Chapter II
The Bookworm

By the time Rapunzel had returned to Number Four that afternoon, she was surprised (perhaps more so than the adventure of the day in the Headteacher's office) to find the post had been delivered.

Usually, such a discovery wouldn't illicit such a reaction, but, unexpected as it was, at the bottom of the pile, beneath the bills and assorted junk-mail (including a small sample sachet of shampoo that Aunt Petunia would have sneered at) was a letter addressed to her in green ink on thick, yellowing paper, which she had discovered through Mr. Lowe was actually parchment, sealed with a wax stamp featuring the Hogwarts crest; the crest she had seen back in Mr. Lowe's office on one of the books he'd let her read.

Miss R. W. Potter,
The Cupboard Under the Stairs,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
SURREY

It was strange that a postcode wasn't included, though she had also learned from Mr. Lowe that witches and wizards generally conveyed correspondence through the use of owls. It was quite clear to Rapunzel that this very letter had arrived by owl post.

With somewhat shaky hands, hoping among all else that this was reality — that she shouldn't be confined to such an elaborate dream as that of the sorcery and mystique Mr. Lowe spoke so highly of — she slid a thin finger under the wax seal, releasing the folded parchment, only to see what looked like the letter her teacher mentioned earlier in the day.

Gingerly, she pulled the parchment from its envelope and, moving down the hall towards the sunlight, which was gleaming through the conservatory windows, held the letter close to her face and began to read.

Blurry though it was to her own eyes, the Hogwarts crest was still decipherable. Oh, she couldn't see the House mascots (though with Mr. Lowe's guidance she did know what they were) but she could make out the four colours: red, yellow, blue and green. Squinting, she could just about read the many awards the current Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had listed at the top of the page, before turning her attention to the informational contents of the letter.

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Of course, she'd love to go to Hogwarts, but where was she to get an owl? Admittedly, she did have a month to prepare her response, but what use was that when she hadn't the means to send it? Perhaps Mr. Lowe could help? She'd ask him on Monday.

She was glad the Dursleys had yet to return from Dudley's birthday outing. They wouldn't be back for another five or six hours if Rapunzel was lucky. She'd have the house to herself for a while.

Even though she wasn't allowed in the living room or upstairs, except to use the bathroom — and her toilet habits had been strictly controlled by her Aunt for the last eight years — she relished in the prospect of a peaceful afternoon; then a peaceful evening, before she would have to retire to her cupboard to be locked in for the night.

Flipping the parchment to her other hand, she read the contents of her school supplies.

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

Name tags weren't a problem. Over the years the primary school she attended had always provided name tags, though she'd never used them. There was never really a need for them, for Rapunzel was the child who never lost her clothes. After all, why would she? They were old, ragged, over-sized, dirty and smelly. What child in their right mind would ever mix up their nice day clothes for hers? If they ever did, the chances of it being a pure accident were slim.

She could sew those name tags in.

To think she might finally have her own clothes? Even if it were a uniform, nothing extraordinary in comparison to any other Hogwarts student, it would be hers.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
 by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic
 by Bathilda Bagshot

That was one of the books Mr. Lowe had let her skim through earlier in the day. (And she had considered it to be little more than a storybook…)

Magical Theory
 by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
 by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
 by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions
 by Arsenius Jigger

Potions? Rapunzel wondered if maybe that was a little like cooking, which she had done a fair amount of over the years. Mixing potions, of course, she'd feel like a proper witch, irrespective of any similarity to the task she knew so well.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble

All those titles sounded fascinating, though Rapunzel couldn't help but admire Phyllida Spore, who evidently had a great deal of patience to have identified a thousand different types of mushroom, magic or otherwise.

Permitting her mind to drift, if only for a few moments, Rapunzel realised — she, herself, was a little like a mushroom. Accounting for her closeted upbringing, she had come to thrive in the dark. She didn't quite have the 'big head' mushrooms were noted for (or, at least, she hoped she didn't) but she did seem to fare surprisingly well in the dark and damp.

The Dursleys, of course, might call her less of 'Champion Mushroom' or 'Precious Truffle' and more of 'Flagitious Fungus.'

