Impure

I awoke to the golden morning sunlight splashing my face. A realisation hit me: it was the 1st September. The day when I would return to school, and I still hadn’t even packed! I jumped out of bed and went over to my light brown vanity table, and felt around the table, before picking up my cheetah-printed glasses. I slid my glasses on my face, where I noticed how messy blonde hair with dark roots was. I hurriedly combed it, before swirling it into a professional bun. Then I jumped into my causal smart outfit (a beige long coat, with a white shirt and a pair of black trousers), and shoved my feet into some ankle boots.

Rushing down the stairs, I noticed the intrusion of my appearance in the living room, as the three people in there immediately fell silent and stared at me.

There are a few things you should know... First, is that my name is Felicity Fudge. I live at home with my twin brother, Finnely and my parents (Conley and Cordelia Fudge). And yes, my name is Fudge, as in Cornelius Fudge- who’s my uncle. Cornelius was the third person in the room, alongside my parents. He’s quite the conflicting character. I can vividly recall that when he was in the process of being elected for the British Minister for Magic, he was all confident and true to his word, but then politics consumed him, as you can’t always make the right decision. Either you try to do the right thing, but have to make a wrong sacrifice, or don’t do anything to avoid the catch, but get backlashed for it anyway. For most, politics was confusing, and it is, but not for me in the way it was for others. I was naturally good at political things. I’m a great debater, a good leader and listener, a considerate person, aware of economic, social and environmental issues and consequences, I am ethical, logical, reasonable, analytical, well-organised, perceptive and diplomatic. My parents and my uncle all expect me to become the Minister for Magic of my generation. And to be fair, I would do a pretty good job at it. But the thing is, I don’t want to be the next Minister for Magic. Sure I’m good at it, but it feels like a hobby. I’ve had the secret interest of becoming an artist for quite some time now, but I don’t think I’m ready to tell my family that yet. They were all so proud of my skills and really have high expectations for me. Being an artist, means you have to be off the charts, open minded and praised by society for your work- but none of that seems to be true for me. The numbers are imbalanced and I think I must stick to politics.

“Morning Mum, Dad and Uncle Neil.”

“Morning, sweetie,” kindly replied Mum.

“We were actually just talking about you,” Uncle Neil began, but Mum and Dad gave him a bloodshot stare.

“Excited for school?” Dad asked.

No. “Yes. I can’t wait to learn some more magical skills.” That sounded diplomatic and believable.

“Good to hear, good to hear. Um, hey, Fliss?”

“Yes Uncle Neil?”

“How would you say that in about a year’s time, you would consider accepting an apprenticeship at the ministry. You could be my secretary or something.”

So this is what they were talking about me. Deciding my own future without me. “I’d be most honored and delighted to.”

“Splendid,” Uncle Neil chanted, clapping his hands together.

“I-I’ve got to finish packing my suitcases, I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Pip pip, honey, we need to leave in half an hour.”

“Of course.”

Packing my trunk only took me five minutes to be honest. I had my few clothes, books, toiletries and then that one forbidden notebook that no one would ever need to know about.

The rest of the few minutes I had resulted in me lying on my extremely soft bed (with light blue covers and a dark brown Victorian frame). I had my arms above my head as I stared up at the cream colored ceiling. It always felt like a weight was temporarily lifted off you whenever you stared up at a ceiling for a while, I don’t really know why, but those extra five minutes were some of the most relaxing five minutes of my life- I felt like me heart was floating lightly as if a feather, but rising up and up forever. Well, not forever, since Mum called me and I had to go.

I brought my trunk with me and then me, Finn, Mum and Dad used the emerald floo powder in our oversized fireplace to get to King’s Cross Station.

At the sight of the station, I felt an urge to turn back and not go to Hogwarts, but there was no going back.

We ran inconspicuously through that wall inside King’s Cross, to get to Platform 9 3/4, and we all caught sight of the scarlet steam train- the three others in my family dazing miraculously at its nostalgia, magic and memories, me gulping at the resist to return to another year at Hogwarts.

“Well this is your stop.”

