguishing feature was her eyes. A pair of deep, sky blue eyes. Liz looked different from the rest of her family. The rest of her family had the Arabic thing going on, but she had the pale, blonde-haired English thing. And she was different, Emma didn't know how, but she was and she knew it. Emma knew Liz was adopted, but it was something really different with her. Things happened. Liz would be happily playing hide and go seek with Emma and then all of a sudden Liz would be on the roof. Liz said she had climbed up there but Emma knew that wasn't true; as much as she wanted it to be she knew it just wasn't. Things continued to get stranger and stranger as she grew older. Emma would often see Liz do very strange things. One time Liz had gotten so mad at Emma that somehow Emma had gotten burnt with a book. Everyone said it must have happened earlier. You see the thing about Emma was that things would happen to her by Liz's doing. Magic! She had tried not to believe it but it was true. This was proved to her that strange day.
Emma lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her face was tear-stained. She sat up and looked around her new room. They used to live in a little town in the northern part of England, but now, she didn't. She lived in Milton Mills. It was a suburb outside London where all the houses looked the same: white paint, box houses, small front yard, and a small backyard with either a swing set, pool or a picnic table. Their house had a pool. They had also planted a willow tree in the corner of their yard. That was Emma's second favorite place to be. Her favorite place were the petunias under the living room window. There she would sit all day and just imagine if she could talk to the flowers, just like in Alice in Wonderland. Alice in Wonderland was her favorite movie. She had all the lines memorized. Her other favorite place to be was the attic. Her parents told her not to go up there because it was dirty, but she did anyway. She had created her own little space. There was one window at the top of the attic. She had found a poster of a bunch of boxes that were really old so she put that in the window so that no one would see her in the attic and would think that it hadn't been touched.
"Knock knock." Emma turned to see what was making the noise. It was Liz. Liz slowly walked in. Her hair was down and she wore a pair of red shorts and a red shirt.
When Liz saw that she was crying she rushed over and said, "Oh, Emma, what's wrong?"
"Everything," said Emma with some effort, "Look at my room! I liked where we used to live." Emma's room was a plain white box with a closet and a bed. Her room was small. She had one window that looked out to the bullies' house.
"Emma," cooed Liz, "it's not all as bad as that. Now we have a pool and we can always go swimming." Emma wiped away the new tears that had run down her cheek.
"I guess you're right," said Emma. Her blue tee was now a dark blue from the tears and her jeans were dry. Her hair was up in a ponytail. Emma got out of her bed and looked at Liz. Liz gave her that smile she always wanted. It was a full smile. All she had was a half smile. The two walked out of the room and down the stairs. It had green walls, white rug and ceiling and was, lets face it, BORING! They walked into the kitchen. The kitchen had yellow walls and was white stippled. The table, chairs, cupboards, doors, window and doorframes, door and picture frames were mahogany wood.
"Liz," said a woman with dark, curly brown hair and dark skin. "Could you get the paper?" Her dress clashed with the room. Her dress was a violet and was simple, no decorations.
"Sure Mum," said Liz as she trotted back out the kitchen door.
"So, Mum," said Emma, "what school am I going to?"
"The public school," said Mum, "you both are". Mum nodded her head towards the door.
"Hi Kyla," said Emma's father as he walked in the room. Clearly there was going to be a kissing scene so Emma said, "Could you tell me when breakfast is ready?" Emma left and didn't wait for the answer.
"Hey Liz!" said Emma. "Lets go play dolls."
"Sure," said Liz, "I didn't see any mail anyway." The two girls made their way upstairs. They went into the living room and pulled the dolls out from under the white couch that sat in the blue room with the black T.V. set. The two sat down on the white rug.
"I call Florence," said Liz.
"Okay," said Emma. Then Emma heard a noise. "What's that, Liz?" asked Emma.
"What's what?" asked Liz. Then the noise happened again. 'Tap, Tap'.
"I don't know, Emma," said Liz in surprise.
Emma sat down her doll and stood up, "It's coming from the window."
The two of them crept to the window to see a tawny, majestic-looking owl pecking at the window. It had a letter attached to its leg.
Liz gasped.
"MUM!" Emma yelled in surprise, "MUM, THERE'S AN OWL AT THE WINDOW!"
