Chapter 1 : Who's to say it isn't real?
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You would think that a child who grew up surrounded by magic wouldn't have much of an imagination. After all, everything a muggle child dreams up is real for someone growing up with witches and wizards for parents. But my daughter would prove you wrong faster than you can say nargle. I think she has more imagination that the rest of the family put together, and it's funny to see her try and explain fairy tales to her practical cousin Rose or her no nonsense older sister Molly.
I've grown used to the sight of coming up the stairs to Lucy's bedroom, and seeing her wearing a homemade tiara made of flowers from the garden, and reading from an old book of muggle fairy tales that her Aunt Hermione gave her. I've long since given up trying to clean her room, and it's constantly covered in her drawings of far away places and her stuffed animals that she uses to play pretend games. Our cat won't go up to her room anymore, because Lucy has tried one time to many to put her in a jumper so she could play the queen. Lucy always plays the princess, and will often bribe her cousin Albus to be the prince.
I've tried to explain her wild fantasies to Percy, my husband, but he just doesn't seem to understand. "Why does she need muggle stories if she has actual magic around her every day?" He asks. I just shake my head and smile. Molly doesn't understand either, and refuses to be a part of Lucy's games, which she thinks childish. But Lucy will not be discouraged. I've seen her in the garden looking for rabbit holes to fall down, and she'll try and talk to the squirrels and gnomes that live there, and to her wonderful imagination I'm sure they talk back. Sometimes I ask her what they're saying.
"But don't you hear them, Mum?" she asks. "You must not be listening properly, because I'm sure that that rabbit just said he's been to Wonderland."
"Of course he did. And how will you get there?" I ask.
"By going down his rabbit hole, of course! And then I'll meet the Duchess and the white knight and play croquet with the Queen of Hearts!"
I laugh with her, smiling to myself. Lucy doesn't know what croquet is, but if she could play it with the queen, I'm sure she would. She walks around the house wrapped up in my old dress robes, playing princess. I'll play along, too, and will always curtsy to her at breakfast as I set her cereal in front of her. I have crowns of dried flowers pressed into books, and pictures she has made me clutter my dresser. Many of them feature Lucy herself, and sometimes the rest of the family is included as well. It made me laugh to see her drawing of Percy wearing a crown and sitting on a thrown, with Molly, Lucy, and I around him, all wearing crowns and tiaras of our own.
"Why doesn't Molly play with me?" she asks.
"Because she doesn't understand," I tell her. "She just needs a little more imagination is all."
I've seen her get the cousins together, assigning roles to act out her favorite fairy tales. She is always the princess, and it's not coincidence that when fifteen year old Teddy is the king, Victoire is his queen. As much as she has her head in the clouds, Lucy notices things, too. Albus always plays the prince, and James is the villain. I don't think he minds, though, because as the villain he gets to tie Lucy to a chair with belts and ribbons before the prince can rescue her. Sometimes the adults will watch them, and laugh about Lucy's wild fantasies, but we know that they're all enjoying themselves. And Lucy has an endless supply of stories thought up that she can't wait to share with them.
Yes, you would think that a child who had real unicorns and dragons and fairies as a part of the world they grew up in wouldn't be able to come up with more fantastic stories on their own, but Lucy would make you laugh for ever doubting that fact.
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