9. Unexpected Visitors

Going to work was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I caught Stephen hanging around the shop almost every morning, sometimes with his sheep, sometimes without, but he was always gone by the time my lunch break came around. He never came in or tried to talk – he just stood there, watching. It nerved me so much that I almost wanted to get Nate to walk with me, despite me living right next door. But then Nate would only make matters worse, I kept telling myself.

George visited me at home a lot, always after work. We spent our evenings watching Only Fools and Horses and whatever else was on. Other times we spent hiking through the woods, or sitting in my garden. We never did have that impromptu water fight.

George always had a new story to tell, a new crazy idea, a new addition to his bucket list. That's what I loved about him: he was always dreaming and he never limited himself, and he was always original. Instead of learning a new language, he wanted to create one. He wanted to beat his younger brother at chess, just once. And then once more. He wanted to design his own pack of cards with lenticular printing. He wanted to take his family on holiday on the other side of the world. He wanted to break hearts before falling in love. He wanted a successful business and to make a name for his family, to make his parents proud. He wanted to swim in the deepest ocean and jump off the highest cliff and waterfall. He wanted to juggle with sparklers at one of his siblings weddings. He wanted his unconventional wedding (I was too scared to ask) outside in the rain. He wanted to name his son after his brother. He wanted to die laughing at one hundred years old. Maybe older.

And before I knew it, summer was over. My last year at school and Zoe and Nate's last year as residents in Ottery St. Catchpole before moving on to their next life stage at university; Nate in Nottingham and Zoe in London.

The hallways were filled with the chatter of students, catching up on the gossip from over the holidays, the wistful tales of a summer romance, and embarrassing stories from foreign lands. I hurried to my last class of the day, hoping it wouldn't drag like all the rest had.

Sitting down, I stared out the window beside me, sighing and thought about what George was doing. He never delved much into his school, he always skirted around it when reciting a prank. Was he making a move on his crush, the girl he delightfully described as perfect? Or was he initiating the start of the new school term with mischief and mayhem? I sighed, anything he was doing was surely worlds better than was I was suffering.

Loud guffaws from the other side of the room broke my trance and I glanced over to see the Trunchball. I noticed some things in my once-over of her: she had lost a bit of weight, not much, but it was still an improvement. Her braces were finally off, leaving straight, faintly stained teeth. Her tiny nose still sunken into her chubby face. And her snake like eyes trained on me. Once I returned her gaze she smirked, and coughed over the ringing of the bell. Her crowd of minions surrounding her all burst out into cruel laughter and turned to take in my reaction. Prunella hacked even louder, attracting the attention of students walking by outside the room. I gritted my teeth and swivelled my head to look back outside the window, hoping the bright sun would calm by boiling blood.

Once Prunella found out that I was unresponsive to her mockery and bullying, she started on a different approach to rile me – mocking the death of Nanny Anne. I was twelve when she first attempted this new approach, and if Zoe and Nate were not with me, I was sure I would have sprung on her. But then Nanny Anne's disappointed face burned into my mind and I composed myself. Ashamed that I had let my raw emotions get the best of me, I vowed never to act so brash again.

Thoughts of Nanny Anne were always accompanied by Bill and I instantly became worried. He hadn't come back from the wizarding world. It was the longest he'd been gone without visiting, even if for a day. Was he in danger? No, he said someone would come and tell me if something had happened. But he had been gone for the entire summer, he hadn't wished me a good start to the new school year. What else could be the matter? Nothing else made sense. He had to be in some sort of trouble for him not to come back.

School flew by in a blur of classes, homework, gossip and more mocking from the Trunchball. Work at the paper shop wasn't much better; Stephen still hung around as much as possible – which shouldn't have been much what with it being his last year of college as well – and Zoe and Nate weren't available to help out much. The stress of exams and the stress of running the shop everyday was building up, and I was afraid I was close to boiling point – any longer and I'd erupt.

September and much of October dragged on like this, school and work, school and work, in a repetitive stream. The summer weather had long since departed and the autumn winds swept through Britain, dampening my mood further. The nippy air and foggy mists always brought back bad memories, bringing with it the nightmares that periodically made an appearance.

I trudged down the stairs and to the kitchen. The sky outside was dark – it was far earlier than I normally woke up. But I had another nightmare. Blips of it flashed in my mind every now and then, but it was otherwise forgotten, lost in the void between deep slumber and awakening.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and blinked to clear my vision. Last thing I need is to walk into a table and bruise myself. Grabbing a glass, I poured myself some water and gulped it down. The house was still quiet; I couldn't hear Bill's snoring. He still wasn't back. I sighed and sat down at the table, resting my head on my arms.

