Angela Cross and the End All Spell

Angela Cross and the End-All Spell

--a Harry Potter Universe fanfiction--

Chapter Two

**School Time**

Now, to say that nothing ever happened in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, was an understatement, for to say so meant that nothing was happening, when a more accurate statement would be to say that nothing didn't happen. The small, Podunk town was about as far away from anything ever happening as the planet Earth could manage at the time, a fact that was not lost on a little girl that was trying to keep herself occupied tending a small homemade garden in front of a tiny, blue house on North Date Street.

It had been a hot August day and Angela's strawberry-blonde bangs were matted against her forehead from the sweat. Her hands were thick with dirt and scratched here and there from pulling weeds out of her garden, and her knees and back were sore from being crouched over the little plot of land she was watching over. An iced tea would have hit the spot right about then, or maybe a root beer float. A smile crept onto her mouth when she thought about it, and if she could finish her work on the garden in the next half-hour or so perhaps it would be a good idea to go grab one.

The thought about time forced a frown back onto her mouth though, for it also brought back to home the fact that her mother Sheri would be returning from her day's errands shortly thereafter. It was a rare evening her mother returned from working the antique booths or trying out one her get-rich-quick schemes without complaining unrelentingly about every minor detail that didn't meet her expectations that day, and the expectations she had were as absurd as the schemes she often concocted. Angela decided she didn't want to think about it any more - an 11-year-old girl really should have less stressful issues on her mind - and threw herself back into the patch of yellow and purple flowers, trying desperately to keep them from wilting any further under the August sun.

Despite the fact she loved working on her garden (no matter how much she complained about it on occasion), there was a certain sadness carried in her work as well : Angela had originally created the garden because truthfully there was really nothing else to do. Her life was practically a nomadic one, the way her mother kept taking them from one place to another in an endlessly vain series of attempts to find new money-making (or more irritatingly, man-hunting) venues. This of course allowed no opportunities to make friends or get settled into a place and truly call it home. In the last three years they had "settled" in five different states for about six months at a time, when circumstance or an exasperated mother would suddenly see to it that another move was in order. They'd pack their bags, sell anything they couldn't load up with them, and head off into the great unknown in her mother's orange camper. It was not what one would call an ideal lifestyle.

Another forty-five minutes passed before Angela was satisfied with her work on tending the garden, when she finally stood back and looked at her work with a pleased smile. The plot she had to grow flowers near the steps leading up into the house was limited in space, so to add a little more beef to the scene Angela had painted a veritable forest of small flowers on the walls around it. Not wanting to delay herself any longer, the young girl bolted into the house, washed her hands and face, threw on some cleaner clothes and dove out the door and down the street towards the closest approximation to a downtown district Broken Arrow had in the hopes of drinking root beer floats and window shopping for Chinese apparel at the local thrift shop.

Now, Chinese apparel was not something she had truly expected to find, but it was fun to at least hunt for. The small town was not known for having a wide array of shopping experiences for the average citizen to sample, just a few little stores here and there, some fast food joints, a second-rate mall well out of walking range, and a movie theater that could use some better butter (or whatever the stuff was) on their popcorn. In today's case, Angela planned on finding something that was at least Chinese-ish and chopping it up with a pair of scissors to look more like the real thing. Disappointingly though, after an hour nothing particularly appropriate was found at the stores, which was no surprise to the young girl, so she continued on to see what she could find, settling in the end for a chocolate float at Petrik's Drug Store outside an old dilapidated library that carried terribly outdated school books.

It was at that moment the static boredom that was Broken Arrow began to crack.

As she sat under the large peach-colored umbrella at her table, licking on her cone, Angela spotted an unusual couple across the street, a man and a woman sitting on a bus-stop bench sharing a newspaper. It wasn't hard to notice the couple, though; even if the man hadn't been wearing a terribly-dated zoot-suit (complete with overly-long watch chain and wide-brimmed hat) and the woman hadn't been wearing a poodle skirt and had her hair up in what must have been the mother of all beehives, the thing that drew Angela's attention was the newspaper. Angela didn't make it a habit of following current events (what eleven-year-old did?), so the events on the paper's cover weren't what caught her eye; it was the photographs, which she noticed despite being black-and-white and two-dimensional seemed to be glancing at passersby, across the street at her, and even at each other. Ever so often the couple, who were for the most part keeping their noses buried in the paper, would glance up over the front page and try to grab a peek at her, only to duck behind the paper again when they made eye contact. Getting creeped out, Angela was about to take her float and head off when the couple, who suddenly noticed they were attracting not just her attention but the attention of everyone else in the immediate vicinity, quickly got up and headed down the street, all the while still taking glances in her direction. Not wanting to be around in case they came back, Angela wolfed down the rest of her float and ducked into the library.

This was where the next unusual occurrence of the day took place. She had been in that particular library a number of times before and the old woman who ran the front desk, some prim and stiflingly proper lady who had a tremendous overbite and long nose, barely ever glanced at her, always having her face down in some old, trashy romance novel. But this time she wouldn't take her eyes off Angela, throwing her a careful look of trepidation, a look that reminded her of the glances the couple outside had been giving her. Angela had never done anything to make the woman think she was going to steal a book or cause trouble, but the last fifteen minutes inside and out was beginning to make the little girl uneasy and she decided that perhaps it was time to cut her day short and return home.

Lastly, and this haunted her for quite some time after, was one of the books in the library, a small leather-bound chapter situated on one of the shelves in the encyclopedia section that caught her eye as she was heading to the exit. When Angela had glanced at it, at first she couldn't take her eyes away from it, though after she had decided to look at something else, the thought of that book (or one suspiciously like it) was stuck in her head and she couldn't get the image of it out. It began to distress her terribly, and in a sudden fit of panic she ran outside into the sun, where the beating heat was enough to slowly dislodge the image of the book from her head. It was all a very trying and weird experience, and Angela decided returning home would be the best thing at that point. On the trek back, she kept feeling as though people were watching her, though when she peered around she saw no one but the locals who were more enthralled with their own humdrum existences than with her. Angela picked up the pace.

The cicadas were still chirping wildly from the tall trees surrounding the little house as the sun went down, which was about the same time Angela could hear her mother pull into the driveway outside and see the flash of lights as the truck turned onto the gravel. The little girl was planted on the floor with a halfway-completed thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in front of her when Sheri came in, tired and bleary eyed. She'd been out for the whole day working her antique booths as usual, and Angee could feel her insides twist a little bit as she caught her mother's eye. As expected, she was growing more and more convinced that moving to another jerk-water town would increase their standard of living, and today could very well be the final nail in the coffin.

