The Pencil-Eater-Lady
Only two weeks passed before Maisi decided it was time to take her daughter to a psychologist. She was concerned that her daughter had sunk into a deep depression. Maia hardly spoke, and had said no to every invitation to go out and do something. The weather was beautiful, but Maia had hardly gone out at all. It was late July, and over a month left of the holidays. Her mother worried about what would happen when Maia started her new school that autumn.
The Psychologist’s office smelled slightly old, but not unpleasant. She had shelves lined with small dolls, dollhouse furniture and other trinkets. On the table were pencils, crayons and drawing paper, and it would have been a very pleasant room, thought Maia, had it not been for the fact that she was there because her mother appeared to consider her insane.
The Psychologist herself had a very high, childish voice, like a little girl. When Maia entered, she greeted her in her squeaky voice and bid her sit down on the sofa. She went over to the cupboard in the corner and pulled out a pad of drawing paper.
“This is for you, Maia,” she said sweetly. “You can draw whatever you want in this. Just draw what you think about during our sessions!”
As the Psychologist started talking, Maia only half listened and replied with a nod or a grunt when she asked her questions. While the Psychologist spoke to her and her mother, a green face began to form on the paper. It had red eyes and a round mouth, with very sharp teeth in it. It turned out to be a woman.
“Now, what is this you have drawn?” asked the Psychologist, looking down at the paper. “Who is that, Maia?”
Maia groaned inwardly at the annoying, high-pitched voice. She searched her mind for a suitable name for this character. After a moment, she replied, “It’s the Pencil-Eater.”
“Pencil-Eater?” the Psychologist repeated.
“Yeah,” said Maia. “Whenever you find your pencil is missing, it’s ’cause the Pencil-Eater came and ate it. She really hates pencils.”
“I see,” said the Psychologist. “And how did the Pencil-Eater-Lady come to that?”
Maia thought for another moment. “Her father died, and then her mother got another boyfriend, and she got so angry her skin turned green, and she ran away. But mostly she just really hates pencils.”
“So do you think that you have something in common with the Pencil-Eater-Lady?” asked the Psychologist, studying Maia’s face carefully.
“No,” said Maia.
“Are you angry at your mother for having a different boyfriend now?”
“No, my parents haven’t lived together for years.”
There was a short silence. Maisi looked embarrassed. The Psychologist looked thoughtful. “Why did you draw the Pencil-Eater-Lady?” she asked in the end.
“No reason,” said Maia. “I just really hate pencils.” She picked up the one she’d been drawing with and snapped it in half.
It was July thirty-first, a day like any other. Professor Minerva McGonagall was pacing her office thoughtfully. She was a tall, thin woman, with black, greying hair tied back in a tight bun at her neck. She was also the current Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts had always kept an eye on the Muggleborn witches and wizards, as sometimes their parents were hard to convince. Professor Flitwick had just left her office after telling her that he had received reply owls from all the pupils accepted, except one. A certain Maia Artemis Herod had not given so much as a squeak. They knew she had opened and read her letter herself, but no reply had arrived.
This was far more worrying than it would have usually been. Professor McGonagall was aware that this particular pupil’s father had died over the summer, and she was certain that this had something to do with it. All letters sent to Muggleborns had a spell of Instant Belief on them, which had been Professor Flitwick’s idea; in the old days they always sent someone to hand over the letter personally to Muggleborns. The letters also enclosed a map showing the way to The Leaky Cauldron and instructions on how to get into Diagon Alley. The fact that this pupil and her mother had not believed it instantly signified that they were both either in too negative a mindset, or too shocked to believe anything.
The previous Headmasters and mistresses were snoozing gently in their frames as usual. Professor McGonagall walked over to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, her predecessor, and tapped his frame gently. The wizard gave a loud snort and came awake.
“Albus,” said McGonagall.
“Yes?” said Dumbledore, a bemused smile playing around his lips. “How may I help you today, Minerva?”
McGonagall explained the situation. Dumbledore listened and nodded, and when she had finished he drew his fingers through his long silver beard.
“Well,” he said after a while, “I believe it is quite obvious what you must do. It can be dangerous to leave a grief-stricken Muggleborn with magic ability without harnessing her powers and helping her gain control. She could harm both herself and others. You must go and get her.”
