20 July 2003, 8 o'clock in the morning

The dewdrops glistened in the summer heat as Olphie reclined on her home's back stoop, watching her siblings play in the grassy lawn. Her six siblings, Marguerite, 6; Fae and Arnoux, 5; Pascale, 3; Henry, 2; and Eponine, 1; all played happily before her, ignorant to their older sister's dazed expression. Eponine, in particular, was always trying to toddle away, and though Olphie certainly tried to contain her, the child had a mind of her own. She knew that the toddler could not go far; besides, if anything serious were to happen, the smoke wafting from the open window signalled that Thérèse was nearby.

Her parents had birthed all these children, seven in total, and yet Olphie found herself always in charge of them, trapped in the prison that was childcare. She wanted to play, enjoy the holidays with her friends, especially since the early hour and fresh rain had temporarily fought off the always-encroaching summer heat. At the very least, Olphie wished she was still in bed, without the responsibilities that her parents had bestowed upon her as they shook her awake that morning.

"Just a few hours, dear," her mother had promised, "Henry was crying all night, kept your father and me up with the summer cold. Poor baby, he's been feeling under the weather, you know..."

They seem to have forgotten the fact, Olphie thought stubbornly as she watched the twins engage in a small tussle, that seven children living in such a small home resulted in more awoken bodies than just the two-year-old's primary caregiver. Olphie had heard the wails from the babies' room through the paper thin walls as she had squeezed her flat pillow in failed attempts to suffocate the noise. And yet, a child could bounce back, her parents reasoned, especially one who was on summer holidays, as she did not have a job or bills to pay.

Her body said otherwise, she knew, as she blinked back feelings of tiredness that lingered in the early-morning sun. She shared a room with her eldest two sisters - the babies still lived together - and she knew that youthful ignorance had allowed them to ignore the jolting cries. Olphie wondered if she the loss of the childlike innocence her siblings still had was a direct reason for why she had not been immune to the cries. Her parents had been putting increasing responsibility on her as they'd expanded their family; she'd proven herself to be a competent caregiver, and it was "only fair," Victor had reasoned, that the eldest help out around the house through babysitting, cleaning, and cooking simple meals. Olphie hadn't asked for this, was quite honestly overwhelmed with watching her six siblings for hours alone, but she didn't know otherwise, didn't know that she should have ways out. It was just what was right, she'd been told, and that was all she knew.

Olphie knew what Thérèse was doing inside, and she was envious as she heard the clatter of a radio jingle accompany the ambiance of smokey delight. Olphie craved the addictive substance, though she had never smoked one herself; cigarettes simply implied a peaceful freedom that was lacking in the child's life. Thérèse was paging a magazine, decompressing from a long night, and yet Olphie knew that the eleven-year-old would still be asked to clean the bathrooms later that day.

An unfamiliar knock stirred the chubby brunette's mind into thought as she proceeded to hear her mother's footsteps recede into the front hall. It was a Sunday, the quiet day of the weekend, and they hadn't been expecting any visitors - Olphie knew, or else she would be rotating between laundry and folding to prepare for whatever beloved guest was expected to arrive. Perking her neck up in pure curiosity, Olphie attempted to listen through the open window to discover who could possibly be calling at this hour. The mumbled voices would be indecipherable, especially since the twins' argument had turned rambunctious, until Olphie heard her mother call out, "Victor?"

It wasn't uncommon for her father to be involved in strange, unsuspecting calls, but Olphie sensed this was an atypical visit. She knew that if she didn't eavesdrop properly she'd never know, but Eponine was escaping again, while Henry began throwing a temper tantrum over God knows what. Responsibilities outweighed any childlike curiosity.

Instead, she busied herself in her siblings' issues, even attempting to break up Fae and Arnoux's squabble, since it was getting a tad too violent for the younger children. Pascale had stubbed his toe, too, it seemed the problems were neverending with this bunch, and Olphie was dazedly kissing it better as she heard a voice come from the stoop she had once been half-asleep on.

"Olphie, dear?" Victor asked nervously to his eldest daughter. The eldest child finished her kiss, then turned to her father only to discover that not only was Thérèse beside him, but another, funny-looking man in addition. He wore heavy green robes, indecorous for London's summer heat, and a pointed hat that contained more stars than the eleven-year-old could even begin to count. Olphie's father noticed that his daughter's eyes were focused on the stranger, then continued with his statement, explaining, "Ah...yes, er - this is Mr. Higgensworth, dear...a, uh. Well-"

"I'm a messenger from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Miss Bercegeay," Higgenswealthy interjected, not unkindly, as he took over for the baffled man.

"The - wha- ?" Her siblings played around her, uninterested in the stranger, since he did not seem to want to play with them. Olphie blinked. Certainly this was a dream; he didn't just say witchcraft, did he? Surely he didn't; witchcraft wasn't real. She had heard, learned about all those false accusations in school!

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Miss Bercegeay," the middle-aged man repeated, though slower this time. "We are the British wizarding school, one of many throughout the world, established to educate and cultivate young witches and wizards. Do you still follow?"

Exhaustion overrode any sense of reason, as the words tumbled out before she could stop them: "Yes."

