(Lidia: I haven't written anything in a while and wanted to have fun with something. Hope you like it.)
Disclaimer: I do not own or profit off of Harry Potter or any of J.K. Rowling's copywritten intellectual property.)
Mary Smith
First Year: Mary Smith and the Three Headed Dog
"Cerberus. The beast said to guard the gates to hell. What's a gate to hell doing in a school?"
~Mary Smith
Chapter 1: Purple Frosting
All my life I knew I was destined for something different. Different from everything I've ever known, everything I was raised to believe- just everything. I never knew exactly what, but I could feel it in my heart. My very soul burned with the need for freedom. For anything but this. I was screaming inside but nothing could be heard...
...or maybe it was just a childhood fantasy.
"Stop your fidgeting, Mary," my mother chided with a pinch to my arm. My hand jerked up to rub the offended area underneath the poofing sleeve of my church dress. "And stop your frowning."
I sat on my hands as I normally did when she complained. "Yes, ma'am," I sang in my southern drawl I'd acquired during my years here in Mississippi. I never knew anywhere else. I was adopted as an infant. I didn't know anything about who my real parents were. I'd like to have imagined they were great people. My father would have been a mission doctor helping those infected with AIDS in Mozambique or a CIA intelligence officer busting human trafficking rings all over India. My mother would have been a famous artist, traveling the world and learning to speak over 50 different languages. She would meet my father in Italy during his respite and they would fall madly in love over a black olive and mushroom pizza pie- that was my favorite pizza.
"Pay attention," my mother hissed with another pinch. Just like her pinches, she had shattered the illusion of my parents being anything other than horrid sinners. She told me of how she rescued me from a strung out teenage prostitute whom had seen fit to leave me in the trash. There was no telling who my father was.
Father Evans continued to drone on about the righteousness of the lord and rewards to those whom remained devout in these times of sin and shamelessness. "And now, let us all rise in one last hymn before you leave here tonight. Blessed Be…" The choir started in and for once I was glad we were not in the front pew as was custom. I was coming down with a cold and had, thus, managed to lag behind enough so that the other 'devout followers' of our church could grab the first seven rows. Mother would not let me hear the end of this.
Father Evans had placed some sort of spell upon the women of our small town. With his good looks, charm, wit, and full head of hair- unlike my father's rug, he had the whole female population yearning for him. Even some far too young for such yearnings to be considered descent. He was recently widowed and raising a daughter left behind from his marriage. Jubilee was the bane of my existence with her insults about my being adopted or her overall smugness. She was cute as a button and evil as Satan. But she was Father Evans' daughter so everyone loved her. My mother was one of his most rabid fans. Despite being married to my father, she was completely and entirely in love with our town priest. Therefore, she was completely and entirely in love with God. The weirdness of it all was a sin in and of itself. Yet my father remained oblivious, whether willingly or not, I don't think I will ever know.
As everyone joined in the singing, even me, I let my eyes wander to the far-off window. It was a stained-glass design of the virgin Mary, her hands clasped in prayer. My mother named me after her. She told me she hoped it would remind me of the value of my virginity so that I may not follow in the lascivious Jezebel ways of the teenager that gave birth to me.
A shadow like a large bird fluttered down on to the branch of a tree outside. It's silhouette shone through the window like an ominous promise of death, blocking the sun-made halo of Mary. I couldn't avert my gaze, not until mother placed her hand on my head and turned my face forward. She always told me to ignore the owls, but it was difficult to do so. There was a quality about these birds unlike the sparrow that sung outside my window. There was an intelligence in their eyes. An intelligence not unlike that of Jubilee's cat. It both excited me and creeped me out. Though I dare not voice my opinions to anyone. One false step from me and it would have the town in another uproar. I'd already been through one exorcism. I was reluctant to endure another.
