A small house of 3 lived on 812 Shacklewell Lane in Hackney, London.

Evander Lancaster and Alice Mills were a couple loved by few but themselves. Openly a wizard-muggle relationship within the wizard community.

Those always struggled.

But they didn't care. They were happy in their small little home in Hackney.

Then, they had you.

At first, there was discourse.

What if you weren't a witch? What if you turned squib? There would be ridicule. You'd feel left out.

But all their arguments stopped when you showed signs of magic.

By 7 years old, the fighting you had grown used to, had stopped abruptly. However, the house still had tension.

Alice was practically offended that her own struggles to give birth to you were immediately thrown away the moment you maybe, possibly weren't magical.

You were now 10 years old. It was the midway point of your summer break and you woke up to it raining very heavily.

Almost instantly, ironically, Alice knew you were awake, knocking on your door.

"Darling? Let's get up! We've got errands to do today!"