Anne was elbow deep in dishwater, working her way through the pile of dirty pots and plates that had piled up through the week, when the click of the letterbox and flutter of paper announced the arrival of the post. Wearily she reached for the towel to dry her hands, but before she finished she heard the pounding of Sophie’s feet as she flew down the stairs.

“I’ll get it, Mum,� she called, slithering to a stop by the door and scooping up the pile of assorted papers. “Did it come, did it… Ooh, here it is! I’ll be in my bedroom, Mum!� Clutching the latest issue of Teenybopper magazine to her heart, she shoved the rest of the stack at Anne, dropping half of them, before she dashed away. Sighing, Anne scooped up the fallen letters.

“Wait, Sophie, this one’s for you, too.� Impatiently Sophie backtracked, snatched the thick yellow envelope from her mother’s hand, and raced up the stairs.

Anne rifled through the mail as she walked to the kitchen table. Bills, bills, junk mail, bills… how long had it been since the post had brought her anything which could inspire the sort of delight that now filled Sophie? She could hear her on the phone with her friend. “…look at the picture on page 16, can you believe how cute he is…�

Only eleven, in such a hurry to grow up, yet still such a child. Heaven knew she’d had enough trouble with that girl to turn her hair prematurely grey. Sophie was sweet, and good-natured, and yet somehow things always managed to go wrong around her. Anne leafed through the advertisements and credit card offers. If she hadn’t known better, it was almost enough to make her believe the old stories of poltergeists.

Her fingers paused at a thick yellow parchment envelope. A wedding invitation? Who do I know that’s getting married? she wondered. Her name and address were written on the front in elegant green calligraphy. Flipping it over, she stared puzzled for a moment at the purple wax seal, embossed with heraldic animals and a central H. She was just sliding her fingers under the flap to open it, when Sophie spoke.

“Mum…?� She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, torn envelope and letter on the same yellow parchment held out to Anne in her outstretched hand. On her face was an expression of such mingled terror and excitement that Anne’s heart froze, then leapt, pounding, into her throat. She rose and took the letter. Every protective mother instinct was aroused. What on earth could make her daughter look like that?

At first she couldn’t focus on the words, but then they began to register. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…Dear Miss Jones…I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted… Term starts September 1….

“Oh, honey, this must be some sort of joke.� A terribly cruel joke. With mounting anger at whoever had done this, she saw that Sophie had believed, or at least wanted to believe, every word. Not that Anne found it very convincing. Hogwarts, Dumbledore, McGonagall…what ridiculous names the unknown prankster had chosen. Witchcraft and wizardry, indeed! Yet she could still remember herself at eleven, dreaming over tales of fantasy, entranced by the latest otherworldly fiction, magic so possible, just around the next corner….

Sophie’s face had fallen, though she strove to hide from her mother that she had at first taken the letter seriously. “A joke. Yes, of course, I suppose…. It must be.� Momentarily defiant belief flared. “But it says here they sent you a letter, too.�

Anne frowned, and rummaged on the table to find the other letter, which had fallen, forgotten. She broke the seal and pulled out a piece of the same ornate letterhead. She sank into a chair, as Sophie crowded close beside her to read over her shoulder.

Dear Ms. Jones,

Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the oldest and most distinguished magical school in Europe.

Your daughter, Sophie Jones, has been chosen as one of a select few to be offered a place at our highly exclusive institution. Although I realize you have not before now been aware of our existence, I assure you that Hogwarts can provide your daughter with an excellent education in all areas of study, including many not included in conventional schools, but particularly suited to Sophie’s unique talents.

I am sure at this point you must have many questions. I would like to arrange to meet with you in person, in order to discuss the matter in depth. When it is a convenient time for you, simply sign the enclosed request form. Please allow several hours for our meeting.

In anticipation of our imminent conversation,

Albus Dumbledore

The letter was signed in an almost illegible scrawl. Anne dug in the envelope, and extracted a second piece of parchment. Centered on the page was a line of text.

I request a personal conference with Headmaster Dumbledore, to begin immediately.

Below was a blank line, marked Signature.

“Go, on, Mum, sign it.� Sophie was glowing again.

“Oh, Sophie.� Anne could only laugh, ruefully. “I admit, whoever did this was very creative. But really… a school of magic? That’s rather silly, don’t you think?�

Sophie grinned, her normal, mischievous grin. For a moment Anne wondered if she’d written the letters herself. Though it’s not her handwriting. But there was something lurking behind her eyes, an incredulous, breathless joy, that belied her casual manner.