As if to confirm her fears, Sheri plopped into the large blue recliner in the living room, letting out a heaving sigh, her eyes closing tightly as she tried to shut out the stress from the day's activities.

"What a lousy afternoon," she groaned out. Angela immediately began to consider if she'd at least be making it to a new town before the new school-year started, which should be in a couple of weeks, or would she have start after the term had begun. Again.

The young girl stayed silent and tried to continue on the puzzle, hoping that by not prodding her Sheri wouldn't end up reliving said-lousy-afternoon. Like usual though, her prodding wasn't necessary to cause the tale to unfold.

"First I ended up having to drive thirty miles to a store which said it was going to be open for me, and of course I get there and no one is around, so I ended up driving back, but on the way the engine starts to overheat..." she began. And on it went, about how she couldn't get the store owner to help her carry the car-sized cast-iron stove into the store, or how there were no parking spaces in front of the other one she visited, or why the booth one store allocated to her wasn't getting any business because it was too far in the back... The stories went on forever, and Angela just wanted to thoroughly avoid dealing with them. Just when she thought they would end, though, Sheri dropped the bomb.

"I don't know how much longer I can take living out here. How does Cimarron County sound to you, Ang?"

Angela's heart sank. Cimarron County was at the very edge of the western Oklahoma panhandle out in the middle of nowhere. Though she wasn't directly following this, she could make out how her mother illogically concluded that it should be rife with potential for her booths since it sat on the edge of Texas, New Mexico and Colorado. Of course, they'd have to live in a field until the trailer park had space, but that was ok since it meant they wouldn't have to pay rent for a while. All of her mother's reasons just sent Angela spiraling farther and farther down, and by the time Sheri was done, absently heading to bed with a cheerful goodnight as though she had said nothing unusual, Angela was mentally exhausted enough to want to go to bed herself and just let the unpleasant news fade away like some bad dream. Perhaps Sheri would reconsider (or even luckier, forget she had even considered moving) after a full-night's rest.

It was probably about three in the morning when it happened.

The summer nights in Broken Arrow were hot and muggy, and despite not having anything thicker than a sheet on top of her and an extra-large Hello Kitty shirt that extended all the way down to her ankles as her pajamas, sleeping soundly wasn't a particularly easy task; it had taken her well over an hour to drift off.

However, Angela was in bed, finally sleeping soundly when out of the silent night there was a sharp rap on the window. With a start, she bolted up, eyes wide, wondering what the noise was. There was a rap again, and for a moment she wondered if perhaps it was just a branch striking the glass. She slowly looked at the window, but the blinds were down and she couldn't see what was outside, just a jumbled series of silhouettes fluttering around in the wind, casting strange shadows from the streetlight outside the house.

Quickly, Angela slid farther back down under her sheet, pulling the edge up over her nose and sliding a little farther from the window.

The rapping continued on the window again.

"Who's there?" Angee whispered loudly, the sheet still covering her mouth, though certainly not hoping for an answer.

Again there was loud rapping against the window, and Angela's eyes widened more, any remaining sleepiness draining from them quickly.

Angela continued to look at the window. A series of winged shadows swooped past it, casting huge, terrifying shapes against the cloth.

The young girl bolted upright. A bird? Bats? she wondered.

A few minutes passed, and there was no sound, no rapping or wind or anything, just the quiet rustling of bed sheets as the she edged around nervously on the bed. For a moment it seemed as though whatever had been out there was gone now and she slowly began to relax.

Then from outside came a faint sound, a bird-like screech. It seemed to be above the window now, like it was in the trees beyond the house.

The door to Angela's room opened and her mother was standing there, wrapped in a bath robe and looking slightly panicked, her eyes wide. She had apparently heard the noise, too.

"What was that?" Sheri hissed, looking almost comedic as she pulled her robe farther up around her and looking around as though the sound came from within Angela's room. "I don't know," responded Angela, trying as hard as she could to be heard while making as little noise as possible, "You didn't see it. There were lots of shadows out there when I woke up!"

Another screech, not loud or aggressive sounding but still easily heard from outside.

"An owl?" said Sheri, still quietly as to not take any chances.

"I dunno, maybe," Angee replied, her voice raising slightly. "Maybe it didn't notice the window and bounced off it or something?"

Loud chirps from a bird began again outside, more frequent now.

There was a pause as the two remained where they were, listening to the incessant bird-sounds coming from outside. Then Angela began to sidle out of her side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" whispered Sheri loudly, looking at her daughter as though she had just gone insane. Angela slid out from under the sheet and was making her way around the bed towards the window.

"I wanna see it," she said quietly as she tip-toed around and maneuvered herself to the window-shade. Angela's fear seemed to have suddenly been replaced with curiosity : next to flacons, owls were her favorite birds, and she had decided she wanted to take advantage of the situation and catch a glimpse of it if indeed there was one outside.

(Besides, it was a good excuse to check and see if there was anything that she should be scared of out there.)

Angela, throwing a dismissive sideways wave towards her mother who was still asking her what the heck she was doing, gripped the edge of the blinds with her fingertips and pulled it back just slightly so she could peer out with one eye. All she could see though was the back yard, a little muddy enclosure with a wire fence around it. Out past the house and against the opposite side of the yard was the old storage room, and in the middle of the yard was an old metal pole that had at one time held a drying rack, now just standing alone and serving no purpose.

Another single chirp, louder this time than the others. Angela looked around to where the sound had come from, and then she noticed some movement in the tree above the storage room.

Angela was well aware that she was not particularly blessed with good night vision, but she was feeling slightly more confident now that she was up. She pulled back the shades a little more so that both eyes could see outside, and after a moment she finally saw it.

A large bird sat there, just as they had suspected.

It was hard to make out the details in the dark, but from what she could see it was huge. She could discern brown with a white chest, flecks of black detailing the edges of feathers, and out of the shadow peered a large yellow eye.

The eye were staring back at her.

The little girl gulped and could feel fear creeping back into her, but she was transfixed by that same yellow eye. Angela had never seen an owl so close, and despite the scariness of the situation it was certainly a sight to behold.

"What is it?" repeated Sheri from the doorway.

"I think it's an owl!" said Angela as she turned to her, still slightly under her breath but not making any real effort to be completely silent now. Despite Angela's sudden enthusiasm, Sheri couldn't initially bring herself out of the doorway. After a minute, she finally crept down slightly and Angela raised the curtain up a foot, allowing them both to look out at the tree beyond.

"It's huge!" said Sheri in sudden amazement at the sight of the bird. Angela just nodded her agreement, and for a moment the bird looked at Sheri, giving her a start. It was obvious it could see them both. After a quick glance at her, it returned its steely gaze at Angela.

