The Letter

When it came, I stamped on it.

I thought it must be a joke. A nasty practical joke. Just the sort of thing that she would think of, with her stupid fairy tales and her horrid lies.

But then I looked at it again and I didn't think it was a joke.

The paper was expensive, a thick parchment, the kind you get in big department stores. There's nowhere round here you could buy that kind of paper. She'd have had to go to London, and we haven't been for ages. It was a lovely creamy colour, not white, and the envelope matched it perfectly. People send you letters like that when they're inviting you to the best parties. I've seen them.

Except this wasn't a party invitation.

The address on the envelope was written in ink, with a real fountain pen. The handwriting was ever so neat, and all the words were perfectly spaced. It takes me ages to get my envelopes as neat as that, but it's important. Mother says it's a sign of good manners. But freaks don't have good manners. Freaks are freaks.

My sister's a freak. Sometimes I think I hate her. Father says it's wrong to hate your sister, but I think it's normal to hate freaks.

I don't like it when freaks send me letters.

An owl brought the letter. I don't like birds. They're dirty things. And anyway, owls are night-time birds. Nocturnal. It's not natural for them to be flying in the day.

I didn't know whether I should read the letter or not, but it was addressed to me. So I did open it, and I did read it. Then I wished I hadn't.

Dear Miss Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -

I didn't read any more. I was shaking so hard I couldn't read any more. I threw the beastly thing on the ground and stamped on it, hard. Then I picked it up and tore it into big, ugly pieces. I wanted to throw the pieces on the ground and leave them there, but I don't like to make a mess.

I remember when she got her letter. She's always been the favourite, yes, her with her long red hair that grows in the night, and those weird staring eyes. Witch's hair, witch's eyes. She never looked normal. But then she got her letter, and I was glad, because then everyone would know that it was true and she really was a freak.

But she didn't get into trouble, or anything. Everyone was pleased. Except me. I wasn't pleased.

I took the pieces of parchment and I crumpled them all up into tiny bits so no one would see them. Then I threw them into the fire, one by one, until every single one was burned away, and then I went to the kitchen and scrubbed my hands with soap until they hurt.

I'm not a freak. I'm not. I'm not.

I'm not.