-Charlie's Entry-

It was summer, that much was obvious to Avaline. She stood there with her hands on her hips as she looked at the room that laid out before her. It was her own room at home, nothing like the beloved room that she had at Hogwarts. She missed the school greatly. It was her own home more so than this one. Her hands ran over the wooden door frame, smooth and well worn, she watched the mess that had been created while she was here. Ava didn't particularly like this room, it wasn't like the one back in Finland where her family came from. She was packing for Hogwarts, though it was still a week or two off. Her clothes were finely pressed, books neatly placed in their proper places in the trunk, not to mention notebooks upon notebooks, notes, and even a few muggle books that she wanted to bring to help her get through the times of pure boredom. She turned as she picked up some quills from her desk before something rolled off and fell behind the desk. Avaline gave a small sigh of exasperation before she knelt down on her hands and knees, reaching into the tiny crevice where the object had fallen.

“Saatana!” She cursed as she was elbow deep in the crevice, trying to reach the fallen object.

There was another swear escaping the blond haired girl's lips as she felt something that wasn't the said object. Her brow furrowed as she put the tips of her fingers on it, but she just couldn't reach it. Standing up, Avaline grabbed the corners of the desk before sliding it over, the round bottle of Ditany that had fallen back rolled out into sight. But after picking it up, she spotted the object that she had felt but was unable to see. A leather-bound book, embossed with her name written in bronze, it had been a gift from her brother, the one that had passed away. Gently, she picked it up and sat down on the bed, sinking to the ground. It smelled of leather, but once she opened the pages, she smelled cinnamon, pumpkin, the cool crisp breeze that flitted through the pages, it was a book of photographs, from the fall spent in the United States studying the creatures while her parents were guest speakers at the Salem Academy. There were many memories that came flooding back to her. Each of them precious as she thought of them fondly. Pressed leaves from oak and maple trees, a dragon mask, and for some strange reason, her scarf that she had misplaced a few years back.

“What do you mean children dress up and beg for sweets?” The small blond haired child asked, her head tilting back and forth, wondering what on earth her male counter part meant. Roger was his name. The boy was the son of one of her parent's friends or co-workers. “Yes, they dress up as anything, and you say 'Trick or Treat!' and they give you candy.” The dark haired boy said with a grin. “Come I'll show you!” He said, taking little Avaline by the hand as he told his mother that they were going to play outside.

Salem Massachusetts. The hues of red and yellow and orange leaves skittering across the roads, large piles of them placed in the gutters as the skeletal remains of the tree branches shook in the crisp and cool breeze that wafted through the small town streets. The sky was bright and clear for the moment, but the long afternoon shadows threatened to swallow them as the night was coming on a bit faster than average. “See look! There, Jack-o-lanterns!” Roger said as they approached the small porch with the pumpkins with wide and toothy grins carved into their faces. “I've read about those. But the one's I've seen are Turnips. Is Halloween the same as Samhain?” She asked with another tilt of her head. Her parents had been goading her into spending more time outside and learning instead of being holed up with her books. Her nose was pink as she watched the older muggle woman strike a match and light the candles in the pumpkins. “That's so beautiful!” She exclaimed. The seven year old girl couldn't believe she had never seen anything like it before.

“What shall you want to dress up as? We have to find a costume.” Roger stated as he walked with her, they jumped as best as they could over some puddles from the rains that had come and gone the previous day. Her nose was pink, her cheeks flushed with color as she walked out in the brisk air, though it was nothing compared to the winters of Finland. “What are you going to be?” She asked as they walked up the steps of a wizarding tavern. According to Roger's parents, the tavern was the only one in town that was just for wizards. Though it smelled a bit more like an apothecary shop than a tavern. The smells of baked apples, pumpkin spiced bread, ciders and something that distinctly smelled like peppermint permeated through the air. “Master Wiggins, my mother wanted to know if you have any more Cinimon butter beer?” Roger asked as he peered over the large counter top, smudged with stains and burns as the old bartender grinned, leaning over the edge to get a better look at the two children. “Oh Aye, lemme ask the wife to sen' a case on up to yer mother.” The old man said before handing over two large cups of apple cider to the small children. Avaline wasn't sure where the man's accent was from, but it wasn't quite what she expected. “Maybe I can dress as a dragon.” Avaline said as they left the shop, walking down the street. “Ohh yes! We will make a grand costume!” Roger said as they excitedly chattered, sipping on the hot apple cider. The tang of the scent assaulting their noses.