The Owls infesting the area had begun a couple of weeks ago. It started with one I spied at the elementary. It was sitting on the roof of the annex across from my classroom window. I looked away to finish my arithmetic, and when I glanced again it was much closer. Sitting in the tree a few feet away and staring right at me. It's feathers glowed gold and brown with large hazel eyes. My teacher came over, first to scold me at being distracted, then to look to the bird. "Odd bird to see around here," she said at the time. "And at this time of day. They usually tend to be night creatures. But enough of that. Get back to work, Mary. If you spent half the effort in your schooling that you do daydreaming, you would be in honors instead of in the remedial class." I simply nodded and tried to finish the work given even though I hadn't understood one bit of it. My mind had been focused on the wonder it must be to be a pirate instead of paying attention to whatever the heck bar notation was.
The owls only steadily grew in numbers after that. They were everywhere and they frightened my parents for reasons lost to me. Maybe they got the same feeling about the birds too. That they were more then what they appeared to be. Or maybe my mother thought it was plague before the coming of Lucifer. I wasn't to know.
My father and I waited in the car for my mother in the church parking lot. She wanted to congratulate Father Evans on another wonderful service. It seemed she needed to compensate for not having the first pew tonight. There was a row of owls sitting on the powerlines across from the car. If they hadn't been but animals I would have sworn they were staring at us. "Papa?" He was staring intently at them, his hand fisting the steering wheel until they turned an angry red then flushed white.
"Buckle your seat belt, Mary," he shot back to me. I scurried in the seat behind the passenger side to buckle my seat belt. It was always more difficult for mother to reach back and hit me from here. My father mumbled something about 'hoping they get a good shock' before starting the old buggee. My mother was giving air kisses to our neighbor Mrs. Robinson whose daughter she had called a salacious whore not but a few hours ago.
She got in the car, wiping the edges of smeared lipstick with her handkerchief. "Well," she snapped. "What are you waiting for? Let's get home. The roast should be done by now." Then a bit of owl droppings landed on the hood. "Damn owls."
The drive home was a silent one except for a hoot every now and then. My eyes were tearing up from my cold. I rubbed at them but stopped when mother suggested they would get infected. So instead I tried to ignore it and stared out at the surrounding woods. They were dark except for the occasional set of yellow owl eyes staring back.
We pulled up to the house and father quickly ushered us inside. He locked the door behind us, making sure the deadbolt held secure. But the town was generally a safe one. I was the most dangerous one here if you considered the number of times I'd been possessed by Satan. My mother says it is why God sent me to them. He wanted nothing but the most devout and determined Christians watching over the avatar of the devil.
After we all washed up and changed, we sat for dinner. It was an impressive looking spread that disappointed in taste when it came time to eat. The faint flavor of charcoal lingered in the roast and the vegetables were salty. But it was all relative when you've been eating this for eleven years.
Speaking of eleven years...
"Happy birthday, Mary," my mother smiled and sat a vanilla cupcake with purple frosting in front of me. I hated purple frosting. It always tasted like toothpaste.
"Thank you, Mama."
"Happy birthday, Mary," my father groused from his seat on the couch. He'd gone to watch sports the minute he finished eating.
"Thank you, sir."
There was single candle lit, sticking out from the cupcake. "Well what are you waiting for? You've got school in the morning now hurry and make that wish of yours. Then it's off to brush your teeth and good night."
I sighed and stared at the single flickering candlewick. The flame danced in the breeze of the air conditioner, taunting me with all the things I wanted that couldn't possibly be put into a single wish. I wanted a new home. I wanted friends. I wanted to go on an adventure. I wanted new parents. I wanted to stop making bad things happen around me. I wanted to stop having all those weird dreams but most of all... "I want to be someone else," I mumbled to myself.
"Pardon?" my mother squinted, daring me to rebuke the new life she had granted me already. If it weren't for her, I'd be in the trash after all.
"Nothing Mama," I sighed before blowing on the candle. The flame leaned away but stood again when I ran out of breath, just as bright as ever. I blew again, and again until finally, mother just picked it up from its spot on the table and ran it under some sink water. I watched the sweet break off into little pieces and fall to the whirring of the disposal down the drain. I may hate purple frosting, but I could have always scraped it off.
