Disclaimer: Anything/one you recognize is notmine! Thanks!
The fog slowly rolled in as evening hit the small ranch in Boston, Massachusetts. Out on a hillside, Minerva McGonagall sat, looking at the fog-fading stars. Tomorrow was her birthday. Black Magic was said to run in her blood—Not that she believed in magic. It was a dark thing, but it was said to come alive at 11—Minerva had yet to know how wrong she was, and yet, how right. She breathed deeply. She loved the mountain air of 1953. She heard a bell chime in the distance and new she had to get home quickly. Mother will not be happy... How right she was...
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