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

Closing with a rather elaborate signature, Rapunzel reached the end of her supply list.

Surely, it had to be real, unless Mr. Lowe was a very good story teller and a talented magician. Otherwise, how else would the list provide mention of the very book residing in his office? It would be a rather strange coincidence.

Redirecting herself to the cupboard, she searched in the dark for somewhere to hide it.

There weren't too many places to hide it in there. It may have been a cupboard, but it was also a living space and there wasn't much evidence that anybody lived there.

It had started life as a storage cupboard for all of Aunt Petunia's cleaning supplies, though it seemed as though now they had all been replaced with a single living, breathing, compact, multifunctional, free cleaning supply.

She stuffed the letter into the far right corner, placing her falling-apart, recently-removed shoes on top. On the rare occasions Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon or even Dudley, with or without his Bully Brigade, invaded her space they always missed that corner.

Returning to the hallway, taking care to shut the cupboard door, lest the Dursleys return earlier than expected, she let her now-bare feet lead her into the kitchen, where she began putting the dishes away.

Somewhat lost in her daydreams, it was a while before she noticed the tapping on the window above the sink.

Once she did, however, she was startled. It was an owl.

She'd never seen an owl in life before. If she had, she'd have expected it to be hooting, as it flew down the street on a dark night.

Perhaps more curious than scared, she approached the window, gently pushing it open, though ducked as the bird flew straight into the kitchen and around the room for a few moments before landing proudly on the dining room table.

"Aunt Petunia won't like that," she said, biting her lip.

The owl, of course, didn't budge; instead looking rather high-and-mighty at the mention of Rapunzel's Aunt. It were as though the owl were saying 'Let her hate me. This place is too sterile.'

"Could you get off there, please?" Rapunzel asked.

Now, it seemed, the owl was only too happy to oblige as it flew around the living room, circling the ceiling fan, before returning to the kitchen to plonk itself on Rapunzel's head.

"Not quite what I had in mind," Rapunzel said, rather pitifully. As she looked up, the owl looked down, emerald eyes meeting amber. "You're a very pretty bird, but you really shouldn't be here."

Rising, the barn owl seated itself on the window sill, looking to the patio.

Following the owl's gaze, she exited through the conservatory and stood before the bird.

Feeling her foot brushing against something smooth, she looked to the ground to see another letter. Perhaps it was safe to presume the owl dropped it.

"Another letter? I'm popular today, aren't I?" she said to no one in particular.

This letter, at least, was a little more legible; the writing much larger.

Dear Rapunzel,

I don't know if you received your Hogwarts letter by the time you returned home, but I did enjoy today's little chat (though I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it to anyone; not least of all to Miss Fellowes. If she finds out why you weren't in class at all today, I swear she'll have my head.)

If it isn't too strange a request, I would very much like to see you outside of school.

Any questions you may have, I'll be only too glad to help. Magic, your own history, your education; anything.

I live at No. 7 Wisteria Walk.

Feel free to send your response with my owl, Orela. Yes, I'm aware she's a little obnoxious, but what else can you expect? (After all, they do tell you to never work with children or animals. I think it's fair to say I do both, to my own detriment.)

Oh, and do make sure to give Orela something for her trouble. Owls are usually hungry after journeys, regardless of distance — even a casual stroll up the garden path is an excuse for them to gorge. They get a little temperamental when they're hungry (much like me, if I do say so myself.)

Kind regards,
Mr. (Alan) Lowe

Perhaps what she liked most about Mr. Lowe was that he wasn't like some of the other adults she knew. He wasn't verbally aggressive and he didn't talk down to her.

And he lived local. She hadn't known that, but she didn't usually get to see a lot of the scenery outside of Privet Drive.

"Wisteria Walk," she told herself. Not that it was particularly important, but there was something about the name. Wisteria was her middle name and she began to wonder to herself if, somehow, fate had intervened and sent her the wizard who lived there.

Returning once more to the cupboard under the stairs, leaving a rather confused owl in her wake (or so she thought, as the now-declared Orela flew in after her), Rapunzel took a scrap piece of paper out of her jotter and grabbed a pen.

Dear Mr. Lowe,

I enjoyed it too. Thank you for introducing me to magic.