"Can't take any chances with fire. Volatile thing it is. Made from the devil and all," she admonished. "You don't need sweets before bed anyhow. Brush your teeth then off to bed with you. I'll be there to tuck you in, in a moment."
I gave one last longing look at the cupcake before getting up from my seat. She normally asked my help clearing the table, but it seems even she didn't have the heart to ask that of me on my birthday of all days.
CREAK!
The noise gave me pause. The only thing that creaked that way was the rusting mail slot. And no one delivered mail at this time of night. Well...just the scarlet envelopes my father Joe received some late nights. He would grab them and leave in his pickup truck in the dead of night in some strange white robed uniform. Mother never said a word to him when he went and father never explained when I asked what he was up to. He would just say it was "God's work" and be off. I would never understand what God would need with a man at eleven on a Friday night.
But this time, it was no scarlet letter. No mail that I had ever recognized either. Being that I was closest to the door, I walked over and picked it up. The envelope was a cream color, sealed with fancy imprinted burgundy wax that oddly reminded me of blood. It was posted to some place in England. But what would they want with people like us? As far as I knew, we didn't have any family or friends in England. And it wasn't one of the places my mother and father visited during their missionary work. "Mama?" I asked, holding the envelope up and flinching when I noticed how close they had gotten. They looked panicked. "What are Hogwarts? Are they contagious?"
She snatched the letter from my hands into her own shaking ones. But her face was stern and set to frown. "Nothing that will be concerning you. Off to bed. Now."
"But what is it?" I asked, curious as to what could possibly have my father sweating the way he was. He never sweat. It was the reason we had air-conditioning. If it wasn't working, then they were wasting money on the bill.
My mother kneeled down and grasped my much smaller face in her much larger hand. Her nails dug into my skin. " I said it doesn't concern you. Now doesn't the bible say to honor thy mother and father?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Then get your ass to bed now. And I mean it. No more back talk."
I dragged my feet on my way. A swift push from my father had me scampering off a little faster. No letter was worth a whooping.
I closed my door, not all the way but left just a crack open like mother always had me do. I peeked out into the dining room where they stood. My father had his hands clenched at his sides while mother opened the letter. I almost flinched at the way her nails popped at the seal. It looked too pretty to be ripped away like that. Her eyes scanned over it for a few minutes. "Well?" father finally asked.
"It's that heathen school alright. They're wanting to take her away from us."
"No. How the hell did they find us anyhow? Evangeline. What if they send them damn devil worshippers down here to take her?"
"They won't."
"We should move aga-"
"No!" mother shouted, the letter crumpling in her fist. "We're not going anywhere. Let them just try and take her. She's OURS now. Let them just try."
"You're right. We're her parents. Who else are they going to find to take care of her. She doesn't have any family. They're all dead."
Dead? My brain was processing this information slower than I could react.
"They say they found a distant cousin-in-law twice removed whose more than willing to take her in. You know what that means. It's some witch," she said, letting it roll off the tongue like a curse. "They're going to be wanting to teach OUR baby voodoo and poison making. Hocus pocus. They're going to erase all the work we've done, Joe. But she's not one of them anymore. We've cured her even if the sickness tries to hold onto her. She's a good God-fearing girl."
Father grunted and said something else, but I didn't hear. Family. I had family out there somewhere. It didn't matter how distant, how many times removed. Someone out there belonged to me and I belonged to them. And they were in England! My mother couldn't have been some teenage Mississippi prostitute. She was English. That made me English. I didn't have their funny accent, but I had their blood running through my veins.
And they weren't Christians either. That thought gave me pause. She called them witches, devil worshippers. I didn't want to learn voodoo or anything like that. It all seemed so wrong. Disgusting even. But maybe it wasn't that bad. They could just be Jewish. My mother hated Jews something terrible, but they seemed like normal people to me. Katie Weiner from my 1st grade class was Jewish and she let me borrow her pencil once. Jesus was Jewish I think before he died and stuff.
