hey,
wow I actually updated within the time frame I gave myself!
so this is the first real chapter, and it starts right before Hogwarts comes into the picture
As always, please review, I was disappointed no one reviewed on the prologue. I love critics and would love feedback (especially if I spelled something wrong, those mistakes are always embarrassing. I found so many when I first edited this). On that note - would anyone like to be a Beta for this story?
Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited! You guys keep me writing, as cliche as it sounds :)
enjoy your lives,
emily
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
All I Knew,
This Morning When I Woke,
Is I Know Something Now,
Know Something Now,
I Didn't before.
- Taylor Swift Ft. Ed Sheeran
Everything Has Changed
Mrs. Smith was not a kind lady. She was the type of woman who would scowl at all the strangers in the grocery store, and swiftly stalk by the homeless children on the streets without even a second glance. Ms. Smith never went to church or participated in volunteer day, and her favorite hobby was punishing children. She had a sadistic sense of humor, though she rarely laughed. Most people wondered how she ever managed to convince an unfortunate human being to even consider marriage. As you can obviously tell by now, Mrs. Caroline Jane Smith was a mean lady.
Living up to the stereotypical image of cynical old ladies, she completely and utterly despised anything that fell under the categories of new, modern, or untraditional. However, above all of these characteristics, she believed that abnormal things were the worst. And abnormal was the first word that popped into her mind as another person entered the orphanage facility.
This lady swept in the room with an air of importance surrounding her, her emerald cloak swishing around her feet as she strode up towards the front desk. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and underneath was the stern face of someone you did not want to cross. Mrs. Smith may not have been known for being especially wise or prudent, but even she acknowledged the fact that one must step carefully around such an imposing figure.
"Hello, how may I help you?" She greeted cautiously, her eyes narrowing with disdain at the billowing robes worn by the woman.
The mysterious woman gazed down through the square shaped glasses resting on her nose.
"Good morning," she returned. "I am Minerva McGonagall, and I booked an appointment with Ms. Smith."
"That would be me, and what is the nature of your visit?"
"I am here representing a boarding school known as Hogwarts. I would like to speak to you regarding the opening we have reserved for Miss Emma Wilson."
Mrs. Smith was confused. The orphanage children never filled out applications for schools, and even if they had, no school would be likely to choose a child of such low abilities as the ones who had been shoved into the dilapidated orphanage. They had poor grades, no outside activities, and trouble followed most of them as closely as a shadow. In fact, Emma Wilson was a one of the worst miscreants, always being found at the source of an accident. Something was clearly wrong with the situation, and Mrs. Smith did not like it.
"Very well, we can discuss this in my office," and she led Minerva into the back room, after fiercely glaring at the curios boy poking his head into the front hall.
Emma Wilson peered out the window, eyeing the spot where the woman had been. She swore that the lady had just appeared there out of thin air, like magic, though she dismissed the thought quickly. She presumed that it was an illusion, or maybe she needed glasses (she severely hoped not, they would be such an inconvenience). The appearance of the lady became even more puzzling as Emma realized that she was wearing very odd clothes of some strange new design. Maybe she was foreign? Deciding to ponder this occurrence later, she pushed the blonde wisps of hair that had fallen from her long braid back behind her ear, and focused her gaze on the most recent page in her sketchbook.
She was attempting to draw herself, but something seemed off about the face. Shrugging it off, she added a few more details to her stormy grey eyes, before continuing with the rest of her body. She had a very thin figure, and was on the short side, but only slightly. Emma deftly moved her pencil across the page, finishing the body and stepped back to examine the portrait again. Something was still wrong!
"Ugh, I give up!" She exclaimed angrily, slamming the shabby sketchbook back onto her desk in exasperation. Behind her came the heavy thumping of a book, as it fell off her dresser. She brushed the noise aside, similar incidents had a tendency to happen around her. Whenever she underwent intense and palpable emotions, things would go south real fast.
Emma's musings were disrupted as the sound of voices and footsteps traveling up the stairs finally reached her ears. Now listening with great attention, Emma quickly distinguished one of the voices as Mrs. Smith's, causing her to cringe and groan inwardly. It was no secret that the nightmare in charge of St. Claire's orphanage hated Emma with a burning passion. It seemed that ever since she showed up on the doorstep on a cold November morning almost ten years ago, Mrs. Smith had made her opinion crystal clear. It wasn't Emma's fault though; the old hag loathed anything unusual, yet unusual seemed to be the young girl's most prominent characteristic. She had an unfortunate record; abnormal circumstances were attracted to Emma like sharks to blood.
She was once again broken out of her reverie as the voices drew closer to her bedroom - if you could call it a room. It was a small, cramped, closed-off section of the attic. Emma was equipped with a few aged pieces of furniture. There was a cot, a small dresser, a rickety bedside table and chair, along with a threadbare rug that barely covered any of the floor and was terribly frayed at the edges. The only thing Emma truly enjoyed about her lonely corner of the attic was the large window that overlooked the city. She had rearranged her room so that her table and chair sat facing the majestic view that the window provided, and she would often sit there, trying to capture the magnificence of the picturesque scene in her drawings. Occasionally she would climb outside using the chair and sit out on a tiny patch of the roof.
