In hindsight, Betsy Evans realized that she had always known her younger daughter was special. The letter she now held in her hands and the oddly dressed, but very kind and helpful, elderly woman who had just left their house were merely the last bits of proof about something she had known for years, but had really never given much thought. She nodded dumbly, still lost in thought, as her bright-eyed daughter raced out the door, explaining that she "had to tell Sev it finally happened!," and stared back down at the letter in her hands, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Lily, her sweet, curious, imaginative little girl, was a witch.
Bizarre accidents. The woman, called Professor McGonagall if Betsy remembered correctly, had asked if Lily had ever had any bizarre accidents or inexplicable quirks. It was at that point in the conversation that Betsy had mentally admitted something she had been realizing ever since her daughter was three years old.
*********
It was a quiet spring afternoon in late May, and Betsy had just enjoyed a peaceful couple of hours reading on the sofa in the front room. Both of her daughters were in their bedrooms, presumably still napping since she had yet to hear a peep from upstairs. Before she began to cook dinner, however, she wanted to check on both of them.
Petunia's room was the first door on the right, and as she cracked the door open and peered inside, Betsy saw that her elder daughter was still curled up beneath her pink polka-dotted comforter, fast asleep. She shut the door as quietly as she had opened it and continued down the hallway to Lily's room. As she neared the second door on the right, she heard a tell-tale giggling from inside the room. Evidently, Lily was already awake. Curious to know what was amusing the tiny redhead so much, Betsy opened the door and promptly froze in shock.
Lily was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hands clasped together against her chest and an expression of the utmost wonder and delight on her face as she watched a handful of small objects swirling and diving around her head. In the next moment, the three-year-old realized that her mother had just entered the room, and she lifted one little hand to point excitedly at the swirling objects, exclaiming, "Mummy! Mummy wook! I made faewies!"
Taking a step closer, Betsy's eyes widened as she realized that, somehow, the little porcelain figurines they had bought a few weeks ago were no longer sitting safely on the shelf over Lily's bed but were circling around her head, almost as if they were flying. But that was preposterous! They were just six little porcelain faeries that Lily, who had recently become obsessed with all manner of make-believe creatures, had seen in the store and begged Betsy to purchase until she acquiesced. They couldn't move, and they certainly couldn't fly! And yet.. here they were, whizzing around her daughter's head while she laughed and clapped her hands merrily.
"That's.. that's very nice, Lily dear," she said shakily, "But I think we ought to put the faeries away for now, in case they break." Crossing the room, she began to carefully pluck the flying figurines out of the air and set them back on the shelf where they belonged. By the time they were all safely (and motionlessly) back on the shelf, Lily looked crestfallen. "Can I pway wiff one of dem?" she pleaded, holding out her right hand and looking expectantly up at her mother. Betsy hesitated a moment, then lifted one down from the shelf and set it in Lily's hand. "Just be careful with it."
"Yes, Mummy," Lily nodded, studying the porcelain faerie in her hand as though even she could not understand why it had been whizzing through the air only moments before. Finally, she clasped her hand around it and looked back up at her mother, "Wead me a stowy? A faewie stowy?" By the time she settled Lily into her lap and opened the requested storybook, Betsy had nearly forgotten the bizarre event she had just witnessed. She could not understand it, and therefore it slipped easily from her memory.
*********
But she understood it now. In light of the news she had just received, that memory and all the others like it made perfect sense. Her darling daughter's ability to make her favorite toys fly or to make flowers bloom right before her eyes was not a sign of abnormality. It was a sign of her magical powers. For a grownup woman who had long since ceased to believe in faeries, it was difficult for Betsy to learn that a magical world did, in fact, exist, much less to learn that her daughter was a part of it. But, as she watched Lily race out the door, brimming with excitement about this recent revelation, Betsy couldn't help smiling and thinking that perhaps it would be nice to have a witch in the family.