Her first day at Hogwarts was a blur. The only education Emmaline Kelly had ever received was at the home where her mother had given birth before disappearing. Her guardians were the bustling and impatient nuns running the orphanage, and "father" came to give communion and hear confession. Thirty other girls of various ages shared accommodations, all born out of wedlock and swept under the rug to be hidden from polite Irish society. When a boy emerged from his mother's womb, he was sent elsewhere. They couldn't risk the possibility of opposite sexes growing and mingling and ending up like their tainted parents.
The nuns made certain that in spite of their deficient means of entering the world, every girl would leave the institution an example of what discipline could accomplish for the human spirit. After cooking meals, washing laundry, and scrubbing floors, they read verses and copied scriptures in the small area used as a classroom.
I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.
Like a gold ring in a pig's snout is a beautiful woman without discretion.
Keep the commands of the Lord your God and the stipulations and decrees he has given you.
These were the lessons her education provided: modesty, chastity, gratitude, and above all, obedience. Sums were only useful for tallying a grocery list and sciences for improving one's cooking. Once each child reached the age of eighteen she was on her own, but with an impeccable sense of right and wrong with which to attract a sensible husband and make an honest life. This might atone for the sin of her birth.
At eleven years old, Emmaline had hair as red as a tomato and as curly as a vine, cut short so that it fell just past her ears and couldn't indulge a young girl's vanity. Her eyes were as green as the Emerald Isle and her nose richly dotted with freckles. The older residents in the home were expected to help with the ever growing population of new arrivals and she was in the nursery rocking a wailing infant.
"Shhhhhh shhhhhh shhhhh," she said, patting the child on the back. "My, you are fussy today. Do you have teeth coming in?"
A nun entered the room and told her, "You have a visitor."
"Me?" she asked. Even the baby in her arms stopped crying in surprise.
"You."
"Could it be-"
"No, child. You have no kin."
The woman held out her arms and Emmaline passed her the baby, who then went into a bassinet. She removed her apron and gave the child a rag for chewing before following the nun to a small sitting room typically used to arrange adoptions with prospective parents. This space was kept clean and tidy to reflect well on the home. Others were not as hospitable. Already sitting on a sofa was an elderly man with a long, wiry, grey beard who stood when Emmaline entered the room.
"Albus Dumbledore," he introduced himself.
From the warm way he took her hand to shake it, to the twinkle lighting his eyes even when he wasn't smiling, he resembled the kind sort of gentleman she'd always wanted as a grandfather.
The nun remained in the room, as curious as anyone who the man could be that requested Emmaline by name. Dumbledore seemed to restrain his talk to small matters, aware of her critical ear. But Emmaline could have sworn she saw him shift something in his pocket, after which a sound came crashing from the direction of the kitchen.
"What on earth could that be?" the nun asked and bustled away.
When she was gone, Dumbledore leaned forward and spoke intently.
"We don't have much time, Emmaline. You can do things, can't you?" he asked her. "Special things that you can't explain."
Her jaw went slack.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
"How did you know?"
"Answer me and I'll tell you."
No one had ever asked her about herself. "I can make anything grow," she blurted. "Even in this dark, rainy place." Her hand flew over her mouth. "Forgive me. That's prideful, isn't it?"
Dumbledore gave a sad smile. "No, dear girl. Not at all."
"I think it's a gift. From God."
"I think you're exactly right."
"But I've never told anyone. The others. If they knew..." she gave a worried glance at the door. "They might think I've done something evil. Made a pact with the devil. But I haven't. I swear!"
"Of course you haven't. And neither have I."
He drew out a long, narrow object from his pocket that looked like a stick. Giving a delicate wave, it produced a white flower from thin air.
Emmaline's eyes popped. "I've never done that before!"
He chuckled. "Not yet. But there's a school for children just like you where you can learn how."
Her mind raced. She was ready to board the very next train if it meant she could see more, do more with people just like her. "What's it called?"
"Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?" she repeated. "What an unusual name."
"Hogwarts School of..." he paused "...Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Emmaline's heart stopped. "Witchcraft?!" she hissed, rising from her chair. "That's...that's a sin!"
