Chapter One: A Day of Perplexity

   Thunder scares me awake, making me jump into a sitting position. I could hear the hard drops of rain pounding on our fragile ceiling, and I could make out the faint flashes of lightning through my blurred eyes. My heart was stilll pounding as it processed my shock of lightning, but the rain seemed to sing me to sleep, softly forcing me back into my soft, comfortable bed, singing a lullaby. 

   Rain always reminded me as my dear mother, who I haven't seen in years. Rain was her favorite type of weather, explaining that the angels were lending their healing tears to the earth. My mother always used to softly hum a lullaby that her mother used to sing to her as a child. The thought of her warm, loving touch made me smile as the rain continued to fall. And soon, I was drifting off to sleep again, her soothing voice echoing in my head. 

As you drift off to sleep,

The sheep begin to leap.

As you drift off to sleep,

The stars begin to sing,

Their lullabies lulling you to your slumber.

You may be afraid, 

But never will I leave your side.

As I hold your hand,

Love is what I will provide,

Protecting you with all that I am. 

My dear,

My darling dear,

Shall I never leave your side.

For love and I will stay here.

^^^

      As the sun slowly rises above a mountain, I begin to listen to the singing birds out my window. I feel drops of dew and water on my arms, as I stretch. It was my mistkae that I leave the window open every night. But for a dreamy girl like me, I never mind as much as the other girls at my Primary School. 

    I'm always the first one to be awake in my family of two, because my father is an extremely heavy sleeper, the total opposite of me. I hear his obnoxious snores from the room next to me, but considering how many years I've had to listen to it, my brain doesn't registure it, anymore. 

    I slowly crawl out of bed, my cold, frigid feet touching the soft, warm carpet. That was my favorite thing about this stupid house. The carpets were like a warm, fuzzy blanket in the morning. They were a sign that claimed everything would be alright. 

    As I drag my feet over the fluffy flooring of my creaky room, I pass by a chipped mirror, lying uselessly on my paint-chipped wall. I smile at my reflection, revealing my scattered freckles, white teeth, and slight dimples on my cheeks. My burnette hair, as usual, looked like I had just walked out of a sauna, as it got extremely curly in the humidity. I had attempted to braid my long hair before I began to read last night, but it seemed to have been unsuccessful. Although, it did keep bangs out of my pale face. I looked over my body, just making sure I hadn't accidentally clawed at my arms in the middle of the night in my slumber. I had done that a few times when I was younger, and I screamed at the slight splotches of dry blood on my freckled arms. All I noticed was my tall, skinny legs and slim waist, and large goosebumps scattered along my arms. As I slowly ran my hand over my arm, I realized how cold I was. So naturally, I shivered and grabbed for my robe, the only soft clothing I owned. 

    My mother died when I was five, leaving my father and I with no money. I never undestood why she didn't tell us where the money was, but she was on the verge of death. Who would want to talk about money at that sort of time? But after she perished, my father seemed to collapse. You couldn't tell by looking at him, but when you spoke to my father, you could tell that not everything was right in his mind. 

    Both my mother and father were extremely close, and tremendously in love. So after she died, Father just drifted away. Our conversations were never the same again, and our live's just seemed to leave our sides. I've attempted to bring my father back to his normal self, but nothing could break him. So after a while, I stopped trying. If he didn't want to live his life to the fullest while he still had time, then that was his choice. As my mother always said, you must live life to the fullest, even if large obstacles not possible to knock over stand in your way. 

     I miss my mother tremendously. And I always will. 

     Grinning at my reflection in triumph, I tip toe over to my kitchen, which was right in front of my room. It was dark and cheap, but I didn't necessarily mind anymore. I had to be grateful of what I had, or else my father would go off on me. And let me mention, that the few times he had, he left me crying. And I don't cry much, like the other girls. It shows a sign of weakness. And I'm not going to allow myself to be an easy target. I've had friends who allowed themselves to become easy targets, as well as become obnoxious attention seekers, who I purpously ditched after a while. If all they wanted to do was whine, than they could be brats by themselves. I, on the other hand, would live a seperate life from them. And to think of the opposite life I could have of those brats, made me smirk proudly.

