Most of my life I’ve been running and gliding through this shop. On rainy days I would love to get on the fuzziest socks I owned, got a running start to see how far I could glide on the old, weathered, dark hardwood floors. I’d lose control and crash into the dust coated windows. I would wipe away a thick layer of dust so I could daydream properly through the shops front window.
There was one thing I daydreamed about; it never failed to entertain me. Watching the rain hit against the window pane or watching people stroll along the cobblestone streets I knew so well, my mind would wander to a world where I had a family. I suppose I had one at one point, except I was too young to enjoy the privilege. In the world I spent so much time creating, I gave myself a mother and a father, of course, and a little brother I could tease. We lived in a big house where I had loads of halls to play around in. There was a big dining room table we only used on special occasions like birthdays and holidays.
On any day I would run into the kitchen and my mum would be cooking. She’d let me taste test all of her food and when it was time to go to bed she would play with my hair. Everynight she would tuck me into bed, we’d share our dreams and she’d read me my favourite story, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. She would take the ends of my braids, tickle my face, kiss my nose, and told me she loved me.
I’d play exploding snaps outside while my little brother zipped around on his toy broomstick. My dad would come up behind me and tickle me until I was red in the face and out of breath. He would take me to his work at the Ministry, play dress up with me, and give me countless piggyback rides. Reaching up and lowering me down to his eye level he would tell me how much he loved me; how proud of me he was.
In reality I have no family. I have no mum to kiss me and tell me how much she loved me, no mum to play with my hair. There is no father here to tell me how proud he is of me, no father to carry me over his shoulder when I got hurt. I have no little brother to tease with, no little brother to constantly follow me around and beg me to teach him how to fly. All I have left for a family is my grandfather. Don’t get me wrong, he is the greatest and most selfless person I know, to drop everything and take care of his sick daughters child, but I’d be lying if I said didn’t want a normal family.
Finally after years filled with curiosity, I mustered up enough courage to ask grandpa how I came to be under his care. He sat across from me in his favourite high-backed arm chair whose fabric was wearing away from the use it’s seen over the years. I sat across from him, he looked at me with his misty, watery, pale blue eyes. He didn’t blink, he rarely does. My grandpa has an air about him that he can read even your deepest thoughts. His blue eyes, occupied by his emotionless expression is enough to make anyone uneasy.
After what seemed like days, he sighed and gave me a weak, almost pitiful smile.
“Keller…,” he said breathlessly, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Only it’s just that I wanted to spare you. It’s such a delicate topic that I thought-.”
“Thought what? That I couldn’t handle it? Grandpa you know better than anyone that nothing fazes me,” I said with a smirk.
“Oh dear I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what I’m about to tell you. Next week you are leaving, indeed,” he spoke in a low voice, “yes, for your first year at Hogwarts. It is about time you know. Personally I think you are too young to fully understand…”
“Grandpa please. I am ready to know! I am tired of the mystery!”
“Well if you insist, I suppose you do need to know your family to know yourself. Yes, alright… Would you like some tea?”
He struggled to hoist himself out of the chair. The sound of shuffling of feet eased the tension that filled the flat above the shop. I closed my eyes while waiting for him to come back; my mind wandered. Can this really be that serious? Why is he concerned I can’t handle it? He knows I can handle almost anything.
