The Barrows. Another pureblood family from the long lines of Slytherin ancestry. It's 1991, and Elmira and Clyde Barrows' daughter's first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has arrived.
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"𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝. 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥."
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The air smelled of afternoon showers, with leaden clouds to show it. The fresh smell of green grass filled her senses, and the sweet smell of magnolia trees to compare. The august breeze blew through the gardens, sending chills up Ophelia's spine, flipping through the pages of her new novel, Magical Theory. She admired the leather cover, alongside the inked note written by her tutor, Amelie. It was a birthday present, a textbook needed for the new year at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, the letter of acceptance hadn't come quite yet. It was the start of the end of summer, and she only just turned eleven today. Ophelia hummed a melody as she stared at the beautiful tree above her, laying on her back with the novel strewn across her chest. Happy birthday to her.
"Ophelia? Are you out there?" A voice called. She sat up from the bench, turning her head to see who it was. It was her mother, holding onto the doorframe as she examined the courtyard. Ophelia stood up and smoothed out her skirt, a simple maroon colored dress that stopped just above the knee. She clutched her book to her chest, listening to the low whistle of wind in the trees. Leaves and petals blew by her, creating an almost perfect scene. Primrose Manor, it's white walls and expansive windows, it's intricate friezes and Grecian pillars. It was no secret that the Barrows were rich. Arriving at the doorstep, her mother took Ophelia's hands in hers. She was smiling widely.
"Take a look at the front doorstep." Her mother led her to the front door, a varnished piece of mahogany wood. Ophelia raised an eyebrow before lifting a hand to the golden knob. It squeaked as she turned it, using all of her strength to pull the door open. Nothing was there. She craned her neck around, looking for a person or animal. Anything, really. Finally, she looked down, letting in a little gasp. Laying there on the doormat was a letter. Ophelia knew that crest like the back of her hand.
Hogwarts.
Ophelia squealed, snatching the cream letter from the ground, pushing past her mother in excitement. She walked over to the hall table, sliding open a drawer to reveal a letter opener—a long, silver blade with an elaborate hold, stained with the skin's oils. Lifting the opener to the seal, it slid through with ease, leaving red wax smears on the polished edge. The knife clattered against the table as she set it down.
Turning back around, her parents were holding each other, staring at their come-of-aged daughter. They were smiling wide as Ophelia lifted the flap, unfolding the ivory parchment inside. She let out a squeal and read it aloud.
