Chapter One: June 1970 Just two weeks before Lily Evans' eleventh birthday, the most peculiar thing happened. It was another ugly, dreary day-- the sort of day when the weather couldn't seem to decide whether it wanted to lightly drizzle or unleash a deluge. The students were released from the last day of class with the usual cheering and shouting as they made a break through the puddles for home. Waiting at the front gate of Lemmingtons Primary, just like every day, was Lily's older sister Petunia. Her boyfriend of the moment, a ginger haired bloke named Edmund, was stealing a snog as Lily walked up. "Mum told you not to do things like that, Petunia." Petunia broke away from Edmund upon hearing this and glared down at her little sister. "I don't think that's any of your business, now is it?" Edmund, however, smiled. "Oh come on Petunia, she's only lookin' out for you, after all." He bent down. "How old are you now, anyway?" "Eleven next month," Lily answered blandly. She'd never been too impressed with any of her sister's boyfriends. "You're a regular grown-up now, aren't you? In fact," he said, taking her by the hand, "I think that rather merits your being able to sit up in the front seat today." Edmund drove a top of the line, brand new 1970 Zephyr and it glinted bright cherry red before them. "You're bribing me to keep my mouth shut about snogging my sister, right?" Edmund didn't have to feign his surprise. "Bit young for language like that, aren't you? And yes, I am. Do we have a bargain?" Lily winked and slid into the front seat, Petunia wordlessly climbing into the backseat. Edmund revved up the engine and Petunia leaned forward over her sisters' shoulder to turn on the radio, blaring up a peppy, chart-topping song of the moment. Not climbing back into the back seat, she teased Edmund's ear with schoolgirl kisses and he responded happily as he steered the car with his right hand, using his left to gently pull at Petunia's short, wavy brown locks. Before Lily could say anything, Petunia's knobby knees were pushing their way into the front seat and Lily found herself squishing up next to the window to make the necessary room. Edmund's driving seemed to accelerate the more they played around, the winding country road through the outskirts of Rochester suddenly feeling more like a race track than anything else. "Edmund," said Lily, a bit worried about not only his speeding, but the fact that he wasn't paying attention to the road, "Edmund, slow up a bit, eh?" The radio was too loud and Edmund was too distracted to notice. That's when Lily's fears were suddenly confirmed: dead ahead of them in the road was a stalled Lorry, its' hazard lights blinking, it's trailer blocking the entire road. "Edmund!" Lily shook her sister's sleeve violently and Petunia, upon realizing the magnitude of the impending disaster, let out a scream. Edmund slammed on the breaks, everyone lurched forward in their seats, Petunia's screaming intensifying right along with the screeching breaks. And then it was over. They were safely on the other side of the road, the car skidding to a halt. No one spoke a word. Lily's heart was racing and she stared at her sister and Edmund in a mixture of relief, of fear and of anger. Petunia had drained of all color and when she finally did speak, her voice was trembling. "H-how d-did we get p-past that lorry?" Lily was rather interested in that answer herself, as was the lorry driver who then pounded on her window. He was a rough looking, wiry haired middle-aged man, and Lily couldn't tell if he was angry or frightened as she rolled down the window. "Oy! You lot! All right in here?" "Y-yes sir," said Edmund, still audibly shaken, "yes, we're all right, all of us, thank you." The man looked relieved, briefly, and then mad as hell. "Dunno what you were thinkin, drivin' like a bleedin' auto racer down a narrow country road like 'at! Damn lucky y'all aren't on the way to the hospital right now! Could've sworn you were gonna ram headlong into me trailer!" "So did we," Lily murmured under her breath. "Keep yer bleedin' eyes on the bleedin' road from now on, will yer?" The man then turned and stormed off in a fury. Edmund started up the engine again and they continued on their way, although this time Edmund was barely moving faster than a snail's pace. "Edmund," said Petunia, "how did we. . ." "I dunno. . . I thought we were all dead for sure. . ." Lily was trying to figure it out as well. In the blink of an eye they'd somehow ended up on the other side of the road-- almost as though they'd driven through the trailer. But of course, that was utterly ridiculous. "It was like magic," said Lily quietly. Petunia looked annoyed. "There's no such thing as magic, Lily. Maybe. . . Edmund here is one helluva better driver than we gave him credit for." Edmund pulled up to the girls' home-- a small, simple two story with a barely