"It's here." Dad said.
I looked at daddy and dad in alarm.
"How do you know?" I asked as Daddy went to the tv then pressed a button and the events that transpired on the television set went backwards.
"Hogwarts letters come at eight, Robbie." Daddy said. "Normally."
The thought of holding my very first Wizardly letter tugged at heart strings that I hadn't thought were there. Heart strings that I had only reserved for the saddest of sorrow, such as John Wick's dog Daisy crawling to his side and dying there beside his unconscious figure, such as Blade losing the love of his life in his arms as the sun raised, such as Bilbo leaving with Gandalf on one final journey, such as Old Yeller dying, such as the dying words of a rover by the name of Curiosity, such as the death of Steve Irwin, such as the homage from the Addams Family cartoon movie that showed a hundred years after their conception their healthy, accepting, loving but quite weird family were the same people that I had known growing up--speaking of which.
"Does the Addams Family come out this year?" I asked.
"They do." Dad said. "They do."
"Can we watch The Classic Addams Family after we get my letter?" I asked, once more.
"Sure, Robert." Dad said as he began to grin.
I grinned the hardest that I ever had-- that felt so long ago, the virus came in and neutralized my social life and carried dread in its purest forms in a apartment flat --- that made me feel quite young for a moment.
"Thank you for the hardy breakfast, daddy, dad."
I sped out of my chair then made a bolt for the front door and crashed against it with a loud smack then fell back with a thud. I popped to my feet then swung the door open with a loud thud as my heart was racing in my ear and the idea of my personal adventure going on while Harry Potter grew up following his destiny and getting a certain Hero Complex tallied upon him year by year that passed.
My personal adventure that was made of studying, being stubborn, avoiding Harry Potter's storyline, and being kind following my personal set of rules on welding magic and seeing creatures that were deemed fantasy. My feet were moving as these thoughts crashed upon my mind staring at the owl that rested on the mail box.
Rule 4; avoid Harry Potter's group.
"Mail's in", I could hear Morticia Addam's voice announce in my ears, the sound of Thing creaking open the lid, and paper being shuffled out of the envelope--Wait, could there be a distinctive possibility that there exists a THING in Harry Potter? The Thing! The THING Addams? I mean, Thing was weird and the feat of magic. But Cloverfield Paradox makes it seem that Thing wasn't a feat of magic but a feat of science.
I was engrossed in my thoughts when I hit the mailbox and landed with a thud to the ground. I heard the laughter of my parents loudly behind me, cackling, hollering, the giggling, the full nine yards. They were weird but that's my kind of weird. I started to laugh as I slid myself up and laughed. I rubbed my forehead then looked on toward the owl and slid my hand into my pocket seeking for a iphone--only I felt something else. I turned toward my parents and they beckoned me on. They always had my back; no matter which life.
I turned my attention away then took out the rounded small material and held my hand out for the owl to have. The owl tilted their head at me with small hoots then reached a claw out and waved the letter in its beak. I smiled, reaching my hand out for the envelope, slightly whispering, "Trade?" while praying to myself: For Allah's sake, don't be a creepy Jumanji bird. I recalled how Aslan from Narnia regarded the strange people of Narnia as that of people despite being animals and how they were like people. I must look terrified, tense, and afraid. I gulped down my fear of being attacked by the creature and waited for the owl to make the first move.
The owl clumped on to the handful of treats with a long talon then with no resistance at all, I yanked the Hogwarts letter out of the beak. I turned around then carefully began to slip the envelope open with my long pinkie finger then shifted the folded letter out of the envelope setting it on the post alongside me. With care, I opened the letter and discovered to my great horror; it were all in cursive.
"Ah! I CAN'T READ MY LETTER! IT'S ALL IN CURSIVE!"
My parents were cackling loudly as I fell down to my knees.
"MY WEAKNESS! MY GREAT WEAKNESS!" I shook my fists at the sky. "Why does Allah hate me so? MY WEAAAAKNESS!!! MY UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLTTIIIMAAAAAATE WEAAAAAAAAAAAAAKNESSSSSSSSSSSS!"
My parents were now silently laughing as they leaned against the door frame of the house.
"WhyYYYYYYYYYY Allah! Whhhhhhhhhhhhhyy?"
What did I do that deserved this amazing moment in my life? This poetic justice? The cinema? The tragedy?
