Quitting Quidditch | BEING EDITED

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  • Published: 13 Jun 2016
  • Updated: 14 Jul 2016
  • Status: Complete
will ATTEMPT to post edited version by august

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1. .0 | the beginning

I never dreamt of being a witch, but when I, Anna Wilmore, all-A student, received my Hogwarts acceptance letter at age eleven, I almost cried of happiness and maybe a little bit of shock. I’ve always been told that I was blind to things I thought were insignificant, so that’s probably why I never really realized that I was different from other kids. Strange things did happen when I was around, but they’ve always had my entire life, but I just assumed that I was just incredibly lucky that the things that happened, happened. And then I would just forget about it the next day or less.

My first time in Diagon Alley (it was also my first time in Europe) was wonderful although my mom wasn’t there with me. At first it was hard for me to believe that everything that happened to me was because of magic and not luck, but I was immediately convinced when I saw all the magical things in Diagon Alley: the knitting needles that seemed to be making a scarf itself, the strange plant that watered itself using its vines, the kid who looked like he was going to puke after eating a single jelly bean. I later learned that it was a jelly bean from Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

The Wizarding World of the UK was a magnificent place that I never wanted to leave.

At least, that was how it used to be. It used to be a wonderful place back before Professor Dumbledore died. Back before Professor Umbridge came. Back before Cedric Diggory was killed. Back when all seemed safe and nothing chaotic happened.

Except now, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is more powerful than ever. People are dying. Aurors are going missing. More wizards and witches are joining the dark side. Even the American wizards here knew something was going on in Europe.

In the UK Muggle news: a bridge snapping cleanly in half; and a freak, unpredicted hurricane that caused much damage to both people and property. The news articles I read online stated that it all seemed -- inhuman. As if something, or someone, wanted to cause destruction to all people (magical or not.)

Although it would probably be safer for me to stay home in America, I desperately wanted to go to Hogwarts for my fifth year. I barely knew anything that was going on in England because of the ocean that divided the two countries. The only thing I had that would supply me with information was The Quibbler because of Luna Lovegood, also a Ravenclaw, promised to send me a copy every month.

Even the non-British Muggles knew that something was going on in England. Well, at least my mom did, which is why I am in this situation--

“Mom!” I yelled, exasperated, “What do you mean that I’m going to a normal American high school? What about Hogwarts? It’s the safest place there is for me!” Staying in America was probably actually the safest option other than wiping my memory and moving to Australia. I was just being stubborn, and my mom knew, so she just threw the latest copy of The Quibbler that probably arrived that morning at me. My mom then left my room.

I huffed, threw myself on my bed, and stared at the front cover of the magazine. SEVERUS SNAPE IS THE NEW HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS? Next to the heading was a picture of Professor Snape, oily hair and all. I face-planted into a pillow and groaned. Everyone knew that Professor Snape was a death eater and was the one who killed Professor Dumbledore.

Flipping through the rest of the magazine I stopped at an article titled Muggle-Born Registration Commission? I angrily read the article and then crumbled the magazine into a ball. I grabbed my wand off the nightstand, threw the ball into the air and pointed my wand at it.

“Incendio!” The Quibbler burst into flames.

Somewhere downstairs, my mom yelled at me, “Anna, you better not be using magic again! You’re not 17 yet!”

It wasn’t like the Ministry of Magic cared anymore now that it was runned by You-Know-Who. They had more important things to worry about like ways to kill Harry Potter properly or the cheapest nose-jobs.

I groaned some more into my pillow. How was I going to survive the year at an American high school? Without magic? And for the love of Merlin, how was I supposed to survive without Quidditch?

Rolling out of bed, I ran downstairs to make phone calls to some of my friends that I may never see again. At least, alive.

 
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