“What?” said McGonagall briskly, taken aback. She had only been Headmistress for a couple of years thus far, so this was something she had not had to do before. “Go to her?”
“Yes, Minerva, go there and convince her and her mother.”
Maisi was putting on her earrings when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was probably the neighbour come to watch Maia while she was out, she walked over to the door and opened it. However, it was not the neighbour. The woman in the doorway was tall and thin, and wore large, square glasses. She was wearing a green cloak, and a large, black, pointed hat. Maisi looked her up and down suspiciously.
“Yes?” she said.
“May I please come in?” asked the woman.
Maisi frowned. “Are you selling something? Preaching?”
“No,” said the woman, her expression unreadable. “I just want to come in. It concerns your daughter, Mrs Herod “”
“Beckman,” said Maisi quickly. “I never married.”
The woman blinked. “I am sorry, Madam Beckman. Please, may I come in?”
Maisi stepped back and allowed the woman entrance. “Maia!” she shouted. Then she turned back to the woman. “Now would you like to tell me who you are?” she asked, looking weary.
“In a moment,” replied the woman. She took off her pointy hat, revealing greying, dark hair tied back, and made her way through the hall, past the kitchen and into the living room. Maisi followed, and soon Maia came out of her room. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the woman.
“You would be Maia Artemis Herod, I presume?”
Maia nodded.
“I am Professor Minerva McGonagall,” said the woman. “I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have come here to inform you of exactly what we have to offer.”
Maia’s eyes lit up then, with hope and admiration. “You can do magic?” she asked in a small whisper.
Professor McGonagall looked about to answer, but Maisi intervened.
“Wait a minute!” she said. “That’s the name from that letter! What do you mean, witchcraft? There’s no such thing! It was all a joke! My daughter isn’t going anywhere!”
The professor turned to the hysterical woman. “I assure you, Madam Beckman, that those letters were no joke.” And suddenly there was no professor anymore, but a tabby cat. At that moment Maia’s fat cat, Cassandra, came waddling out of the kitchen and upon seeing the strange cat gave a loud hiss and fled into the bathroom.
The cat turned back into Professor McGonagall again at once. She brushed some dust off her cloak and cleared her throat.
“Yes, as I was saying,” she continued, “this is no joke. You really do have a place at our school, Maia.”
Maisi looked about to say something, but was interrupted before she could even make a sound.
“I also wish to inform you of what a hazard it can be to leave a child with magical tendencies without teaching them properly,” continued McGonagall. “Her powers will only grow stronger, and if she does not learn to harness them, she can become a danger to the magical society.”
“Danger?” Maisi exploded. “You speak of danger? I’ll tell you danger! Taking my innocent child and teaching her the Devil’s work! Teaching her spells and demonic practices and dark magic! A witch? My child?”
“My dear Madam Beckman!” said McGonagall, in a very authoritative voice. “That is quite enough! We do not teach dark magic, nor the devil’s work! Magic has been around since well before any beliefs you may have, and in itself is neither dark nor light. We teach our students to use magic only for good purposes. Madam, the fact is that whether you like it or not, your daughter is a witch. We will do our very best to teach her to handle and control it, and to become a valid part of the magical society of Britain and Ireland.” She turned to Maia, and looked kindly at her. “Maia,” she said. “Do you want to do this? Would you like to be a witch?”
Maia’s heart stopped for a few moments. She looked pleadingly at her mother who looked away and sighed.
“I… yes,” said Maia. “Yes, I do. Mum…”
“Do what you want,” said her mother. There was a pause. “So,” she said to Professor McGonagall, “how do we go about this?”
“I brought another copy of your daughter’s letter,” said the Professor, reaching into her pocket and pulling it out. “There is a school requirement list, a map to Diagon Alley, instructions on how to get there and a train ticket for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on Wednesday first September.”
“And how do we pay for everything?” asked Maisi. “Our economy is moderate at best.”
“We have a fund at Gringotts for students with little money,” said the professor. “You can go there, and they’ll have your daughter’s name down. You’ll get enough money to buy what you need. Bring cash if you need money exchanged. Those pieces of plastic you carry will do you no good at Gringotts.”
Maisi nodded and took the letter.
“Well, I must be on my way,” said McGonagall, donning her hat once more. And then all at once, with a loud cracking noise, she vanished into thin air.