Mrs. Smith hurried in. "What is it, sweetie?"
"There's a big ugly owl at the window, Mum, "said Emma. Emma thought it was pretty but she knew that Mum wouldn't like it.
"It's not ugly, Emma, it's handsome," Liz said. Neither Emma nor Mrs. Smith paid any attention as the latter cautiously drew the window open and let the bird in. It gave a melancholy hoot, dropped the letter, and perched itself on the coffee table. Emma snatched the letter up.
"Look, Liz, it's to you!" Emma said, showing Liz the address.
Miss Elizabeth Potter, The Living Room 1 Amulet Drive London, England
"How would they know I'm in the living room? And who sends letters with owls, anyway?" Liz said, ever the practical one. She flipped the envelope over to find the image of a lion, a badger, a raven, and a snake curling themselves around a letter H. This she shared with Emma.
"Open it!" Emma urged impatiently.
Liz obliged and withdrew the letter. It was on a rough sort of parchment.
Dear Miss Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a supply list. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Have a pleasant day.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Is this some sort of joke?" Liz said softly.
"It's got to be," Mrs. Smith said. Emma nodded.
"If it is, it's an elaborate one," Liz said.
"But...a school with witchcraft and wizardry? Full of people who send letters with birds? Sounds downright fishy to me," Emma declared, 'Even if it sounds cool'.
"It's a prank, honey. Do you know anyone who doesn't like you and owns an owl?" Mrs. Smith inquired, looking worriedly at her adopted daughter.
Before Liz could answer, the doorbell rang. Liz ran to answer it
"Uh...uh...Mum? Mum! MUM!" Emma heard from the hall.
Mrs. Smith came running with Emma at her side. "What is it, sweetie-oh, pardon me, who are you?"
"My name is Minerva McGonagall. May I see that?" she asked of a petrified Liz, who was still clutching the letter in her hand. The woman looked it over and nodded. "Everything seems to be in order. I suppose I really must explain, mustn't I?"
"Yes," Mrs. Smith replied faintly. "Yes, you must." Emma looked at "Minerva McGonagall" in wonder. How could such an amazing person exist?
"All right. Years ago...oh, wait, you don't know...Elizabeth is a witch. She can do magic."
"Um, excuse me, ma'am, but you must have the wrong Elizabeth Potter. I can't be a witch," said Liz.
"Oh, but she can." Then turning to Liz, "Your father was one of the most famous wizards ever. And haven't you ever made anything happen without meaning to? Your father accidentally set a boa constrictor at a zoo loose once."
Liz thought, and then nodded slowly. There were too many incidents to count where she hadn't had an explanation for what had happened. Emma thought, 'Wow, so it wasn't me, it was her it was!'
"You see? Now, years ago, there was a Dark wizard. Dark. Evil. However you'd like. His name was Voldemort, and he tried to kill your father as a baby, but he couldn't. The spell rebounded on Voldemort, who was stripped of his powers. To make a long story short, Voldemort eventually regained his body, but was destroyed by your father. And your father's name is celebrated, even today, by the entire wizarding world. But there is more to the story.
"Your father got married to your mother, a wonderful young lady named Luna Lovegood. She looked almost precisely like you, in fact." McGonagall went silent for a moment, and Liz thought she was remembering something. "Then, as far as anyone knows, your father came home one day to find Luna...dead. His beautiful wife was gone. All he had left was you, and he gave you to the orphanage, only requesting that you should keep his surname. I believe he was then followed. Stalked, if you will, most likely by his wife's murderer. After a few months in hiding, he completely disappeared and was presumed dead. It remains my personal belief that his stalker caught up with him." McGonagall bowed her head.
Liz blinked. How, how could this all be true?
"So you were adopted into a very loving family-" (here Mrs. Smith beamed) "- and raised as a Muggle."
"Muggle?" Liz asked.
"Non-magic person. So, yes, that's it. Any questions?"
Mrs. Smith opened her mouth, but Liz spoke first.
"One. What was my father's name?"
"Harry," McGonagall replied as a tear broke down her face, "Harry Potter."
"Come on Liz," said a little 10-year-old girl. Her hair was a deep brown and had finger curls. Her skin had a tanned Arabic look and she wore a pair of baggy jeans and blue shirt.
