I've no clue how UK addresses work. I chose a postcode at random and added an address to it off the top of my head. Eh... it works.

Chapter Two
Changes


I walked out of my room and into that white hallway again. Past many windows and lovely paintings. Tonight I would be going home for the first time since coming to the fourth floor. I was eleven years old, exactly.


I stopped to look out one of the windows and out to the parking lot. I wasn't sure exactly what I expected to see. No one would be here for a while yet. But I watched the cars anyway, coming and going, with people walking about. Barely half a year, and soon I would be in that parking lot, leaving the fourth floor for the first time. My first visit home.


I was terrified.


But I'd told mom that I wanted to go home. I wanted to swim.


That was before I met William Moore, the boy with the blank eyes and fake smile, who would be dying here. It was before I met Erna Wilson, undecided and full of tears. Before I realized that I didn't have long to make my decision, and I wanted much much longer. Three visits, six months apart, meant I only had another year. Maybe I could fake something. If there was anything wrong, I wouldn't be allowed to go home. I wouldn't have to tell my mother that I didn't want to go home.


Stepping away from the window I sighed and started back for the lounge. I didn't want to worry them either. But then, I had until this evening to think about it. I walked in to only see William. Erna was nowhere in sight. Before I could even ask, William spoke up.


“She wasn't feeling well. The nurse helped her back to her room.”


I could smell cleaner. Strong cleaner. And bleach. Apparently 'not feeling well' was an understatement. I began to walk toward the couch when I heard footsteps running. Was Erna already- I pushed the thought from my mind, not wanting to think it. I turned toward the door as the footsteps grew louder, and the next thing I knew, I was in the arms of someone and he was spinning me around. It took me a moment to realize who he was and what he was shouting.


“You're going to live!” shouted the doctor who was spinning me, the one who had been in my room that first day and left my file behind.


I didn't understand. Had he gone insane? They'd said there was no cure, and no more ways to control it. I was going to die. And here he was swinging me around and telling me I had a way. He finally set me down with a laugh, and an apology on his lips. I didn't really hear it though. Behind the doctor I could see William. He'd turned and was watching us from over the back of the couch. Those blank eyes were filled with emotion... and tears.


~///~


“Your parents will be here soon, but I wanted to give you something before they got here.” The doctor opened a desk drawer and took two things out. One looked like a long stick. The other was an envelope, the paper distinctly not bleached. I took it and read the address.


Angelica Morayne, Room 415
St Evan's Hospital
320 Serende Lane
Bristol BS30 8SG


“Wh- what is this?” I looked up to the doctor, who seemed strangely excited for me to open it. I turned the envelope over to see a wax seal with some sort of emblem. Every so slowly I opened it and pulled out the paper inside. Unsure what else to do, I read it out loud. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...” I glanced up to the doctor, who just grinned back at me and gestured for me to keep reading. Swallowing hard, I did just that. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We wait your owl by no later then July 31.”


“I wish I'd known sooner, Angelica. I mean, I want to help all the patients and all, and there's only so much I can do here, but... By Merlin, Angelica... You're a witch! This changes everything!” He stood and got something that looked like a scroll case. Pulling some paper from it, which also was not bleached, he pulled out a pen and began writing. “I'll write you a referral to St Mungo's right away. They'll have you fixed up in no time, I'm sure!”


I looked at the other piece of paper, that had some very strange things written on it. “Doctor, I appreciate your effort, but... I don't believe in magic.” But even as I said it, I wanted to believe it. My heart was pounding. Told I'm not just going to live, but that I could be cured now. And better, I was a witch. Magic... It was every child's fantasy.


He looked up, still smiling. “Yes, of course. I thought much of the same thing when I got my letter. It's all so unbelievable, isn't it?” He finished writing, folded up the paper, and tucked it away. “Must owl this as soon as I get home.”


“Owl?” I looked back to the letter once more. “It says they await my owl. Even if this is all true, I don't understand it. Awaiting my owl for what? I don't even have an owl.”


“Well, I'll talk with your parents. They should be here any minute.” He continued smiling as though he couldn't help it. I wasn't sure if I was expecting him to hug me again or burst out into laughter at my naiveté. “But so long as they agree, I'll go ahead and send the owl for you.”


I was about to ask for something to say he was telling the truth, but a knock on the door interrupted before I could even start. The doctor stood and walked over to the door, opening it with that same smile. If it was a joke, it was a cruel one on my parents. No doctor would do such a thing, would they? He invited them to sit and returned to his own seat.


