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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of J.K. Rowling's characters.
"Get out! Get out! Get out!" Celia had leapt from her bed onto her bed side table, pushing a small reading lamp off the desk. And with a loud crash the object fell to pieces on the floor. Celia groaned lifting the lamp from the ground, carefully setting the mangled item on her vanity, still eyeing the owl suspiciously.
"Are you all right, dear?" Celia could hear her mother calling from the kitchen.
"I'm fine, mum." She said hastily, still trying to figure why exactly a bird had appeared in her room.
"What are you doing here?" Celia breathed, trying to keep her voice down. The bird seemed to smile timidly with his eyes, as he held its leg out toward the girl. She quickly realized there was a letter tied to it.
"What's this?" Celia said, slightly amused and perplexed at the same time.
After taking the letter from its leg, the bird looked up at the tired child, and again with his eyes begged her to read it.
Miss C. Evans
12 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
"Alright, you silly bird," Celia nervously patted the owl on his head, and it cooed happily. She smiled as she unfolded the piece of parchment and read aloud, as if reading a bedtime story to a small child:
Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry
ﺼ
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Evans,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
The term begins on September 1. We will be awaiting the retrieval of your owl by no later than this evening at 12 o' clock midnight.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Celia looked up from the document, and gasped with a breath of excitement,
"I'm a witch…" Celia said cheerfully, she couldn't help but smile at her words, the owl cooed with glee hopping up and down on the girl's dresser. But soon after at least a minute of rejoice, she then recognized the ridiculousness of the letter she had just received.
"I'm a… witch…" she whispered, a doubtful glint in her eyes, "Well, I'm a witch, eh? I'll show him witch." The bird looked at her dejectedly.
She got up from where she sat upon her bed, and rushed out her bedroom door; the owl flew from his perch and created a new one on her shoulder as she slipped into a sprint down the hall.
"Mum! Dad!" she called reaching the kitchen, surprised to meet another face at the breakfast table.
"Good morning, Mrs. Figg." She said, pushing a smile to her lips, seating herself at the table, forgetting the bird that clung to her shoulder.
"Celia," Mrs. Evans spoke, her eyes staring at the owl, obviously concerned, but her voice kept a whimsical tone, "Who's your friend?"
The girl gaped at her mother for a second, confused, unaware now of her "friend" snatching a slice of bacon from the plate on the table.
"Oh! Um, I was sent a letter this morning, carried by him," the owl cooed merrily as if raising his hand so those around him knew who she was talking about, Celia didn't notice the sparkle in Mrs. Figg's eyes as she said this.
"Where's Mark?" the girl said fighting the owl for the last scone.
"Still sleeping." Her father supposed in a tired voice, "A letter you say? From whom?"
"I think Mark is trying to prank me," she opened the letter once more, and read the parchment again. Everyone stared blankly at the girl, as though she had just told them a very strange fairy tale, everyone except for the old woman holding a gray speckled cat.
"I believe Mark has out done himself," Mrs. Evans grinned, clearing the breakfast dishes from the table, giving the small owl a pat on the head as she past by to the kitchen sink.
"He gets it from me, Sarah," Mr. Evans said to his wife, with a low laugh.
Mrs. Figg sipped her tea soundly, and then cleared her throat.
"Why do you speak like this is a hoax?" Her voice was very somber, and she petted her cat more carefully than before, "That letter she holds in her hands," she smiled before she finished her sentence, "Is 100 factual."
The owl leapt onto Celia's shoulder, pulling out the blonde strands of hair sticking out of her messy pony-tail. Mrs. Evans dropped the sponge she had been washing her dishes with, along with a glass plate, hitting the floor with a splash of soapy water and a million flecks of sharp glass. Celia's father took the news somewhat easier, stopping mid-stretch in his yawn, and keeping that position as Celia looked questioningly at Mrs. Figg looking as calm as she was.
"You're a witch?" Celia asked, now standing from her seat, afraid this woman who had watched over her since she was a very small child, was about to cast a horrible hex on her.
"No, no… I'm a squib." She laughed. "My family consists of all pure-bloods, I was just… unlucky." She ended her words with a content shrug, her cat meowing softly.
"Wait… what?" Sarah Evans was turning a bit red in the face as she spoke, not out of anger, but out of fear and curiosity for her young daughter. Celia was becoming excited. Her letter was real, she was magical.
"But where will I get my school supplies? A caldron, a wand—"
"Where is she going? How will we know if she's okay—"
"She will be perfectly fine—"
"A witch… just like Lily…"
"—A telescope—"
"Darling, that's the least of our worries—"
"Quince, what's going on—"
"Arabella did you know about this—"
"Who's Miranda Goshawk—"
The babble was constant.
No one knew what was going on, and no one wanted to know, except for the little blonde girl rereading her letter for the third time that morning.
"I assure you." Mrs. Figg said sternly, "Everything will be fine. You will need to buy your school supplies like all young wizards do. And I can help with that."
The woman took the owl kindly in her hands. Taking a piece of scrap paper and borrowing a blue pen, she ripped the paper in half, and wrote two short messages on each piece.
Finally words came to the elder's lips.
"One letter to decree you will be attending Hogwarts," she carefully tied the paper to the owl's leg, Mr. Evans' face went pale, "Another," her voice ambled on, "To acquire an escort." And thus she fastened the other letter to the bird, petting it slightly, and telling it where to go. The owl cooed in reply, and fluttered out through a window.
"No good can come of this." Quince Evans said, suddenly lacking his often wise tone of voice.
"Are you sure this is safe?" his wife replied now confused as to why her husband was being so cautious.
"Perfectly safe." Mrs. Figg said with a thick grin, "The escort will bring you to Diagon Alley, and assist you with your shopping."
Celia just smiled a very loud smile as her parents stared at her weakly.
"A wizard. My daughter is a wizard?" Quince asked completely awestruck.
"A witch, actually." Celia corrected.
"Where is this Diagon Alley?" Celia's mother asked, sweeping up the broken glassware.
There was a knock at the front door.
Everyone froze, Arabella smiled, "I'll get that." She rose from her seat and slowly made her way to the threshold. A few moments later a man in a violet suit, wearing a very tall top hat with a small, lilac flower tucked into its brim, entered the kitchen.
"I would like you to meet Mr. Dedalus Diggle." Mrs. Figg said, gesturing at the man.
"It is a pleasure to meet you." Dedalus bowed a very low bow.
"You look so much like Lil—" Mr. Diggle was about to finish his sentence but was jabbed in the stomach by a sharp elbow. The older woman ended his sentence hoping to quickly change the subject.
"Hello Mr. Diggle, my name is Quince Evans, this is my wife, Sarah Evans, and it is very nice to meet you." Celia's father shook Dedalus' hand far from gingerly. Mr. Evans often played this routine every time he would meet a new face, especially when the person he was shaking hands with was going to be looking after one of his children.
But Celia wasn't listening. She gripped the paper in her hands sitting on the kitchen floor, happily wondering if she could name at least one thousand herbs or fungi.
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