Large raindrops streamed silently down the window. It was violently storming outside; wind whipped through the trees, and lightening painted the sky with terrifying streaks of glowing light. Daisy shuddered as a particularly loud crash of thunder reverberated through the small house in which she lived. She never did like the unpredictable nature of summer storms, so as she waited for it too pass, she sat transfixed, watching the unthreatening rain drops race to the bottom of the window.

Daisy was rather tall for her age, so as she sat on her bed hugging her legs to her chest, she felt awkwardly lanky. Her chin rested on her knees, and her long, thick black hair cascaded down the sides of her legs. Her large brown eyes fluttered back and forth between each rain drop, and she smiled slightly as she mentally made a bet for a particularly jittery raindrop to win the make-believe race.

Though she disliked storms as a whole, the peaceful, almost serene atmosphere of rain was heavenly to Daisy. It felt as if she was in a vacuum. The rain pounding overhead absorbed any other noise, leaving nothing in her ears but the pitter-patter of the raindrops. It was the perfect time to think.

Daisy loved to think. Though she was only a fragile 10 years old ("11 In June!" she reminded herself with a grin), she was constantly lost in thought rather than playing on bikes and climbing trees like the others she went to school with.

Her parents were very old to have a 10 year-old daughter, and she felt like they couldn't relate to her problems. When she came home from school crying because of bullies, or when she like a boy in her lesson and he liked someone else, they simply patted her head, smiled, and said everything would be alright in due time. Though she was sure that things would end up being alright, she wanted them to change now, and her parents did not seem to understand. So, she decided that her mind was the safest place to think about her problems. She hid them safely in her head, to dwell on whenever it was most convenient.

Her parents definitely would not understand what was currently troubling her mind. Though she knew that she was adopted and that her birth parents died when she was barely on, she felt that she was not being told the entire truth and never had been. Her adoptive parents always firmly stated that didn't know how her parents had died, yet her nightmares told her that they were murdered. She felt as if she only understood a part of herself, that there was an enormous chunk of her heart that was missing. When she was younger, she just assumed that the feeling was because she didn't have very many friends, so she shook it off. Now, however, it has become one of the most prevalent feelings in her life, and she desperately wanted to understand it.

She sighed and placed her feet on the floor, planning to embark to the kitchen. Deirdre was making breakfast, and the delicious smells of pancakes and sausages wafting in her room was one of the few things that could break through her darkening thoughts. She stretched; her long arms reaching as far as they could possible go. Giving her window one last glance, she started to walk towards the door.

She suddenly paused. Through the gray landscape and black storm clouds, a white object seemed to be suspended in the air. Her pulse started to race, as did her thoughts. Whatisthat?

Deciding that breakfast could wait for a few more moments, she walked over to her window to get a closer look. Sure enough, the white object seemed to be coming closer and closer, making a bobbing and weaving path to her home as it fought against the storm. Her nose was pressed up against the cool glass of her window to try to get a better look. She squinted to try to make out what was zooming through the air, and what she saw made her heart leap. Thoselooklikewings...Abird?Really?Isthatactuallyabird?

Moments passed almost painfully slowly, and then the bird was mere yards away from her window. She was tremendously excited as the bird seemed to be looking right at her, with intelligent amber eyes, but it made no sense to her. She had to act.

Grabbing a chair from the corner of her room, she climbed on top of it and reaching for the latch of the window, she struggled and pushed open the heavy glass. Succeeding, wind and rain hit her face with such energy she was forced to shield her eyes from the elements. She jumped off the chair, and stumbled to her bed so she could wipe the icy water away from her face. When the initial burst dimmed and the rain only spat into the room when the wind was vicious, she opened her eyes to find a large snowy owl with a letter in its beak, perched on her window sill.

Though its snowy feathers were ruffled due to the harsh journey it had made against the storm, the bird was still breathtakingly beautiful. Daisy was transfixed and terrified, unable to stop staring breathlessly at this owl. Large, yellow eyes stared back; its head slightly cocked to one side, as if it was confused that she was still in bed at this hour.

Tired of this staring contest, the bird flapped its wings and flew over Daisy, dropping the letter in her lap. It issued her a small salutatory hoot, and then gracefully flew back out of the window into the storm once more. Eyes wide and hands shaking, Daisy watched it glide effortless through the rain until it was nothing but a small speck of white on the horizon. Still shocked from the brief interlude with what appeared to be a tame Snowy owl, she clambered back onto the chair, she closed the window. Stumbling as she tried to jump down from the damp seat she slipped and fell down to the floor, a thud reverberating as she took the chair with her. She hit her head on the floor and grimaced, seeing stars for a moment.

"Daisy!" Her mother yelled, her voice carrying through the aging walls of their home. "What on earth is going on up there?"

Her head was pounding. "Nothing, Mum! I just dropped something," Daisy responded, rubbing her temples.

Without warning, her door opened. "What could you possiblydrop to make such a racket?" Her mother asked with a huff, walking into her room. Her eyes darted to her daughter on the ground. "Daisy, what happ-," she started, but stopped when she saw the letter on her bed.

"When did you get this?" She asked quietly, her voice quivering as her previously tempestuous mood flattened. She grabbed the letter from its resting place on her daughter's bed and held it gingerly, her hands shaking.

"Just a few minutes ago," Daisy said, rising to her feet. "Mum... An owldelivered it! It just flew through the window and dropped it on my lap!" Her excited squeak halted suddenly, when she eyed Deirdre's expression. "Mum?"

Her mother nodded sadly, her eyes not leaving the letter for a moment. "Yes," she said quietly. "I was expecting the letter any day now. I'm surprised that poor beast made the journey in this terrible storm."

Daisy's eyes widened. "You were expectingme to get this letter?"

Again, she nodded. "Yes," she said simply, sitting down on Daisy's bed. She motioned for her to sit next to her, the letter trembling in her hand. Daisy nodded, and climbed into her bed next to her mother and watched her expectantly. Deirdre sad nothing, and continued to look at the letter in her hands.

"Can I open it?" Daisy asked, struggling to hide the excitement in her voice. Her eyes gleamed.

Her mother hesitated. "Yes, yes of course. I suppose I… I mean, we couldn't prevent this…" She seemed to shake her head to clear her thoughts and passed the letter to Daisy, their hands touching for a moment longer before her daughter took the letter.

Daisy's breath caught in her throat, and she was positive that her mother could hear her heart beating through her chest. Her hands slowly turned the letter in her hands feeling the surprising weight of it between her fingers. A thick wax seal imprinted with a regal crest graced the back of the parchment, some words in Latin below it that were slightly blurred but that seemed to be a motto. Her small, icy cold fingers broke the seal and she pulled the heavy paper out.

She raised her eyebrows as she read the front of the letter:

Daisy Potter

The Smallest Room at the End of the Corridor

Bristol, England

"Mum," she asked slowly, her brows furrowed. "Why did they put my last name as Potter? How can anyone know which room is my bedroom?"

She locked eyes with her mother, whose face was glistening with tears. Her kind old face looked even more tired, lined and grey as she gave her daughter a small, sad smile. "Magic. Real, live magic."