The Missing Marauder

[ PROLOGUE ]

Leaves crunched under her feet, hair flailing behind her as she flew between the trees. The world was a blur of sounds and colors, her senses on high alert as the adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her whole body throbbed with the rush, but that adrenaline dampened the force of it, easing the pain if only for a moment. She didn't stop running until the sun fell behind the mountains, turning the air cold until the clouds above dropped powdery snow all around her.

She hit the edge of those rugged mountains, finding herself in a cave. She didn't remember starting a fire, but the warmth pierced through the frost that had begun to form on her skin. Her bare feet were raw from her sprinting adventure, but she couldn't feel it. Her mind was filled with fuzz, as if someone had replaced her thoughts with cotton, but she had already regressed into her mind, pulling away from the pain to a time where she didn't have to worry...

She was 11, curled up on the window seat in the living room of her childhood home. The smell of coffee wafted through the air, sizzling echoing through the small abode as her mother cooked breakfast. She could hear her little brother crying, the shrill sound an agonizing touch to what would be a pleasantly cozy environment. Though, her mind was so focused on the book in her hands that the world around her seemed to fade away, blocking out the sounds and smells completely.

The book in question had become her new favorite, Hogwarts: A History. A fiction book on the fictional history of a fictional school known as Hogwarts. It told of moving staircases, of paintings that could talk, of men and women so magically powerful joining together to create a school for those like them to learn, of a dining hall so massive it could fit hundreds of students and room for more, of floating candles and a bewitched ceiling to show what the fictional headmaster wished. She had found it at the train station a week prior, though had read it at least a dozen times out of pure fascination.

The sound of something knocking on glass jerked her out of her reading, making her look up and out of the window. There, sitting on the window sill, was a barn owl. Its wide brown eyes stared at her, though her eyes were focused on the letter tied to its legs. The old-looking parchment had been sealed with dark red wax, brown twine tying it to the owl's leg. She blinked at it for a moment, debating if she were truly seeing this, or simply imagining it, before it gave a hoot, making her jump a little.

This had to be a dream... right? Owls were not daytime creatures, nor were they used as a postal service. She couldn't even think of anywhere that had used such a way of communication. She supposed there was a time when ravens or crows were used, but not owls. Of course, she had to admit that she hardly had contact with the outside world in the first place. For all she knew, there could be a place that did use it, though she couldn't think of a reason why they would contact her. She lived on a family farm in the middle of nowhere with minimal signals on the television and a telephone line that never rang.

She blinked her thoughts away, pausing for a moment before putting her book down and unlatching the window. The owl hooted at her again, offering its leg to her as she opened the window. She carefully untied the letter, looking down at it. She hardly noticed the beautiful bird fly off without a second thought. When she flipped over the envelope, she found, much to her surprise, that it was addressed to her. In fact, whoever had sent it, had sent it directly to where she had been sitting upon the arrival of the owl.

When she looked up, she found herself mildly disappointed by the fact that the owl had already left, but found her interest back on the envelope. She ripped it open, pulling out a letter and unfolding what seemed aged parchment. The smell of it hit her nose and she had the sudden bliss of taking a whiff of a brand new book, but shook it off to read the letter.