I woke up with a sticky, wet face from where I'd been crying, and found that my body was begging for food. Begging, but simultaneously warning me with pangs of nausea that I couldn't eat too much or I'd probably throw it all up. I'd heard of worrying myself sick, but this was the first time I'd ever actually done it; and with the urge to eat and the urge to vomit competing for dominance, I decided to lie there and ignore them both. It took a few minutes for my mind to fully start up, for me to convince myself that all the events of the previous night were real, that Aunt Amanda was a witch, and that no amount of wishing or praying would change things back the way they were.

No, to the way they never were. To the way I had just imagined they'd been. I sat up on the bed, resolving then and there that I would not leave the room all day. As if it wanted to mock me, my belly growled, telling me it would soon be time to use the bathroom.

I also realized that my clothing was filthy from getting knocked over by the dog, that my hair was streaked with mud, and my legs were aching from having run like a maniac. Contrary to what you'd think, this did not weaken my resolve to stay in my room—it made me angry at some undefined Other and that anger strengthened my resolve to stay in my room.

My mind flashed to the ancient telephone on the table beside my bed, and I crawled over to pick it up and call Mum and Dad to come and rescue me. But when I looked, the phone was gone—missing and unplugged from the wall. And in its place sat a small plate of fried fish, rice, and peas beside a mug of pumpkin juice.

 

I blinked. I had locked the door, I knew I had.

 

….Yeah, I locked the door trying to keep out someone who could teleport. It amazed me that she hadn't zapped my brain in the middle of the night. I briefly wondered if the food was poisoned, but my hunger, its flames fanned by the sudden sight of food, overrode everything else and had me scarfing down the cold food. Amazingly, I managed to keep it in my stomach, and felt ever-so-slightly better. As soon as I was done, I started digging through my luggage and found a pair of suitable clothes, changing into them and discarding the muddy ones in the corner of the room. Part of me knew deep down that I'd have to leave the room sooner or later, but instead I sat on the chest at the foot of my bed and began silently sulking, which I continued to do until I heard... whistling. Whistling from right beside me, in fact.

I leaned over the bed and looked down at the floor, where my sketchbook lay, the image of myself as a witch face up—and cocking her head sideways whistling eyes shut tightly—sound coming out of the paper as if the little drawing had lungs. I made funny sound with my mouth, and apparently startled the little drawing, because she jumped with a start and looked up at me, wide-eyed.

“Oh, I thought you'd left the room!� the drawing said.

“H-how are you—talking?� I stammered.

“Good question!� The drawing beamed. “You must have been concentrating pretty hard to make a living sketch without meaning to.�

 

“Living sketch?� I bent over and picked up the sketch book. “That's not possible!�

“Sure it is. What you've done is put a little bit of your heart and soul into me. I don't have much of a brain, but that's okay because I think with yours.�

 

“My... brain?�

“Yup!� the drawing beamed. “By the way, since I'm all your introspective side, you can call me Copi.�

“Copy?� I asked. “What's intropective?�

“Yeah, with an I,� she said, not answering my second question. The little drawing pulled her wand out of her pocket and sat down, her robes spreading out across the imaginary ground line that I hadn't drawn. “Now can I ask you a question, Michelle?�

 

Still only vaguely processing what was happening, I stared at her and just nodded, the centre of my universe having shifted so many parsecs in the past twelve hours that I was just running with whatever weirdness came my way. I sat down and cradled the drawing in my lap.

“Okay,� Copi said. “I want you to really think about this. Has Amanda ever been evil to you?�

I frowned. I wanted to say yes, to say that she had lied to me for twelve years and invited me out on false pretenses, that she was a horrid wicked witch that took me to see movies and saved me from evil dogs and.... And that was why I slowly shook my head 'no'. That dog could have torn my throat out, but it didn't thanks to Amanda.

 

“She hasn't been, ever.�

 

“And you know your parents. You know how they are.� Copi flashed something halfway between a smile and a wince. “They grounded you for a week when they found out you'd been playing Wizards and Warriors with Rupert. Imagine how your Mum and Dad would react if they knew Amanda was a real witch. It's no wonder she kept it a secret, is it?�

 

“What about all those things the preacher said?� I asked, my eyes stinging, even though I was fighting the urge to cry again. “Doesn't that mean Amanda is bad?�

 

“I can't answer that,� Copi said. “Remember, I've got your brain. I don't know any more about the Bible than you do, I'm just trying to be objective. I know all about what they say about magic, but then I wouldn't be here without it. It's hard to be too down on the stuff that gives you life. So I don't know.�

 

I rocked back and forth for a moment, and then shook my head. “I can't,� I said. “I'm afraid. And I can't call Mum and Dad because Amanda took my phone. I can't look at her yet.�

I tossed the sketch book down on the bed and flopped down on it belly-first, pantomiming crying without much in the way of actual tears or actual emotion. I wanted to cry, I wanted to feel the cold comfort that came with it, but instead I just felt.. flat. Uninterested. Unable to work up feeling. So I lay there.

And Copi? She kept whistling. Continuously.

I barked at her to stop; she did for a minute, then started again. So I grabbed a pencil and took the rubber to her head, erasing her mouth. She glared up at me angrily, then crossed her arms and sat down. Brooding.

 

It occurred to me that Copi was a very appropriate name for her.

