Peculiar

If asked, Vera would tell anyone that her life had been perfectly normal for fifteen years. No incidents that couldn't be explained, no seeing things that nobody else saw... nothing. Life was ordinary, predictable, and she liked it that way. She had her sisters, and now a newborn brother, along with dozens of other family members she knew the names of off by heart. 

She never even saw the change coming. 

It had happened on a Saturday morning. Her mother was rushing about, ignoring her newborn's petulant wailing as she tried to calm her husband, who was stuck in a daze, pointing at the chandelier and grunting out incoherent curses. Her sisters were in another screaming match, something about a hairbrush, probably. 

Usually, Vera could drown it out with a daydream, pretend she was dancing in a ballroom with a prince from a far-off land with a name she couldn't hope to pronounce, in a flowing gown that glittered and sparkled like the stars in the night sky. 

For once in her life, the daydreaming did not help. She still heard the yelling, the screaming, the frantic movement of everyone, and it was just too much. Her hands felt sweaty, her head felt like it was being bashed by a hammer from ten different angles, and her body wouldn't stop shaking. She only wanted to tell them to stop. Her hands were raised, in case someone (probably Leonie) threw something at her. 

Then the chandelier... broke. One moment, it was there, looking every bit as flawless as intended, and suddenly it wasn't. A silence fell over the hall, and it wasn't long before everyone's eyes fell to her outstretched hands.

Had she done that? Surely not. It was just a coincidence. 

She dropped her hands, ready to defend herself, when the silence was broken by one of the maids yelling, "Witch!" 

No matter how many nights she spent whispering, "I'm not a witch," under her breath, it didn't have its intended effect. 

___________________________________________

The next week was relatively peaceful after that, but she would catch her father eyeing her warily, answering her questions with one-worded answers. Her mother was not much better, but she did try. 

Then that letter arrived. Her life had been perfect, simple, predictable.. and now this peculiarity had knocked everything out of balance. The only person who hadn't changed their behaviour towards her was her sister, Leonie. She still chattered away to her, raised a judgemental eyebrow when Vera mentioned 'Pride and Prejudice' for what was probably the tenth time that month, and willingly snuck away from dancing lessons to sit with her and eat some of the treats reserved for the guests. 

"Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" 

Vera had never sobbed harder that night. Her parents had read it over her shoulder, and she turned to look at them, just to be met with disapproving stares. 

"That's ridiculous." her father snorted. "It's not real, is it? We would know if.. if those existed." 

Her mother sighed quietly, simply patting his back, although she looked just as horrified at the prospect of such a school existing. "If it gets her out of the house, she's going."

More suspicion, more wariness, more walking on eggshells around her, like she'd do something terrible if they so much as breathed wrong. Vera tried to forget about the whole thing, burying herself in yet another book, praying it all away. 

Of course, even that fragile peace went away with the arrival of a certain man. Her sister had dragged her downstairs, whispering as she barely contained her giggles, "Your precious Mr. Darcy has come to get you!"

As the man came into view, Vera shot Leonie a glare. This was no Mr. Darcy, this man was much older, old enough to be her grandfather's father. Somehow, he'd managed to persuade her parents into allowing him to teach her all she had 'missed'. She was apparently behind by four years. What was this absurd school? She thought those were only for boys. 

To her surprise, she did have magic. Professor Fig taught her the "basics", and she watched this all unfold in disbelief. Magic. Witches. Weren't they supposed to have green skin and ugly warts on their noses? Professor Fig didn't seem to have any of those features, and if he was telling the truth about her being one, she didn't either. But with the way her parents looked at her, with poorly concealed fear and discomfort, she might as well have been one of those creatures in Macbeth, beard and all. 

And worst of all? She was enjoying it, enjoying learning about this strange world that collided with her own, enjoying trying to pronounce those Latin words and fumbling horribly. God help her, she was beyond excited at the prospect of genuinely learning about something she hadn't known existed until a few days ago.

No amount of prayer seemed to make it all go away, leaving Vera to decide to at least try and make the most of this otherworldly experience.

Maybe, just maybe, her time in the school would be a peaceful one, ending in her coming home to Mother and Father welcoming her back.

It was a magic school, after all. What could possibly happen in a school protected by magic?