existent back garden and an even smaller front garden. Even though the home itself wasn't in the best neighborhood, Mrs. Evans made absolutely certain that the home was kept up to its best possible state: her roses seemed to always been in bloom, the back lawn was always cut and kept immaculately, and there was never a speck of dust to be found anywhere in the home. Not to mention the fact that the home had the delightful tendency to always smell like sugar biscuits, as that was Mrs. Evans' specialty. As a matter of fact, an entire plate of the little devils awaited the three as they walked inside from the cold. Mrs. Evans, an attractive woman in her forties with soft auburn hair and stunning green eyes, was visibly worried when they arrived. Lily went straight for the biscuits and did most of the munching, while Petunia did all the talking-- explaining to their mother why they were so late getting home. Of course, she left certain things out of the story, and by the time she'd finished, Mrs. Evans was under the impression that they'd nearly been run off the road by a careless lorry driver. Lily opened her mouth to protest, but a kick in the shins from her sister warned her to not even think about it. Edmund left not too long afterwards, and Lily retreated upstairs to formally retire her school things for the summer, a sugar biscuit wrapped in a napkin for later. "I'd lay off those biscuits if I were you, Lily dear. Not too much slack in your trousers these days, is there?" Lily flushed and threw her sister a sour look. "If you've nothing better to say, then I suggest you leave, Tunie dear." But Petunia had no intention of leaving. She folded her arms and patrolled her sisters' room, sticking her pointy noise into her books and magazines as though she were inspecting it. Lily rolled her eyes and finished putting away her pencils and pens-- sometimes she thought that Petunia's only source of pleasure in life was tormenting her. "Still reading these stupid fairy tales?" She said, holding up a hardcover book with a picture of a fairy on the front. "I'd think that by now you would have grown out of that silly phase. Most children stop believing in that nonsense right along with Santa Clause." Lily couldn't help the smile that escaped her lips. "Mum gave that book to me. It might interest you to know that A Midsummer Night's Dream is Shakespeare, not Disney. Anyway, I'd rather be a dreamer than a liar like you are." "A wot?" "I can't believe you told Mum those things! I've a right mind to tell her the truth right now--" "You do that and I'll rip your arms right out of their sockets!" Petunia's mouth was thin and angry. Lily got the hint that she wasn't joking. "Besides, I've got blackmail on you. Edmund's little sister told me how the other day you almost got sent home for turning another girl's hair green." Lily stiffened, shocked that her sister knew about that. "I didn't do it! I was just standing there and her hair turned green all by itself!" "Right. Who's the liar now, eh? Anyway, the only reason you got off free is because they couldn't prove it was you, but everyone knows you did it, you sneaky little rat. No one likes you there, you know. They all think that you're a flippin' looney, and I have to side with them on that." Lily's throat tightened and she had to muster up every ounce of self-control she had to not give way to tears. Because her sister was absolutely right. Lily hated Lemmington's more than anything else in the world-- no matter what she tried, she never could seem to blend in. Edmund's little sister had been a mate of hers, but now she was learning that even she talked about her behind her back. She tried hard, she really did! But she just always seemed to be the outcast. It was either because she was too up-front and honest about the things she believed in and was labeled as a 'know-it-all-blabbermouth,' or because whenever it came to playing games on the field, she seemed to always confront the team captains with 'a much better idea'. (They called her cheeky-- but what really annoyed them was that she was always right). Some people have a hard time being show up by other people-- especially when the other person was a short, somewhat pudgy, ginger haired ten year old. With the face, one might add, of an absolute angel. Even her most vocal enemies (including her sister Petunia) had to admit, deep down inside, that the awkward looking little thing had an unusual beauty-- namely her striking electric green eyes that never failed to cause strangers to stare unabashedly. Of course, when someone is ten years old, they don't understand that the reason behind such hostile behavior is actually something called jealousy. No, when you're ten years old and someone calls you a 'know it all,' 'a cow' or a 'spastic,' then you believe them. But things would be different next year, Lily constantly reminded herself. She'd