 

0000

 

I must have fallen asleep, because when I next looked up my neck was aching something awful and it was dark outside my window. I had to pee so bad it felt like there were needles in my bladder, and I was getting hungry again. So I got out of bed and unlocked my door. And I went to the bathroom and washed my hands. And while I was in there, I turned the shower on and rinsed the mud out of my hair because it was getting on my nerves, and after I did that I felt better. Except that feeling better reminded me why I felt bad to begin with, and sent another pang of anxiety through my gut. I clenched my fist and purposed to go back to my room...

And I stopped just outside the bathroom door, staring at the knob.

I really can't explain what I did next. I guess I was just tired of lying around in my room all day. Or maybe I wanted to get it out of the way, because I knew I'd have to do it eventually. I turned right and walked towards the stairs. I walked down them, shocked to find myself in the front room. I heard vegetables being chopped in the kitchen, and I slowly walked in there, not bothering to be quiet. Amanda was standing over a bowl, mixing some off-white substance. To my surprise, the cutting of vegetables was being performed automatically by knives hovering in mid air. I guess she didn't have to do things the mundane way now that the secret was out. I gently pulled out a chair at the small table in the side of her kitchen and sat down. Amanda continued stirring for a moment, until she seemed satisfied, then poured the goo onto a a pan on the hob, making four circles.

Oh, I thought. Pancakes.

 

Amanda picked up a spatula and her magic wand, and said a strange word while waving it. The spatula flew over and started tending the pancakes, while Amanda walked over and pulled a chair out at the table, then sat down. She folded her hands together and sat, not saying anything.

After a moment of silence, I winced. “Amanda... I'm sorry.�

“You have nothing to apologize for,� she said. “I'm the one who screwed up. Mr. Snape insisted that we Apparate to Greenhouse Four, and then insisted on staying longer than I'd expected to examine my dittany. This wouldn't have happened if I didn't allow him to be so overbearing.�

 

“You.... you saved me from that dog, though,� I said, reaching out and putting my hand on hers. “Thanks.�

 

“It was a boggart, actually,� Amanda said with an ambivalent smile. “They're magical creatures that take the form of something you greatly fear. I didn't know you were afraid of dogs.�

 

I glanced to the side and felt kind of embarrassed. “Yeah. Well, just the ones bigger than me.� I stared at her for a moment, and then decided attack the proverbial elephant in the room.

“So how long have you been a witch?� I asked, the word feeling wreched on my tongue. Yet, somewhere it had for me a sense of temptation... of power? Maybe. But maybe it was more like adventure.

 

“I've been certified since I graduated from Hogwarts, Class of 1979.� She frowned. “And I guess I might as well go ahead and get this out: the reason I invited you up here—even though I've wanted to for years and didn't because its so hard to hide the weirdness that goes on around homes of people in the wizarding world—is because Albus Dumbledore asked me to.�

Fear started gnawing at my gut. “Does that mean you want me... to become one of you? To go to Hogwarts?�

Amanda nodded. “Dumbledore hoped that I could convince you. You have a wonderful gift, Michelle, and you need to learn to use it. Especially because it can be horribly destructive if you don't learn how to control your magic.�

I winced. I have magic? I thought of Copi. I have magic!

 

“But how can I do something like that? How can you? You know what the Bible says about witches and sorcerers.� I paused. “Do you even believe in the Bible? Do you worship the devil or Zeus or—?�

 

“Sweetie,� she said, moving her hands from beneath mine and putting it on top, trying to comfort me. I realized that I'd gotten my own heart to start racing. “I'm not a pagan. I'm not worshiping the devil. I'm a Christian, just like you. I know what the Bible says, and I've always wondered about it. But trust me, Michelle: I wouldn't lead you into anything if I thought it would hurt you.�

“But... how can you justify it?�

“Well for one thing, I didn't grow up with people like Olivia and Don in my life. You know I love your parents to death, but they... they act like their church is the mouthpiece of God on earth. And what the Bible says about witchcraft was ages ago. That was the old Jewish law when people were so superstitious. Remember, sweetie, that Jesus changed everything. We live by the law of love now. And trust me when I say this: I don't know anyone who loves his neighbor like Albus Dumbledore. You won't find a better man among wizards or Muggles.�

 

“Muggles?� I arched an eyebrow.

“It's what we call non-magical folk. There's... a great deal of ignorance about the mundane world in the Wizarding community. In some ways, wizards barely know more about Muggles than they do about wizards.�

 

I nodded, then looked down at my feet, my heart and head in a fierce debate, with me not even sure whose side I was on. Finally I looked Amanda in the eyes.

“Okay,� I said. “I'll stay with you. I want to know more. Everything you can teach me. I don't want to decide whether or not I'm going to go to Hogwarts... until I'm sure it's the best thing for me to do.�

Amanda smiled. “Michelle, you're wise beyond your years. You'll make a fantastic Ravenclaw yet.�

I didn't know what a Ravenclaw was, but I smiled, even with the emotions still battling inside me. I didn't know if I was doing the right thing or not, but I knew now what I wanted. I wanted to learn, to be one of the few who knew the cheat codes for the universe. Even if I could never use them, even if I was tempting hell itself. I had to learn.

 

Aunt Amanda and I had pancakes and pumpkin juice for supper, and I lay down that night with a sense of utmost ambivalence. But ambivalence was a step up, as far as I was concerned. Amanda told me I had until August 15th to make my decision. Less than a month, but, perhaps, enough time for me to figure everything out.

The next morning, I apologized to Copi and drew her a new mouth; she still refused to talk to me for a week.