Chapter Text
My mum was never around a lot, and my father was long gone before I was even born.
I would spend my time with Mrs. Applebaum from across the hall. She was a kind old woman whose husband had passed and whose children rarely visited, and so she treated me like one of her own. Everything I know I learned from her; how to walk and speak, to read, to write – I was only four when I was able to read on my own, all thanks to her.
Then Mrs. Applebaum got sick and couldn’t take care of me anymore. I was barely five at the time and didn’t know what hospice care was, but I knew enough to tell that it couldn’t be anything good.
My mother and I were never close, and even then I knew that wasn’t normal. Instead of trying to be my mother again, after Mrs. Applebaum got sick, she walked me to our local library, signed me up for a card and gave me money for food and said I was old enough to care for myself. She did tell me to be home by sundown, since the streets weren’t safe – I took that as proof that she cared about me, at least a little.
That became my routine. I would wake up each morning to find my mother either gone or passed out in her bedroom. Occasionally she would leave me a five or a tener on the kitchen table, but not too often. I learned to save the little I had.
After whispering an unreciprocated goodbye, I would walk to the library and read. I had started with the children’s section – my favorite book was Matilda. I would dream about the day I would be swept away by my own Miss Honey, or develop telekinesis because I was so smart. Though, if there was one thing I knew, it was that dreams usually weren’t worth it. I eventually grew out of the children’s section and moved onto the young adult novels.
Except Matilda – I would never grow out of Matilda.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I had turned nine by the summer of ‘15. Already I had a knack for blending into a crowd or hiding in plain sight – I had to be, really. Most people were concerned when they saw a little girl on her own, and I didn’t fancy getting in trouble.
The scalding August sun didn’t set until late, which meant I had more time than usual before I had to go home. On one day in particular the library got far too stuffy, so I entertained myself by wandering around outside.
I had just bought an apple for lunch and I was hiding nearby an old dilapidated building I hardly saw people enter. The walls and windows were dark and dusty and the sign on the front was so faded it was impossible to read. However, today I noticed multiple families walking inside. It was strange – and it most definitely didn’t seem like a place for children – but it caught my attention nonetheless.
Soon I saw another family approach, a man and a woman with three children, all chattering away amongst themselves.
“Dad, can you get me a broom?” asked one of the sons, a boy with messy raven hair who appeared to be the eldest of the three. “I want to try out for the Quidditch team.”
I had no idea what Quidditch was – some sort of sport? It was a ridiculous name, and I couldn’t fathom how a broom could come into play.
“James, you know you’re not allowed to have one until second year,” answered the mother, who somehow managed to balance looking unshakably stern and still affectionate at the same time.
“But dad got his first broom when he was a first year!”
I watched as the family stepped inside the grimy building, my interest thoroughly piqued.
It was easy enough to follow after them. I stayed close enough to the group that any outsiders would think I was a part of the family, but far enough away that I wouldn’t warn them to my presence.
My eyes immediately widened when I stepped inside. The place appeared to be a bar, but its inhabitants were far different from anyone I had ever seen before. Most were dressed in strange, hefty cloaks and a few wore pointed hats. I couldn’t understand why the family would come in here; they looked rather well-off, and this place was a disturbing pigsty.
Reassuringly, the parents didn’t seem to plan on staying. They murmured hellos to a few of the people as they moved towards a door across the room. I did my best to follow closely, without catching anyone’s attention.
“Good to see you too, Dean. Send Seamus our best,” said the father, clapping a tall, dark-skinned man on the shoulder before heading outside. I sequestered myself in the doorway, watching with wide eyes as the mother tapped the brick alley wall with a stick, and it began to move. That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. I cowered backwards, struck nearly dumb as the family walked through the wall as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Maybe I should stop following them and just go back. After all, mother would—
The wall began closing up again and in a moment of lapsed judgement I leapt through.
My senses were immediately overwhelmed. This place couldn’t be real, I must have gotten heat stroke and passed out – it was the only reasonable explanation. There was no way that these vibrantly colored shops were a part of London, a part of the place I’ve called home my entire life. I would have known. And the people – they were all dressed so strangely! It felt as though I had stumbled into a dreamscape, like Alice falling down a rabbit hole and into Wonderland.
Diagon Alley.
There was a sign hanging on the alleyway wall, which had now completely closed up. I hardly noticed that though, as I got distracted by the sights and people around me. A familiar itch of curiosity welled up inside me, leading me to forget all about that family I had followed and beguiling me to step forward. What was this place?
There was a shop that sold owls, another with brooms and yet another with cauldrons in the windows. I gasped when my eyes landed on a stack of books, floating in midair and drawing no one’s attention but my own. It reminded me of Matilda , and I started walking towards it, but I was stopped by some vaguely familiar voices.
"Come on James, let's get your school robes."
"But mum, I want to get my wand first! "
"Albus, stop chasing your sister. Harry, can you go after them? James, robes first, then wand."
"Oh, fine."
It was the family I had followed inside. The mother and the eldest boy were walking towards a shop called Madam Malkin’s , while the father and the two younger children headed into what appeared to be an ice cream shop. My stomach growled and I remembered the apple I had abandoned back outside. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed them inside.
There were so many flavors! I hardly liked to splurge on sweets, but these looked far too good to pass up.
“Lily, honey, you can’t have all the flavors. Choose one.”
I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a fiver.
“You can’t use that in here.” It was the boy that had chased his younger sister in here – I think his mother called him Albus. He looked about my age and had a shy gait to him. “Your mum or dad will have to exchange it in Gringotts for Galleons.” He gestured towards a daunting building at the end of the road. I sighed, knowing there was no way to get an ice cream now. Albus gave me a funny little look, reading my expression, and said, “Here, it’s on me.” He handed me a heavy golden coin and ran back to his family to order his own sweet.
I didn’t do anything for a few instants, feeling somewhat flabbergasted. I didn’t want to take anybody’s money, but then again, I did want the ice cream. I took another look at the coin – the Galleon – it was strange, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
After a moment’s hesitation, I used the money to buy a chocolate cone. I looked around a little bit for the boy, meaning to give him back the change, but he and his family had already gone.
Eventually – inevitably, really – I found myself standing in front of a bookstore. Flourish and Blotts. Finishing off my cone, I stepped inside and felt a rush of excitement at the sheer amount of books they had. The building hardly looked half this big from outside. I had practically run my local library dry, but this place? There were so many more things for me to read here.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That became routine to me for the next few years. I would sneak into the dusty old bar and follow a witch or wizard into Diagon Alley. I wasn’t dense; I learned rather quickly that this was a world of magic. I felt I was in on some great secret that I had no business knowing, and the prospect excited me beyond belief. I read all the books in the bookstore, learned about spells and wands and the great magical school called Hogwarts.
I didn’t bother trying to buy anything after my ice cream, though. I was too afraid someone would discover I was a Muggle – that was what they called non-magical folk, I quickly learned – and kick me out forever. Instead I went to Flourish and Blotts, found a good place to hide, and read everything I could get my hands on.
Nothing excited me more than the books about Hogwarts. My mum never sent me to school, having told me the library was a good enough place of learning for me. She was right, as she sometimes was – from what I had seen and read of them, public schools were terrible places. But I dreamed about going to Hogwarts constantly. I practiced spells with sticks I found on the ground, and made potions with things I found in our medicine cabinet.
I knew I could only go to Hogwarts in my dream. That was, until one morning I noticed a letter with a familiar crest on it in our unruly mail pile addressed to me.
Emma Grant
Second Bedroom on the Left
726 Hackney Road,
London, England