      I strolled over to my cupboard, sighing at the emptiness of it. There were a few miniature boxes of salted crackers that I absolutely loved, a small collection of spices that my father didn't care to organize, a cheap jar of peanut butter, and two boxes of cereal and oatmeal. Nothing seemed appetizing that morning, but I forced myself to make a bowl of cereal, and begin chewing it. I could tell the milk was spoiled, as it tasted tart in my mouth, and the cereal tasted like stale bread. But at least I had food to eat, right? 

     After I had fought myself to eat this crappy bowl of cereal gratefully, I immtediately jumped out of my seat and dashed upstairs, throwing on my dirty clothes that I've wore three times this long week, and dashed to the bathroom. I swiftly tugged at my brown hair with my brush, and rapidly brushed my teeth, grateful that the sour taste of the milk was replaced by the refreshing taste of mint. I had three minutes until I had to walk to school, and my dad hadn't even woken up, yet. Rolling my eyes, I snatch up my bag, plus kiss my sleeping father goodbye, and speed outside, obliviously walking to my Primary School. 

^^^

     "Celleste Madison," shrieked my obnoxious arithmetic teacher, ripping me from my wonderful day dream of magical witches and wizards, taking me away to a place I wish to be. I hear some bratty kids next to me snicker at me, and I cross my arms, peering at my arithmetic teacher in hidden annoyance. I was never liked by Mrs. Clockston, the impatient old lady, for some reason. I've always wondered why, but I believe that she's not fond of me because of how many times I have corrected her. She doesn't know anything about arithmetic, but she acts like she does. And to be a nerd like I am, it's not my fault that I'm smarter than her! Pursing my lips, I murmur, "Sorry, Mrs. Clockston." That's all I decided to say. I wasn't in the mood to argue with this old hag, so I went back to paying attention... or at least I tried to. 

       Something caught my eyes outside, so I followed the distraction. It was raining once again, but it didn't seem like normal rain. The rain drops looked blue in the dark atmosphere, but I convinced myself that it was only my imagination. I did, indeed, have an extremely powerful imagination, but the butterflies in my stomach argued that this wasn't just a hallucination.  It was too vivid for it to be false. So, I allowed my mind to wander, mentally exiting the useless arithmetic session, which I thoroughly enjoyed. As I examined the outdoors, I gaped as I saw a large twig of some sort fly through the air above the clouds. But it couldn't have been a stick or branch. That couldn't be possible. It didn't even look windy outside, as well. There was a slight breeze, but not enough for some perfectly straight branch to be zooming below the dark clouds. As I watched this... sorcery, ubsurd thoughts entered my brain, making me feel excited, angry, clueless, and nervous all at the same time. It was a fantasy-like moment, and I didn't know how to feel about it. 

       But unexpectedly, a tall man in an emerald cloak knocked on our oak door, and asked in a sly voice, "May I come in?" All the students, including Mrs. Clockston, turned to the door in horror and confusion, puzzled on how to react. I glanced around the class, pursing my lips to hide the laugh, as my classmates began whispering nervously. There was only one student who didn't look disturbed: Chad Doll. This Chad person never turns in his assignments, and never payed attention in class. He had the most hideous chesnut-brown hair in all of London, and his stupid glasses barely fit his slim face. All of the girls in my school room go absolutely crazy for that lunatic, while I sit back and gag at his distasteful actions. 

      "Er, no. You-You may not come in! I forbid it," declared Mrs. Clockston, bolting her classroom door shut. My smirk fell to a frown dramatically as she jumped back, as if expecting the door handle to jump out at her and claw her eyes out. (Which she absolutely deserved, mind you.) Mrs. Clockston always sucked the limited fun out of the room, and everyone despised her. Whoever actually enjoyed her company was insane. 

      Crossing my arms, I sag my shoulders and slide down my seat, my head barely peering out from above my desk. I watched Mrs. Clockston peer out her little glass window on her door, and frown. Apparently, the man in the emerald cloak was still standing there, tapping his food impatiently. My imagination began to imagine the man to suddenly kick down the door, and begin this whole speech about how Mrs. Clockston did not deserve to be in this school. She deserved to live in rubbish, which explained her spoiled honey personality. And to my bewilderment, that's exactly what that man did - with a few extraordinary moves added into his break in. 

