Author's Note: I know, incredibly short as well, but my muse has just not been working since my latest video project, which turned out magnificently, but still, that's no excuse for bad writing. Apologies! Well, so far, the story is quite different from the original, and it might just be stupider. Please warn me if it's just too idiotic to keep up, okay? Much love to that one reviewer! Because everyone who has read this caused my inspiration to drop with lack of reviews. I adore constructive criticism (except just criticism, because that's just rude) and any kind of reviews, they help me keep the story going.
Disclaimer: Some character and other stuff aren't mine!
Chapter 2When Tracey's mother, Anne Davis, entered the house, the girls had fallen asleep on the couch, laying side by side and breathing softly. Anne smiled faintly to herself as she set her briefcase down next to the door and made her way over to the young girls.
She snapped her long fingers in Tracey's ear and said, "Sleepovers usually occur at night, correct?"
Tracey snorted and sat up, as Emily wiped at her chin self-consciously, both looked funny with their hair sticking up at odd ends and tangled ferociously in the front and back. Tracey smiled at her mother sardonically and flicked a piece of dust from Emily's hair.
"We were watching an old movie of yours," she said.
"It wasn't that exciting," Emily added, motioning to their "bed hair".
"Obviously," Anne Davis returned. "Emily have you called your mother?"
Emily's smirk dropped and she jumped from the couch, "No. Oh lord, where's the phone?"
"By the coat rack," Anne sighed, watching Emily scramble out of the room before plopping down beside her daughter. "Tracey, we need to talk."
Tracey looked up at her mother's worn face, she looked stressed and exhausted. She always looked like that, and it made the young girl wonder what her mom went through everyday. Her father was always in a good mood, but hardly ever her mother. This time she looked extra bad, bags under her eyes and frown lines etched permanently at the sides of her mouth.
"You've been receiving letters, Tracey," she said, almost choking on her words.
"What kind?" Tracey asked, confused at her mother's reaction to the fact that people might want to correspond with her daughter.
"Letters, that are a bit, unorthodox," Anne explained, reaching into her purse and pulling out a very thick bundle of envelopes.
Tracey's eyebrows raised in surprise. She stared at the letters clutched in her mother's shaking hands. Were these letters bad? Were they threats? She could feel the tears that were welling up in her mother's eyes fill up hers as well. She didn't want to die, and Anne made it seem like she was going to.
"Can I see?" Tracey asked, reaching out for them, and it was then that her mother did a very odd thing.
She jumped back from her own daughter, stuffing the letters back in her purse and looking at Tracey as if she was insane.
"No!"
Tracey looked at this woman, who certainly wasn't her mum. Anne Marie Davis never shook when she was scared, she was always composed and ready for anything. But tonight, she was suddenly looking at her daughter as if she was a ghost.
"Mum, your scaring me," Tracey whispered, fair eyes wide and frightened.
Anne breathed out slowly, shaking her head and whispering to herself. She looked up at her daughter and sighed, "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm just really stressed out right now, with work and everything."
"Of-of course," Tracey stuttered, scooting away and looking down at her feet.
"Tracey, I apologize," she said, straightening her clothes so that she looked as strict and perfect as ever. "These letters... well, I'll show you them later, when your father comes home."
"Yes, ma'am," the younger girl replied.
"Good... then, I best get started on dinner," her mother said, clearing her throat and making her way out of the room.
It was a few minutes before Emily entered, carrying her things. She smiled at Tracey, saying, "My mum's on her way, in a right foul mood I might add."
"Oh okay," Tracey muttered.
"You okay? You look as if you'd just seen a ghoul or something."
"Nothing of the sort, I'm just exhausted. I'll see you Monday, then?" Tracey said, hugging her best friend limply.
"Oui, madamoiselle," Emily returned with a grin, just as the doorbell rang. "That must be my mother. Bye Tracey Davie!"
"Bye Emily," Tracey said, not noticing the confused look she received from Emily as the blonde exited through the front door.
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"Ah, smells like meatloaf," Tracey's father, Samuel, said as he took a seat at the dinner table.
"Oh, joy, for the third time this week," Tracey muttered, immediately receiving an amused grin from her father and a disapproving look from her mother.
"Tracey, be more thankful that there's actually cooked meat on the table," Anne stated.
"Yes," Samuel grunted, covering his smile with his napkin, "some kids don't get to eat at all."
"I understand, sorry, Mum," Tracey sighed, as she stabbed her slice with a fork.
"Tracey," Anne said after a couple of minutes of silence.
"Yes?" Tracey replied, glancing at her father who seemed to know what was going on. Perhaps her mother had already told him.
The older woman noticed the look Tracey sent at Samuel, and said, "Your father knows."
"So, can I see these letters?" Tracey asked, looking back and forth between her parents, who both had become rather serious.
"I suppose," Anne replied, holding one of the envelopes out to her daughter, who nervously took them.
Tracey imagined a thousand scenarios; death threats, ransom notes, and many more awful things. Her hands shook as she looked at the front of the parchment envelope, it read in green ink:
Miss T. Davis
Second Largest Bedroom
27 Rectory Lane
Charlwood
Surrey
"It sounds rather... stalker esque," Tracey said, using a phrase she had heard on the telly once. Her parents looked at each other curiously before returning their focus on her.
She tore through the wax crest that held it closed and stared at the contents, three or four pieces of parchment, all looking very official. Her eyebrows raised considerably, almost disappearing beneath her bangs as she read the mysterious letter.
"Curious," she murmured to herself, eyes roving over the small text of the letter.
Dear Miss Davis,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. Also enclosed is a packet with the required information due to your non-magical parentage. We expect your owl before July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
She looked up at her mum and dad, unsure whether to laugh or just leave the table, furious that they had tricked her into thinking that this was something horrible. But when her black eyes connected with her mother's green, she could tell that this was still a serious matter.
"This is obviously a joke," Tracey said, waving the parchment about. "Magic doesn't exist, we all know that, right?"
She stared at her parents, feeling the color drain from her face.
"Right?" she repeated rather desperately.
"Dear, I have learned a lot about what surrounds us. A lot. We may not have these powers, but you do," Anne said, looking at Tracey with understanding eyes.
"Powers? Honestly, are you serious?" Tracey asked incredulously as she stood. "Mum, Dad, I thought you two were more reasonable than this! Magic, powers, wizardry, secret communities? Excuse my language, but this is a bunch of bloody shit!"
"Tracey!" Anne snapped, furious.
"Now, Trace, you are a very intelligent girl. Your mother knows this is true, I can't explain why, but she does. An address is given in the letter, we should at least see if it is correct," Samuel said, in a tone that meant that conversation was over.
Tracey sat, silent. He never used that tone with her. Obviously, this was a big deal, and she would have to stick through it until she could prove her parents wrong.
"We should get to bed," Anne muttered, and left the table, not even cleaning her plate.
Samuel stood as well, he looked downh at Tracey with sympathy. "I know this is incredibly sudden, but I do believe this is true. Your mother isn't off her rocker, as you might think, but... there are some things in her life, that you may not be able to understand, that makes her absolutely certain of this truth. Lord, even I really feel as if I have no idea what's going on. I mean honestly, a magical academy?"
"Exactly!" Tracey exclaimed, but her father shook his head.
"These people seem really intent, are meer pranksters like that?"
He left the room and left Tracey to her thoughts as she sat on her own at the dining room table, staring at her plate with furrowed eyebrows.
"What's going on?" she asked herself, feeling so confused that she did not notice her mother's plate slide across the table on its own accord and fall onto the carpetted floors without a sound. Nor the dozen or so owls perched on the tree branch outside, letters tied curiously to their feet.