"Is it looking at you?" Sheri asked, a quizzical expression on her face.

"I think so," Angela responded, also confused.

Slowly the back yard began to lighten up in a shade of pale blue as the clouds moved out of the way and the full moon shone down. Just before the moonlight could reach it, though, the bird pounced off the branch.

Both of them jumped back abruptly with a squeal and a yelp as the bird spread its massive wings and in a sudden single motion dropped from the branch and glided at them, still keeping its large, yellow eyes on Angela. At first they were sure it was going to crash into the window again, and Angela was particularly afraid that the bird was intentionally going to come charging through the glass after her for some unknowable reason. Then, halfway to the window, it raised its head and stopped itself in mid-flight, settling one of its large, wicked-looking talons upon the topless cylinder of the drying pole.

Both eyes were now visible, looking intently at Angela, and the young girl could finally see the bird in its entirety : so much closer now, it was clearly not an owl, but instead a massive hawk, twice the size of any normal hawk she had seen with a plumage so beautiful it had to have been professionally groomed. Sheri (who was clutching her hand to her chest as though the shock was about to give her a heart attack) gawked back and forth at the bird and Angela.

"Skree!" the hawk sounded at them as it tried to make sure it balanced itself properly on the pole with its leg. There was something held in the claw of the opposite one.

"What is that?" Angela wondered aloud, tilting her head slightly as she tried to make out what it was holding. A small, square-ish object, like some kind of postcard or letter, was clutched securely; the hawk was obviously being quite careful not to rip or even bend it, despite the obvious sharpness of the talons.

The hawk continued to stare at Angela, and, as though it understood what she had just discovered, it held out its left leg towards her. Yes, there definitely was a letter grasped firmly within its claws, though at this distance she couldn't make out anything about it.

Curiosity pushing her on, Angela began to unlatch the window when her mother cut the otherwise perfect silence with a shriek. "AH! What are you doing??"

Stumbling slightly from the sudden yell, Angela recovered quickly and put her finger over her lips, frowning at her mother. "Ssh!" she hissed quietly, "Look at it, there's something in its foot." Angela pointed at the hawk again for emphasis, to which the hawk bobbed its head up and down in acknowledgement and chirped in response. She made to open the window again, when her mother shrieked again.

"What??" Angela growled as quietly as she could, glaring at her mother.

"You don't know where that thing has been! It could claw your eyes out or something..."

"Mom! It's got a letter, I think it wants to give it to me." Angela wasn't making as concerted effort to keep her voice down at this point.

Sheri rolled her eyes at her, exasperated. Angela was feeling the same way towards her mother. "That thing is big enough to carry you off for lunch, there's no way we're letting it in my house."

"I just want to see what's in its foot!"

"I repeat, I am not letting it in here!" Sheri said forcefully. "And neither are you," she tacked on for safety.

For a moment neither said anything, both glancing from one-another to the hawk and back. The hawk, on the other hand, was shifting uncomfortably on the pole; its size was making the perch a precarious one and it was looking at Angela with growing impatience. It shrieked at her and flapped its wings slightly to try and hurry her up, but this just prompted another yelp from Sheri and helped add to her defiance.

"Look at it!" She waved her hand at the hawk wildly. "Just... look at it!"

Angela slid the window up a crack. "I'll be careful, don't worry! Jeeze-"

As soon as it saw the window move up a little, the hawk took that as its cue and leapt off the pole, aiming straight for the window. Sheri threw her hands up over her face and shrieked again, while Angela dove backwards and landed with her back against the side of her bed. The last thing she wanted as a final act in life was to prove her mother right by getting her face chewed off by a ravenous bird of prey...

But just as it was about to hit the window, the hawk pulled straight up, tossing the letter from its claw as it curved upwards and an impossibly steep angle in a flash of brown feathers. The letter glided with unusual aerodynamic proficiency, soaring straight through the minute crack Angela had made from lifting the window. After making a short hopping skid across the wooden floor and spinning deftly once, the letter came to a halt right between Angela's legs where she sat, face up where she could plainly see the address on the front. The text was written in deep red almost-blood-like ink on the yellowing envelope made out of what seemed to be parchment paper.

Ms. Angela Cross

c/o Medium-Sized Bedroom

The Little Blue House on North Date St.

Broken Arrow

United States

No one moved for a minute, both mother and daughter sitting on the floor dumbly, wondering what exactly just happened. Sheri's eyes and mouth were wide, gawking at the window as though the hawk would swoop back over and return at any moment, while Angela instead stared in wonder at the letter sitting before her. Then slowly, carefully, Angela reached down and picked it up. There was a wax seal on the back shaded the same color as the red ink on the front with a large, clawed bear's paw embedded in it as the pattern.

Sheri finally pulled her eyes away from the window as Angela carefully broke the seal and opened the envelope. Inside was a letter written on the same kind of paper as the envelope which she slid out and unfolded. It read as follows:

DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE

of the MYSTICAL ARTS

AAAAA

Headmaster: Igor Karkaroff

Dear Ms. Cross,

You are hereby informed that you are selected for tutelage at the Durmstrang Institute of the Mystical Arts. You are expected to report to classes no later than September 8 or dire penalties will be enforced. Please make sure to have all the essential materials for the fall semester: a list is included along with this admissions letter.

If there is any issue which will prevent you from attending, please respond via hawk immediately. Admission to the Durmstrang Institute is a great honor and we expect all eligible students to treat it as such.

Sincerely,

Milo Bogat

Milo Bogat

Director of Attendance

Written below this was scrawled a post-script in a different hand, scrunched up slightly so as to fit in the remaining space of the letter.

P.S. Please do not share or discuss your Muggle origins with the student body. You are to attend under special circumstances and it would be in your best interests to be discreet.

Igor Karkaroff

Igor Karkaroff

Headmaster

Angela wasn't particularly sure what to make of this. She read it all again to be sure, and then examined the list which accompanied the letter on a separate sheet of paper. The list included a selection what were possibly book titles (The Unwavering Shadow : a Beginner's Guide to the Dark Arts, A History of Magic, and Magical Drafts and Potions were just a few of the titles), a cauldron, a wand, and a broom, as well as a number of unusual items Angela had never heard of.

It was a couple of minutes before Angela looked up from the letter, no closer to figuring out what it was all about than before, when she finally noticed her mother looking back at her, completely bewildered and obviously wanting to see what the letter said as well. Not really expecting anything from it, Angela passed the letter to Sheri anyway in the hopes that perhaps she would know what this was all about. Sheri's continually furrowed brow showed Angela that that was not the case.

"Institute?" Sheri said finally, looking up at Angela. Still sitting on the floor, Angela shrugged back at her. Sheri crooked her head a couple of times and turned the letter around at different angles to see if that would make any more difference, though it did not.