Avaline paused for a moment, wiping a tear away from her face as she thought about her friend. Maybe she should send him an owl, they hadn't spoken in quite some time. She pressed the scarf to her nose, smelling that apple and crisp scent that came with the cold wind that accompanied the weather that was fall. She wanted it to be cool, cold, to be able wear jeans and sweaters when she wasn't in uniform. Her Ravenclaw scarf was folded up in her trunk already, but the ones she held in her hand was more important to her right now. It was a bit small, as she had received it as a gift. She could even see the little dragon in that scrap book made of leaves of gold and crimson and orange. Avaline missed times when it was perfectly acceptable to make collages of dragons out of leaves. If she did something of that sort right now, she would bet galleons to chocolate frogs that people would think she was absolutely crazy. She pulled out her wand, tapping the leafy dragon, uttering the incantation she had learned over the year, and the dragon came to life. It rustled like the leaves on the branches or even the ones caught in the wind as it moved about, scratching at itself and bounding across the desk. Looking over her desk at the brilliant green trees that surrounded her window, she wished she could see the bold colors once more.

It was summer when the familiar parades, the orange-clad men of Ulster with their banners carried on the wind, marched down the Shankill Road in Belfast. Festivity cohabited with tension ever since the politicians had signed the Good Friday Agreement twelve years prior, as Micah had learned in school. Young as she was and with the Troubles past, she still had colorful memories of the orange parade marching down the hill and sharply reeling from a disorderly attack. That day, years past, stones flew from behind to strike the drummers stepping smartly just feet from her. Before her wide eyes, a sandy-haired fellow crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, drum clattering to the ground and rolling on its edge to rest at her feet. The gathered crowd around her spilled out into the street, men fleeing and pursued by several more while her mother's grip tugged her backward in desperate alarm away from the ruckus. That was the last time that Micah's mother had elected to bring her to watch the Parades. Fear was more real than nightmares when you lived in a land of domestic warfare as had Patricia Solomon, nee Williams. Only time would restore faith in order and domesticity. It fell to Micah to inspire her mother to seek out the adventures beyond the Shankill. With school a month away, now was the time for adventures, not meant to be wasted on Saturday afternoon radio dramas - save those for the week - or craft workshops at Miss Selby's house down the road.

When Micah woke up on this Thursday, she scrambled to the window to peer out at the skies above. Mam had promised her adventure and come parade or storm, she would hold her to it. With single-minded determination, she pattered down to Mam's room and roused her from bed. "It's our day, Mam. You have to get up." Patricia raised a sleep-heavy hand to brush it through Micah's hair. "Get breakfast on the stove, love, and I'll be down."

The were out the door within twenty minutes, cross the Shankill before the parades could bolster the crowd with rousing tattoos, and to the one park nearest and largest for play and picnic, with the few climbable trees in a city of stone and shrub. "You can let go of my hand now, Mam," she tugged on Patricia's pale, blue-nailed hand. Patricia looked down with a faraway expression. "July's never a good time. I'm sorry that I'm so faraway." Micah nodded solemnly. "Alright, come back to me for a snack. Go scrape your knees and rub dirt on your face." They traded sharp smiles, and Micah dashed madly across the park toward the low-branch tree. Muddied footprints around its base revealed recent activity. Large prints, wild prints, cast about all round the tree like someone had visited to dance. Micah peered curiously at the usually unmarked grass. Sure as she could imagine it, there had been a scuffle. She hung lightly before pulling herself upwards, wrestling with her skinny arms and the thick branch to heave herself into a sitting position on the first branch. 

"You know, love, there are easier ways of getting up here." 

Micah whirled about on the branch and pitched backwards, falling gracelessly four feet to the ground below in a huff of breath and splatter of mud. But pitched so violently she should have broken a bone and yet, as she pushed herself up, she felt no pain. "MICAH SOLOMON!" Patricia was halfway to her before Micah even realized that her mother had caught her fall. Practiced ands cradled her face and skimmed her skull for tender bruise or broken bone. "Mm'fine Mam. I slipped. I'm alive." 