“Yeah, mum, pretty silly. Still, what’s the harm in playing along? Go ahead and sign it.�

Anne ached for her daughter. Oh, to be young enough to believe, even just a little. If she signed the paper, would that delightful light be forever extinguished from Sophie’s eyes when nothing happened? Perhaps if she played the stern mother and refused, Sophie could keep for at least a bit longer the fantasy of what would have followed, if her pen had traced the letters above that invitingly blank line.

“Here, I’ll fetch you a pen.� Sophie dug through a drawer, found a pen, and scribbled on a corner of a piece of junk mail to make sure it wrote. She extended it to Anne, voice light and teasing, but with just enough edge that Anne knew how deadly serious she truly was. “We don’t have anything planned for the afternoon. Now would be a perfect time for a conference.�

Anne closed her eyes for a moment. Better now, she supposed. Sophie would pester her incessantly until she finally gave in and signed the thing. Better get it over with now, when Sophie could spend the afternoon moping in her room, hiding the shame that she had been naïve enough to believe the impossible, and grieving her lost innocence.

And I can hide in my room, and grieve her lost innocence also. Anne took the pen. It would be easier on Sophie if she kept it light, a cheerful game. “Well, I did just straighten the front room this morning, so I can give Headmaster Dumbledore a proper welcome when he comes. Will he fly here on a broom, do you think, or just appear out of thin air?� Laughing, she scrawled her name on the line, ending with an elaborate flourish.

“There, now run along out front to watch for him, and while you’re out there check and see if Mrs….

Knock, knock, knock.

Anne and Sophie looked in unison at the front door, then at each other. Sophie burned with excitement, but a little of the terror had returned. Anne shook her head, bemused. I’m not expecting anyone. Must be one of the neighbors, or a delivery of some sort…

Knock, knock, knock.

“Open it, Mum!� said Sophie.

“Of course.� Anne got to her feet. By the time she reached the door, she had almost succeeded in banishing the haunting feeling of what if….

Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m coming,� she said, annoyed. After pausing to smooth back her hair and brush futilely at the wet spots on her shirt left by the dishwater, she opened the door.

In front of her stood a tall man, dressed in flowing purple robes. His beard and hair were white, and fell almost to his knees. A tall pointed hat rested on his head. His eyes were blue and kindly, and Anne was caught by them, so that even in her shock she could feel the warmth of his smile.

“Ms. Jones, I presume? I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. You requested a meeting, I believe?� He waited expectantly.

“Yes…� Anne stammered. “Um…. Do come in.� Automatically she opened the door wider, and Dumbledore swept past her. She gestured toward the newly cleaned front room, falling back on conventional politeness to cover her confusion. “Have a seat. May I get you some tea?�

“Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.� He seated himself in a comfortable armchair as she went to the fill the kettle.

Away from the influence of those gentle eyes, she took a deep breath and shook her head violently. There is a strange man in an outlandish costume in my house. And I’m fixing him tea.

From the other room, she heard, “Ah, and you must be Sophie. I’m very pleased to meet you.� She whirled around and saw Sophie, who must have run upstairs the moment she had seen who was beyond the door, poised in the doorway of the front room, her hair freshly combed and tied back with a ribbon. Anne moved to stand protectively beside her daughter and glowered at the strange man.

Sophie was bouncing up and down on her toes and grinning at the old man. “I’m honored to meet you, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir,� she said in a rush, then abandoned her effort at politeness. “Will you tell me all about Hogwarts, please, please? Am I really going to learn how to do magic?�

Dumbledore beamed at her. “Presently, my dear, presently. But first I must speak with your mother. Perhaps you might enjoy looking at this while we talk? I believe it will answer some of your questions.� He passed her a brochure. On the cover was a photograph of an imposing castle high on a hill, and the title “An Introduction to Hogwarts� in fancy lettering across the top. Sophie took it, and, clutching it to her heart, retreated upstairs. Anne blinked after her. Had the clouds in the picture really been moving across the sky, and the flag atop the castle snapping in the brisk wind?

This was ridiculous. The joke had gone quite far enough. She rounded on the stranger. “Look, you, I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this, but it’s got to stop. With your letters and your silly outfit you’ve got my daughter all worked up, believing your story.� Suddenly it occurred to Anne that he could be a danger to Sophie. Didn’t strangers sometimes approach young girls, with candy and tales of lost puppies, trying to lure them away? “I think I should call the police.� She backed toward the kitchen and the phone.