"Maybe..." Sheri started, raising her finger into the air lightly, her brow still furrowed in thought, "Maybe it's like one of those clown colleges." Angela confused expression became mixed with one of utter confoundment.

"What??" she asked incredulously.

"Well, you know, like those clown colleges you see advertised in the paper. Where they take people in and train them to be clowns." Sheri's voice began to pick up, as though she was certain she was suddenly on the right track. "Except this isn't a college for clowns. Maybe it's some other circus college, like for magic tricks." Her expression began to brighten up, as though the whole terrifying incident with the hawk had never transpired. Angela just continued to look at her mother as though she had gone mad. "I'll bet that was some sort of trained bird, and this was some kind of ad or something!"

"At three in the morning?" Angela asked, exasperated.

Suddenly and without warning there was a rap at the front door. Angela and Sheri yelped in shock, and Sheri was once again staring wide-eyed at the source of the noise in fear. The house was once again drowned out in complete silence for a couple of minutes, when the rapping started again. It wasn't a harsh knock, more like a series of hard scratches, and following this latest batch of raps was the cooing of what sounded like a pigeon.

This new set of bird noises caused the twosome to look at each other, and their expressions were a strange mixture of worry, surprise and confusion. Quietly, trying not the make the old wooden floor creak as they moved against it, Angela got to her feet and both girls stepped out into the tiny living room where the front door was. Whatever was outside had given up scratching the door and was now completely resorting to coos and chirps, which were growing louder and more annoying as time moved on. Sheri, much to her daughter's annoyance, promptly got behind Angela and put her hands on her shoulders : "Don't open the door!" she said, which got her an incredulous look back from her daughter since despite her protests Sheri was at the same time pushing her daughter forward towards the entrance. Angela's mother was a foot and a half taller than she was, and here she was goading her daughter on to open the door to something that could very well be unspeakably horrible... Sighing in exasperation and trying to focus again on the entrance, Angela was about to peer out the shades covering the front door's window, when another set of loud noises came from the front door.

Both girls leapt back in shock, and Angela grabbed her chest; her heartbeat was thudding heavily against her ribs, and she could tell her eyes hadn't blinked since she had first entered the living room. A quick glance at her mother showed Sheri was even worse for wear, for she looked like she was about to hyperventilate. Angela couldn't blame her, though, for the noises from the other side of the front door sounded like a shrieking argument had broken out. One of the sounds was pigeon-like coos coming from before, though they were much harsher now and quite obviously tinted with anger, while the other was the shrieking of the hawk from earlier.

Her mother obviously incapacitated by the whole incident, Angela took in a deep breath, ignored the jack-hammering of her heart, and slid up to the front door. She was careful as she moved in, for the door was rickety and old with a metal latch that never seemed to close properly; if anything wanted to get into the house, it wasn't going to have any real opposition. One step, then two, then five... At ten, she was at the door, and as slowly as she could, ignoring the ever-increasing argument on her front doorstep, she peeked as inconspicuously through the blinds as possible.

The hawk was indeed back, and it was quite angry with the other source of the noise. In the streetlight outside, Angela could see it wasn't a pigeon, but rather a dove, completely white with a coat so fine that it shimmered whenever it rustled its feathers... Which it was doing quite a bit as it tried to apparently shoo away the hawk; Angela was immediately impressed that it didn't seem to be intimidated by a bird five-times its size. If the dove had been calm it would have been stunningly beautiful, though its agitated state it was detracting from its beauty and grace somewhat.

As the birds argued about something incomprehensible, Angela caught sight of it: in the light from the street outside her house, the young girl saw a dim flash and her eye noticed a small package tied to the ankle of the dove. There, strapped to its left leg with a shiny blue bow, was a small rolled-up piece of paper.

In afterthought, Angela considered what she did next to be somewhat risky considering she knew nothing of what these birds or the letters they carried wanted, but at the moment should couldn't control herself, for she knew that the dove had brought her another letter. She immediately grabbed the door-handle and swung the door open, the blinds flapping back and forth harshly against the glass of the door as she did so. Her mother let out a shocked gasp as she did so, and the two birds promptly stopped their squabbling and looked at her in equal surprise. Apparently in their argument they had completely forgotten about her.

Before the hawk could regain its composure, the dove quickly hopped forward at Angela and as it got directly in front of her extended the leg with the scroll tied to it. The hawk, suddenly realizing the dove was about to deliver its cargo, bucked its head and waddled at the dove, flapping its wings threateningly and shrieking as loud as it could. Angela was the only one that stepped back, as the dove just looked agitated by the display but not intimidated. Angela found it a little surprising, but she didn't step back as far away as she would have expected either; it was growing more obvious as the hawk pranced around that it was only trying to scare off the dove and that its actions were all bluster; the hawk didn't seem like it was really going to attack or harm anyone, no matter how much it tried to look the part.

Bending down and ignoring the hawk, the young girl untied the small scroll from the dove's leg. The hawk immediately stopped its display, resigned to the fact that the dove had done its job, and instead just looked around, almost embarrassed at the show it had put on. The dove on the other hand flapped its wings triumphantly and let out a pleasant series of coos.

To Angela's surprise, the scroll of paper she had removed from the dove had suddenly swelled to three times its size when clenched in her hand, until it was a little larger than the letter the hawk had brought her. The paper of the scroll was a pearly white and had an impressively smooth texture. Sealing the scroll was again a wax seal, a swan with its wings spread embedded as the design upon it. And again there was her name and address written along the curvature of the scroll, this time in a blue ink written in a fine calligraphy.

Ms. Angela Cross

The Doorway in the Living Room

North Date

Broken Arrow

United States

As Angela unfastened the wax seal (careful not to damage the wax itself, as the seal was quite lovely), Sheri had carefully come up alongside her, curiosity driving her to see what was going on in her doorway. As Angela was no longer perturbed by the hawk's presence, Sheri maneuvered herself so that Angela separated the two of them with her body and craned her neck over her daughter's shoulder so she could see what the dove had delivered her. It was another letter of acceptance:

BEAUXBATONS ACADEMY of MAGIC

Headmistress: Olympe Maxime

1st Born of Cécile Simone Maxime, Duchess of the Grand Gaulish Spellcasters Union

To Miss Angela Cross

We at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic are pleased to announce

that you have been accepted to attend classes for the upcoming school year.

As you are well aware, the honor and privilege of becoming part of our family

is great indeed, and we look forward to taking you under our wing as we

have with so many other fine wizards and witches.

Included below is a list of materials and literature you will need for

the upcoming term, please have a servant gather these up immediately.