A shadow crossing the floor caught my attention and I lifted my head to get a better look. I quickly checked the time on the clock: 6.22am. My heartbeat quickened as the shadow whizzed past again, much quicker this time. I surveyed the table before my eyes landed on the knife rack. I gripped the handle in my hand until my knuckles turned white and held it out in front of me with trembling fingers.

Now, this was the bit where I either stupidly go and open the door to confront the intruder, or stupidly wait, watching the garden door only for the trespasser to jump out behind me and kill me without a second thought. It was a lose-lose situation no matter how I looked at it.

Before I could make a decision, a thump on the garden door made me jump, and the knife to momentarily slip in my hands. I could make out a small figure, almost as if it were curled into a ball. When I was close enough to make out the shape I sighed and thrust the knife back into the rack.

"Oh, you stupid cat," I muttered, opening the back door and letting in Kiwi. It meowed nastily, stretching its claws threateningly.

"Why the hell are you here if you hate me so much?" I glared at Kiwi, watching it stalk through the hallway and to the living room.

The heavens opened up to a torrential rain storm that afternoon. I hurried to my small Vauxhall across the road from the school in Ottery and slipped inside. I leaned my head back against the seat, droplets of rain running down my face and neck, my clothes clinging to my skin chilling me. Turning on the heat, I drove slowly back home. No one really bothered to focus on an underage teenager driving a car – it helped that Zoe was the one who brought it for me though.

The rain thundered down the closer I got to home. It got so bad that at one point I was barely even moving. I groaned in frustration when a bratty kid ran out in front of the car and skidded in the road. I honked my horn, only to be greeted with a crude hand gesture.

"Brat," I grumbled, and continued squinting through the rain. I definitely would not be opening the shop today.

The house was cold when I entered, causing an outbreak of shivers on my skin through my sweater. I quickly turned on the kettle, most of the lights and ran to change into thick, dry clothes – I could already feel my nose stuffing.

Thunder boomed through the house as I sat in the kitchen with a large mug of tea, relishing in the heat it spread through me. My nose twitched under the steam. Seconds passed before it twitched again, although more violently this time. Without warning, I let out an almighty sneeze, sloshing the tea over the sides of the mug and onto my clothes, the boiling beverage scolding my numb skin.

"AH!" I yelped, dropping the mug on the floor and holding the clinging, now stained material away from my skin. The tea pooled on the floor and pieces of chipped glass lay scattered around my feet. "Great," I mumbled, feeling my throat tighten from built up mucus. Could this day get any worse?

I hobbled over the broken mug and attempted to pull my new sweater over my head, but I underestimated how wet – and hot, it was. The garment clung to my undershirt, which in turn stuck to my burned skin. I cried at the feeling of my skin peeling, and stopped pulling the clothes off.

Another rack of thunder. The momentary distraction of the boom made me jump, and I landed on a large piece of glass. I yelled out as the glass pierced my skin and I jumped away from the linoleum floor to escape any more disasters. Plopping down on the rug in the hallway, I assessed my foot and noticed blood seeping through my sock. My eyes burned from tears gathering and I bit my lip to hold in the scream as I yanked out the glass.

Another roar sounded, much closer than the raging thunder outside. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the sound was familiar. Kiwi ran out of the living room and up the stairs with a small shriek.

"Bill," I whispered, the tears now threatening to break through even harder as I recognised the Floo. My emotions were a cacophony of the worst concert from an atrocious band, the heavy rock kind where you can't make anything out through the murderous migraine. I hopped up onto my one good foot – I wonder how long that will last – and limped/bounced through the archway. "Bill," I called out louder, my voice strangled with mucus and the lump which refused to swallow down.

I leaned in the archway, my hands on the walls either side of me to support the weight my foot was no longer able to. My eyes widened at the garish lavender and blue I was met with, the long beard I was surprised was as clean and pristine as it was, the twinkling eyes through spectacles watching my reaction and dishevelled state in amusement.

This man was not Bill.

"Oh," was all I manage to get out. Stupid.

"Hello there, Miss Ella, I presume?" he greeted, is voice smooth and old, lacking Bill's thick, gravelly brogue. I nodded. I was sure I'd never seen him before, but he was oddly familiar to me still. "Of course. I believe Bill is your guardian, yes?" I nodded again, more alert now that he mentioned Bill. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Dumbledore, of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

My eyes widened. This was the Dumbledore! Stories, facts and scornful mocking from my childhood rocketed to the forefront of my mind concerning the man in front of me. I couldn't believe it. The throbbing of my foot and throat were completely wiped from my mind.

Then his face lost all sense of humour and kindness and turned solemn, the twinkle in his eye lost.

No…