“Ms. Jones, your reaction is perfectly understandable. I often encounter it in parents who have had no previous interaction with the magical world. I find it simplest to offer a brief demonstration.� Still smiling pleasantly, he waved his hand at her in a small gesture, and she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

In the kitchen the kettle had just begun to whistle. It flew into the air and swept past Anne’s ear into the front room. Behind it flew a procession of cups, teabags, napkins, sugar bowl, milk, and spoons. The kettle stopped and hovered in midair directly between Anne and Dumbledore. The rest of the items assembled themselves and began brewing two cups of tea. When, unaided by any hands, the tea was ready, a chair sidled around behind Anne and then darted forward, sweeping her off her feet so she landed in it with a startled flop. One cup of tea (one spoonful of sugar, and plenty of milk, just the way she liked it) inserted itself into her hand, while another (two spoonfuls, no milk) presented itself to Dumbledore, who took it and sipped. He had observed the whole proceeding with an air of detached amusement. The kettle sank down onto the coffee table. Dumbledore waved his hand again, and Anne found that she was once again free to move.

Shaking, she brought the cup to her lips and drank a long draught of tea (which was just the perfect temperature). Then she set the cup down on the table beside her, a napkin whisking itself into place underneath it, her trembling hands managing to slop only a little over the side. She buried her head in her hands. “I’m dreaming,� she mumbled. “Or hallucinating.�

Gentle and persistent, and infinitely kind, his voice came. “Difficult as it is for you to believe, what you have seen is very real. It is quite to be expected that such a profound change in your understanding of the world should cause a considerable shock. Take as long as you need to compose yourself.�

Real. She let herself consider it for just a moment. Could the fantastic display she had just witnessed be, not a product of an overwrought or fevered imagination, but real? She was quite unprepared for the intensity of desire that gripped her. Long, long ago she had given up the last lingering traces of hope that that kind of magic might really exist. She had contented herself with the real but everyday magic of love, of conception and birth and growth, even in its own way of death. She had thought it was enough.

Now here was evidence, if she was willing to accept it, that an entirely different magic truly existed. She took her hands from her face and straightened with a deep breath. Deliberately, she picked up her teacup and drank again. Looking at Dumbledore, she released the cup. Smiling, he nodded at it, and it floated gently down to the table. She took another deep breath, and gripped the arms of her chair till her knuckles turned white.

“Tell me. Tell me everything.�

Gravely, Dumbledore leaned forward. “Alongside the world you are familiar with exists another world, made up of those of us who are gifted with magical abilities. We live among you, for the most part, but we are always careful that you never learn of our existence. There are some places however, that we conceal from you, where we may live openly. Hogwarts is one of those places. It is where all young wizards and witches in Britain come to be trained in the responsible use of their powers. Both those born to wizard parents, and those born to non-magical parents. Like your Sophie.�

“Sophie. So you say she has… powers. She can do magic.�

Dumbledore nodded. “Have you ever noticed strange things occurring when she is near, particularly when she is frightened or upset?�

Anne remembered. The dog that had come up beside them where they sat on the park bench and barked, waking the sleeping baby in her arms. She had convinced herself she had not really seen the huge German Shepherd, that it had always been the small terrier that ran away, yelping. The bathtub that would never stay full, though the plumber could find no leaks, when Sophie went through a stage of hating baths. The boy whose childish taunts had troubled Sophie so, until he came down with that mysterious disease with the purple spots. A hundred other incidents, large and small. “That… that was magic?�

“In the young, magical abilities escape in undisciplined and unpredictable fashion. Reportedly – although I do not remember this – when I was a child my mother had to be particularly careful if she wished to serve beets. Apparently if any touched my plate they would swell up and explode in her face.�

Anne laughed along with Dumbledore. He seemed so normal, and the things he talked about seemed so natural. Of course she should have known magic existed all along. It felt so simple.

“When Sophie comes to Hogwarts, she will be trained in the deliberate and controlled use of her magic. Let me show you.�

He produced a brochure like the one he had given to Sophie. The clouds and the flag did move, she saw. He flipped it opened, displaying more pictures. Here a group of children in black robes waved wands, practicing over and over until the feathers in front of them rose into the air. Here a cluster of older children gathered around a robed teacher who pointed out the anatomy of a gracefully prancing unicorn. Another picture showed two brightly robed teams flying on brooms around a stadium, tossing balls back and forth. And here were four long tables full of students, eating and silently chatting with each other in a room where candles floated in midair.

