Fragments

Elsie's mornings were always the same. She would wake up early, quietly slipping from the tiny cupboard under the stairs, and head to the kitchen to make breakfast for the Dursleys. Each morning, without fail, she set the table, arranging the plates and cutlery in perfect order. Finally, she would serve breakfast, hoping her efforts would go unnoticed and she could continue with her day in peace.

The Dursleys, which included Dudley, a large, overweight boy with a pig-like face, Aunt Petunia, who was thin and horse-faced, and Uncle Vernon, a tall, portly man with a bushy mustache, were Elsie’s only living relatives, although she didn’t resemble them very much. Elsie, with her fiery red curls and hazel eyes stood out from the crowd, something that Aunt Petunia resented quite a bit.

So far, the day had begun like any other. Elsie was thankful for this, as it meant that she would likely get to escape to the garden as soon as the Dursley’s finished eating, where she would be out of sight and out of mind. As Elsie served breakfast to her so-called family, she heard the click of the mail slot and the flop of letters on the doormat, right on schedule.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

“Make Elsie get it.”

“Get the mail, Elsie.”

“Make Dudley get it.”

“Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”

Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings, and taken to carrying around a knobbly stick, which was supposedly a part of his uniform, and used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. According to Uncle Vernon, this was supposed to be good training for later life, but Elsie wasn’t so sure.

Elsie, who was very quick on account of being small for her age, dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Elsie.

Elsie picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives — she didn’t belong to the library, so she’d never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Ms. E. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Elsie saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

“Hurry up, girl!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Startled, Elsie tucked the letter into the waist band of her pants and pulled her oversized shirt, which had been hand-me-down from Dudley, over it. Then she went back to the kitchen, heart pounding.

Elsie handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, then turned to her aunt. "Aunt Petunia," she said politely. "Might I be excused?"

Aunt Petunia, who had begun fussing over Dudley, dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Distantly, Elsie was aware of Uncle Vernon tearing open an envelope with an impatient grunt, his face turning red with anger as he scanned the contents.

Elsie took a deep breath and made her way to the garden, her heart still pounding. She could feel a strange energy in the air, as if something was about to happen. She tucked herself into a corner of the garden just out of sight. It was her secret hiding place. Even Dudley rarely followed her there. She sat down, her back against a trunk of a large tree, and removed the letter from her waistband. It felt strangely heavy in her hands.

As Elsie held the letter in her hands, a mix of curiosity and excitement surged through her. It was as if a glimmer of hope had suddenly entered her life, a glimmer that promised a world beyond the confines of the cupboard under the stairs. She couldn't help but wonder who could have written to her and what this letter held within its pages.

Carefully, she pulled out the letter and read:

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. Potter,

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. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Another piece of paper was tucked behind the first. With some incredulity, Elsie unfolded it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic By Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a dog OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Elsie's eyes widened with disbelief as she read the letter. She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the mention of "Witchcraft and Wizardry,” as well as all the extravagant titles that the headmaster held. It seemed too fantastical to be real!

Magic? Wizards? How could it be? And yet -

Elsie's hazel eyes flickered to Aunt Petunia’s flower bed. Had she not heard the whisper of a garden snake in that flower bed just yesterday, when she had been pulling up the weeds?

She couldn't shake the feeling that the whispering garden snake held a secret power, a connection to a world beyond her comprehension. If magic truly existed…

Elsie's mind swirled with possibilities, wondering where this newfound knowledge could lead her.

Curiosity piqued; Elsie made up her mind to embark on a quest to acquire the required supplies. Perhaps there was some hidden corner of town where she might find the elusive wand, cauldron, and other enchanting tools that awaited her at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

By morning, Elsie had devised a plan.

When she slipped from the tiny cupboard under the stairs the next morning, she set the table and began preparing breakfast for the Dursleys, just as she did every day. But afterwards, instead of escaping to her secret place in the garden, she lingered.

Although Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia planned to send Dudley to Smeltings in the fall, they had made other plans for Elsie. Instead, she would be going off to secondary school. Elsie, who was quite familiar with Aunt Petunia’s ways, could already envision her aunt’s attempts to dye some of Dudley’s old things grey so that they would resemble the uniform at Stonewall.