My letter was on the doormat when I got home. I still didn't know if I should have believed it at first, but I don't see now why you would lie to me in the first place. That's my poor judgment. I'm sorry.

I'd love to see you outside of school and to talk about magic. Thank you for the offer.

Thank you as well for writing larger. It was very helpful.

Regards,
Rapunzel Potter

Satisfied with the contents, she lifted herself off the floor, where she had been writing, occasionally brushing spiders off the paper who were likely threatening to invade Mr. Lowe's home wielding an assortment of blunt instruments (at least in Rapunzel's daydreams.)

"Perhaps I'll write a story about that," she smiled to herself.

Re-entering the kitchen, she searched around for something edible that the Dursleys wouldn't miss much. "What do you eat?" she asked the owl, who had now taken stance on the kitchen counter.

After a rather long time spent searching, the impatient bird was willing to accept the bread the girl was offering, before taking the letter in her beak and exiting through the open window.

"Are you alright flying on a full stomach?" she asked, somewhat distantly.

Traversing down the streets of Little Whinging a short while later, Rapunzel turned onto Wisteria Walk, in search of Number Seven.

She hadn't been down there often, but she had been there; usually when being taken care of by Mrs. Figg in her earlier years when the Dursleys went out.

She'd always thought there was something a little odd (though not particularly threatening) about the ageing lady. She was actually quite a nice woman, though Rapunzel would never tell the Dursleys that, despite her apparent admiration for cats and her home smelling rather like boiled cabbage every time she entered.

She really did need to pop in at some point and say hello, but her current aim was that of Mr. Lowe's house.

Continuing her journey up the street, she took in the appearances of the houses; something she hadn't really done much of over the years. Although they weren't so vastly different from those on Privet Drive, there was something a little more demure about them, for the residents of Privet Drive were generally rather stuffy people.

Finally finding Number Seven, she tentatively approached the wooden door and raised and released the gold-plated knocker thrice.

She didn't have too long to wait, as the man she had left not two hours before was standing on the other side with a smile.

"Hello, Rapunzel," he greeted. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon, but I appreciate you accepting my offer. Orela told me," he added, beckoning to the bird on the banister. "Won't you come in?"

Stepping aside, he permitted the girl entry and she was led into a somewhat modest house. It wasn't nearly as garish as the Dursleys — no obnoxious flowery wallpaper or tacky, gold-framed photographs of Dudley lining the hall. Instead, subtle, muted tones lined the walls and floor. There was one photograph, and one alone, in the hallway, though it was sitting on a tall table in the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Quelling her curiosity, she looked upon the female faces.

On the left sat a beautiful woman with bronze hair and brilliant blue eyes smiling brightly, as, to her right, were two small girls with the same colour curls and eyes. The older had one or two teeth missing, though smiled just as brightly as her mother, while the younger (who was perhaps only little over a year old at the most) had a finger in her mouth.

Rapunzel smiled at the three faces before looking back to her teacher who was still smiling himself, though a little light had left his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, tearing herself away from the photograph.

She didn't know who they were and didn't expect to find out anytime soon, but she was unlikely to ask Mr. Lowe.

Turning, he held out his hand and led her into the living room. Rapunzel was quite glad the area wasn't pink or plagued by a flowery cottage suite to match the walls and curtains. Aunt Petunia's idea of furnishings had never really appealed to Rapunzel, but she was unlikely to say such things to the Dursleys. She'd accept them as long as she lived there, but such styles simply weren't to her tastes.

"Did you decorate yourself, sir?" she asked, taking in the sights of the plush, cream-coloured carpet and ivory walls.

"Well, I didn't exactly decorate myself. D'you think I've been going through life always looking like this?" he joked, though his Cheshire Cat grin diminished, Rapunzel so mesmerised by her surroundings that she didn't even notice. "My wife did."

"She has very good taste."

If the man had planned to give a certain response, he changed his mind. "I think so to," he said.

Before the mood turned rather morbid, of course, he refocused the subject.

"So your letter arrived?"

"Oh," she replied, snapping herself back to reality, as she spun to face him. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry I didn't believe you; at least not at first."