“You want Sophie to go off here…. I never considered sending her off to boarding school, you know. What would happen to her, if she didn’t go?�

“If magic is not trained and brought to conscious mastery, in time it will fade. By the time she reached adulthood, it would be gone past any recovery.�

No. She could not do that to Sophie. Sophie had the chance to enter this wondrous, fantastical world, and she could not take that away. She bent over the brochure, and tears slipped from her eyes, splashing on the moving pictures and blurring them.

“Ms. Jones…�

“Where was my letter?� she whispered. She turned watery eyes to him. “When I was eleven, and wanted so much to believe in magic. Why didn’t I get a letter?�

His voice was ruthless, yet held great depths of compassion. “Magical abilities are innate in those that possess them. Either one is born with them, like Sophie… or one is not.�

Anne bowed her head. She understood now. Magic did exist, but it was forever barred to her. Like Moses, she was fated to look upon a promised land she would not be allowed to enter.

“Ms. Jones, there are certain choices you must make. As Sophie’s parent, you can of course deny her the opportunity to attend Hogwarts.�

Though her head felt like lead, Anne shook it. “No. I want her to learn, if she can. Though I don’t know if we can afford it – how much will it cost? We haven’t got much.�

“That will be taken care of. No student is turned away for inability to pay.�

“Good.� Anne nodded. “What other choices are there?�

Dumbledore reached out for her hands and took them in his. He looked into her eyes. “It is possible, if you wish it, for me to change your memory. You would not remember this conversation, or anything that has happened today. You would know only that arrangements had been made to send Sophie to a very fine school, and that you were pleased with that decision. Anything magical that you might accidentally witness would slip from your consciousness unnoticed. It might be easier for you that way.�

Easier. It would most certainly be easier. Already she could taste the bitterness that would be hers every day. Could she ever pour tea again without aching for the ability to make the teacups dance?

“I need to think about that. What happens if you don’t - if I choose to remember?�

“You will be required to keep your knowledge secret, of course. It is not safe for us to be known to the Muggle world.�

“Muggle?�

“It is our word for those who have no magic.�

Anne laughed, mirthlessly. “A Muggle. That’s what I am.�

The stairs creaked as Sophie crept down them. “Mum? Can I come down now?�

“Yes, come down. Professor Dumbledore has a lot to tell you.� Anne searched her daughter’s face as she stepped with surprising decorum into the front room. Had it changed since this morning? Could it really be true that her dear, familiar daughter harbored supernatural powers?

“May I go? To Hogwarts? Have you decided?�

“Yes, you can go.� Anne’s heart was heavy.

“Oh, thank you, Mum!� Sophie threw her arms about Anne and hugged her with reckless abandon. She let go and jumped with excitement around the room. Seeing the brochure, she scooped it up and waved it at Anne.

“Did you see the pictures? Did you see them move? They’ve got brooms that fly! Will I learn to fly on a broom? Is that a unicorn? Will I get to see one?�

“One question at a time, young lady.� Dumbledore gestured her to the seat next to him. “Come over here and I’ll tell you all about Hogwarts. It’s not all fun and games, you know. You’ll be expected to work very hard.�

Anne watched as the old man and the girl bent their heads toward each other in animated discussion. The light in her daughter’s eyes glowed more brightly then she could ever remember. This comes so easily to her. She knew, the moment she read the letter. She was born to it, as I was not.

If she chose to forget, would she ever see that light in Sophie’s eyes again? Even if she did, she would not understand it. There would be a barrier forever between them. They must live in different worlds, but how could there ever be truth between them, if only one of them knew it?

And did she really wish to forget? Though it could never be her world, still she could see it, could visit it. She had seen pictures move and tea brew itself in midair today. What might she see tomorrow? What might Sophie show her, in time? Flying brooms? Unicorns?

Later, when Dumbledore had given Sophie a book with more moving pictures and more information about Hogwarts, Anne drew him aside.

“Will there be many children there from non-magical – Muggle – families?�

“Many. Most these days have some Muggle blood, from one or both parents.�

“Do many of the parents choose to forget?�

“Some. It is harder for some than for others.�

Anne drew a deep breath. “I think I want to remember.�

Dumbledore’s warm blue eyes lit up with his smile. “I hoped you would say that.�

She smiled back, and though the hurt was no less, still she looked to the future with anticipation. “Did I hear you tell Sophie that there’s a street in London where you can buy those things? Where on earth do they hide it?�

She reached out a hand to her teacup, which flew to her grasp, and drank it all, down to the bitter dregs.