Dumbledore again took her hand in his. The effect immediately calmed her. "You've been told many things here. Some are true. Some are born of fear. But I can tell you this: we at Hogwarts are a good people. There is no devil worship. That name is never evoked. Instead, we call upon something else."
She sat back down. "What?"
"That gift you know in your heart you've been blessed with. It's called magic."
"And it isn't...wicked?"
"Anything can be wicked, just as anything can be good. What you choose to do with the magic inside you is your choice. Either way, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. It was put there for a reason."
"What reason is that?"
"Why don't you come with me and find out?"
Just then the door opened and the nun returned. "Excuse my absence."
"Quite all right," Dumbledore answered as he stood up. "I was just going." He grabbed his hat and scarf from the rack and fitted them to his person. "I'd like to return tomorrow, if you don't mind."
Having just made herself comfortable, the nun found herself bewildered to be standing again so soon. "Of course, Mr. Dumbledore."
Before he passed through the door, he caught Emmaline's eye and gave his forehead a little tap which she took to mean, Think it over.
During her studies that afternoon, she attempted to find references to magic.
A man or woman who is a medium or necromancer shall surely be put to death.
And a number of those who had practiced magic arts brought their books together and burned them in the sight of all.
You shall not permit a sorceress to live.
She closed the book shut. She would refuse Albus Dumbledore. Magic was wrong. It was written right in front of her eyes! Yet that night after she tucked the toddlers into their beds and turned out the lights, she could not find peace on her own pillow. When everyone's breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep, Emmaline crept down the stairs and out the back door. She followed a dirt path down a grassy slope to a thicket with a babbling stream washing through its center. Here she sat in a small patch of earth she'd cultivated in secret. It was one of the few things she could call her own. Every seed she'd ever planted bloomed day and night, responding to her touch and voice as if it were listening for instruction. No one, not even the Abbess with her infinite wisdom in Irish horticulture, could bring the organisms out of the ground that she could.
She stroked the velvety petals in reverence. The nuns may have seen a budding life as a burden. They may have disdained every young woman knocking at their door with a bulging belly. But new growth, new chances, new colors and aromas were a gift, just as Albus Dumbledore said. Would it be so wrong to learn to use them better? Perhaps even with the purpose of serving God and humanity, as she'd been raised to do?
"That man returns today," she was told over porridge the next morning.
Emmaline nodded.
"Be on your best behavior. He may have interest in adopting you, though for what reason he wants an eleven year-old girl, I can't comprehend. Encourage his visits and be silent and agreeable in all things."
The girl nodded again.
"We could certainly use one less mouth to feed."
Emmaline looked at the faces, big and small, around the table. A few she feared, but some she'd come to love as the aunts and siblings she never had. Little ones hardly able to bring a spoon to their lips, elderly women unfit for physical labor, all with too small a portion in their bowls, and all looking at her expectantly.
"Yes ma'am."
She folded the few garments in her possession and set them on her bed, ready to be packed but not committed to a destination.
"Are you really leaving, Emmy?" a small voice behind her asked.
She turned to see a four year-old girl, Margaret, who'd been learning to read with Emmaline's help. She crouched low to the ground to see the girl eye-to-eye. "Maybe," she replied.
"Forever?"
"No, certainly not."
"When will you come back?"
"Well...I'm not sure."
"What if you forget me?"
"Of course I won't forget you!" she scooped the child into her lap and said in her ear, "I could never."
"And me?" Another voice asked. Seven year-old Eliza had come to see her off.
"Come now," Emmaline said, holding her arm out for the older child to join.
"I don't mind sharing the porridge," Eliza said. "It tastes horrid."
"Don't say such things," she scolded, tucking Eliza's hair behind her ear. "We're lucky to have what we do."
The three sat in a heap on the ground until they could hear a caller at the front door.
"I'm still not convinced that magic is fit for a Christian," she said to Dumbledore. "But I'll try it on the condition that I can return if I feel this place, this Hogwarts, is doing harm to my soul in any manner."
"Agreed," Dumbledore nodded. "And just in time; your term begins tomorrow."
