Chapter Text
It was on the eve of her 11th birthday on August 6th, 1989, when Emily Prentiss got her letter. Perched up on an emerald, green sofa in the left-wing drawing room of the Prentiss Manor, Emily was reading “Goblins and Ghouls” by one Malachi Vaughn Prentiss. It was falling apart at the seams and had been passed down through generations. The story itself was a classic. Millennia’s back, goblins recruited ghouls in the fight against several magical creatures. Ghouls were of course useless in handling weapons, but quite masterful when it came to flinging rocks and generally smelling bad. The goblins felt they had a greater right in the eyes of magical creatures and sought out the undead who wouldn’t rebel. They would barely do anything for that matter. The war was the briefest in the history of magic since the goblins retaliated after a mere 20 minutes of the cold battle, leaving hundreds of ghouls to be slaughtered. The poor bastard’s bodies were quickly discarded of into a mass grave to mask the smell of decay. It wasn’t a very popular story; however, Vaughn Prentiss was an adroit storyteller and made the tragedy into quite the humorous event, effectively coining the name “Mountain of Spew” for the location of the battlefield.
Emily giggled as she read, turning the pages quite carefully. She did this out of love and affection for the book. It could easily be repaired if any serious damage should come to it, but Emily did not yet know such spells and would sooner hide the book than confess to her parents that she had caused harm to the binding. So, she read, slowly and dutifully in the summer light. The windows were open wide, letting the fresh August air in with birdsong and warmth. The sound of soft wings was heard as a barn owl elegantly landed on the back of the sofa with a letter in its mouth. Emily jumped, pulling the book close to her chest for protection. She let out a sigh in relief when the saw it was just an owl.
“Oh God, you scared me half to death, nitwit!” Emily perked up suddenly. “Is that for me?”
She eagerly snatched the letter from the mouth of the owl who scowled in response and proudly flew back out the window.
To: Emily Elizabeth Prentiss
Prentiss Mansion, drawing room
The school logo was stamped in wax on the back and Emily traced a finger along it. Her heart was racing, and September couldn’t come soon enough, she thought. Ripping the letter open, she took out the parchment welcoming her to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry along with a list of supplies she would need for her first day. In neat letters at the bottom of the page it was signed: Headmaster Jason Gideon.
Emily let out a squeal and made to run out of the drawing room. Stopped in her tracks, she realised her parents weren’t home. It was Sunday, but her parents were at a function. For what, Emily never cared to find out. She was usually quite content on her lonesome. Now, she found herself wishing for the first time that her parents were home. She shook off the feeling when she perked up with an idea. The drawing room doors burst open, and young Emily Prentiss ran barefoot out the backdoors of the mansion, beelining across the yard to the far-right corner of the property where the fence was damaged to her parents’ absent-mindedness. She squeezed herself through, accumulating a small tear in her long skirt as she did so, but she didn’t care. Her feet brought her forward at haste though the woods, until she came to a clearing near the water. Here, another mansion came into view. Brighter than the Prentiss’ but equally as luxurious. Emily ran the length of the fence to reach the back entrance.
“Hotch!” she called, flinging the gate open. “Hotch, you loon! I got it!”
Out on the back porch sat a young boy, playing wizards chess against himself. Well-cut black hair was smoothed out and he was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt, tucked into a pair of khaki shorts.
“Of course, you did,” he said, amused. “You’re definitely not a squib from the looks of the china stuck to your ceiling.” Emily had once, in a fit of rage, managed to get the china plates stuck to the dining room ceiling and no matter how hard the house-elves tried, the adhesive of the young girl’s emotional magic was too strong.
“Shut it, Aaron. Just look.” She handed the letter to Hotch, who gave it a glance.
“Looks like mine did.” He handed the paper back to her. Aaron was a year older, and it made all the difference in his mind when it came to the two kids’ friendship.
“If I don’t get sorted into Slytherin, I’m losing my inheritance,” said Emily, grinning. It made no difference to her. The further she was from her parents, the better, but home visits would be excruciating if she wasn’t sorted into the family’s token house.
“Maybe you’ll be in Ravenclaw with me,” Aaron thought, “that might lessen the blow.”
“Yeah, cause your mother’s house is so well liked in the eyes of my dear mother and father,” Emily scoffed.
Aaron Hotchner came from a pureblood family like Emily’s, but on his mother’s side they were all Ravenclaws and on his father’s Slytherins. Purebloods were a dying breed, so the Prentiss’ showed the Hotchner’s respect with a healthy amount of due diligence.
“Looking forward to your birthday tomorrow?” Hotch changed the subject. Emily shook her head.
“We’ll have to sneak out. I’m not talking about my future with a bunch of adults who don’t know me.”
“Your parent’s invite the whole ministry again, huh?”
“Little Prentiss has to have connections.” Emily looked down at her feet. They were all muddy from the run. “I’ve got to head home before my parents get there. Have Sonny run me a bath.” On queue a loud *POP* broke through the air along with a small house-elf.
“Young mistress called?” Sonny asked.
“Yes. Could you possibly run me a bath?” Sonny looked confused at the posed question. Not only because house-elves had to do as their masters said, but Emily hated baths. She hated anything that would please her parents.
“I’s apologise if Sonny’s overstepping, miss, but…” Sonny stopped his train of thought in its tracks as he bowed and saw Emily’s feet. “Of course.” He popped off in an instant as if to make sure Emily couldn’t change her mind. Hotch chuckled.
“Poor Sonny.” Hotch shook his head and went back to his game.
“See you tomorrow, Hotch.” Emily took off with her letter still clutched in her hand.
