Bagsy Beetlehorn and the Thorned Gauntlet (The Bagsy Chronicles 1)

The Walnut Wand

Bagsy rarely felt safe. She was terrified of many things; the shadows under her bed, the hooting of owls at night, or even the scent of smoke. She jumped when her sister spoke suddenly from behind her, dropped plates with a clatter when the old wooden steps creaked, and cried out at the moving shapes of swaying trees she mistook for figures. But one thing, above all else, scared Bagsy even more.

She was near positive she was a squib.

The summer sunshine flooded the Beetlehorn family's gargantuan open-plan ground floor, where Bagsy was sitting. Himble and Florentchia Beetlehorn, her parents, were wealthy and had remodelled an old, rickety house in the middle of Aesher Common into a garish modern style, expanding it into a bloated cube. Aesher Common was a vast woodland, and One Aesher Common had the luxury of a mammoth grass lawn and the finest protective charms to keep the creatures of Aesher Common out. The building had become what Bagsy considered an ugly form of minimalism, so empty of personal touch or signs of life it felt like a wax model. It did have some rustic features, like an old wooden staircase, but they were so out of place they felt as if they'd been glued onto the property to add 'character'.

The youngest Beetlehorn, Bagsy, was regarding the living room around her and twiddling her thumbs nervously as she sat; she was waiting for her acceptance letter from Hogwarts. She was a short girl with brown hair in a bob that was so tangled her elder sister, Rebontil 'Bontie' Beetlehorn, often referred to it as a bird's nest. As for Bagsy's face, Bontie said it was reminiscent of a squirrel – especially the chubby cheeks. Bontie was lucky. She'd been born tall and slender, with wavy but neat hair and gorgeous green eyes. When Bagsy retorted that she looked like a stretched-out slug it felt hollow.

Not able to take waiting anymore, Bagsy stood up and began pacing, tapping her fingers together and breathing quickly. Today was the deadline – if she didn't receive an acceptance letter from Hogwarts, she never would, and her fate as a squib would be sealed forever. Her parents would banish her, she worried, and send her to a bog to live the rest of her days as a swamp hag. Only, she'd be a swamp hag with no magic, only mud.

'Do something productive if you're this stressed,' Bontie tutted as she descended the steps to the ground floor and gracefully swept towards the kitchen. Bagsy let out a yelp of surprise – she hadn't heard her sister approach. 'I can hear your fretting from upstairs – it's distracting. Some of us have to work, you know.'

'I do know, Rebontil, you never shut up about your ministry work,' Bagsy shot back in a small voice that failed to convey the snark she'd been hoping for.

Bontie puffed out in indignation regardless. Bagsy knew she hated her full name. 'The work I do is more important than you could ever understand, Bagsyllia. It's only natural I inform others of it.' Turning away from Bagsy, Bontie reached her hand into a slab of magical ice that stood at the corner of the kitchen. An assortment of different meals hovered frozen within, ready to be eaten the second they were pulled free. The ice allowed Bontie's hand to freely travel within it as she selected her favourite food, some cacti spine noodles. 'Now, if you'll excuse me,' she said haughtily, walking up the winding, narrow stairs, 'the ministry needs me to write a report on our rehabilitation of pugwugs in the Midlands.'

Bagsy waited until her sister was out of sight, then started to pace again.

'Try building one of your annoying inventions, if you must,' her sister called in annoyance from above. 'Do as I say, and do something besides worry, and you'll feel better.'

With a sigh of defeat, Bagsy cast a woeful glance out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed no sign of an owl, and trudged up to her room, mumbling in self-pity as she went.

Bontie was gifted. She'd told Bagsy that, as a child, she could double the size of the cake slices Himble and Florentchia gave her or make the clock hands move to sneak an extra hour of play before bed. Taking inspiration, Bagsy had done the same in her childhood, only she'd had to cut herself an extra-large slice when her parents weren't looking, or construct an extendable wooden stick to push the clock hands around. It hadn't been hard – Mr and Mrs Beetlehorn never paid her much attention. They'd never noticed all the little tricks Bagsy had played using her inventions. They had also failed to notice that Bagsy had yet to produce any kind of magic.