The Forgotten Letter

And so, throughout the next few days, the letter lay forgotten under the tree.

Forgotten until Lily decided she needed a tree fort. And since Lily, being short and only nine, could not build a tree fort on her own, she enlisted the help of her father.

She started asking him at breakfast, and it soon became clear to him that he would not be able to do anything else until Lily had his help.

"Dad," she began, in a voice as sweet as the maple syrup she was pouring on her waffles. "Dad, wouldn't it be cool to have a tree house? Didn't you have one when you were little?"

"Mmhhhmmm…," came her father's disembodied voice from behind the newspaper. "That I did, Lil…"

"Dad, you want to help me build one? Dad? I know just where I want it." She waited.

"Dad! Hello, dad are you listening?"

"What, Lily? Of course, I am."

"Oh, so you'll help me! Great! Great, I want it in the tree in the back yard, the one with the low branches!" she yelled as she sprang up from the table. She was already on her way out the back door when her father realized what she was talking about.

However, he was a man who had love for his daughters in abundance, and a lot of patience. So with his toolbox in one hand, and coffee mug in the other, he went after Lily.

"Dad, dad, look! This is the perfect spot, look, the tree makes a ladder for me! See how I got up?" Lily called, from more than half-way up the tree.

"Lily! Good Lord, be careful! Don't fall, come down here. I'll make the tree house right there, if you want. But I'm going to make a ladder safer than those branches."

Lily grinned. This was going to be perfect! "Sure, Dad. Thanks!" She ran to tell Petunia as her father started the platform of the fort. As soon as she disappeared indoors, he backed down the tree and got his coffee. After all, there was no way he could work on a fort without some coffee, he thought. He sat back against the trunk of the tree and the letter that Petunia had left rustled under his seat.

It caught his attention as though it had pinched him. It certainly felt as though it had!

"Hogwarts…School of what?" He muttered. "Cauldron…wand…robes? What is this?" He read on. He came to another letter bearing the title: "To the parents of Miss Petunia Evans."

To the parents of Miss Petunia Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that your daughter has been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This may come as a shock to you, and your daughter. I would like to take this opportunity to assure you that this is a perfectly normal occurrence.

Although you may not be aware of it, there is a large magical community in England, and many other countries. Many witches and wizards live scattered throughout nonmagical neighborhoods. They send their children to attend Hogwarts School to educate them in the basics of Charms, Astronomy, Potions, History of Magic, and other important and interesting subjects.

We do not accept only those of magical background, however. At Hogwarts, we accept many students from nonmagic backgrounds who have magical ability and show promise of being great witches or wizards. Petunia has both the ability and the promise, and we would be very pleased to answer any questions you may have concerning Hogwarts. Simply write your questions on the blank sheet of parchment enclosed, and you will receive an answer promptly.

With best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster

And

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Mr. Evans leaned back against the tree again. Well! I'll be damned! He thought. Why didn't Pet tell us about this? With that, tree fort forgotten, he rose and nearly ran to the house.

"Petty! Petunia Anne Evans! Where have you gone?" he yelled.

A very irritable "what?" was the only response he got.

"Petunia! Why didn't you tell us, you're a witch!" he exclaimed.

Petunia froze on the landing of the stairs. "Am not."

"But Pet, you have a letter! You're a witch, you're going to Hogwarts. You sent them an owl, right?"

"No."

"Mom," came Lily's voice. "He's supposed to be making my fort!"

"Harold, what's going on?" Cheryl poked her face around the corner.

"Pet's a witch!" Harold grinned broadly. "My great-great-great grandma Olivia was a witch, but we haven't had a witch or wizard in the family for ages!"