Hi there! I'm not an English by blood, but I grew up in Yorkshire after my father decided to move here in England when I was about 8 years of age. As of currently, I am living with my father, a muggle engineer. My mother, a witch, was never introduced to me.

My father never told me about the wizarding world, until I received an acceptance letter from Hogwarts. At first, I thought it was a joke, but my father was quiet when I read to him the letter. Although it sounded unreal to me, he looked shocked. I was expecting him to dismiss it as nothing, but he told me to finish washing my clothes first before he'll tell me something that I needed to know.

After I was done with my chore, I caught him smoking from the porch; he invited me to be beside him nonetheless. He put out his cigarette and turned to me with a serious sigh. I was very nervous.

"How old are you now, Res?" He asked me conversationally, with a casual tone. It was as if he had nothing important to tell me just as he had stressed.

"11," I answered briefly, keeping my eyes on him.

He nodded his head at me, and although his eyes were on mine, his orbs were glassy, distant. "So it's been a decade since," he mumbled. Then his eyes cleared and looked at me, properly this time. "Res, do you remember what I told you, how your mother died?"

I nodded my head, and repeated his words from when I was young: "she died in an accident."

Again, his orbs turned glassy, and they looked as if they were looking through me, not at me. "Indeed," he spoke, and added, "she died in an accident. The woman just wouldn't stop playing with magic."