"Robbie," Daddy said as he approached me with his face red and tears were still coming down his face as he was almost out of breath. "I---"
Daddy paused, his hands on his knees, with a silent laugh as I stared up toward him watching him fall back on to the pavement then smack his hands on the ground being wrecked by laughter.
"I'll read it, Robert." Dad said.
Dad took the letter from me.
Robert Noori
The room in the tower of the cottage.
78947 C, Old Drive.
Maryweather, Scotland.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly." Dad began. "Headmaster; Albus Dumbledore."
I was hit by a memory of the last film featuring Snape and the headmaster. The very few minutes where I lost my respect and admiration for the wizard I once compared to Gandalf and started to respect Snape a little more than I had in over a decade. I remembered with such sharp memory how Dumbledore referred to Harry. The very few minutes that stunned me and hurt as I realized what Dumbledore had been doing to the boy his entire life; Harry was manipulated and groomed to be someone who would lay down their life. He wasn't given a choice. It was thrust on him as a child for Allah's sake!
I remembered all the scenes before that of Dumbledore speaking at Sirius Black's trial and sending him to Azkaban where he spent the next twelve years and became a literal gif about waiting. I could feel myself trembling as my hands curled into fists. A man had made a mistake and he let the professor send him away to Azkaban for certain Death to relive the worst moments of his life over and over and over -- a innocent man--- mad with grief, despair, and regret losing all the good memories to the Dementors. My sorrow at being unable to read the letter faded as I fought for my control to surface over the tranquil rage and forced myself to become composed.
My fury was at a man who made a child into a martyr and took away what family that would make it easier for the war to be seen through. He alone allowed Sirius to go down that path and he had sent him down that path by injecting doubt into the minds of the Potters, I wouldn't be surprised about that, about him being the secret keeper or Remus being the secret keeper. The Prisoner of Azkaban; the memory of his miserable and unhappy face stung in my mind from his mug shot. How defeated he was after losing Peter because of the full bloody moon! Willing to die by a Dementor's Kiss of Harry hadn't used his patronus---
Rule 5; don't get near Professor Dumbledore as a friend or foe.
Rule 6: Don't get enticed into The Order of the Phoenix.
Rule 7: Don't tell a living soul how I know what I know.
Rule 8: Send some funny pictures to Sirius Black at Azkaban, a teddy bear, something. Something positive.
Dear Mister Noori:
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly. Please find enclosed a list of all necessity books and equipment.
Term begins September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva Mcgonagall
Deputy Headmistress.
At the mention of the most beloved witches in history sending me a acceptance letter that I was a Wizard, I smiled. I felt understaffed, completely ordinary, and less ready to deal with the Wizarding World than how most people given the chance to live in the Wizarding world would. I am sure that the die hard Potter heads-- isn't that what they call themselves? -- wouldn't find themselves ready to faint being in a world that they love. But unlike me, I don't like the future of this world but I have to live with it and make sure that I steer clear of anything that would take my loved ones away from me three decades early.
"Daddy, where do we get the school supplies?"
"Diagon Alley," Daddy said. "John, how about you tell the others that we will be away?"
Daddy had just about stopped laughing.
"I will go about that, Charles." Dad was snickering as he shook his hand. "Just make sure to be safe, will you?"
"If you mean about evading that rotten Malfoy, I am the most expert in it, compared to some people I know who can't evade him." Daddy said.
"Our paths cross at that Dragon show by accident and he throws the first punch when he insults our Dragon Hatchery." Dad grumbled, folding his arms, scowling. "Just because we take eggs from abusive and neglectful owners with dragons that weren't raised right doesn't mean we are going to return those eggs to relatives! Can't trust them can't own them can't have surveillance on them twenty-four-seven on the care of those precious eggs! Even if most of those families are pure blooded, it doesn't even MATTER!"
"He isn't even here and you are already arguing with him." Daddy sighed. "Come on, little Muslim Wizard."
He took me by the hand toward the front gate
"For MERLIN'S SAKE, IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER HOW HIGH AND MIGHTY THEY are--"
Daddy halted in his tracks then slid me along his side and smiled looking down upon me.
"Hang on, Robbie. We're taking the short way to the pub." And then, before it clicked in my mind what he meant, the scene around me changed and dad's voice was gone.