HP Fanfic: Four Letters
Title: Four Letters
Author: quietliban
Rating:G
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers etc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A parent of a muggleborn receives their child's Hogwarts letter.
Four Letters
When the first letter came, you didn’t know what to think. It was unusual to say the least. Faded brown paper, one might almost call it parchment, and spidery green ink, the preciseness of the address and the rich red wax sealing it together.
You didn’t believe it at first. How could you? Your daughter a witch? Oh, you knew she was special. You had always thought she was gifted, but she is your daughter, you’re biased. You love her.
You ignored the first letter. You read it, quickly and briefly, before tossing it away into the garbage. She needn’t know.
---
The second letter was carried by an owl. It was plain and nondescript, but it was an owl; an owl, carrying a letter. You heard her surprise and you ducked your head into her room. There it was: the owl. It was pecking at the window, and your daughter was lifting up the window pane so it could fly in.
You took a step into her room and asked if she thought it was wise to let an owl into her room. She didn’t reply, and the owl began nipping at her. You rushed forward to shoo the owl away and send it back out the window.
The second letter dropped on to the floor, and the owl flew back out with a disgruntled hoot.
Your daughter picked it up, and stared at the spidery handwriting.
“It’s for me,” she said. There was wonder in her voice and you wanted to laugh. “Hogwarts School?” she asked as she turned over the letter and found the red wax seal.
“It’s probably nothing, a gimmick, people trying to sell something,” you muttered sitting by her on the bed. Your nerves were on fire because it was the second letter of its kind and there was an owl, and that meant something. That meant that it might be true. That meant your daughter might be a witch
“It says I’m a witch, Mum.” She looked up at you then. “A witch?”
You looked down. You had no idea what to say. She couldn’t be a witch, because you knew that witches didn’t exist. Witches and wizards were just part of old legends and myths. You knew that there are religious orders in which the women call themselves witches, but surely they wouldn’t have a school.
“But there’s no such thing as witches,” she said her tone filled with all the wisdom of the young.
You gestured to the letter. “May I?”
She handed you the brownish paper, and you read the spidery lettering. It was the same as before, but there were two sheets this time. The second letter was addressed to you; you read it and frowned at what it said.
“I’ve never heard of this school,” you told her handing back the parchment. “It seems like nonsense to me.”
She looked at you then, and you saw something die in those brown eyes. You smiled sadly at her. “Wouldn’t it be grand if it were true, though?” you said.
Your daughter smiled. “I wonder what sort of things you learn at a school for witches.”
“Oh, magic spells, I’d imagine, and how to make foul smelling brews with an eye of newt. You know, that sort of thing,” you told her as you left the room with the second letter in your hand destined for the garbage guzzler in the kitchen sink.
---
When the third letter came, she was at a friend’s house. She came back with it in her belongings. You looked at it, certain that you had destroyed the letter and that it couldn’t be possible for her to have it.
You called her down and asked her about it. She told you that an owl had arrived at her friend’s house with the letter for her. You sent her to bed and stared at the brown parchment for hours.
---
The fourth letter was delivered by hand. A stout middle aged woman stood on your doorstep wearing a yellow pointed hat. She had greying light brown hair and a piece of parchment in her hand. She handed over the parchment and explained that she was from the Ministry of Magic, and was sent to help them navigate Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies.
You shut the door in her face. It couldn’t be true. Your daughter wasn’t a witch. There was another knock, and then another. Your husband came to the door and saw you leaning against it.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
You sighed, handed him the parchment and said, “Our daughter’s a witch.”
“Well,” he said, “that does explain some things.”
Author: quietliban
Rating:G
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers etc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A parent of a muggleborn receives their child's Hogwarts letter.
Four Letters
When the first letter came, you didn’t know what to think. It was unusual to say the least. Faded brown paper, one might almost call it parchment, and spidery green ink, the preciseness of the address and the rich red wax sealing it together.
You didn’t believe it at first. How could you? Your daughter a witch? Oh, you knew she was special. You had always thought she was gifted, but she is your daughter, you’re biased. You love her.
You ignored the first letter. You read it, quickly and briefly, before tossing it away into the garbage. She needn’t know.
---
The second letter was carried by an owl. It was plain and nondescript, but it was an owl; an owl, carrying a letter. You heard her surprise and you ducked your head into her room. There it was: the owl. It was pecking at the window, and your daughter was lifting up the window pane so it could fly in.
You took a step into her room and asked if she thought it was wise to let an owl into her room. She didn’t reply, and the owl began nipping at her. You rushed forward to shoo the owl away and send it back out the window.
The second letter dropped on to the floor, and the owl flew back out with a disgruntled hoot.
Your daughter picked it up, and stared at the spidery handwriting.
“It’s for me,” she said. There was wonder in her voice and you wanted to laugh. “Hogwarts School?” she asked as she turned over the letter and found the red wax seal.
“It’s probably nothing, a gimmick, people trying to sell something,” you muttered sitting by her on the bed. Your nerves were on fire because it was the second letter of its kind and there was an owl, and that meant something. That meant that it might be true. That meant your daughter might be a witch
“It says I’m a witch, Mum.” She looked up at you then. “A witch?”
You looked down. You had no idea what to say. She couldn’t be a witch, because you knew that witches didn’t exist. Witches and wizards were just part of old legends and myths. You knew that there are religious orders in which the women call themselves witches, but surely they wouldn’t have a school.
“But there’s no such thing as witches,” she said her tone filled with all the wisdom of the young.
You gestured to the letter. “May I?”
She handed you the brownish paper, and you read the spidery lettering. It was the same as before, but there were two sheets this time. The second letter was addressed to you; you read it and frowned at what it said.
“I’ve never heard of this school,” you told her handing back the parchment. “It seems like nonsense to me.”
She looked at you then, and you saw something die in those brown eyes. You smiled sadly at her. “Wouldn’t it be grand if it were true, though?” you said.
Your daughter smiled. “I wonder what sort of things you learn at a school for witches.”
“Oh, magic spells, I’d imagine, and how to make foul smelling brews with an eye of newt. You know, that sort of thing,” you told her as you left the room with the second letter in your hand destined for the garbage guzzler in the kitchen sink.
---
When the third letter came, she was at a friend’s house. She came back with it in her belongings. You looked at it, certain that you had destroyed the letter and that it couldn’t be possible for her to have it.
You called her down and asked her about it. She told you that an owl had arrived at her friend’s house with the letter for her. You sent her to bed and stared at the brown parchment for hours.
---
The fourth letter was delivered by hand. A stout middle aged woman stood on your doorstep wearing a yellow pointed hat. She had greying light brown hair and a piece of parchment in her hand. She handed over the parchment and explained that she was from the Ministry of Magic, and was sent to help them navigate Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies.
You shut the door in her face. It couldn’t be true. Your daughter wasn’t a witch. There was another knock, and then another. Your husband came to the door and saw you leaning against it.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
You sighed, handed him the parchment and said, “Our daughter’s a witch.”
“Well,” he said, “that does explain some things.”