      I gaped once again as the lock on entryway simply collapsed to the floor untouched, and he strolled in carelessly, his emerald robes billowing behind his slender legs. Mrs. Clockston shrieked and began to yelp for help, but the man just rolled his eyes impatiently, and murmured some nonsense under his breath. And to my surprise, Mrs. Clockston went silent, and sat down in her seat, her eyes looking off into distance. 

      If this man could silence Mrs. Clockston, than he was a magician. No one can silence rubbish, now can they? 

      All of our eyes were on this man, who stood up tall, his slender face holding a grin. As he pulled down his tall, odd hood, it revealed black, greasy hair, that was flattened by his hood. It was dead silent in the study room, until he cleared his throat and demanded smoothly, "Are the following students in this classroom: Chad Doll, Peter Orion, and Celleste Madison?" 

       Instantly, a few eyes landed on me, another few landed on Chad, and a few landed on Peter Orion, a very quiet, low key boy. Without hesitatation, I threw up my hand excitedly, with the other requested students timidly raising their's. The man in the emerlad robes smirked and motioned for us to come forward. All of us obeyed, and followed him out of the classroom, puzzled. 

       As he closed the door, he took a deep breath, and started speaking words that I would never forget. "All three of you students have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There, you will learn and study about all forms of magic, mythical creatures, and extraordinary things that you don't usually see in the muggle world. You have seven years at Hogwarts, but you will never regret it. To be able to study about magic in your life, gives you a world of happiness and understanding. Would you rather learn about... arithmetic, than Herbology? Would you rather waste away in your office cubicles for the rest of your life? Precisely. Now, do any of you know about this magical world you will be living in for the rest of your unfulfilled life?" 

        I was awestruck. I was dumbfouned. I was choking on my words as I attempted to answer, but Chad got ahead of me. Acting intimidating, he put his nose in the air, and responded, "I did. My mother and father didn't. They didn't believe in me. They didn't think I had the magic inside of me. Of course, when I say it out loud, it does sound a bit riddiculous, but I did. And look who was wrong? My parents. I'll repeat that: Who was wro-"

      "No need for repeating. I think we all know your point," snapped the man in the emerald robes, putting his bony finger to his mouth. I glanced at Peter, waiting for him to speak up and make me look like someone who doesn't pay attention in her life, but he didn't. In fact, all he did was glance at me and shrug. I did the same. 

       I did remember writing a thirty page essay in an hour and thirty minutes without pausing, but I'm sure someone else has acclomplished that before me. But, what about the time my mother trimmed my finger nails? They instantly grew back to their orginal size the next morning. But, isn't that just informing me that I am extremely healthy? But suddenly, I had a reflection of when I was three. My mother and father were yelling at me because I had drawn all over dog with permanent marker, and I was screaming. I remembered screaming at the top of my lungs in anger, and falling over, my parents doing the same thing.  Now, that wasn't normal, was it? And they obviously weren't playing around with me, considering that they were furious with me at the time. Maybe that was a sign. A sign that I wasn't normal. A sign that I held... magic? Sorcery? Witchcraft? Dark Magic? 

        I started delivering my memory, making sure to add every detail in there that could make it sound... not insane. And luckily, everyone believed me. The man in the robes beamed as I told the story, as if over the moon that I wasn't like Chad, the fattest lunatic in all of London. 

        After Peter showed no sign of realizing that he did indeed have magic, the man swiftly handed us neat scrolls, kept shut by a maroon red wax seal, that read: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

        "Now, don't read these in class!" warned the man in the emerald robes. "No one else should know about this. You may read it at home. Please follow the instructions listed on this scroll. If not, your oppurtunity of arriving at Hogwarts will be thrown out the window. Are you following me?" 

        All three of us nodded rapidly, making the gentlemen grin. As he put up his hood, he seemed to have an epiphany, as he whispered, "I better turn your teacher back to normal, huh?" Before I could shake my head excitedly, he creaked open the door and whispered something under his breath again, making Mrs. Clockston gasp and look around, as if she had forgotten where she was. But as we turned around to say thank you to this man, he had vanished just like that, with a piece of parchment on the cement ground, reading:

"May we meet again, Witches and Wizards. Don't forget."