I stand
rooted to the spot by my mailbox on a cool spring afternoon. The other mail
forgotten, I gaze in awe at the thick envelope in my hands that’s somehow different. My hands feel tingly, and I’m
afraid to open it. My name stares back at me in green ink. I swallow nervously.
Commanding
my feet, I move slowly back toward the house, never taking my eyes from this
mystery document that I have a funny feeling could change my life. I find
myself on the landing and, tearing my eyes from my beautiful address, turn to
shut the door behind me.
“Anything
good in the mail, sweetie?” Dad asks from behind his newspaper.
“Uh,” I
pause, “this.” I hold out the envelope.
The top of
the newspaper folds down and he squints through his spectacles. His brow
furrows.
“What’s
that?”
“Not sure.”
He takes it
from me, and only then do I see the beautiful wax seal on the back: four
animals around a letter H. It’s a
symbol I vaguely recognize, but I don’t know from where.
Dad studies
it for a second—when he turns it over I see the same glint of recognition in
his eyes. He hands it back to me and clears his throat.
“Well, it’s
addressed to you. Why don’t you open it?” I can tell he’s not as calm as he
sounds.
“Dad, does
this have anything to do with…” I pause. I’m not supposed to know about this.
“…those people you were studying?”
“Guess
we’ll find out!” he says, with a too-large smile. “Jean!” he calls upstairs.
“Eh, Hermione’s got a special letter!”
“What?”
comes my mom’s muffled response.
“Come!”
A minute
later she comes hurrying down. “Dan, what in the world is so important about
this particular piece of mail?”
I hand it
to her. She looks at it, nonplussed. She turns it over and frowns slightly.
“Dan, this isn’t about…? I thought we were done looking into that.”
He grins.
“Apparently the powers that be disagree.”
She sighs.
“Don’t say that.” She gives the letter back to me. “Well dear, you might as
well open it.”
I take it
from her delicately. I don’t quite know what my parents are talking about, but
random bits of old conversations come back to me. Something about the three of
us meeting some strange people when I was only a few months old; something
about my dad trying to research these people and my mom telling him to stop;
something about that research starting up again after I accidentally made mute the girl who had until then been
at the top of my class. And I’ve seen that big letter H before…maybe on Dad’s computer screen?
They’re both
waiting for me, watching the letter as if it might grow fangs. I break the
beautiful seal (and cringe a little) and pull out two yellowish papers folded
into each other. The letterhead announces the sender as HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY. I frown and look at my
parents. My mom gives me a small smile and sighs. My dad nods at me to continue
reading.
I read
aloud:
Dear Miss Granger,
We are pleased to
inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on
September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
I’m
excited, but I have no idea why. “What– what is this?”
“We…don’t
really know,” my mom says, looking nervously at my dad.
He smiles
at me. “It means you can do magic. Just like in the stories.”
“Dan, we don’t
know that,” my mom cautions.
“Jean, they
sent her a letter! That’s the school where kids learn that stuff.”
I just stand
there, looking from one parent to the other, trying and utterly failing to
understand what they’re saying. My dad kneels down, looks up at me, and takes
my shoulders in his hands.
“Hermione,
we think–” he looks at my mom, as if asking for permission to continue. She
nods.
“We think,”
he continues, “that you’re special. That you can do things other people can’t.
Remember Veronica Burke?”
I smile and
nod. Once my parents believed that the accident was unintentional, it became
sort of a joke between us.
“Well, it seems
these people,” he gestures to my letter, “agree with us. Looks like they want
you to attend school there to learn magic.”
My eyes
grow wide and my heart starts pounding. I look at my mom; her jaw’s clenched— is
she fighting tears? —but she has that ‘I’m proud of you’ look in her eyes.
“What do
you think?” Dad asks. “You wanna go?”
Did I want to go? I had no idea, but
this ‘other side’ of me scared me and excited me at the same time. I wanted to
find out more…or did I?
“We don’t
have to decide right this minute,” my mom says. “Maybe we could look into it a
little more…now that we know…” She trails off.
My dad
clears his throat. “Sure!” He stands up and strokes my hair.
“I’m…I’m
gonna look at this some more in my room,” I say. They nod, and as I make my way
upstairs I can feel them waiting to talk until they hear my door close.
I lay down
on my bed and stare at the letter again. I sniff, and then shake my head
violently. I’m not going to cry over
something this trivial. But it’s not trivial, really. It’s the rest of my life.
Then,
inexplicably, a Kleenex pulls itself out of the box on my nightstand and floats
gracefully into my lap. I stare at it, eyes wide. Then I laugh, pick it up, and
blow my nose. I look at my letter again and then announce loudly to no one in
particular, “I’M A WITCH!”