be going into secondary school across town and would have the opportunity to start all over again. Petunia was still in the room. "I've got things to do. Mind leaving?" "Glad to," said Petunia with a smirk, and then she turned and sauntered out of the room. Lily closed the door with a slam and threw her body onto her bed, pulling her face into her pillow. Crying herself to sleep wasn't an unfamiliar thing for Lily Evans. No, it was rather more of a habit. ** Saturday morning fry-ups were an Evans household tradition. And it was common knowledge that no one in all of Kent made a better fry up than Barbara Evans. Mr. Evans, a kind-faced even-tempered fellow, was always first to the breakfast table (nine-fifteen on the nose) and he would settle behind the Daily Mail, calmly sipping his black coffee, while Mrs. Evans flurried about the kitchen, throwing this and that here and there, and sending decadent aromas into the air. And since this weekend was the official first weekend of the girls' summer holidays, the meal was especially sinful. "Classes all lined up for next year, Tunie?" asked Mr. Evans as he started on his second helping of kippers. "Of course," said Petunia with a distinct air of supremacy. "All very challenging subjects, of course, but I expect full marks-- again." Lily cringed, knowing that was a direct slap at her-- good grades weren't exactly her specialty. "And Lily dear, I'm sure we'll be expecting an improvement from you at your new school. I've said it before and I'll say it again, decent marks are your only ticket to success in this world. I understand that you like to question the teacher and analyze everything you're taught, but. . ." he sighed. "it's good to have a mind of your own my dear, but when it comes to not participating in an essay because you disagree with the sentiments, well, sometimes you just have to just do it anyway!" "Well I heard that Walderslade Secondary has a simply superb faculty and a fine curriculum." Lily smiled: Mum was always there to lighten things up. "Really? At Chetterings we hear that Walderslades has one of the worst records in the district." And there was Petunia, always ready to bring them back down again. "Well Chetterings is a Private School, Tunie. We're talking about Public schools--" Mrs. Evans looked up. "Goodness, the post is early this morning!" She hurried off down the hall, as she had been expecting a parcel from a fashion magazine (Mrs. Evans was a devout magazine shopper) leaving Lily to the continuing sermon from her father and Petunia. Petunia, it isn't surprising to add, seemed most delighted with the subject and was quite willing to offer her endless opinions on the matter. (Mr. Evans' responses to these opinions, however, never rose above the obligatory "Mmmm.") Mrs. Evans' excited re-entry confirmed that she had indeed received the parcel she was waiting for and she wasted no time in ripping it out of the box to show it off to her husband. "Isn't it simply divine?" She held up the deep maroon suede coat with toggle like buttons. Mr. Evans looked up from his roasted potatoes and raised a brow. "It certainly is red, isn't it." "It's maroon! Really, Harold! It's all the rage this season! Direct from the States--" "Mmmm," came his reply and Lily had to make every effort to contain her giggle. Mr. Evans shot Lily a devious grin and winked, and she returned it-- a secret ritual shared only between the two. "Oh," said Barbara as she folded the coat back up into the box, "you've a letter as well, Lily. I think it's from your pen pal." Lily eagerly reached for the letter, hoping it really was her pen pal Adelaide from up in Ireland. She was the only person who seemed to understand her. But the thick yellowed envelope and green fancy lettering that met her most certainly wasn't Adelaide's:
She turned the letter over and found it was sealed with an insignia she'd never seen before: it resembled a coat of arms and below it, in frilly script, was a funny-sounding word: "Hogwarts". Starting to think perhaps it was sent to her by mistake, she opened the letter anyway, the rest of her family content in their own affairs and not paying any attention. If they had been, they would have seen the look of shock that suddenly overcame her. She read the words-- they were plain as day-- but simply couldn't believe them:
In a complete daze, she turned to the next page and found the list the message had been referring to:
"Well? What does Addy have to say this time? Off to Majorca again on Holiday? Harold, when are we going to take the girls there? I know they must be dying to go! And didn't you say that we'd be able to afford it this year?" "Did I? I don't remember. Old age, you know." "Old age my foot. Amazing how your selective memory only acts up when it involves money." Harold laughed. "Yes it is, isn't it! I dunno, luv. I've lesson plans to prepare and--" "Oh, nonsense. You've been teaching the same curriculum at that stuffy old University for the past ten years. You could teach it in your sleep." During all this, Lily's hands were still holding the brownish paper tightly, her mouth open, though no sound able to come out. "Sweetie?" Mr. Evans finally looked up from the newspaper at his daughter. "Answer your mother-- what did Addy have to say?" Lily said nothing. Her eyes were still stuck on those glaring green letters "School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"-- the list of "equipment" that included cauldrons and pointed hats. . . how could her parents possibly expect her to carry on an intelligent conversation? Now the entire Evans family was staring at her. "Lily," Mrs. Evans prodded, "what is it, is something wrong?" Her hands were now shaking somewhat. "I . . . I think so, yes." "She's not ill, is she? I read about a horrific flu outbreak in Howth which isn't too far from where Addy lives, isn't it? They said it was the worst in--" "Mum, it's nothing to do with Addy," said Lily, her eyes still stuck on the letter. "Well? What is it then?" Petunia appeared to be most interested of all, because she reached forward and swiped the letter out of her sister's hands. Within seconds, the same shell-shock expression befell her as well. Eyes wide, she looked at Lily, then down at the letter, then back at Lily. "It. . . it must be a j-joke, right?" "Oh for heavens sake! Enough of this cryptic nonsense! Give me that!" Barbara pulled it out of Petunia's hands, her husband reading the words over her shoulder. Lily looked to her parents pleadingly for some sort explanation. To make some sense of the overwhelming confusion. But once they'd finished the letter, they had no answers to offer. Silence at the breakfast table. Only disbelief. I wish they'd stop *staring* at me! "It must be a joke," Petunia said again. "I mean, two weeks until her birthday-- someone's idea of a birthday prank. Maybe Addy sent it to be funny." "Not to be rude," said Lily, "but I don't think Addy is quite. . . that creative to come up with something like this. Besides, her penmanship is pants." "Watch your language," said Mrs. Evans in a dazed, drone-like voice. She stared at the letter again, shaking her head. "H-have any of you ever heard of this place?" Lily asked quietly. "I mean. . . is it real?" "Of course it's not!" Petunia looked stunned that her sister had even considered such a possibility. "I just told you it's just a joke!" "Do you know who sent it?" "Well, no--" "Then how do you know it's a joke?" "For the last time, because there's no such thing as magic!" But Mr. Evans had been peculiarly calm throughout the whole revelation. He took a sip from his coffee and addressed his daughters with a sudden seriousness. "I wouldn't be so sure that, Petunia love." Petunia stared at her father in disbelief. "Seeing this letter just . . . confirms what I have, for years, labored with admitting. Some years back, a fellow professor at the University and I were talking. He and I were good mates and I had an incredible respect for him: a Shakespeare professor. You remember Giles Waring, don't you Barbara dear? A very intelligent man, he was. One day, in the course of conversation, somehow the subject of his wife came up. I asked her if she was a homemaker or if she worked and he told me that she worked as well. However, when I asked what her occupation was, he became oddly quiet. It took several minutes for me to get it out of him. Finally, he told me that recently his wife revealed to him that she was actually a witch. And apparently she'd recently taken a job working with someone by that very name on the letter right here. I never forget a name-- especially one like that." Lily was on the edge of her seat. Petunia looked mortified. "I was never sure if I believed him. I had no reason not to, him being the admirable man he was, however all logic pointed against it. But now. . . " he sighed. "Now I believe he was telling the truth after all." Barbara looked up at her daughter. "And you. . ." her voice was quiet. "You're a witch. . ." A smile, however slight, tugged at her lips. "I must admit I never expected anything like this. . ." "But how?" Lily cried, "I can't be! I mean, the only thing that I do with a broomstick is sweep with it! Even on Halloween-- I've never been interested in it! I've never done anything that would tell me I could be a witch. . ." But the minute the words were out there, she knew how much of a lie that really was. Turning Lillian Gerkins' hair green. . . had it really been her? And just yesterday, their inexplicable survival of that potentially fatal crash. . . had she done that as well? Without knowing it? And then everything started coming back to her: things that had happened years ago-- odd things she hadn't been able to explain logically. Things that she'd just