"All right, Emma," said Liz. Liz had straight blonde hair. Her skin was pale and she wore a pair of blue bell-bottoms and a green tank top. But the most distinguishing feature was her eyes. A pair of deep, sky blue eyes. Liz looked different from the rest of her family. The rest of her family had the Arabic thing going on, but she had the pale, blonde-haired English thing. And she was different, Emma didn't know how, but she was and she knew it. Emma knew Liz was adopted, but it was something really different with her. Things happened. Liz would be happily playing hide and go seek with Emma and then all of a sudden Liz would be on the roof. Liz said she had climbed up there but Emma knew that wasn't true; as much as she wanted it to be she knew it just wasn't. Things continued to get stranger and stranger as she grew older. Emma would often see Liz do very strange things. One time Liz had gotten so mad at Emma that somehow Emma had gotten burnt with a book. Everyone said it must have happened earlier. You see the thing about Emma was that things would happen to her by Liz's doing. Magic! She had tried not to believe it but it was true. This was proved to her that strange day.
Emma lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her face was tear-stained. She sat up and looked around her new room. They used to live in a little town in the northern part of England, but now, she didn't. She lived in Milton Mills. It was a suburb outside London where all the houses looked the same: white paint, box houses, small front yard, and a small backyard with either a swing set, pool or a picnic table. Their house had a pool. They had also planted a willow tree in the corner of their yard. That was Emma's second favorite place to be. Her favorite place were the petunias under the living room window. There she would sit all day and just imagine if she could talk to the flowers, just like in Alice in Wonderland. Alice in Wonderland was her favorite movie. She had all the lines memorized. Her other favorite place to be was the attic. Her parents told her not to go up there because it was dirty, but she did anyway. She had created her own little space. There was one window at the top of the attic. She had found a poster of a bunch of boxes that were really old so she put that in the window so that no one would see her in the attic and would think that it hadn't been touched.
"Knock knock." Emma turned to see what was making the noise. It was Liz. Liz slowly walked in. Her hair was down and she wore a pair of red shorts and a red shirt.
When Liz saw that she was crying she rushed over and said, "Oh, Emma, what's wrong?"
"Everything," said Emma with some effort, "Look at my room! I liked where we used to live." Emma's room was a plain white box with a closet and a bed. Her room was small. She had one window that looked out to the bullies' house.
"Emma," cooed Liz, "it's not all as bad as that. Now we have a pool and we can always go swimming." Emma wiped away the new tears that had run down her cheek.
"I guess you're right," said Emma. Her blue tee was now a dark blue from the tears and her jeans were dry. Her hair was up in a ponytail. Emma got out of her bed and looked at Liz. Liz gave her that smile she always wanted. It was a full smile. All she had was a half smile. The two walked out of the room and down the stairs. It had green walls, white rug and ceiling and was, lets face it, BORING! They walked into the kitchen. The kitchen had yellow walls and was white stippled. The table, chairs, cupboards, doors, window and doorframes, door and picture frames were mahogany wood.
"Liz," said a woman with dark, curly brown hair and dark skin. "Could you get the paper?" Her dress clashed with the room. Her dress was a violet and was simple, no decorations.
"Sure Mum," said Liz as she trotted back out the kitchen door.
"So, Mum," said Emma, "what school am I going to?"
"The public school," said Mum, "you both are". Mum nodded her head towards the door.
"Hi Kyla," said Emma's father as he walked in the room. Clearly there was going to be a kissing scene so Emma said, "Could you tell me when breakfast is ready?" Emma left and didn't wait for the answer.
"Hey Liz!" said Emma. "Lets go play dolls."
"Sure," said Liz, "I didn't see any mail anyway." The two girls made their way upstairs. They went into the living room and pulled the dolls out from under the white couch that sat in the blue room with the black T.V. set. The two sat down on the white rug.
"I call Florence," said Liz.
"Okay," said Emma. Then Emma heard a noise. "What's that, Liz?" asked Emma.
"What's what?" asked Liz. Then the noise happened again. 'Tap, Tap'.
"I don't know, Emma," said Liz in surprise.
Emma sat down her doll and stood up, "It's coming from the window."
The two of them crept to the window to see a tawny, majestic-looking owl pecking at the window. It had a letter attached to its leg.
