First of all, I'm minding my own business. Eating my own food, drinking my own tea, not really talking to anyone because it's way too early to socialize. Also, I'm busy looking through the career leaflet that my teachers have been showering us seventh years with, even though I've known since the age of three that I've wanted to be a Magizoologist. Magical creatures have always fascinated me, from the time that I could read I surrounded myself with beastiaries in the hopes of learning everything that there was to know about every magical beast that someone could think of. Once I learned that I could make a living out of studying magical creatures, I was hooked for the rest of my life. I went through phases. First, I wanted to discover new creatures, then I wanted to protect them, then I wanted to write about them. Now, I'd be satisfied with any of those options, although there's one in particular that I'm praying for. My dad always told me that it's "dangerous" or "will be fun until you get an arm bitten off." But to be honest, I'd rather be behind the butt of a fire crab than be behind a desk. I don't really know where I would go after Hogwarts if I didn't have Magizoology.
On the subject of places to go, this letter in front of me might determine my future, if not my entire life from this moment on. If the odds are in my favor, I will get exactly what I want. In other words, there's a puzzling letter sitting on top of my now-forgotten career leaflet (which is severely lacking in the "magical beasts" department, might I add).
So here I sit, at the Ravenclaw table with my fellow tired, stressed-out seventh years, wondering who would bother to send me a letter. It's not my mother's handwriting that looks like a cursive rollercoaster that nobody besides me can read. I have no friends outside of Hogwarts. No one in my immediate or extended family would send me a letter unless someone was dead, having a baby, getting married, or all of the above (somehow). And usually, any of that kind of mail would go to my mother, not me. Unless my relatives are too old and confused to tell us apart, which is still a slim possibility. But I really have no clue--so I guess I'd better open this letter. My stomach is churning with dread and excitement.
Even though my brain is screaming at me not to get my hopes up, my imagination is, as always, running wild with fantasies. My Aunt Barbara sending me a letter to tell me that my family is evacuating the country to live as Muggles to escape the war. My Grandpa Bates writing to tell me about an opportunity to serve as a spy to defeat Grindelwald. A letter from the Ministry of Magic chastising me for trying to tame some of the creatures in the Forbidden Forest.
I don't dare to think about the one fantasy that is buzzing around in my head like a billywig.
What if Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw house, really did tell Dumbledore? What if Dumbledore really did tell Newt Scamander about me? What if Newt Scamander really did respond?
I have to keep myself from tearing into the letter. Calm down, Heidi, I think. The letter is addressed in glossy black ink on a completely ordinary envelope. The owl that delivered it was still standing dangerously close to a hot bowl of steaming oatmeal, and I swear that it rolled it eyes at me.
Heidi Ravenclaw
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
No return address.
Before you ask, yes, Ravenclaw is my real last name. I'm directly related to Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the founders of Hogwarts and the brightest witch of all time. And now I begin the perfectly crafted answers to all of your questions.
Q: Did it take long to sort you into Ravenclaw?
A: No. It took less than a second.
Q: Does the Gray Lady talk to you all the time?
A: No. She mostly keeps to herself. At this point, I'm just hoping I don't end up like her!
Q: Are you exactly like Rowena Ravenclaw?
A: On one hand, yes. On the other, no. I'm smart but certainly not a genius. I don't care about my reputation, but I'm fairly well-liked. I'm creative, but I can't seem to sit still or stay inside long enough to actually make anything.
As soon as people hear my last name, their interest in me grows tenfold. I've been asked so many questions over and over again (most notably asking for an explanation on why I refuse to do anything useful with my life), but people often realize pretty quickly that I'm just your average Ravenclaw. In most ways...
I slowly turn the letter over. No seal. My mind leaps to the conclusion that the letter isn't very important. But I shouldn't judge a hippogriff by its feathers. I'm really overthinking this. That's a bad habit of mine. I've always been more cautious than some of my other classmates. For me, the riddles that the eagle knocker gives to grant entry to our dorm take about 10 minutes, because I can't stand to give the wrong answer.
I overthink everything. I overthink the concept of overthinking.
My finger slowly slides across the top of the envelope, slicing it open with a sound like a quill against parchment.
I've built up this entire ordeal and gotten my hopes up way too far. I dared to think about the best possible scenario. I should know that luck isn't usually on my side, especially after what happened last year. I shudder at the thought. Okay, let's get this over with. I need to get back to studying.
By now, my hands are trembling as I slowly slide the slightly yellowed parchment out of it's paper cocoon. It looks singed in one corner, like something burned it or exploded nearby. A thought about one of Newt Scamander's creatures breathing fire while he sits down to write a letter pops into my head before I can stop it. This letter can't possibly be from the Newt Scamander. The Newt Scamander is busy taking care of creatures and writing manuscripts for books and traveling the world and making immense contributions to the field of Magizoology. And what am I busy doing? I'm busy trying to find the perfect oatmeal to cinnamon ratio when a random owl delivering a random letter from a random person (who is most definitely not the Newt Scamander) decides to stop by, which is probably a completely random coincidence that won't make my life different in any way at all. This is not an important letter, Heidi. I'm overthinking this.
I slowly sit the envelope down, holding a thin piece of parchment that is neatly folded into thirds.
"Heidi, are you ever going to open that bloody letter?" Abby, my best friend, exclaims.
"Don't disturb my letter-opening ritual!" I retort with a grin. She goes back to her notes to review. She wants to become a Healer at St. Mungo's, which you'd think would be disastrous, but once you get to know her, you'll find that she is the sweetest, most kind person in the entire world, maybe the entire universe. Her kindness is rivaled only by her sharp-as-a-whip mind. She was a hatstall--almost went to Hufflepuff.
I go back to my letter. My leg is jumping up and down like a peppermint toad being digested.
I unfold the letter.
And promptly decide that I'm dreaming.
I have to be dreaming, because this isn't possible. No way. This doesn't just happen on a normal school day. I can't believe this.
My eyes immediately wandered to the bottom of the piece of parchment to see who it was from. This is perhaps one of the most insane things that has ever happened to me. I have to bite my lip to keep from standing on the table and doing a happy dance. I cannot, however, contain the smile unfolding on my face. After steadying myself and blinking a few times, I shook my head to clear my thoughts one more time so that I can look down at the page and see a signature other than Newt Scamander's.
It doesn't work, and a squeal of happiness escapes my grinning lips.
There's no more uncertainty--I am going to be working with the Newt Scamander after graduation.
Finally!
YOU ARE READING
Of Blessings and Curses
同人小说Heidi Ravenclaw - yes, like Rowena Ravenclaw, the famous telekinetic witch and Hogwarts founder - has been obsessed with magical creatures ever since her birth. All she has ever wanted to do was be a magizoologist, despite her excellent grades. One...
