It was her father — a doctor by day, a geek by night. From birth, he dreamed about saving lives and that’s exactly what he sought out to do when he entered medical school. She always wondered how he kept himself in check so well. Visits to his office made her privy to his cold-hearted professional side, but when he was home, the man was a different person. A lover of movies, a connoisseur of tabletop games, a traveler at heart. To be able to separate oneself like that, it was a talent that she wanted, and his presence in her life taught her that growing up didn’t have to mean letting go of the things that brought out your inner child. He was her hero.

It was her mother — the hardest worker she had ever known. It was natural that she was closer to her father, because her mother spent almost every waking moment at the hospital. Saving lives was her dream too and she never imagined that fixing people from the inside is how she would accomplish that. But the job took its toll as she spent many hours away from home, hoping desperately that her daughter wouldn’t take that to heart. She didn’t. Instead, all she felt was admiration for the woman. Making her way through the harsh medical field while being a staunch champion for femininity and girlhood was everything for the young girl. She was her hero.

It hurts the most when the people we place on pedestals disappoint us. In real life, heroes don’t wear capes. Last time she checked, neither did they have affairs nor abandon their daughters.

At age five, they'd taken her on the ferry to St. Mawes. A break from the work week was needed, they said. So they booked a room at a hotel on the coastal road and had a very swanky couple of days. She was pampered with food, art, and views. They did nothing but relax, sinking into the fluff of their pillows and watching reruns of each other's favorite shows. But her favorite moment was at the beach. It wasn't as pretty as across the river, and the harbor made things an unsightly as possible, but it was still perfect. She can still remember the squishy feeling of seaweed as she wiggled her toes in the ankle-height water. They flanked her sides, holding her hands and tossing her about from time to time. That life was worth living.

At age seven, they boarded a train to London. It was her dream to see a show by the Royal Ballet. She had two left feet and no musical knowledge, but that style of dance enraptured her. The grand costumes, the stylish tutus. She'd made them buy her fashion to match the aesthetic too. Pretty pink ribbons and flats that she used to try and lift herself en pointe. She watched with a dropped jaw as the story of Don Quixote played out before her and she decided that Kitri was the woman she wanted to be. They joked that they would never let her marry Basilio over Gamache. When it was over, they'd taken her to sit on a bench at the Thames and bought enough ice cream to make them sick. The three of them had gone back to the hotel with sticky hands and stained shirts. That life was worth living.

At age eleven, she locked herself in her room. One of them would come knocking everyday, delivering food and water. She waited until she was alone before opening the door and swiping up the sustenance. A strange man would try to get her attention. He sat outside her door and told her stories of a magical world. She turned the inappropriate music up to pretend that she wasn't taking heed, but she really had her back against the door, listening intently, shocked that this would be her life from then on. But the one person she wanted to see never came. No calls. No contact. Just gone. So she decided she would be gone too. She would kill the bright-eyed, beach-loving side of her. Rip the ballet flats right out of her hands and wrap the ribbons around her neck.

When she finally emerged from her room, she was different. She was rebirthed.

For her, every fact about her life and upbringing seems like it will damage her reputation. She has zero idea why she feels this way, seeing as there’s no good standing in the Hogwarts hierarchy that belongs to her. But every morning, she wakes up with a feeling of dread. Surrounded by roommates whose repute far surpasses hers, she finds herself removing her blankets with a shaky hand, fingers struggling to grip the fabric as she reveals herself. She hopes and prays through the nights that her physical body denotes naught of what she has been through.

The childhood of some others may have been worse than hers, but they were stronger than her. She would never be able to wear her heart on her sleeve like they did. She would never open up to near-strangers like they could. She would never be one of them. And it’s all because of her damned secrets. If only there was someone who could tell her that they didn’t matter. That no part of her history defined her or was even vaguely embarrassing. No person like that would ever exist for her. She would need to make an effort for that to happen, and since isolation is what calls her name, the secrets of her family affairs will continue to compound inside her.

