Chapter 1: A Potter's Daughter
Daylight streamed in through the thin curtains hanging over the window of #9 Alabaster Way. All around the room, bathed in sunlight, were books. PILES of them. Thick encyclopedias, thin, floppy paperbacks, old, battered textbooks. However, this apparent library was home to another thing. A girl, though you couldn't tell at the moment. All one could guess was in the bed was a matted ball of reddish fur, as tangled as yarn. But, contrary to the eye's opinion, this was a 11-year-old girl.
Knuckles rapped on the white bedroom door.
"Avery! Wake up! It is eleven thirty, and you have been asleep quite long enough." Something groaned. "Don't you grunt at me, young lady! Up and at them, as my mother used to say."
"Your mother had a severe case of spelleatum." Avery mumbled as she pushed aside the massed bed sheets. Slowly, she swung one leg over the side of the bed, then the other. "OWW!" she yelped suddenly, as her foot hit the large textbook she had been reading the night before. "Blasted book."
Avery Potter was the daughter of legendary Harry Potter. This meant, of course, that she was a magically endowed child. She had a load of red hair, which got tangled up into a rat's nest practically all the time. She had green eyes, and lots of freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. This morning, however, was not to be spent staring at the mirror. It was the week preceding her "equilibrium", as she had called it. Next week, she was finally going to be sent off to Hogwarts to receive her education in the magical arts. Her brother William was only 8, and not NEARLY ready to receive anything whatsoever that had to do with magic-with the exception of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, of course. He would guzzle those things like. something that guzzles things. Avery pulled on a pair of faded corduroys, along with a striped shirt, and hopped down the 2 staircases to the kitchen, patting her mother's pet kneazle as she went. Something awful smelling was wafting from the fireplace, and she REALLY did not want to know what that thing was.
"Mom, what are we having for breakfast?" she asked as she eyed the fire.
"Eggs and Pancakes, as always. You know, your father is late. I wonder what's holding him?" Mrs. Potter tapped the frying pan with her wand and it flipped the eggs. "Ah, yes. He was going to go see your uncle in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Something about a wizard setting off firecrackers in Diagon Alley, but then the firecrackers started spitting out African Poisonous Tree Frogs. Two eggs or three dear?"
Avery lifted her head off the table. She was not quite sure if she was awake or not. "Three, please." Mom and her petty traditions.Just as she finished her thought, there was a great whoosh. Soot flew out of the Fireplace and Mr. Potter walked out, tripping over a cauldron in the flames.
"Ginny, dear, must you always brew your anti-Gnome solution in the kitchen fireplace? It is quite pesky, actually, when one's foot lands in a yellow potion after Floo Travel." He said, still fairly awestruck and wet from the incident.
Mrs. Potter placed her hands on her hips. "You know as a fact that I brewed the last potion in the dining room." She said grimacing. Mr. Potter raised one eyebrow. She sighed, walked over to her husband and started dusting him off with the large horsehair brush kept on the mantelpiece.
After he was fairly clean, Mr. Potter turned to his daughter. He smiled at the look of apprehension on her face. "Avery, while I was at work today, I found this on my desk." He held out a large parchment envelope addressed in flowing emerald ink. "I think you might find it interesting."
Avery popped up in her chair. This was it! The letter.
Daylight streamed in through the thin curtains hanging over the window of #9 Alabaster Way. All around the room, bathed in sunlight, were books. PILES of them. Thick encyclopedias, thin, floppy paperbacks, old, battered textbooks. However, this apparent library was home to another thing. A girl, though you couldn't tell at the moment. All one could guess was in the bed was a matted ball of reddish fur, as tangled as yarn. But, contrary to the eye's opinion, this was a 11-year-old girl.
Knuckles rapped on the white bedroom door.
"Avery! Wake up! It is eleven thirty, and you have been asleep quite long enough." Something groaned. "Don't you grunt at me, young lady! Up and at them, as my mother used to say."
"Your mother had a severe case of spelleatum." Avery mumbled as she pushed aside the massed bed sheets. Slowly, she swung one leg over the side of the bed, then the other. "OWW!" she yelped suddenly, as her foot hit the large textbook she had been reading the night before. "Blasted book."
Avery Potter was the daughter of legendary Harry Potter. This meant, of course, that she was a magically endowed child. She had a load of red hair, which got tangled up into a rat's nest practically all the time. She had green eyes, and lots of freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. This morning, however, was not to be spent staring at the mirror. It was the week preceding her "equilibrium", as she had called it. Next week, she was finally going to be sent off to Hogwarts to receive her education in the magical arts. Her brother William was only 8, and not NEARLY ready to receive anything whatsoever that had to do with magic-with the exception of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, of course. He would guzzle those things like. something that guzzles things. Avery pulled on a pair of faded corduroys, along with a striped shirt, and hopped down the 2 staircases to the kitchen, patting her mother's pet kneazle as she went. Something awful smelling was wafting from the fireplace, and she REALLY did not want to know what that thing was.
"Mom, what are we having for breakfast?" she asked as she eyed the fire.
"Eggs and Pancakes, as always. You know, your father is late. I wonder what's holding him?" Mrs. Potter tapped the frying pan with her wand and it flipped the eggs. "Ah, yes. He was going to go see your uncle in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Something about a wizard setting off firecrackers in Diagon Alley, but then the firecrackers started spitting out African Poisonous Tree Frogs. Two eggs or three dear?"
Avery lifted her head off the table. She was not quite sure if she was awake or not. "Three, please." Mom and her petty traditions.Just as she finished her thought, there was a great whoosh. Soot flew out of the Fireplace and Mr. Potter walked out, tripping over a cauldron in the flames.
"Ginny, dear, must you always brew your anti-Gnome solution in the kitchen fireplace? It is quite pesky, actually, when one's foot lands in a yellow potion after Floo Travel." He said, still fairly awestruck and wet from the incident.
Mrs. Potter placed her hands on her hips. "You know as a fact that I brewed the last potion in the dining room." She said grimacing. Mr. Potter raised one eyebrow. She sighed, walked over to her husband and started dusting him off with the large horsehair brush kept on the mantelpiece.
After he was fairly clean, Mr. Potter turned to his daughter. He smiled at the look of apprehension on her face. "Avery, while I was at work today, I found this on my desk." He held out a large parchment envelope addressed in flowing emerald ink. "I think you might find it interesting."
Avery popped up in her chair. This was it! The letter.