Emily ran the track home, through the woods and into the Prentiss’ garden. Halfway up the stone steps she paused. There was a muffle from inside. Emily hid by the side of the backdoor and waited patiently for the voices to trail off. They didn’t. Instead, they came closer.
“Emily?” Elizabeth Prentiss’ voice carried out to where Emily was hiding. “Emily? Did you get your letter? The Greenaway’s daughter got hers already?” Mrs. Prentiss groaned. “Is she off at the Hotchner’s again?” but no one responded to Elizabeth. “Marcus? Have you seen Emily?” The voice was dangerously close to the hiding spot now. If Emily made a run for it, she might slip past her mother. She could climb up the vines into her room.
“No, dear.” Mr Prentiss’ voice answered.
Just as Emily made her decision the door flung open. She was halfway into a sprint when she heard her mother’s voice.
“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! What on earth…” Emily stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. Her mother had crossed her arms and was shaking her head.
“I got the letter, mummy.” Emily tried, holding up the now wrinkled and soggy paper from her tight grip and sweaty hands. It did not help the situation. Mrs. Prentiss was fuming.
“Inside. Now.” Emily obliged, but not before her mother grabbed her tightly around the arm.
Once inside, Mrs. Prentiss got a good look at her daughter. Her face was red and glittering with sweat and a few hairs was stuck to it. The rest of the black hair was frizzy and standing on ends. It was nothing once Mrs. Prentiss’ gaze landed on Emily’s feet.
“Your father and I have the whole ministry coming here to celebrate you tomorrow,” This was partially true, only the members of the ministry deemed worthy in the Prentiss’ eyes were given an invitation. “and you can’t behave like a lady for a day. How are we to present you to society when you tear up your clothes and run barefoot wherever you go?”
“You could cancel the party.” Emily tried quietly.
“We are not cancelling. Upstairs. Now. I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the evening.”
Emily walked slowly up the stairs until she was out of her mother’s eye shot. She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door hard behind her. Tears threatened to start streaming down her face, so Emily looked up into the light of the bathroom ceiling. It was then she noticed Sonny. Sonny had been standing on a stool to make sure the bath was hot enough, and nearly tumbled over when Emily burst in. He slowly approached her where she was leaning towards the door.
“It’s fine, Sonny,” she began, but a hot, salty tear was rolling down her cheek. The house-elf reached out his hand and grabbed Emily’s. He gave it a quick squeeze.
“Bath.” he stated with a quiet voice. She nodded, and in the blink of an eye, Sonny was gone.
Jennifer Jareau was looking at a tree like it wasn’t supposed to be there. She furrowed her brows, her face was becoming red. The tree was supposed to be there. Jennifer was, however, convinced that she could make it disappear. Just like her church clothes vanished before her eyes. It was a squint with intent. She didn’t want to go to church, not when there were reruns of Doctor Who on telly, so one second the clothes were laid out on her bed and the next, they were gone. Bud Jennifer didn’t really want this tree to disappear. Giving up, she slumped down onto the grass. The disappearing dress wasn’t the first strange thing to happen to her. Once, she held her finger out and closed her eyes, willing a bird to land on her finger like they did in Sleeping Beauty. When she opened her eyes, a robin was sitting there, looking at her. It was a small thing, but it made her feel powerful. She felt her whole body tingle. Another time, she had an argument with her older sister Roslyn. Jennifer had stolen her necklace and wanted to wear it for school. She’d never seen Ros so angry. The next day, however, the necklace had appeared on her dresser. Whether Ros had put it there or if Jennifer had somehow magicked it there, she wasn’t sure, so she tucked the necklace away in a drawer just in case.
Now she was picking at the grass, ripping up straws and tossing them away. She could hear the pigs in their pen and the chickens squawking, the wind howling in the trees, but there was something else. A hoot, and a flapping of wings. She turned her head to follow the sound. Towards her, blocking the sun, was something big. A bird? Perhaps an eagle. She rose to her feet and made to be big and threatening, like the eagle had interpreted her for a small animal. It didn’t stop. She stood rooted to the ground with her arms spread out. Closer, she saw it wasn’t an eagle at all. The bird hooted again, and with a swift move, landed on her left arm. It was an owl. A big one.
“B-but you’re nocturnal,” was all Jennifer could muster. The owl turned its head towards her face. A letter was pressed between its beak.
To: Jennifer Jareau
Jareau’s farm, between the pig pen and the chicken coup
Wide-eyed, she took the letter. The owl flew off.
“Mom…” Jennifer went into the kitchen where her mother was stood making tea.
“Yes, JJ?”
How could she possibly begin to explain? ‘Hey mom, I’m a witch, and I’m going to school for it. They need me to pick up books like “Hogwarts, a History” and “robes”.’ JJ handed her mother the letter instead.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Just… read it.” And so, Jennifer’s mother did. Her eyes growing wider and wider. When she finished reading, she read it again. She called for her husband. He read it.
“Where did you get this?” Jennifer’s father asked.
“An owl gave it to me.”
It was a peculiar situation. Sure, Mr. and Mrs. Jareau knew their daughter had been different from when she was little. Or littler. She could make a bouquet of flowers blossom at will and have the gate to the pigs pen open when she thought they looked bored in there. But a witch? There was no such thing. And no place in London was called “Diagon alley”, nor was there a platform 93/4 at King’s Cross. The spouses looked at each other.
“Tea’s almost ready, dear.” Mrs. Jareau said finally. “Go wash up.”
“But…” JJ was confused. How could they ignore this?
“Your father and I will have to discuss this later,” was all her mother said. JJ surrendered to her mother’s tone. She took the letter back and went up to her room to read it and reread it.