Liz gasped.
"MUM!" Emma yelled in surprise, "MUM, THERE'S AN OWL AT THE WINDOW!"
Mrs. Smith hurried in. "What is it, sweetie?"
"There's a big ugly owl at the window, Mum, "said Emma. Emma thought it was pretty but she knew that Mum wouldn't like it.
"It's not ugly, Emma, it's handsome," Liz said. Neither Emma nor Mrs. Smith paid any attention as the latter cautiously drew the window open and let the bird in. It gave a melancholy hoot, dropped the letter, and perched itself on the coffee table. Emma snatched the letter up.
"Look, Liz, it's to you!" Emma said, showing Liz the address.
Miss Elizabeth Potter, The Living Room 1 Amulet Drive London, England
"How would they know I'm in the living room? And who sends letters with owls, anyway?" Liz said, ever the practical one. She flipped the envelope over to find the image of a lion, a badger, a raven, and a snake curling themselves around a letter H. This she shared with Emma.
"Open it!" Emma urged impatiently.
Liz obliged and withdrew the letter. It was on a rough sort of parchment.
Dear Miss Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a supply list. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Have a pleasant day.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Is this some sort of joke?" Liz said softly.
"It's got to be," Mrs. Smith said. Emma nodded.
"If it is, it's an elaborate one," Liz said.
"But...a school with witchcraft and wizardry? Full of people who send letters with birds? Sounds downright fishy to me," Emma declared, 'Even if it sounds cool'.
"It's a prank, honey. Do you know anyone who doesn't like you and owns an owl?" Mrs. Smith inquired, looking worriedly at her adopted daughter.
Before Liz could answer, the doorbell rang. Liz ran to answer it
"Uh...uh...Mum? Mum! MUM!" Emma heard from the hall.
Mrs. Smith came running with Emma at her side. "What is it, sweetie-oh, pardon me, who are you?"
"My name is Minerva McGonagall. May I see that?" she asked of a petrified Liz, who was still clutching the letter in her hand. The woman looked it over and nodded. "Everything seems to be in order. I suppose I really must explain, mustn't I?"
"Yes," Mrs. Smith replied faintly. "Yes, you must." Emma looked at "Minerva McGonagall" in wonder. How could such an amazing person exist?
"All right. Years ago...oh, wait, you don't know...Elizabeth is a witch. She can do magic."
"Um, excuse me, ma'am, but you must have the wrong Elizabeth Potter. I can't be a witch," said Liz.
"Oh, but she can." Then turning to Liz, "Your father was one of the most famous wizards ever. And haven't you ever made anything happen without meaning to? Your father accidentally set a boa constrictor at a zoo loose once."
Liz thought, and then nodded slowly. There were too many incidents to count where she hadn't had an explanation for what had happened. Emma thought, 'Wow, so it wasn't me, it was her it was!'
"You see? Now, years ago, there was a Dark wizard. Dark. Evil. However you'd like. His name was Voldemort, and he tried to kill your father as a baby, but he couldn't. The spell rebounded on Voldemort, who was stripped of his powers. To make a long story short, Voldemort eventually regained his body, but was destroyed by your father. And your father's name is celebrated, even today, by the entire wizarding world. But there is more to the story.
"Your father got married to your mother, a wonderful young lady named Luna Lovegood. She looked almost precisely like you, in fact." McGonagall went silent for a moment, and Liz thought she was remembering something. "Then, as far as anyone knows, your father came home one day to find Luna...dead. His beautiful wife was gone. All he had left was you, and he gave you to the orphanage, only requesting that you should keep his surname. I believe he was then followed. Stalked, if you will, most likely by his wife's murderer. After a few months in hiding, he completely disappeared and was presumed dead. It remains my personal belief that his stalker caught up with him." McGonagall bowed her head.
Liz blinked. How, how could this all be true?
"So you were adopted into a very loving family-" (here Mrs. Smith beamed) "- and raised as a Muggle."
"Muggle?" Liz asked.
"Non-magic person. So, yes, that's it. Any questions?"
Mrs. Smith opened her mouth, but Liz spoke first.
"One. What was my father's name?"
"Harry," McGonagall replied as a tear broke down her face, "Harry Potter."