Apparently, she inherited something from her biological father's family. Her great-great-grandfather could see the future. At the time, his family didn't take him seriously, writing his visions off as the mutterings of a man who would forever leave a stain on their pure-blood name. She didn't understand the blood politics of aristocratic pure-blood families in a society so small, but everytime she thought about her connection to her biological father and by extension, that seer, she felt like she had been born with a disease. One that would always be a reminder of the history she would have to carry.

As if the universe was playing tricks on her, her mother's side also came into play. Future-seeing was a recessive gene, she learned. She didn't understand much about genetics, so her biological father stripped it down to simpler terms. Her mother's blood was magic too. She wasn't a witch and couldn't wave a fancy wand to cast spells, but there had to have been some less-than-distant magical ability in her family tree for her daughter to be born with the power of a seer. She tried not to listen in, but she was obviously interested when her mother tried to track where that magic came from. The disappointment she felt from not getting any answers was second only to being the product of an affair.

It was truly her lamentable luck that ensured what would become the biggest part of her identity was given to her by the two people she hated most.

There wasn't a moment since starting school that she didn't give a thought to her family. At breakfast in the Great Hall, she remembered how things got so awkward between her and her mother that they couldn't even share their morning cup of tea together anymore. During her classes, her constant failures were a reminder of how quickly magic had been sprung on her by her biological father. At night, she dreamt of her real father coming to this wretched school to take her back home with him. She wanted to escape them so badly, but they took up every spot in her already destabilizing mind.

On a late winter night, just after Christmas, a brief intermission from the reality of being herself was granted.

It took one girl. One condescending, possibly psychotic brat. All this time, she had been wallowing in self-pity. The idea of doing anything else hadn't shown its face in her head. But this brat was so unlike her in every way, yet they somehow shared a large piece of their foundations. Both affair babies, both angry at their parents, both fishing for attention. She thought she had met her match, but really, that brat was going to be the person who pulled her back to this world. And against everything she had been feeling since starting school, she wanted to be the same for that brat too.

Dear Costanza,

Wise people say things happen for a reason, that if humans turn back time to right their wrongs, they wouldn't be the same person anymore. Struggle is supposed to be a good thing because when one triumphs over it, there is no better feeling. I don't know if I believe that. Merlin, if I could get my hands on one of those time turners, I would have a field day. I always think about what I should have done differently.

I wouldn't be so hard on mum, for one. I would have let go of that crusty old man who used to pose as my father faster. I will always regret keeping Malachi - Dad - at an arm's length for so much of my time at Hogwarts. Embracing him sooner is the biggest change I'd make. And sure, I may not end up as the same person that I am now, but I'd sure as heck be happier during my formative years.

But the harder I think about the possibilities of having a do-over, I always end up at the street sign that tells me to embrace my destiny. The wheels were already in motion before I was born. Little ol’ me is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. You are too. We'll never be able to change what is already set in stone. This means that you have a few hard years ahead of you at Hogwarts, but just trust me when I tell you that you'll be okay.

You were just sorted into Hufflepuff, right? And you think it's completely wrong because that's not who you are anymore? Newsflash: you're just burying your true feelings. But I suppose I'll have to let you figure that out on your own. Good luck, honey badger. Everything will work out in the end.

C.J

Dear Malachi

I should have held your hand from the start. There was no reason for me to be as vile as I was, and even if I didn't like the way you and mum handled things, I should have picked up on what you were trying to do for me. I still don't know how I managed to face those first few years of Hogwarts on my own. It would have been so much easier and less painful if I had just held your damn hand.

And I know you weren't too keen on me either. Only Merlin knows why you stuck around so long. Did you just know that I would get over myself one day? Is that a talent that all adults have, or are you just special? Wait, shush. I can answer that for you. You're special, Dad. Not in the super powerful way, or the cursed way. You're just special to me.

I found my way. Eventually. But I think it was only because of you. If you hadn't been there when I finally decided that I needed you, I would have spiraled so far down my reclusive hole that not even the rare few friends I found along the way could pull me out. But with you there, I knew that I could face any kind of problem my own mind threw at me. I could face the dark void of my thoughts and come out the other side. And it's all because you didn't wait for me to hold your hand. You grabbed mine.

Thank you. I love you.

C.J