Eventually, Elsie mustered up the courage to approach Aunt Petunia, hoping to convince her to spare some change for a visit to the local secondhand shop. She carefully rehearsed her plea, emphasizing the practicality of purchasing used items and the potential savings. Elsie knew that her chances of success relied on appealing to her aunt's frugal nature and her desire to maintain appearances in their suburban neighborhood.

Elsie knew that she had to be resourceful in her quest for magical supplies. She was determined to find a way to acquire her school supplies, even if it meant convincing her aunt to spare some change for a visit to the local secondhand store.

Although reluctant, Aunt Petunia eventually agreed. She dropped Elsie off near the closest secondhand shop on her way to the market, warning her that she would be back to retrieve her before dinner.

Elsie, who knew the value of politeness, thanked her aunt for her kindness and set off to the store.

As Elsie entered the shop, she was met with a chaotic array of objects, none of which seemed remotely magical. The shelves were lined with old trinkets, dusty books, and mismatched kitchenware. Undeterred, Elsie began scouring every corner, her eyes scanning for any glimmer of enchantment amidst the mundane.

However, Elsie soon discovered that finding the magical supplies she needed wouldn't be as easy as she initially thought.

It was still early in the day, and Aunt Petunia would not return for hours. With this in mind, Elsie decided to seek out another shop more suited to her needs. After walking for a while, she noticed a small, run-down shop tucked between two taller buildings. She had never seen it before.

A furtive glance told Elsie that strangely, no one else seemed to notice the little shop.

Above the door was a small sign advertising psychic readings, with a phone number to call for more information.

Intrigued by the mysterious nature of the unnoticed shop, Elsie wondered if it held a secret connection to the world of magic. She couldn't help but wonder if this was a hidden realm, accessible only to those who possessed a keen eye for the extraordinary. Curiosity ignited within her, Elsie approached the doorway.

The windows of the small shop, which was nestled between two taller buildings, was adorned with faded purple curtains. Vibrant flowers bloomed in the window boxes, their colors contrasting with the muted tones of the cityscape.

Elsie’s hand reached out to touch the worn doorknob, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. As she stepped inside, she was enveloped by an otherworldly ambiance. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and a soft, ethereal light bathed the room, casting delicate shadows on the walls. The shop was filled with shelves adorned with crystals, tarot cards, and weathered books.

The woman at the counter was similarly dressed. She wore large glasses and a gauzy shawl, and her arms were adorned in bangles. Her greying hair cascaded down her back, reflecting the soft light in the room. Her eyes, which were dark green, seemed to hold a wisdom that surpassed her years.

"Welcome, young seeker," the woman said in a melodic voice, her eyes gleaming. "I've been expecting you."

For a moment, Elsie battled between anticipation and disbelief. If she was able to find a real witch after only a few minutes of searching, couldn't anyone? Elsie's mind wavered between the allure of the mystical atmosphere and the rational skepticism that had been ingrained in her by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. She couldn't help but question whether this encounter was a mere trick of the mind or a genuine revelation that magic truly existed.

The woman appeared to pick up on Elsie’s hesitation. "I understand your skepticism, my dear," she said, her misty voice filled with compassion. "Magic is not easily believed, but it often reveals itself to those who are open to its wonders."

"I was hoping you could help me," Elsie responded, haltingly. “You see, I need some school supplies.” When Elsie reached the counter, she offered her supply list to the woman.

The woman's eyes sparked with recognition as she took the list from Elsie's trembling hand. A warm smile spread across her face, confirming Elsie's suspicions that she had indeed stumbled upon a true practitioner of magic. "Ah, a young witch embarking on her magical journey," the woman said, her voice filled with pride. "You have come to the right place, my dear." Turning her back to Elsie, she called out, “Cassie! I’ve got another one for you!”

After a moment, there was a clatter, and a decrepit old woman emerged from the back room, harrumphing when she laid eyes on Elsie. “Come along then,” she said gruffly, waving a hand for Elsie to follow her.

The woman ushered Elsie to the back of the shop. This room was less theatrical then the front of the shop where Elsie had entered, but somehow, the presence of magic was more pronounced. She introduced herself as Cassandra, and impatiently explained that Elsie would need to travel to magical London to obtain her school supplies. Elsie, who had never been to London, found it hard to imagine that a secret magical city existed within it.