Classes begin September the 2nd. Please convey any difficulties with attending

via carrier dove immediately.

Again, congratulations on your acceptance to the Academy.

Mme. Le Fleur

Madame Richesse Pompeuse Le Fleur

Admissions Overseer

"Ah, I knew it," said Sheri matter-of-factly.

"Mom, this isn't for some clown college," Angela responded impatiently without taking her eyes away from the letter. As Angela unwrapped the scroll further, she saw there was indeed an extensive list of what looked like school supplies. The list seemed to go on forever as she read it. Many of the books were on the previous letter's list, as were items such as the broom and wand - along with what were noted as being the more appropriate brand names of each - though there were occasional differences in the content (plus, many of the books seemed to have French titles). The list also seemed to include a far-wider range of fashion suggestions, including gowns, dresses, coats, bathing suits, shoes, and even robes and cloaks (there was a tiny note next to the robes'-listing that stated students planning on studying Dark Arts were allowed deep navy or night-orchid-purple in addition to the standard black this year).

Angela looked down at the dove quizzically, but the dove just stared back at her, as though it was waiting for her to tell it something.

"What is this?" Angela asked the dove, though she felt foolish as she did so; there was no way she was going to get a response from a little white bird.

Sheri, thinking Angela was asking her, responded. "White pigeons, bird training, magic," she said, her brow furrowed as she continued to look over Angela's shoulder at the letter, "What are they expecting us to pay to send you to circus school? That all looks very expensive."

"Circus school?? Mom, I don't think this is an ad for the circus."

"Of course, carnies do get to travel a lot," Sheri started, scratching her chin and looking at nowhere in particular in thought, "Sure, they're a little strange, but I'd get to go to all sorts of towns to show off my booth..."

"Mom!" Angela yelled, trying to derail her mother's obvious train of thought and having no luck at all, "I'm not going to be a carnie! This isn't for carnie school!"

"... and circuses have lots of heavy-lifters - they have to be to put up those big tents - they can help me carry things from garage sales! Oh, this is a great idea!" She had apparently completely ignored Angela, who was become more and more annoyed as her mother went on. "But they probably want a lot of money, those people make a lot of money Ang, we'll have to see how much they charge first-"

Angela was spared having to listen to any more of her mother's ranting as another bird shot out of nowhere and landed next to the dove, who looked equally surprised to see it. Sheri yelped and jumped back, though just out of surprise as this newcomer was not threatening at all. It was a large tropical macaw, with a rainbow of plumage covering a broader spectrum of colors than Angela had seen on such a bird before, not even in books. The bird stood two feet tall and in its large rounded beak was an envelope patterned with vines and green leaf designs. The macaw waddled towards her, and both the dove and hawk now shared the same huffy, annoyed look, which the macaw completely ignored. As it stopped at Angela's feet, she held out her hand gently and the colorful bird dropped the envelope into it.

Angela bent back up and looked at the envelope. There was another seal on the back, though instead of wax it was tree sap and there was no pattern in it. Flipping the envelope a couple of times, she couldn't see an address on it, but the macaw confirmed who it was for.

"Kaw! Miss Angela Cross!" it said in a squawking voice, "Miss Angela Cross! The doorway in the living room! Kaw! Broken Arrow, United States! Kawww!"

"Ooh! And you get to train birds how to talk!" squealed Sheri in delight, no longer even mildly nervous around them, "We can teach them to tell people what I have for sale!"

Ignoring her mother, Angela popped open the envelope, again trying to be as careful with the paper as possible, and inside was yet another letter. Reading the contents, Angela saw it was once again a letter of acceptance, this time to the Brazilian Center for the Magically Gifted. It touted how she was to report for classes with materials in hand by early September (though was lax on giving a specific date), told her what a great time she'd have at the school, and thanked her for her time, while also including a list of school supplies she'd need. Angela was internally thankful that her mother was too engrossed in her own thoughts to read any of the letter or its contents; while she wasn't sure what any of this meant, she didn't want her mother thinking she was going to move to Brazil to be a stage magician's assistant.

Before she could completely finish going through the list of supplies this school wanted, another flutter of wings came in for a landing, shoving the dove and macaw out of the way as they came to a halt. It was a large black raven, and like the other birds it was an exquisite specimen of its kind, sleek oily-black feathers and twice the size of any normal raven. And like the other birds the raven was carrying a letter, a perfectly square envelope with her name and address clearly showing on the front, though this one included a zip code and didn't bother with the 'United States' under the rest. When Angela took the note from the raven (which seemed to be out of breath, as though it had been pushing itself quite hard to get to her house on time), she noted that there was no wax seal but that the envelope was sealed like a regular letter; there was even a stamp on the front, though it was only for 15 cents and seemed terribly out of date. Ripping the envelope open (yet being careful not to damage a potentially valuable stamp), Angela removed the letter from within, this one announcing her acceptance to the Salem Witches Institute. There was also a post-script on this one from the headmistress Hagatha Flavisham Smithe which noted that it would be in her country's best interests to stay within the U.S. and study along side her fellow American witches and wizards; despite her youth, Angela found the blatantly patriotic sentiment to be a little insulting. And like the other letters, this one included a list of school supplies (as well as a handwritten note in the margins about how much easier and cheaper it would be to shop in the U.S. for these supplies than overseas) and informed her that term would begin on the 15th of September.

And still there was another rush of wings, and another, and another. This time, three different birds came in at the same time, each with letters or scrolls. A great white crane bearing a letter that seemed to be from China, a tawny eagle from South Africa, and a snow finch carrying a letter written in Italian (which Angela could unfortunately not translate). The crane towered above all the other birds and made no attempts to hide its gargantuan wingspan, while the eagle, once it had delivered its cargo, didn't wait a beat and continued on into the night. The finch on the other hand looked completely exhausted, which Angela would have expected if something so small had flown all the way from Italy with a letter in its clutches.

As Angela tried desperately to run through all the letters coming her way, another flock of birds came in from every direction, and the sudden increase of noise from the squawking, chirping, and shrieking was beginning to draw attention. A pile of letters were being dropped at her feet or on her head as crows, falcons, swifts, jays, thrushes, ducks, hummingbirds, woodpeckers, and vultures tried to fit themselves onto her ever-decreasing doorstep, though the one that surprised her the most was the penguin waddling desperately down the street towards her house with a metal tube tied around its neck. All the birds were becoming agitated with one another while Angela was trying to sort through her mail (including the rolled-up note that had been stuffed in the penguin's neck-bound container, presumably to keep it dry), and the noise was causing neighboring windows to light up as people around them were being woken up by the gaggle of birds. Angela noticed this and, arms stuffed with letters, trying shushing the birds and waving what there was of her free hand.

