Prologue

This is a story that begins where anyone would want a kind of their own to begin. With a very specific letter, delivered by a magical owl or person, relaying a message of acceptance.

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 Ms Kowalski,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

This announcement was shortly followed by another notice, or letter of interest.

M

Dear Ms Kowalski,

It is our privilege to inform you that your recent transfer to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry has aligned with a full scholarship opportunity, promoted by the Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

Enclosed you will find a list of instructions on how you must proceed to keep this scholarship, owing to your unusual circumstances and abilities.

We await your reply by owl, to be accepted no later than July 30th.

Hoping you make the right choice,

Dolores Umbridge

Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic

The weathered and tired old garage had been threatening to collapse for years, but hadn't just yet. Within its rickety, tin frame, one could see sparks of electricity and hear clangs echoing off its thin walls. The sparks came from the engine of a stubborn car, and the clangs from the would-be mechanic tossing the tools to the floor impatiently.

An old woman with wispy, flyaway hair entered the metal room, clutching a faded pink robe around her frail body. She watched the frustration of the young engineer, a soft smile gracing her features as she did so.

At length, the one covered in grime and coveralls paused the work to look at the woman standing there. "You've heard?" He was a middle aged man, with dark hair and a clean-shaven face, though at that moment it was not clean of dirt. He even wiped a rag across it and only managed to look like a raccoon.

"Oh yes," the old woman replied, jerking her head behind her at the house. "They're all in there, celebrating." Her blue eyes twinkled as both of them heard a loud, infectious laughter from the kitchen. "And here you are, throwing a tantrum with your machine."

"I wouldn't want to spoil all the fun," the man replied, shutting the hood of the car with a thunk. "You do realize what's going on over there? What just happened?"

The elderly woman nodded, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Yes. I hope you realize that you need to be supportive of her choice." Before the man could answer aloud, she said, "You do...but you're worried. You can't help thinking of everything that could go wrong."

"Mother, I'm capable of answering without you drawing the words from me." the son grumbled. "You don't pull this kind of thing with Amaya."

"That's because Amaya's quick-witted, dear," his mother replied, smiling. "She speaks before she even has a chance to think. You're like your father: quiet, reserved."

"And the children?" her son pressed. "I notice you stopped reading them when they finally used words."

The old woman shrugged. "They're a nice balance betwixt you two, quick and quiet." another bout of laughter reached them. "Most of the time."

"Were you here when the interviewers came?" her son reached for a clean rag and tried to wipe the sweat and grime from his hands and face. "Two posh gentlemen; had the nerve to ask for tea instead of coffee? This isn't the Motherland, for crying out loud."

"I was upstairs with her, keeping her calm."

"She was nervous?"

"Extatic." the matron withdrew her wand and cleaned her son off with a gentle tap. "I hope you were polite to them, David, one was an old friend of mine."

"So the old codger said. The other one came separately, as if determined to avoid the other. The bowler hat was a bit much, I thought." David began to shut off the lights, leading his mother out of the old garage and across the lawn towards the house. "Is it usual for the Minister to show up for this kind of arrangement?"

"How should I know?" his mother replied, staring up at the house. It was filled with light and happy hearts. She yearned to join them, but knew it was more important that she soothe her son's fears first. "It hasn't been done before. Really, David, you ought to be proud of her."

"Mother," David stopped just before they reached the porch. "If I let this happen, she'll get caught in the thick of this war those Brits are about to stumble into. If that Minister was any indication to how prepared the people will be for the darkness ahead… Maybe he can afford to turn a blind eye, but I can't. I won't."

"I'm not saying you should," said his mother firmly. "But she's almost an adult. You can't tell her what she can and can't do anymore."

"She's my daughter!"

"Yes. And you're my son. I'm sorry that she's more like me and Amaya than anything else. Quick, stubborn, and possessing her own mind. I'm sorry, but it's been made up. The papers have been signed, tests have been passed. Arrangements made. It's happening."

"You don't care that she could die?"

"She could die just as easily if she stayed at home. That's the continuous risk of life." They allowed silence to spread between them, listening to the merriment that was going on inside the house. Their family had migrated to the living room, and someone was throwing pillows. "You have to trust in her abilities, in her desire to survive." his mother whispered, before scaling the wooden steps and entering the loud house.

David Kowalski, loyal husband, caring father, and professional baker watched her go, waiting until he was alone. "Great Merlin... Keep my daughter safe," he murmured quietly, before following his mother into the house.

Authors Note: Hi there. This is my first story on this website so any tips or pointers would be great.