"But how will I get there?" asked Elsie. It had been difficult enough to convince Aunt Petunia to lend her some money for the secondhand shop, and Elsie knew that there was simply no way that she would be willing to take her all the way to London.

Cassandra had harrumphed at this and explained that Elsie would be able to travel via fireplace using the Floo Network. She also encouraged Elsie to go to Gringotts. There, she would be able to access funds that were set aside to help Muggleborn students who couldn’t otherwise afford their school supplies.

Elsie took a pinch of glittering powder from a small pouch that Cassandra offered, and inched closer to the fire place.

“You must speak clearly,” Cassandra told Elsie, warningly. “And mind you get out at the right grate...”

“The right what?” said Elsie, who was nervous at the prospect of hopping into a stranger’s lit fireplace at their insistence.

Cassandra scoffed, clearly taking offense at Elsie’s ignorance. “Go on then, girl,” she said, folding her withered old arms.

Elsie walked to the edge of the fire. She took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames and stepped forward. The fire felt like a warm breeze, and when she opened her mouth, hot ash filled it. “D-Dia-gon Alley,” she coughed.

It felt like she was being sucked down a giant plug hole. She seemed to be spinning very fast ... the roaring in her ears was deafening ... she tried to keep her eyes open but the whirl of green flames made her feel sick ... something hard knocked her elbow and she tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning ... now it felt as though cold hands were slapping her face ... she saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond ... her breakfast was churning inside her ... She closed her eyes again wishing it would stop, and then – she fell, face forward, onto cold stone.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, Elsie got gingerly to her feet. She was quite alone, and where she was, she had no idea. All she could tell was that she was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop – but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks leered down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street that Elsie could see through the dusty shop window could not be the Diagon Alley that Cassandra had described.

The sooner she got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Elsie made her way swiftly and silently towards the door, but before she’d got halfway towards it, a man appeared on the other side.

The man was tall and striking, with long, sleek blond hair that cascaded down to his shoulders. His pale, pointed face was accentuated by cold gray eyes. He was wearing impeccable robes, which were embellished with silver and green accents, and when he came through the door, he took in Elsie’s bedraggled appearance with a sneer. "Red hair, hand-me-downs," he said, haughtily. "You must be a Weasley."

Hearing that, Elsie felt very sorry for whomever the man had mistaken her for, but the last thing she wanted was to be the source of this man's disdain. Afterall, she reasoned, this shop did not seem like the sort of place for a reputable witch or wizard, and it stood to reason that the center of this man's attention was a very bad place to be.

Elsie hunched her shoulders, hoping to look small and forgettable, and called on the politeness that Aunt Petunia had instilled in her from a very young age. "My apologies, sir," she said. "But I'm afraid you have mistaken me for someone else."

Keeping her head down, Elsie tried to duck through the doorway, but the man stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

When she dared to glance up, his expression was sharply curious. "And who might you be?" he asked.

"Elizabeth," said Elsie, gulping nervously. "Elizabeth Potter, sir."

"Ah," the man said, as if that explained everything. His expression lost some of its haughty disdain. "Forgive me, Miss Potter. My name is Lucius Malfoy. I have a son about your age. His name is Draco. I expect you will be attending Hogwarts together this year.”

Elsie peered up at him, suspicions somewhat assuaged by the mention of the man's son, but still uncomfortable. "I should be very pleased to meet him on September 1st." She said, hoping to appease him. "But you must excuse me. I am on my way to Gringotts."

"Of course," Mr. Malfoy said, graciously. "But I'm afraid Knockturn Alley is no place for a child. If it is alright with you, Miss Potter, I will you see safely to Gringotts."

Elsie frowned. She was certain she did not want this man’s attention on her a moment longer, however, she was afraid he had sized her up correctly. She had no guardian accompanying her. And, she thought, taking another glance at the dark, narrow street that awaited her outside the door, she was a bit out of her depth.

Mr. Malfoy appeared to take her silence as an acquiesce, and turned on the heel of his pointy shoe, clearly expecting Elsie to follow him out the door.

With a great reluctance, she did so.