“Mr and Mrs Morayne, I've good news.” I could see the hope in their eyes as the doctor spoke. And I hoped, too. Hoped to God that they wouldn't be crushed. “Due to special conditions, I'm able to give your daughter a referral to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”


I could see their confusion and disappointment at the word 'Magical.' Her father frowned.


“Dr Ingham, this really isn't funny...”


The doctor, whose name was apparently Ingham, shook his head. “Hold on a moment.” He picked up the stick he'd taken out before, muttered something, and the tip of the stick lit up. The next thing we all knew, he was writing in midair. Well, drawing, actually. It was a little pointed hat. A wave of the stick and the tip returned to normal. He waved a hand through the drawing and it dispersed.


I sat stunned.


“Mr and Mrs Morayne, I am a wizard. And your daughter has just gotten her invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which means she's a witch as well.” He tucked the stick away, which I assumed was a wand of some sort.


I finally looked elsewhere, and elsewhere happened to be the faces of my parents. It was as though they weren't believing their own senses. My father seemed to come out of shock first. “Doctor... you must be mistaken. I mean, how could our daughter-?”


Ingham shook his head. “We don't know, actually. But it happens sometimes. Muggles- that is, non-magical people every so often will have a child who shows magical promise. Often times they manage to show it, so it's a little more believable for parents, but I can understand if this is a little harder for you than most others.”


He took a pause, pulling out his wand again and conjuring up tea and biscuits, right there before us. I was quite sure that he'd done it just to give us something solid. “Here, have some tea. It should help. Anyway, my bet is because of Angelica's condition, she was too weak to perform magically. Times of high stress or anger never came up because she's spent most of her life dealing with the illness. Even I wouldn't have guessed.”


My father took a biscuit and eyed it. Even as he took a bite, he seemed half expected it'd bite him back. When it didn't, he relaxed a little and took a cup of tea as well. “So, what does this mean for Angelica, Dr Ingham? What can they do for her?”


The doctor smiled, that wonderful smile that was beginning to make my heart melt. “It means, Mr Morayne, that she can finally get the care she really needs. She'll be able to go to the wizarding world for treatment. And even if they can't completely cure her, they'll be able to control it for the rest of her life. Except for perhaps needing to take a potion once or twice a day, she'll be able to grow up as a normal witch. Go to school, perhaps even ride a broom of you'll let her, make friends... Everything she's been unable to do from a hospital bed.”


My mother finally spoke up, sounding nervous. “School... broom... You say she was invited to some school. Does she have to go? I mean, does she have to be a witch for you to...”


He shook his head and my heart sank. “No, she doesn't have to go to the school. Whether she attends Hogwarts or not, she is still a witch because she still has magical potential, and she can still receive care at St Mungo's. But as she gets stronger, her power may present itself more, so it's recommended she attend Hogwarts or at least have a tutor so she can focus the power.”


I couldn't let my mother speak. I couldn't let her say no. “Mom, I want to be a witch! I want to go to Hogwarts! Please!” I begged her, as though my very life depended not on the hospital I was being referred to, but on the school that I'd been invited to. “And I think we owe them anyway, right? If they hadn't sent the letter, we wouldn't have known, and I would still be dying, right?”


My chest hurt and tears burned my eyes. I started having trouble breathing. I must have started looking pale because the doctor rushed over with an oxygen mask and was quickly turning a valve I hadn't even seen near me.


“Breathe,” he said softly. “Please stay calm. We do still need you to make it to St Mungo's.”


I nodded, holding the mask to my face and breathing as they'd taught me so many years ago. But I really wanted this. It wasn't as though I could go back to my old school anyway. Not only did I hardly know anyone, but everyone there only saw me grow weaker. And those who were my friends had long stopped coming to see how I was doing when I was ill. I didn't know if I could look at them again. And being a witch! It just seemed so amazing, she couldn't stand it.


“Alright, Angelica,” I heard my mother's voice saying. Then her voice changed, and I knew she was no longer looking at me. Her next words meant that my father had nodded to her. “What do we do to send our daughter to Hogwarts?”


I managed a glance up from where I was sitting, and that same heart-warming smile was on the doctor's face. “I'll take care of everything. Take Angelica home. A wizard will be by your place to pick up Angelica in the morning. He'll take her to St Mungo's, then Diagon Alley so she can pick up her supplies.”


I'll never forget that smile for my entire life. That wonderful, beautiful, warm smile that told me the choice was over. I was going to live.