"Ssh! You'll wake up the whole block!" she hissed at the flock, and some tried to quiet down while others (mostly in the back) were still a little agitated at the large crowd.

If the noise from the birds didn't wake everyone up though, the loud backfire from the car that pulled up into their driveway did the trick. An old, turquoise car came to a grinding, ungraceful halt, sliding harshly across the gravel in the driveway and almost hitting the back of Sheri's orange camper, throwing rocks everywhere as it went. The birds hopped backwards in shock at the sight, as did Angela and Sheri, for the car had come completely out of nowhere and scared the heck out of everyone present. Windows were sliding open in various houses around them and bleary and annoyed eyes were peering out to see what was causing all the racket.

Meanwhile, amidst the settling dust from the manic stop was the click and creak of a car door opening. Stepping from the Ford Anglia was a tall, thin man with a red-haired scalp balding slightly and long, green robes that looked like they could do with some hemming. The man stumbled from the car, an embarrassed smile upon his face, as he tried to right his black, pointy hat which was being knocked off by the doorframe of the little automobile.

"Sorry," he said abruptly, holding up his finger as he gathered himself together, "Be with you in a minute." He pulled the rest of his robes out from the car and, once he regained his composure, closed the door and threw a big smile towards everyone present, birds included. The car sputtered slightly as it idled, though the sputterings sounded more like coughs to Angela.

"Well!" said the man, patting his robes down to smooth away any wrinkles and looking positively delighted, "It has been a while hasn't it!" He walked up to Angela, wading through the sea of birds as best he could, trying not to step on any of the smaller ones; the flock did its level best to move out of his way, only succeeding instead in bumping and tripping over each other as they tried to fit onto the small four-foot-square doorstep. The man came to a stop before Angela, standing a couple of feet taller than her (not counting the exceptionally pointy hat), and took a quick look at the stack of letters she was clutching in her arms. Angela wasn't particularly sure what to make of the man herself, though judging from his absurd outfit perhaps her mother hadn't been quite off from her assumptions about clown college after all.

"Mm hmm, mm hmm," the man muttered to himself as he ran over the letters with his eyes carefully, adjusting his thin glasses on his nose as he did so, before finally settling his eyes on one in particular. "Ah, here it is," he said in a satisfied manner, before yanking the letter out from Angela's stack, causing her to lose her grip and resulting in all the letters tumbling out onto the ground. Many of the birds began to chirp and crow furiously at seeing their parcels flutter all over the welcome-mat in a papery mess.

The man handed Angela the letter he had removed from the stack, a thick and heavy yellowish envelope made of parchment paper, which she took while giving him another confused look; she had the feeling she would be delivering that expression a lot more before this whole fiasco was over. Like all the others it was addressed to her, this time in emerald green ink, with a crested shield embedded in the wax seal on the back:

Ms. Angela Cross

In the doorway by the welcome mat

The Little Blue House on North Date St.

Broken Arrow

United States

Angela looked up from her envelope at the man again, who smiled and ushered her on with a slight wave of his hand. Popping the envelope open carefully, the young girl removed the letter within and read it:

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. Cross,

    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. While the normal cutoff date for reply is July 31, we recognize your special circumstances and simply await a response via owl as soon as is possible.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

And as with all the previous letters there was a list of school equipment included along with the note, as extensive and unfathomable as all the others. But the bright spot of this situation was that now there was, supposedly, someone available to finally explain what all of this meant. Looking back up expectantly at the man in the green robes, she saw from the enthusiastic smile on his face that he had already anticipated her question.

"Allow me to introduce myself," began the man in a friendly British accent, "Er, that is to say, re-introduce myself. I am Arthur Weasley, director of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office for the Ministry of Magic, and I-"

"The what?" interrupted Sheri, who had finally acknowledged there was someone on her doorstep that was not a bird.

"Erm, the Ministry of Magic, my dear," stuttered Mr. Weasley, who was caught unawares by her sudden involvement in the conversation. "The Ministry, we are a governing body for the wizarding world, dedicated to maintaining peace, order and stability in our society. Now," he began once more, returning his focus to Angela and his speech, "As I was saying, I have been sent personally by Minister Cornelius Fudge himself to make sure your transition to our society and your new school would be a smooth one, and I-"

"Minister who?" interrupted Sheri again. Angela looked back at her, slightly annoyed, while Mr. Weasley stood with his mouth half-open, as though he was having to force himself to stop in the middle of his delivery. With a look of slight disappointment, he took in a deep breath and smiled accommodatingly to Sheri.

"Cornelius Fudge is the Minister of Magic, madam, he runs our government and is also the man I report to, especially for an important task such as this. As I was telling your lovely daughter here," he said, his attention once more on Angela, "She has been accepted to Hogwarts, the finest institution of learning our fine country has to offer, and I-"

"What's Hogwarts?" Sheri asked, and Mr. Weasley let out a stifled gasp of exasperation, his eyes obviously trying to restrain his impatience as his speech was apparently quite important to him. Judging from how unpleasant it was for him to break it up like this, Angela suspected he had been working on it for some time.

Before Mr. Weasley was forced to break off on another tangent, Angela turned around and faced her mother with a frown upon her brow. "Mom, he'll get to it, okay? Just let him finish."

Sheri looked at Angela as though she had been personally offended. "Well," she said with a huff, "I was just wondering was all..." She crossed her arms and looked in another direction, obviously hurt that her questioning was cut off so rudely by her daughter,

but remained silent for the rest of the speech, for which Mr. Weasley looked gratefully at Angela for before continuing.

"Now, you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the finest institution of higher education our country has ever produced, and as you are of Muggle heritage -" Mr. Weasley could see by the twist of Angela's eyebrows that she didn't know what he meant, though he smiled in appreciation at the fact she hadn't interrupted him by asking. "A Muggle, that is someone that doesn't use magic," he added in, nodding his head slightly at Sheri who was still apparently miffed, "You come from non-wizarding parents, you see." Angela nodded understandingly, if only just barely. "Now, because of this you are probably completely unaware of my world, and as such you need a smooth transition so as to understand it better and to understand what we hope to provide you."

Mr. Weasley paused long enough at this point that Angela realized he was allowing her to begin asking the many questions he undoubtedly knew were on her lips.

"Magic?" Angela asked.

There was a minor silence as Mr. Weasley tried to understand if this was indeed a question, but after a moment he realized it was and responded. "Yes, dear, magic. You, my young girl, are a witch."

He said it with a complete sincerity, Angela could tell just by the happy look on his face, as though he had told someone they had just won the lottery or something equally wondrous, but Angela just scrunched her face up and looked at Mr. Weasley as though he were insane.