I blinked for just a second but the strangest feeling overcame me. It was like a strange wave of something both hot and cold at the same time. It had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. When I opened them again, there was a tapping behind me. That same owl from before. The first one I saw that day at school. It was tapping at the window. When it caught my attention, it lifted one clawed foot to point at a letter resting neatly on my pillow. I was so amazed at the fact that it was trying to communicate with me, that I barely noticed the letter. By the time I did, it was too late. I lifted it into my hands just in time for it to be swiped from me. My mother stood over me with fury wrinkling her face and rage in her eyes. "How did you get this?"
"I-it was already there! The owl," I pleaded, pointing to the window, but it was already gone. I turned back in time to receive a slap to the face. Mother always had a strong hand. I stumbled, tripping over a school book and hitting the floor. She lifted me by the hair so that I stood again.
"I'll only ask you one more time girl. Where?"
"It was already there! I swear!" I sobbed. "I swear!" The drawers in the room rattled. The lamp on the end table tipped over and smashed. "Please!" I could feel that uncontrollable burst of power surging forward out of me. It was always so painful. And I could never stop it.
"Stop that! Stop before you turn the house upside down again!" She let go of me but it didn't help anything. Splinters and cracks webbed into the walls around us. I could see father running from the house outside my window before white hot pain took over my sight. And when my vision returned...
...I was standing right back where I had started. In front of the door, peeking at my arguing parents.
"It's that heathen school alright. They're wanting to take her away from us."
"No. How the hell did they find us anyhow? Evangeline. What if they send them damn devil worshippers down here to take her?"
"They won't."
It was all happening again. It was like someone had pressed rewind. Soon the tapping started up and I turned to see the owl, and then the letter. I ran to it, feeling the foreboding in me that what I thought just happened could happen if I didn't act more quickly this time. I grabbed the letter and thought to hide it. Under the pillow? No. She always reaches under there when she tucks me in. Ever since I hid my first bad report card there when I was six. I dropped to my knees and slid it under the bed, hoping that would do for now.
"Mary?" My mother walked in with a frown, her gaze shifting around the room as if expecting something to jump out at her. I didn't have to turn to the window to know the owl was gone. "I thought I told you to get in bed."
I clasped my hands. "I was just doing some prayer before bed. Just because it's my birthday doesn't mean I shouldn't."
A calm settled over her gaze when she looked at me. Almost the way I saw other mothers look at their daughters. Almost. "Right. In all the excitement I forgot. Have you finished?"
"Not just yet." I turned back to my bed, hiding the miniscule smile that surfaced at getting away with something. It certainly had to be a sin to rejoice in deceiving your parents. "Sorry, God. That's my mother. You know her. She makes sure we get to Church every Sunday morning and Wednesday night. Even all the extra stuff like fundraisers and the annual pancake breakfast." I heard her sigh in merriment behind me. "What was I saying before?" Think brain, THINK! "Oh! I wanted to thank you for letting me see another year of my blessed life. And I wanted to ask for forgiveness for disobeying my parents before. It was wrong and I'm sorry." What was truly wrong was that I was using the lord to trick my mother. There would have to be another prayer after this one. A real one. I didn't want the lord to think I was being smart. Mother always said smart-alecky girls get sent to hell.
I stood up and climbed into bed. My mother came over and tucked me in, pressing the covers tight to my body as if to keep me there forever. I never liked that...
It's probably because I'm English.
She fluffed my pillow, reaching underneath as she always did before she kissed my forehead. "Good night my virgin Mary." I hated when she called me that...
That's probably because I'm English too.