dismissed as 'one of those things.' Perhaps they hadn't been as inexplicable as she'd thought. Perhaps that letter really was right. . . maybe she really was a witch! "I don't believe it," said Petunia, her voice now very impatient. "No one in our family is one of them. No way that Lily could. No way." Barbara was still trying to decipher the letter. "It says 'we await your Owl.'" She bit her lip in thought. "Owl? What could they possibly mean by that?" "It's almost as though they meant to say 'we await your response,'" said Philip as he flipped the envelope over. "But there's no return address. . . the post boy delivered it?" "Well, I assume so. It was with all the other mail." Mr. Evans stood up. "Come along, then." Lily was right at his feet as he rushed to the front door and threw it open. There, sitting off to the side of the front step was a dark brown barn owl with a patchy white face. He didn't look at all startled by the presence of the humans but merely looked up and gave a quiet, almost amicable 'how do you do' sort of hoot. "Ladies? I think this settles the debate quite plainly." Mr. Evans knelt down to one knee and cautiously placed his fingers at the base of the owl's neck and softly scratched the fur. The beautiful bird closed its eyes, allowing Harold to continue, and once again, let out a soft hoot. Lily broke out into a smile at the amazing sight, and indeed, her father looked quite pleased as well. "Perhaps we should take him inside?" Mrs. Evans was now getting adventurous as well. "If he delivered this letter from any great distance, I'm sure he could use some water." "Right," said Mr. Evans, "though. . . I'm not sure how to handle these creatures." He pulled down his long sleeve tightly and held out his arm in front of the owl. Apparently the bird understood and his inched forward, climbing onto his arm. Mr. Evans let out a gasp. "Goodness, he's heavy!" He stood up carefully, not wanting to disturb the owl in any way: it's claws looked quite painful. They brought him inside and Mrs. Evans spread some newspaper overtop the carpeting. The bird stepped down and then hooted quite happily once Mrs. Evans presented him with a small bowl of water. "Then. . . I suppose all I have to do. . . is give him a letter with my response." Lily looked up at her parents. "The only question now is. . . what is my response going to be." Petunia blanched. "You don't mean that you're actually considering attending a place like that!" "And why not?" Lily said, gaining an odd acrimony at Petunia's tone of voice. "Why not? Are you mad? Okay, so let's just say, for the sake of argument, that you are one of them. It doesn't mean you have to go to one of their schools! You can still stay here and at least try to be normal!" "Maybe being a witch is what is normal for me." "You'd be a freak! What would I tell all my friends at school? 'Where's Lily, you ask? Oh, she's a witch, or didn't I tell you? And right now she's off at school learning how to fly broomsticks.' My social life would be over!" "Fine attitude that is," Mrs. Evans scolded. "Never a thought for anyone else but you, is it Petunia! Lily, darling, I for one would stand behind you if you should decide to attend." "As would I. Not everyday something like this happens, is it!" Mr. Evans smiled and winked at his daughter fondly. "We have a witch in the family. . ." he came to her side and placed his arm around her supportively. "Isn't it wonderful, Barbara?" "Am I the only one in this entire family who understands what's going on here!" Lily turned her head from its comfortable snuggle in her fathers' shirt to find Petunia's face red and fuming, her eyes wide and wild with ferocity. "Lily is a witch! How can you possibly be okay with this? How can you even look at her the same way!" "Were the situation reversed I am certain you would be grateful for all the support you could get from your family--" "Were the situation reversed I wouldn't even consider attending such a place and make every attempt at being normal!" "As a father and mother we love our daughter, Petunia Evans! And as her sister, we would have expected a much different attitude on your behalf! We raised you better than this!" Harold Evans' voice rarely rose above a shout. The fact that he was now bellowing frightened Petunia and she held her tongue immediately. Lily was starting to feel ill: the floor seemed to be tilting sideways and there was a horrible queasiness consuming her stomach-- the sort that only comes from extreme anxiety. And to call Lily Evans anxious at nine forty five on the nineteenth of June 1970 was a gross understatement! She made a break for the bathroom and didn't return until a good hour later. When she walked back into the room she was painfully aware that the eyes now looking upon her viewed her in a different light altogether than they had earlier that morning. And it would always be so.