She woke early in the morning. The first sunbeams filtered through her bedroom curtains, illuminating the wooden floor. They stretched further, reaching her as she lay in bed, tickling her closed eyelids awake. Birds could be heard even through the closed windows, chirping as they anxiously awaited the migration season, their songs bringing Dominica’s ears to life. Somewhere on the first floor of the manor, she heard the clattering of porcelain and glass; it must have been past seven in the morning, which would explain the sounds of the maids already at work. Stretching her arms out from under the sheets, she felt a cold gust of air hit her skin and quickly pulled her hand back under.

She had slept as always – unquiet, unrestful, full of fitful and disturbed awakenings. One would at least hope to rest before one’s first day of school, with the stress of getting to the Hogwarts Express and the Sorting Ceremony ahead; it all needed to be faced with a well-prepared attitude. But it seemed the nightmares did not go easy on the girl, as she had jumped in her bed, awakened by a vivid dream, sweat dripping down her forehead and her breathing coming in ragged gasps. Still, she did not give in to her tiredness. With her lips pressed together in determination, she sat up in bed, slipped on her slippers, and stood, making her way across the room.

Although her room was as neat and tidy as always, with everything in its place, all belongings organised, and no dust or dirt, one thing was different. At the far end of the room, in the very corner, stood a large brown trunk, tightly packed. On top of it lay a pile of neatly arranged and smoothed clothes, ready for her to put on. Beside the trunk was an elegant satchel with the owner’s name etched into its metal clasp, containing the girl’s essential belongings. She approached the collection and, with great care, took the pile of clothes, carrying it with her to her bedroom’s bathroom.

Forty minutes passed; the clock struck eight o’clock, and she walked out of the bathroom, her pyjamas neatly folded under her arm, and the previously seen clothes – white tights, black straight-cut skirt, and a buttoned-up grey cardigan – on. Her hair fell elegantly on her shoulders, having been brushed back and tied with a navy blue ribbon. She put her pyjamas away in her closet and, just before heading downstairs, took a book from her bookshelf. She made her way down the stairs, the smell of coffee and toast reaching her. The maid knew her all too well, she thought, taking a sharp left turn on the first floor.

She confidently made her way to the dining room. On the long, stretched wooden table, draped in a white cloth, lay an arrangement of sourdough toast, honey, butter, and berries, along with a teapot that she knew contained coffee, and a small porcelain teacup. Dominica sat in one of the corner chairs, not quite at the end of the table, where a plate had been set for her, and reached for a piece of toast. She spread a generous amount of butter on it, then honey, and finally sprinkled a few raspberries and blueberries on top. She poured some warm black coffee into the teacup and placed it beside her plate. She opened her book, laid it beside her, and, while reading, began to eat the toast.

After filling her stomach with quality food and a warm, comforting drink, she made her way out, book in hand, leaving the dishes for the maids to clean. She still had time before their departure for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, so she snuggled up in her favourite place of all – the Johnson library – in a corner that was always in darkness, whether it was morning or evening. It was a dark velvet armchair, to the right of which stood a tall arched floor lamp that bathed the little corner in a warm, cosy light. On the left stood Dominica’s personal little bookshelf, where she had gathered her favourite books. Looking along the spines, you would see names such as Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker, and Oscar Wilde, along with other prominent authors of gothic literature. She made herself comfortable and immersed herself in her latest read, the book she had brought along.

Deeply engrossed in her book, she lost track of time. The next thing she heard, which pulled her back into the real world and away from the book’s fantasy, was the strict voice of a maid at the library’s entrance. ‘Dominica, are you here, child?’ called the deep, raspy voice of the old woman. Dominica scrambled to her feet, the day’s plans returning to her mind. The last thing she wanted was to be late for the train and have to find another way to get to Hogwarts. She hurried to the door and, with a cold, annoyed glance at the maid, walked past her.

A butler had already brought her trunk and satchel to the first floor, where they waited for her. Her father stood by the door in his bathrobe, a coffee cup in his hands, his hair dishevelled and his face puffy from a long night’s sleep. She had expected nothing more; he had “lacked the time” in his schedule, deciding not to accompany his only daughter to the train station. She murmured a good morning to him as the butler held out her coat for her to slip into. Carefully placing her book on top of her satchel, she put her arms into the coat, then buttoned it up, pretending to be interested in the buttons instead of looking up at her father. She then wrapped a thin scarf around her neck and bent down to take her book and drape the satchel over her shoulder. With her belongings in order, the butler holding her trunk behind her, she turned to her father.

‘Do good for me, will you?’ he said in a cold, bland tone. Dominica nodded. ‘I will. Until Christmas,’ she murmured, before awkwardly making her way past him and outside. Sometimes she became lost between wanting to show him affection and fearing she had not yet earned it. Even now that she had been accepted into her dream school, he would not even properly look her in the eyes, let alone escort her to the car.

Dominica got into the back seat of her family’s black SUV, clutching her book. The butler stacked her luggage in the car boot and closed it with a thud. The driver, who had been standing beside the vehicle smoking a cigarette and puffing smoke into the fresh morning air, took this as a sign; he flicked the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with his foot. He got into the car and started it, then, with a steady, smooth turn of the wheel, began slowly pulling out of the driveway. The girl kept her head turned towards the window, looking out at the trees as they drove through the woods. She did not bother to look back at the manor, not even before a whole semester away. She knew very well that no one would be standing outside the door, waving or missing her. Still, sometimes she wished someone would.