Wiggleworth continued: "Now, I've already explained all the technicalities to your parents, Miss Bercegeay, but I know this may come as a shock. Have you ever noticed anything different about you? Something happen that you just couldn't explain?"

Of course she had, she had always wondered how it had happened, but part of her success in watching her siblings had been from strange coincidences. It was otherwise impossible for such a young child to be responsible for that many bodies. Once, when it had just been six-year-old Olphie responsible for one-year-old Marguerite, the toddler had wandered, curiously, to a large hole in their backyard. Olphie had been messing around with the dirt, like any child her age would, when she turned around to notice that Marguerite was about to tumble, headfirst to injury. Olphie had raced towards her, but when she blinked, her sister was toddling happily away, as though she wasn't supposed to be in the midst of a head injury. The instance had bewildered her, but she had just decided that it had all been a figment of her imagination. Many more strange things would occur, nearly all of them dealing with protecting her siblings, that Olphie just could not decipher how it had been possible. Yet, she had never told her parents because she knew they couldn't deal with their eldest being crazy, especially when they had so much else on their plates. They depended on Olphie, needed her, in order to keep the household running smoothly.

She sensed her parents' eyes on her while she raced through the other times that life that the impossible became probable. Olphie was self-conscious, still uncertain that this was real, wondering if her parents had found out her secret ailment of insanity and were playing this joke on her to send her away. But who would watch the children?

Minutes past before she dared to confirm. "Yes," Olphie breathed, nearly inaudibly, as she stole a glance at her parents. They looked confused, maybe even frightened. It didn't appear that they were playing a joke.

Wiggleworm nodded, then elaborated simply, "These occurrences are all magic. There's a lot of us, some descending from magical families, others much like yourself, with traces of magical blood that come from a distant ancestor. Your name has been down in our records since you were born, Miss Bercegeay, awaiting the day that you turned eleven so that you could hone this magical ability that is in your blood. For when you turn eleven, you can go to Hogwarts, the finest school a young witch like yourself could go to. You and your peers will spend seven years together, learning all that you can about magic. Like I've said, I've told your parents all the details, but you understand, Miss Bercegeay?"

Olphie nodded, wondering if her mother's cigarette fumes had gotten to her, then, since this didn't seem to actually be a dream. It all made sense, but still. Why her? Why had she become this special magical child, when they could have picked someone better? Marguerite was young, yes, but she was quite talented at school; Pascale could spell some impressive words. Olphie was just...Olphie, there to make sure her siblings didn't break their necks and polish the floors from time to time.

And yet. If this was all true, this was amazing. She could do things that others dreamed about, like make a rabbit appear out of nowhere, read some fortunes, and maybe, if she was lucky, fly. The world seemed within her reach once more; she'd be able to meet people like her, people who maybe had large families and never knew magic and did things that made them feel weird. The idea felt like a warm blanket, comforting her in ways she couldn't yet put to words. But if this was all real, she needed one final confirmation: "So- So my parents know the rest, you said?"

"Yes, Miss Bercegeay," the tall wizard smiled, clearly used to such statements of disbelief. "You'll go to Diagon Alley to get your things - you'll need a wand and textbooks, of course, along with a few other supplies. Then, on the 1st of September, you'll go to Platform 9 3/4 in Kings Cross to board the train to Hogwarts. I know you will have a lot of questions, but I have provided them means to contact me should I have not explained anything as thoroughly as you'd like."

He turned to Thérèse and Victor, taking off her hat before he made a slight bow. "I'd best get back to Hogwarts," he explained, "I have quite a bit to prepare for the school year. If you need anything, please let me know." He turned to Olphie, and, with a wink, finished by saying, "Miss Bercegeay dear? Welcome to Hogwarts."

The man was escorted out by Victor, and Thérèse simply silently watched her child as she took a drag of the once-forgotten cigarette. When Victor returned, she looked at her husband while Olphie remained silent, though she was brimming with excitement internally. Olphie was about the blurt out some statement of fervor when she was stopped immediately by her mother's sigh, while she murmured, "Well...I suppose she has to go. I just don't know what we're going to do, how we're going to afford someone to watch the children. And, you know, Victor, it really has been quite nice having Olphie do the cleaning and laundry... This won't be easy."

"I know, my love," Victor responded softly to his wife as he pecked her forehead. Both were certainly aware that Olphie could hear, as they spoke softly out of habit rather than attempts to be discrete. Olphie's face fell as he added, "We'll figure it out."

With that, the duo resumed their Sunday morning activities, leaving Olphie once again alone with her siblings. Olphie sunk to the root of the large oak tree in the corner of their yard as she watched Henry toddle over, snot dripping down his face. She wiped it carefully, then said defeatedly, "You hear that, Henry? I'm a witch, and I'm going to Hogwarts."

The two-year-old was unaware of what these words meant, of course, so he simply cooed and wandered away once more. She was excited, but it seemed that she was alone in such excitement. All that mattered to her family was playing, laundry, and who would be watching her younger siblings. Nothing else mattered about her. She was a witch, but she was worth nothing.

As Olphie resumed her title of child herder, a solitary tear dripped down her face with purpose until it made its goal on a piece of grass, concealing itself within the dewy mist.