"You are at least sensible in that, Rapunzel. You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

With a slight furrow of her brow, Rapunzel got the feeling he was referring to something she had said earlier in the day.

"I dug a few things out of the loft when I got in for you," he said. "One perk of being Head of a school, I suppose, is not having homework to mark. Leaves more time for a good clear-out every now and then. Would you like to sit down?"

She hesitated. She'd liked to have sat down, not wanting to reject him or make the place look untidy as the Dursleys had often accused her of doing, but it wouldn't be quite so easy with the events of the morning. Perhaps she really should have waited until Monday before consulting him…

As he left for the stairs, Rapunzel stared at the sofa, which didn't look particularly threatening in itself, but her body burned at the notion that she might have to plonk herself there for a bit.

With a steady breath, she slowly approached the settee and (very carefully) sat down. It didn't hurt as much as she expected, but she wasn't expecting it to be quite so bouncy either; spongy even.

Sitting somewhat rigidly on the end, she didn't dare lean back for fear that the comfortable couch might just suck her into oblivion.

It wasn't long before Mr. Lowe re-entered, a large trunk floating in front of him. Gently, he dropped it onto the carpet and, with an almost-silent utterance of "Alohomora," the lock clicked open, as the lid slowly rose.

Inside sat a rather grand assortment of books, along with a few objects that Rapunzel hadn't seen before.

Levitating some of the books from the trunk, they arranged themselves into four neat piles and sat atop the pine coffee table.

Rapunzel was mesmerised. "Magic is wonderful," she whispered, prompting the man beside her to smile. Only six hours ago this girl was convincing herself that her current amazement didn't exist.

"Very much so. What would you like to read first?"

"I can read all of them?" She was pleasantly surprised.

"Well, you'll have to read them at some point. What better time to start? Potions might be a good place to start. I've heard the current teacher's quite strict; probably prefers you to know a bit before he risks letting you loose in the classroom."

"Sounds a bit like Miss Fellowes," the girl deduced. "Do you know his name?"

"Unfortunately not. I probably read about him years ago but I can't remember that far back. I can't even remember what I had for lunch this afternoon; how d'you expect me to remember names?" he finished with a subtle chuckle. "I might have known him once upon a time, but I otherwise have no idea."

Following a short pause, he suggested.

"How about The Standard Book of Spells?" Considering her newfound fondness for things that flew it seemed like a rather good place to begin.

Handing her the book, he cast a spell to enlarge the font and she began to read through the evening, intermittently asking questions. Even when offered something to eat, she was reluctant to put the book down.

She hadn't expected him to feed her, of course. She'd just find a few scraps of food from the Dursleys' refrigerator when she returned to Privet Drive and retreat to her cupboard until the morning. But, no, Mr. Lowe had graciously offered her a generous serving of carbonara and garlic bread. She hadn't really wanted to eat; it would be taking from him, as she took from the Dursleys so often. He insisted, however, and had shown few signs of backing down from his offer.

Rapunzel had left Mr. Lowe's house late that evening feeling better than she'd ever felt before.

For once in as long a time as she could recall, she had a full stomach, an empty bladder, a head positively buzzing with information and imagination and an insatiable desire to learn all she could about the new world she had just been introduced to.

She was determined to make the very best of herself at Hogwarts (just as soon as she sent her response to the school, which Mr. Lowe had informed her she could use his owl to do so.) She'd try her hardest to learn as much as she could to survive in both worlds, magical and non-magical. She'd not allow herself to become lazy or complacent, but, most importantly of all, she vowed to herself to never become a stranger to Mr. Lowe. He was one of the few people she'd met over the course of her life who had been kind to her and she simply couldn't imagine betraying him and wouldn't allow herself to do so.

With a smile on her face, Rapunzel all but skipped back to Privet Drive, a rather uncharacteristic spring in her step, seemingly without a care in the world.

She was smiling. She was happy. She felt as though she now had a place in society; far from the scrutiny and exclamations of revulsion she frequently received from others.

Never having been so content in her life, she didn't even notice Uncle Vernon's company car sitting on the driveway; instead heading straight for the door, blissfully unaware of what lay waiting on the other side.