I stare at him. The silence in the kitchen is deafening, the loudest silence I've ever heard. This guy is definitely mad. A lunatic, probably escaped from some Hospital for people who have lost their minds. 

   My mind races. What should I do? What do you do with a mad man? Do you agree with them? Do you force them out? Should I phone the police? I have to make a decision fast. But before I can, my father takes matters into his own hands.

   "Wha- what do you mean by - by witch?" 

   "What do I mean by witch? Exactly that. You know, like what you Muggles think of, pointed hats, magic wands, only different."

   The silence continues, then...

   "Explain. I don't get it." 

   I hear the words come out of my mouth, but I didn't even think I had planned on saying them. They had just popped out. I notice that I have stood up out of my armchair. I stay standing, I am quite tall, and this leaves a better impression.  

   "If you want to convince me, " I say, crossing my arms, "You're going to have to give me some pretty darn good proof." I sit back down on the couch, one leg over the other, getting comfortable. If this man is trying to convince me I'm some magical weirdo, it's going to be a long day. 

   My mother and father and even Abe all stare at me, dumfounded. So does the man.

   "Okay then," He says, then mutters, "She wants proof magic exists, eh... Well, why don't I give her proof? It would make my day easier... Less time...." He seems to come to an agreement with himself. He unsheathes his wooden stick from his belt again, and points it at the armchair I'm sitting on.

   "Incendio Securo!" He cries, and the chair sets on fire.

   "Scarlett! Sweetie, no! Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her, you madman!" Screams my mother.

   "Oh my god..." My father whispers.

   "Zali! Zali, no no no! Stop it Zali, I don't like it!" Abe wails. 

   And I should be screaming in agony, and my body should be searing with pain, and I should be burning up, turning into dark, black ashes along with the chair. But the funny thing is, I am not. In fact, I cannot feel a thing, but a warm, tickling feeling, though I know I should be dying, and by all laws of human nature, I should be dead.

   But I am not. I am definitely alive. And now, I almost believe the cloaked figure in front of me, framed against the flames.

   And then the flames die, and I do not. And my mother is screaming and crying all over me, and my father is staring dumbstruck at the robed man standing in front of me, and Abey, the sweetie, is whooping with joy and almost singing "Again, again, again! You're 'live Zali! 'Live, 'live 'live!"

   "Does this mean you're a - you're a..." My voice drains out, and I glare at the man, unable to finish the sentence. 

   "Wizard. Yes."

   "And I'm a - a witch?" 

   "Glad I've finally got through to you."