Dumbledore told the Abbess Emmaline had been accepted into a charitable academy that would house, feed, and clothe her for the duration of the academic months every year for the next seven years. Upon summers she would return. Both Headmaster and pupil-to-be agreed to leave the manner of education undisclosed, along with the fact that males would attend alongside females. While not the clean break the nuns had hoped for, the offer could not be refused, and Emmaline could promise a date of return to the eager young eyes pleading for one last kiss goodbye.
She and Dumbledore strolled along the dirt road leading away from the home, a surreal notion overtaking her nerves. "Are we to walk to the train station?" she asked when she could finally speak. "I don't mind if we do."
"Oh no," he chuckled. "Magic isn't just for growing plants, as you are so eager to do. Allow me to show you, Emmaline, all of the wondrous ways we can use it."
Twenty-four hours later she sat alone in a corridor, books scattered about and her burgundy and gold tie constricting her throat. In an attempt to find a class called Transfiguration (the meaning of which she hadn't the faintest idea), she had stumbled into a girl's bathroom and angered a ghost, who then sprayed her with water from the pipes and moaned until she fled in terror.
The castle was the biggest structure she'd ever seen. The portraits spoke but did not guide. The staircases moved but not where she wanted to go. Emmaline would be late and anger her new professor because she had never learned to read a map. Did the teachers here punish the way the nuns did? A shudder crept down her back. She felt stuck in a dream that transitioned from euphoria to a night terror. She would march to Dumbledore's office and tell him she was unfit to attend Hogwarts. It had all been a terrible mistake. She couldn't have magic in her veins if she was too stupid to find her way to class.
Her eyes started to burn with tears when a group of boys passed by. They were couple of years older than her and wore the same colors on their uniforms. One had dark curly hair, one had glasses, one had teeth that jutted out like a rat's, and the fourth looked as though he'd just had a scuffle in the courtyard. The dark-haired one noticed Emmaline on the floor and mouthed to the rest, "First year."
They all chuckled and walked on. Emmaline reached for her bag, ready to run to the Headmaster's office (assuming she could find it). But then the fourth boy stopped. He looked at her and back to his friends.
"I'll catch up."
The group continued. He approached her and bent down on one knee.
"Rough day?"
She wiped her cheeks and averted her eyes to hide that she'd been crying. "I'm lost."
"And wet."
She looked at herself and her belongings dark with water. "And wet."
"I'd ask why, but this is Hogwarts." He took out his wand and waved it over her clothes and bag and a like a warm glow from the fire, she felt the fibers dry and relax away from her skin.
She held up her arms for examination and breathed out a sigh of relief. "That's brilliant."
"Now let's get you to class," he replied, standing upright and holding out his hand. Emmaline took it and he lifted her to her feet. It was the first time she'd touched a boy her own age. Or spoken to one, for that matter. Her pulse quickened and a knot tightened in her stomach at the memory of the warnings given throughout her youth.
"Won't you be late?" she asked him.
"I'll be all right."
He stooped to pick up her bag and slung it on his shoulder. "Where to?"
Emmaline checked her sheet of paper. "Trans-fig-ur-a-tion? Am I saying that correctly?"
"Professor McGonagall. Right then, this way." He set off down the passage and she followed. "It's not far. You should make it on time."
"Thank you so much for your help."
"Don't mention it."
So she didn't.
"What's your name?"
"Emmaline. And yours?"
"Call me Remus."
They arrived at a large wooden door. He wasn't lying about being close by, which made her feel better. Maybe her sense of direction wasn't as bad as she thought.
"In there," he told her and returned her bag. "Now a word of warning: McGonagall is fair but strict. Kind but firm. Don't try anything out of the ordinary."
Emmaline remembered the Abbess. She knew strict and firm. Kindness, not as much.
"So straighten your tie," he added.
She looked down and tried to adjust her knot to look like Remus's. Along with reading a map, tying a tie never made its way into the lessons at the orphanage. Sensing her frustration, he said, "Here." His fingers reached forward and pulled and pushed and straightened the dents into folds. All the while, that burning feeling had traveled from her eyes into her throat along all of the places his fingers brushed.
"That's better." He gave a small smile. "Good luck."
His hand was on her back urging her into the room, but when she turned around to say goodbye he was already bounding down the corridor and out of sight. For an instant everything around her faded and she had no consciousness of where her feet were taking her, only that she hoped they could stand beside his again sometime soon.