When she left the room, I loosened up the covers and leaned over to reach under the bed. She only called me Mary because, like the virgin, she said I had a humble look about me. In other words, I was plain. Not like Jubilee with her golden blonde curls, tan skin with forever blushing cheeks and ocean blue eyes that just seemed to POP. My hair looked like dirt, my eyes looked like dirt and I had puffy bags under them that somehow made my face look awkward. Sickly even. My skin was always so pale, except during those hot summer days when I turned red as a clam. I never tanned. My skin sunburned far too easily. It was a hard thing to avoid in Mississippi no matter how much sunscreen Mama smothered me with.
I grasped the letter in my hands and titled it toward the moonlight drifting in through my window. I flipped letter over and carefully peeled the seal away, cursing my clumsy fingers when a bit of it separated and stuck to the envelope. When I opened it up, there were two letters inside. I grabbed the biggest one first.
"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 Mary Ellen Smith,..."
I paused there. My last name was Greggory. That didn't make sense. So maybe this whole thing was a mix up? But that was impossible the way my parents reacted. I decided to read the whole thing through before questioning things. Like what kind of school out there taught such a sin as witchcraft?
"Dear Mary Ellen Smith,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcrafts and Wizardry.
Students shall be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival, the date for which shall be duly advised.
Please ensure that the utmost attention be made to the list of requirements attached herewith.
We very much look forward to recieving you as a part of the new generation of Hogwarts' heritage.
Draco Dormiens Nanquam Titillandos,
Professor McGonagall"
I really should start paying attention in class because I have no idea what that last sentence meant. In English, all they taught us to end letters with was either "love" or "sincerely". And what was a chamber of reception? Does it make sense to have a room just for receiving people?
"First year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes
2. One plain pointed hat for day wear
3. One pair of dragon-hide gloves
And the following set of books:
1. 'The Standard Book of Spells- 1998 edition' by Miranda Goshawk
2. 'A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' by Phyllida Spore
3. 'A History of Magic' by Bathilda Bagshot
4. 'Magical Theory- 1998 edition' by Adalbert Waffling
5. 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration- 1998 edition' by Emeric Switch
6. 'Magical Drafts and Potions- 1998 edition' by Arsenius Jigger"
Well that settled it. They certainly had the wrong person. I hadn't heard of any of those things. I guess I could beg the guy who owned the costume shop to give me his pointed witches hat but- no. Witches went to hell. All of this was wrong. Still, I found myself reaching for the second letter. It was smaller and written in the best handwriting I had ever seen. If I wrote cursive like this, my teacher probably wouldn't have been so hard on me when it came time to practice.
"Dear Mary,
I hope you have received this letter as it was meant especially for you. I held some doubt that your parents would discuss the many I have sent to them. If they have, then excellent. However, if they have not, it is unfortunate. I am the headmaster of Hogwarts, the school to which you have been delightfully accepted, Albus Dumbledore..."
I held back a giggle. These people had really funny names. McGonagall, Jigger, Dumbledore.
"You see Mary, it was eleven years ago this day that I held you in my arms. You were born in the halls of this very school. I knew both your biological mother and father. I do not know what you have been told about them, but I will tell you that they were witches and two of the finest people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. You are their daughter, Mary Ellen McGowen- Smith and Yagar Smith. You, like them, are a witch.
I know you are going through things that you may not understand, maybe even seeing things. I want you to know that we only wish to help you. After a visit, if you still wish to return home, then we will not force you to stay.
However, should you choose to join Hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world, we will help to guide you to your fullest potential. Our special staff of instructors are set to help you find your place in the world. You would be staying with your cousin-in-law twice removed, Arial Finnigan, and her family. Hogwarts is not just a school. It is a family. You are a special girl, Mary.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. Someone will be there to retrieve you in two days time. See you soon."
Slowly I folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. Then I stuck the envelope in my school bag beside my bed. I laid there a long while, staring at the ceiling and thinking. There were so many questions. How did my parents die? How did I end up with these horrible people? How has God not hit any of you sinners with lightening yet? My mother always said that you don't meet witches because God strikes their sinning hearts with lightening and sends them straight to hell. But maybe I should stop listening to what Mama has to say. She did tell me my mother was a teenage prostitute after all...
