This is the Story of How I Came to Understand Magic - Elle, age 12
This is the story of how I came to understand magic, the dangers of being magical, and how we can get acceptance for the magical community
By Elle, age 12
I was ten when I saw the first signs of magic in my small town. I was lying in my bed, falling asleep to the pitter patter of the rain on the roof and on my windows. I was huddled under a single quilt that my grandmother had sewn me, and my dog Luna (I named her after Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter because Harry Potter is undoubtedly the best book ever to have graced this Earth) laid next to me, her head pressed against my side, gently snoring.
I was in that state midway between sleep and consciousness and the lines were all blurred. I couldn’t quite reach either realm - the sleeping or the awake. Then, I heard a rumble like thunder in the distance. The sun lit up the horizon, though the sun had set only a few hours ago and the rain stopped. Pink, red, orange, gold and purple streaked the sky, lighting up clouds. The whole scene would be beautiful, if it weren’t for the fact that it was strange. And strange wasn’t good in my town. Strange was dangerous.
Stars streaked across the sky, golden white balls of flame flying across the sky to meet the sun. It was as if the world was spinning and my eyes were watering so that it looked as if the stars had tails. Luna woke. Surprisingly, she didn’t bark. She looked very serene and sat so still, so calm, I thought she might be paralyzed. My aunt and uncle rushed into the room, looking shocked, their hair disheveled and their bathrobes tied hastily.
“Elma, stay away from the window,” Aunt Aline said sharply, trying to pull me away.
I wiggled out of her grasp and went back to the window, pressing my face and hands against the cold window covered in droplets of water. The whole scene was blurry and out of place. Then something even stranger happened. I heard music. It sounded close, as though someone was playing right next to me. It was a sad song, one I recognized the farmers singing as they worked.
“The stars shine brighter
When the flames burn higher
And the smoke drifts to the clouds
The sun sleeps better
When the ground is wetter
All around rainfall sounds
The moon smiles wider
When the fires are wilder
All around we gather a crowd.”
It was a song I especially heard when the farmers were having a tough season or there was a drought leeching the land of its nutrients. The voices singing it that night were sad, melancholy. A violin played. That violin has haunted me the years since I heard it. I never did learn where it came from. After the song was over, the sun sunk into the ground, the stars returned to their positions and the rain continued.
My aunt rushed over to me and hugged me tight, still staring out the window.
I later found out that that occurrence was a ritual for when someone in the magic community died. I found that out after I began playing with fire myself - literally and figuratively. If anyone knew I was magical, I would be hunted. I would be killed. People where I live aren’t understanding. They fear what they don’t know; they fear what they don’t have. To quote Albus Dumbledore (very wise man he is): “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
I knew people who have been killed due to the ignorance of others. At this moment I am reading the last letter sent to me by my dear friend, who practiced an interesting magic that I have never quite been able to grasp (soul magic - the title should speak for itself.) As a tear runs down my face and onto the paper, I understand what I must do to avenge the lost. I must tell their stories and make sure history never repeats itself. I must never, however, sink to the level of inflicting harm upon others who are entitled to their beliefs (as long as it doesn’t hurt an innocent person based on something such as religion, race or sexuality.)
So I leave you with one last Albus Dumbledore quote: “We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.”