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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf Warlock, Sumpreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss E. Marks

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Eleanora Marks stared at the piece of parchment. School of witchcraft and wizardry? Who had gotten her address? "Mum?" she called from the foyer of their little two-story bungalow.

"Hmmm?"

"I've gotten a funny letter in the mail... some weird school. How d'you think they got my address?" There was no answer. Eleanora padded into the kitchen where Eveline Marks was frying eggs, her long, golden brown waves of hair pulled into a loose knot in the back of her head and her posture slumped with fatigue. "Look at this, Mum." Eveline turned and took the letter. As she scanned it, her eyes grew wider and wider. Her hand moved over her mouth.

"Oh dear." she whispered through her fingers.

Eleanora raised her eyebrows quizzically. "It's just junk mail, really Mum, it's not that big a deal."

Her mother stared at the letter for another silent moment. "It's not junk mail." she said finally.

"Of course it is," said Eleanora.

"Ellie, honey, sit down with me, okay?"

"What's up?" Eleanora sank into a dining room chair.

"I know we don't talk about your father enough."

Eleanora let out a dry laugh. "Why would we want to talk about him?" she spat bitterly. Eleanora's father had disappeared years ago and she was used to hearing her mother's boyfriend talk about him in a spiteful, angry voice as her mother listened in melancholic silence.

"It's important," murmured Eveline, softly. She sat down in a chair next to Eleanora and wiped her hands on her skirt. "He was... did I ever tell you how I met him?"

"No." Eleanora twisted the hem of her shirt between her fingers impatiently. She didn't know what her father had to do with the letter she'd gotten, and she still wasn't fully convinced it wasn't spam.

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