"A what??" she said incredulously.

"A witch," he replied, matter-of-factly, "You have the potential for great magical ability, in fact, and at Hogwarts we hope to teach you how to best use those abilities."

"Magic?" Angela repeated, "As in, what, I can pull rabbits out of hats or something?"

At this Mr. Weasley couldn't repress a laugh. "If you wish," he said, still giggling, "Or you could turn rabbits into hats, or pull rabbits out of peoples' ears or noses if you really put in the time for studying that sort of thing. Ah, you Muggles," he said, his expression changing from laughter to a sort of admiration as he moved his eyes between Angela and Sheri, "Such amazing people, I never seem to have the time to learn all I could about you." Noticing Angela's confused look, Mr. Weasley regained his composure, though he couldn't completely eliminate the smile on his face at the circumstance, "Anyway, we at the Ministry of Magic would be honored if you would return to London with me, where we can more effectively bring you into our world and show you all the wonders you that await you."

"Um, Mister... um," Angela started.

"Weasley."

"Right, Mr. Weasley," Angela said, intrigued but embarrassed at the same time, "I'm not sure what this is all about, but are you kidding? About this magic stuff?"

"Ah," he replied with a wink as he straightened himself up some, "I figured you were going to ask me about that. Always do, Muggle-borns." Deftly reaching into the left sleeve of his green robes, which were quite large and billowy, Mr. Weasley pulled a foot-long shaft of thin wood. The wood, while quite ornately carved around the handle, appeared to be quite old and could have done with a nice polishing or finishing job. As Angela and Sheri looked on, unsure about what this strange man was about to do, Mr. Weasley held his wand in hand and scrunched up his face.

"Let's see, what would be a nice first-timer spell," he mumbled to himself. "Something to really knock your socks off, eh?" he said with a smile as he threw to two a sidewise glance. "Ah, I have just the one," he said as he looked at the large white crane, which had been standing at the edge of the doorway with the rest of the carrier birds. The crane looked around as it caught Mr. Weasley's eye, and suddenly realized his wand was pointing at it. Its eyes wide in recognition, it immediately hopped off the doorstep and spread its wings in a desperate attempt to make a quick getaway, but Mr. Weasley's wand was quicker.

"Commuto Catulus!" he said forcefully with a sharp wave of his wand, and before the crane could even make it off the ground, a twisting bolt of sparkling gold light shot from the end of his wand and struck the bird. There was a bright flash and an extremely agitated squawk from the crane, and in an instant as the light quickly subsided the squawk was replaced by a high-pitched chirp. The five-foot-tall crane was gone, replaced instead by a tiny, white-feathered chick sitting clumsily on the ground and still trying to flap its puny wings in an attempt to gain altitude. After a moment, the crane chick stopped flapping its wings and suddenly noticed its situation: it had been transformed into a baby. It looked at itself and the ground around it, then back up; Angela, Sheri, Mr. Weasley and the flock of birds (which was nervously inching away from the man to the opposite side of the doorstep and as far behind Angela as they could maneuver, just in case he needed another subject to make an example of), all looked back down at it. The crane, apparently aware of what just took place, hopped back up onto its tiny legs and began squeaking and flapping its wings furiously at Mr. Weasley, who looked back at the girls with a look of minor satisfaction on his face. The satisfaction was quite justified, as Angela and Sheri were ogling the baby bird (which was throwing quite an impressive fit for something its size) with eyes so wide they could very well have fallen out of their sockets had they been capable of opening any wider. Their mouths were totally agape, and for a moment Mr. Weasley wondered if he may have very well overdone it; he was always overestimating just how much Muggles could accept of the wizarding world, and this was possibly just another instance of that. His fears were put to rest with Angela's next response, though.

"That... was SO... COOL!" Angela yelled out, dropping to her knees and looking closer at the crane, which despite its unrelenting protests was unquestionably adorable at its diminutive little stature. To Mr. Weasley's surprise, Sheri too was suddenly enthralled with his little trick and was clapping as though he was a stage performer.

"That was amazing!" she said to him, her face smiling with wonder.

"Will I be able to do things like this??" Angela asked, looking back at Mr. Weasley in awe.

"Is that what you want to teach her?" Sheri asked, also looking at Mr. Weasley (or rather his wand) in absolute wonder.

Though the two had spoken at the same time, Mr. Weasley laughed and nodded to them both, understanding and pleased that his demonstration went over so well. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he pointed at the baby crane and a shot of gold sparkles poured from the wand's tip, zipping past Angela and striking the tiny crane, which hopped in surprise before it was enveloped in a flash of light. When the light disappeared, the crane (to Angela's sudden disappointment) was back to normal, though it took it a moment to realize this before stopping in mid-rant and looking at itself, spreading its shimmering white wings out to make sure everything was indeed in place. Once it was satisfied it was restored to normal, it threw a look of utter disgust at Mr. Weasley and shrieked loudly at him, which caused him to stumble slightly as he was taken aback, then spread its wings gloriously and made its way into the sky and as far away from the humans as possible, finally disappearing into the black night sky as it bat its wings furiously. Angela's and Sheri's eyes followed the bird until it had gone completely from sight, then returned their gazes of utter amazement to Mr. Weasley, who looked slightly embarrassed that his cool display had been thrown a little by the crane's tantrum.

"So," he said, returning his wand to his robe sleeve and trying to put the embarrassing situation behind him, "shall we be off?"

Angela and Sheri stopped ogling Mr. Weasley and looked at each other, a little worry crawling onto their faces.

"What, now?" Sheri asked.

"Well, certainly," responded Mr. Weasley, "As your daughter saw in her admissions letter, she's already past the date for responding to the school, and classes start in only a couple of weeks. She'll need to get started right away if she's to be ready for the term."

"Um," grunted Sheri, raising her finger slightly for emphasis, "Wait, you said London?"

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley as though she had just said 'the corner drug store' or 'in the kitchen', "Lovely place, have you been? This is my first trip to the United States and while it's a little on the smoggy side I think it's a great place to visit, I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Sheri, her finger still in the air, "London... You want Angela and me to pack up everything and just move to London, just like that."

"Er, well," said Mr. Weasley, a little nervously, "I hadn't really expected the both of you to pack your belongings... That is, uh..." Mr. Weasley rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. "Well, Hogwarts is a school, you see ma'am, and it's essentially students and faculty only, and-"

"Hold up!" Sheri said, suddenly frowning, "You want me to send my daughter to circus school in England? By herself, with some complete stranger?"

"I'm sorry, to what?" Mr. Weasley responded in confusion. Angela rolled her eyes at her mother and shook her head.

