Coincidences And Consequences
Stumblings through the magical world as told by a Ravenclaw.
The End Is The Beginning
I've found myself in a world that I never could have imagined.
The Wizarding one.
How could it be possible that I, Violet, would find myself studying at Hogwarts several years later than a normal student would? I found myself asking the same question as I held the well-worn envelope in my hands, running my fingers over the wax seal holding it together. It was a day, unlike any other, that the envelope had appeared, and now I found hope springing up in my heart just like it had when I was 11.
When I was 11, I had sat patiently by the door every day, waiting for this very envelope to slip through the hatch and land by my feet. Every day, my mother telling me to head outside and play but myself refusing for fear of missing my ticket out. But day after day, no letter came. No promise of magic and friendship; just bills and newspapers documenting muggle happenings. My heart began to sink as a month passed by, then two, then school had started and disappointment floated through every inch of my being.
I wasn't going. No magic for me.
But why? My father had been magical, going to the Durmstrang Institute for the required years and learning tons, but deciding to filter into the muggle world in hopes of finding a place. He had never fit in, probably because he never had a passion for magic as many of his classmates did. It was strange, incredibly strange, that a wizard wanted to surround himself without magic, but my father had met my mother and left the whole wizarding world behind. And then he had left us behind.
Turned out, my father got bored very easily. That's why he had left magic, that's why he'd left us. I only remember him showing me a spell when I was little, in an attempt to get me away from the cake he had baked for my birthday. He had seemed delighted that I had loved the spell so much... But appearances can be deceiving.
He had left when I was 5. Even as he saw my heart breaking, even as he heard my pleas for him to return, he didn't. I had also sat by the door every day for the rest of that year, too. That door held a lot of memories.
He had left my magic in my blood, and that was all I needed. I kept up hope that someday I would, too, join a magic school; but I wouldn't do as he did. I would immerse myself in that world, in those textbooks, and become the best witch there could be. And I would find my dad again, and show him the same spell he had shown me.
But that day never came, and I had finally accepted my routine of normalcy when that bloody letter slid into my life.
What was to become of me?