“It wasn’t funny three years ago, and it isn’t funny now, Dad,” joked Finn- he also had blond hair worth dark roots, but while my hair was neatly put in a bun, his was slightly messy. Dad ruffled through Finn’s hair and they both grinned- both too shy and ‘manly’ to hug in public.

“I know son, but I need to overload you with my dreadful dad jokes to make up for the times when you won’t be able to at Hogwarts.”

“You’ll write often, won’t you Fliss?”

“Every day.”

And me and Mum embraced each other in a long, loving hug before being departed. It was a good hug. The sort of hug she needed to get herself back into focus. To make herself feel happier again.

Mum began wiping her slightly pink, glassy eyes, before questioning with her voice slightly cracking, “You won’t miss me too much, will you?”

“All the time.”

“Make sure to write if anything wrong -or good- happens.”

“Of course.”

“Right, honey,” started Dad. “We’ll see you at Christmas then.”

“See you at Christmas.”

Me and Finn bordered the train, taking our own separate roots. Because we were still pretty early, I managed to find a cabin that was entirely free for myself. I placed my trunk on the rack, and sat down on the blue tartan seats.

I was a Gryffindor, which was pretty weird. Everyone, including myself very much, predicted I would be in Ravenclaw. I had their traits. But for some unknown reason, the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor, which wasn’t so bad, as I met this really nice girl called Hermione Granger, who was in a similar position to me about house misplacement- both of us thinking Ravenclaw when actually getting Gryffindor. We’d usually study together and have friendly debates and everything. Hermione was the only good thing at Hogwarts- other than learning new things and all. Every year the same thing happened. And every year I dreaded the same thing that happened.

The train started moving and I knew we were on our way to Hogwarts. I looked outside the dirty window for ages and ages, until my eyelids got tired and my mind became bored, so I obliged with my need to rest, and shut my eyes. It would only be for a few seconds. Everything became dark…

… “And just look at her: useless in her lonely natural habitat.”

I quickly opened my eyes- I had fallen asleep. And of course, my regular bully had found me. That third year (like me) bleached-haired, Pureblood bully. “Ah, little miss Mid-Blood has finally waken up,” he sneered.” Since their first year, Malfoy had always called me a Mid-Blood. When he found out that my dad was a Half-Blood, but my mum was a Muggle-Born (who’s brother had become a Muggle-Born wizard, so having been married and have her brother in the Wizarding World, she was well informed of magic), he decided to call me a new name. Since I wasn’t a Muggle-Born, or derogatively Mud-Blood, so to say the blood purity maniacs, Malfoy invented a new, cruel name for me. Being somewhere between a Mud-Blood and a Half-Blood, he renamed me a Mid-Blood.

“Go away, Malfoy. We’re not even at Hogwarts yet.” He was the reason why she dreaded going back to school. Every day every year.

“Let me think about it… Um, no! Haha.”

The fact that he came to me when I was asleep made me feel slightly more insecure and uncomfortable, and like he had really pushed past the boundaries. And like every day every year, I never showed a sign of weakness- which a successful politician must show.

Then Malfoy came over to me with his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, and his cronies pinned me harshly by my clavicle against the seat, while Malfoy began trashing me things out of my trunk- even casting spells at some of them. I tried to push back off and resist the two brainless bodyguards, but they were both so big and strong that they barely felt anything I done. The next thing that happened really triggered something in me: Malfoy had picked up my one forbidden notebook that no one would ever need to know about. Even worse, he started to open up the books. That was it! I reached for my wand in one of my pockets, before shouting,”Depulso!” at Crabbe and Goyle, before standing up, with my shoulders severely hurting, and cast,” Accio!” at my forbidden notebook, before turning to Malfoy, and with pleasure and dispute, I bellowed,” Levicorpus!” To my pleasure, the big bad bully had been lifted off the floor, and he dangled upside down. When Crabbe and Goyle became more aware of their senses, they got up, pulled their floating master, and ran-limped out of the cabin- with a satisfying clunk, as Malfoy’s fat head hit the top of the cabin door.

At first I felt more free and victorious, but then I realised something: Malfoy would get seriously savage revenge on me.