"What were you bloody thinking?" 
"Nothing. Just, let me climb. I tried jumping. I won't do it again." Mam needed to be pacified so Micah could find out who had spoken in an otherwise empty tree. So fixed her face with her best innocent expression, eyes wide and lips pursed. 
"You gave me a right scare. One more incident like that and we'll not be back here till school starts. Mind me?"

Micah nodded solemnly. Breaking bone was not on her list of things to do this summer. Patricia returned to a bench closer to the flowered tree and Micah hauled herself up back to the branch. Dark eyes peered into the clustered foliage. "Alright now, who's there?" 

"Qeustion's not a who. Who is the what? And what is the who?" The air shimmered from a ray of light passing through a break in the foliage and Micah gaped at the pearly figure crouched on a limb several feet above her. "Question what you are, do you know? Och, you must be a new one to not know. Everyone knows."

"How'd you get up there?" Through narrowed eyes she inspected the figure. But sure as she was to believe her eyes, it was not a person. Through what seemed torso, she could see the hazy shape and colour of leaves. "Either you come down or I'm coming up," she whispered, and reached out to the limbs higher than her perch to pull herself up. 

"Aye well it's quite simple dearrie. Not human am I and not a muggle I was. Which leaves only witch and ghostie could I be!" The figure sang like a chirping bird and Micah's mouth dropped open. "I'd close your gob if I were you. You will catch spiders if you leave it open too long." Micah snapped her mouth shut. 

"How can I see you? How can you speak?" 
"Always the questions. Can't you just accept it? You're the first witch who's stumbled across me in a while. I'd like to have a nice conversation for once. I'll even come down there," and as soon as it finished speaking, the she-ghost appeared on the branch just above Micah's perch. It was a spirit of a young girl, a little older than Micah, and while colors were irrelevant in her pearly form, she had long hair drawn back in a church-going style, a pair of pleated pants, and cable-knit sweater. 

"I'm not a witch. I'm just Micah." She said crossly. She had enough of the name-calling at school. Sweetie, and weakling, and idjit. The kids weren't very creative in their names, never seeming to be able find one that accurately described their repulsion to the small, rambunctious child. But witch was a new one and it cut her quick. 

"Well 'just Micah,' I expect you'll find out in time what I mean. It's not everyone who can see a ghost. I am suprised you haven't fallen out again. But that's how you know! You didnae' break anything, did you?" Gleaming eyes met hers and for all her transparency they seemed to possess more secrets. 

Micah shook her head. "No. It's happened before though. What's your name? What do you mean I'm a witch? And how're you a ghost? How did you get here?"

"All the questoins and little interest to answer them, but for you, I'll try a few. My name was Marlene. I am here because I was shot right there," and Marlene pointed a translucent finger to a patch of dirt amid the grass a few feet from the tree, "about thirteen years ago, and I haven't left this tree since. As for the witch--" 

"Micah! Who are you talking to up there?" Patricia eyed the magnolia oddly. It was a hush of voices that caught her ear. Micah had claimed to hear voices before but this was ridiculous, out here in the open. She'd be tormented worse if anyone caught wind. 
"I have to go. Will you be here if I come around again?" Micah eyed the ghost earnestly. "I wouldn't mind talking to you." 
"Alright, Micah Solomon. It gets awful lonely in ghosthood. Do come by again." 
Micah nodded and slipped down to hang from the branch where she could dangle for a moment and then drop safely to her feet. She scrambled over to Mam with a practiced grin on her face. "No one, Mam, just myself. I was making up a story." 
Patricia eyed the small child, an expression of wonder on her face. Micah looked so much like the man she would never know. She was precocious too, as Adam had been cheeky. Dark eyes staring back from a small face turned serious. "Mam? Did you get lost?"

"Watch it or we won't go by the candy store." 

"But," Micah began. Ice cream was a rare treat. With her diabetes, she couldn't have sugar without careful planning. It would send her blood sugar spiking and she would be quick to feel the effects. 
"We'll work it into your lunch, love. Come along." Patricia stood up and folded the newspaper. She extended a hand to her daugher, Micah latching on easily. Her thoughts went back to Marlene. A ghost in July, she mused in wonder. And candy with lunch. It's like Halloween come early. Micah smiled up at Mam slyly. Halloween had never been so good as this.