The voices had now reached her door, causing Emma's face to fall once again.
"Please don't be another social worker!" She prayed in a whisper to herself. She had a tendency to go through social workers like teenagers go through moods.
A hand sharply knocked against the wooden door three times, and with a great hesitancy Emma walked over and slowly opened it. She almost laughed as she realized she was acting as though it was death knocking instead of a cranky old lady. Nonetheless Emma still gently swept the fallen book under her bed and out of sight before Mrs. Smith could see it lying on the ground. The devil herself entered first, glancing at the dusty room with superiority and disdain in her eyes. After her, the mysterious lady that had appeared outside strolled into the room, and softly closed the door behind her.
"Emma Wilson," Mrs. Smith began speaking in her brittle voice. "This is Professor McGonagall, she is a teacher a boarding school called Hallmarks."
"Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall corrected, causing Ms. Smith's face to redden in abashment. She chose that time to make her leave, quickly exiting the room and leaving the young girl alone with the strict looking professor.
For a moment, all was silent as neither spoke a word. McGonagall was first to break the quiet.
"Do you believe in magic, Emma?"
The completely random question had taken her by surprise, stunning her for a moment until she remembered how to speak.
"Er - well, not really, no" she stuttered, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of the imposing lady.
McGonagall seemed unfazed by her admission, and continued with the odd conversation.
"And what if I could convince you otherwise?"
"What?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing, it didn't make sense. There must be something wrong with my ears, she thought. Or maybe the lady was simply insane? 'Yes,' Emma decided, Minerva McGonagall must be incredibly loony, which provided an explanation for the interesting fashion choices that she had made. The woman was wearing an emerald cloak for goodness sake!
However, in the time it took Emma to reach this conclusion, McGonagall had pulled out a smooth wooden stick from her robes, and was now pointing it at the pencil she had left on her table. Sharply flicking the stick at the pencil, it immediately became a turtle. Emma couldn't believe her eyes, blinking and rubbing them to see if her vision would clear, and the startling phenomenon would disappear. She even became so desperate as to try pinching herself as well, which only resulted in slight arm pain. 'This has to be a dream,' she thought, yet she didn't wake up.
"T-that's not possible." The alarmed girl stated, dumbstruck yet in awe of the feat that had been demonstrated in front of her very own eyes.
"For non-magic folk, or muggles as we call them, it is very impossible. However, for witches such as you and me it is highly possible with a certain amount of practice."
Emma's eyes, which had been quite wide before, were now open even bigger and her mouth hung wide open as she tried to process all the astounding information.
"So I'm a w-witch?" She was very uncertain, believing this to be a prank set by one of the older and meaner orphans, like Molly or Thomas. "Not to sound rude, but I just can't believe I can do magic like that."
Professor McGonagall just gave a minuscule smile, asking, "Have you ever made anything strange happen, something out of the ordinary or magical?"
Emma's immediate answer would have been a no, but as she began to think and she remembered all the strange occurrences that were the foundation of Mrs. Smith's hatred for her. Could it be that it wasn't just coincidental that all these incidents had happened around her, whenever her emotions grew out of control? Like when Molly's hair started to fall out. It began when she and some of the older orphans were teasing an 8-year old Emma at dinner. Molly had tauntingly called Emma an 'unwanted nobody'. That's when a clump of her hair plopped down into her bowl of soup. Or when Jenna had caught 6 different butterfly's and was holding them captive in a small container. While all the other girls had surrounded them, Emma just felt bad for the innocent creatures, and seconds after this, the box broke and all the butterflies had flown to freedom. Jenna had been so upset about that. There was another incident the day Emma had first been moved to the attic rooms. She was absolutely terrified when she discovered there were mice in the attic, and had barely been able to fall asleep the first night. The next day, the bottom floors of the orphanage were infested with mice, yet not a single one was discovered in the attic. And finally, there was today, when the book had flown off of her dresser as she grew frustrated at her drawing.
It was these memories that changed Emma's original answer of no, into a hopeful, "yes".
The lady had once again smiled lightly at this answer and proceeded to pull out a letter from the pockets of her robe. "This is your acceptance letter to Hogwarts, along with a supply list. If you would like to accept it, there is a spot for you at Hogwarts, a school of witchcraft and wizardry.
She looked down at the envelope in her hands, excitement coursing through her at the thought of what lay inside. On the outside, written in emerald-green ink, it said;
Miss. Emma Wilson
Attic of St. Claire's Orphanage
17 Solace Road
London
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and there was no stamp. Carefully turning the letter over in her hands, Emma saw a purple wax seal bearing an intricate coat of arms. It was a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle all surrounding a large letter H. She slowly opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and began to read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss. Wilson,
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.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
"Await your owl?" She wondered aloud, while dozens of other questions soared through her mind.
"In the magic world, wizards send letters through owl post instead of the mail." McGonagall explained. Looking into Emma's eyes, she continued speaking. "Would you like to attend Hogwarts and learn about the wizarding world?"
Emma nodded eagerly in response.
'Anything to get out of this dump' she thought to herself.