"There is no way I'm sending my little girl to some foreign school, just like that. I mean, for one thing there's no way we could afford it just now. You see, my booth isn't doing as well as I'd like, though it'll probably do better around Christmas but at the moment there just isn't a buyer's-market, and-"

"Well, um, if I may, madam," Mr. Weasley interjected as politely as he could, "My apologies if I didn't quite understand all of what you just said (you Muggles, so fascinating with your little 'booths' and what have you!), but price isn't an issue. The tuition at Hogwarts is free to those gifted with magical ability..."

"Oh!" replied Sheri halfway through his statement. Angela could tell she was already sold on the idea at the word 'free'.

"And as your daughter is a special case," he continued, "the government will be issuing her a small stipend to use on school equipment and the like. Of course, if you have any older gear or books, that would certainly help us out some as we've had some budgetary issues- Oh, that's right, you probably don't..." he corrected himself with a little disappointment in his voice.

If Sheri hadn't been sold before, the prospect of free money was enough to seal the deal for her. Angela had originally been sold as soon as she saw the crane turned into a little chick, though the fact that she wouldn't have to pay for school or books was a nice bonus for her as well, especially since she knew that there was no way her mother would turn down an opportunity to get something (like a private-school education for her daughter and a trip to England for herself) for nothing.

"Where do we sign?" said Sheri, rubbing her hands together eagerly. For once, Angela felt the same as her mother, though she was sure the motivations were different. But she didn't care, this was a dream come true for her.

A sudden sinking feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach, though, and her smile immediately vanished and was replaced with panic. She looked at Mr. Weasley, who could tell from her expression something was troubling her so that his own expression changed a little to worry.

"What is it, dear?" he asked.

"Um..." Angela was terrified to ask, as it might mean all of this sudden wonder and magic that had been shown to her in the last half hour would go away, but she figured she had better get it out of the way before any more time passed, just to be sure. "I don't know any magic. Is... is that going to be a problem?"

She had been half-expecting Mr. Weasley to slap his hands to his face in shock at this sudden revelation and yell out loud, "What?? Dear God, what could we have been thinking! We must have made a mistake or a typo or something, how dreadfully embarrassing!" before shooing off all the birds and driving away wildly in his car, leaving her stuck on the doorstep in Oklahoma at three in the morning with a thoroughly disappointed mother complaining to her about why she had to go and open her big yap.

But to her immense pleasure, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Mr. Weasley smiled and said in a reassuring tone, "Oh don't worry, we don't make mistakes at the Ministry... Well, not often, at any rate," he added as much under his breath as he could.

"So," he said, looking at both Sheri and Angela, "is it settled then? You'll join me in London and we'll get all the details straightened out about your admittance to Hogwarts?"

Angela stood up and nodded enthusiastically at Mr. Weasley, and Sheri agreed with enthusiastic nodding of her own and a hearty shake of Mr. Weasley's hand. I'm going to magic school, I'm going to magic school! Angela thought over and over in her head, dancing in place and feeling absolutely euphoric. She was already imagining turning chickens into chicks and dogs into puppies with a wave of her wand; she was fairly certain there were many other things she'd learn how to do, but as this was the first example of real magic she had ever seen the exciting visions of gold, sparkling light firing from a wand of her own was filling her mind's eye.

"Excellent!" said Mr. Weasley at the unanimous decision, clapping his hands together happily. "Then we'll need to let them know you're coming." Turning around to the crowd of birds that remained (all of which took a step back when they saw him eye them), Mr. Weasley scanned the flock with his hand on his chin, until he picked out his target. "Ah, there she is," he said, and for a moment Angela thought he might be preparing another magic trick for her to see.

Instead, Mr. Weasley pulled a piece of yellowing parchment from his opposite sleeve along with a long feathery quill, and using the door post as a flat surface began to scribe a note.

To Professor Dumbledore,

I am hoping this letter finds you well. I have made contact with the girl, she has agreed to attend Hogwarts for the school year and we shall be en route to the Ministry post haste. Minister Fudge and I hope to see you at the hearing, here's to hoping that all goes in our favour. Take care.

Sincerely,

Arthur Weasley

P.S. Is it true that the Boy-Who-Lived will be attending this year as well? My youngest boy Ron is starting this year, too! Quite an exciting time is ahead for us all, indeed!

After reading over his note once for good measure and nodding to himself in satisfaction, Mr. Weasley folded the note twice and then held out his arm, looking once more into the flock of birds, this time expectantly. While the bluebirds and parakeets and other fowl just looked at him with trepidation, one bird did make its way through the crowd, flapping its wings and hopping over the birds that may have blocked its path. A large, feathery owl with chestnut-brown wings and huge, yellow saucer-like eyes made its way to the front and fluttered its way onto Mr. Weasley's outstretched arm, hooting happily and nibbling at the edge of his hat in a friendly manner; the sight of this made many of the birds present fluster and chirp in annoyance, and with a sudden flutter of feathers and wings most of the occupants of the doorstep pushed off with a noise that sounded like dozens of flags billowing in the wind at once, taking to the air and heading in over a dozen separate directions at once. The few stragglers that remained, such as the penguin, had apparently not decided to call it quits just yet, as they had obviously traveled over quite a bit of distance and would have rathered to not go home empty handed unless they had absolutely no choice.

Angela, watching as the last of the flying birds disappeared into the night sky as the crane had before, looked back at Mr. Weasley who was smiling and handing his letter to the owl perched on his arm. "Now make sure this gets to Hogwarts immediately," he instructed the bird. "We have a meeting in the afternoon and I'd like to make sure Professor Dumbledore makes it if he can." The owl hooted its acknowledgement and, letter firmly in claw, it leapt from his arm and beat its wide wings heavily against the air, climbing into the darkness and soaring eastward before it too was gone.

"Well, now that that's been handled, I say we shove off, hm?" he said with a clap of his hands and a burst of enthusiasm.

"How are we going to get to London?" Angela asked, though she was bunched up with excitement: she was sure it was going to be some fantastic magical way, maybe involving more lights and maybe an incantation of some sort.

"Ah, so full of energy I see!" Mr. Weasley said with a smile, his eyes squinting with pleasure, "We're going in style!"

Mr. Weasley swept his arms with a dramatic swooshing-motion behind him and gestured proudly at the old, beaten-up turquoise Ford Anglia behind him. The car seemed to sputter and cough in response.

Angela and Sheri looked at the car incredulously, then looked at Mr. Weasley as though he truly were insane after all, but he was eyeing the car with a puffed-up look of pride and completely misinterpreted their expressions.

"I know how you feel," he said, giddy as a schoolboy, "I feel a little speechless every time I sit in this gorgeous automotive-mobile, too!"