She is three years old when she begins to remember what she was. In a past life she was still and silent and equanimous and swift and unmerciful. Her mind was quiet, intentions and feelings taut like wire and all perfectly aligned toward a solitary purpose that burned bright and sharp like a star, a purpose that she cannot yet recall. She tries to move like that and think like that, but her body is small and clumsy and her mind is clamorous with no room for the thoughts she is accustomed to thinking and the feelings she is accustomed to feeling, and her mother thinks it is sweet, and she hates her, and she remembers that too.
"A motivated and powerful Dark Wizard and their followers will necessarily be more of a threat to a small magical country than a similar-sized group of nonmagi could to a large mundane one, but that is equally true in America as in Britain. If your daughter comes to Hogwarts, she will be among other wizards who can keep her safe in the event such a threat emerges. And not wishing to be rude myself, I don't think your sister intended her daughter to be forever cut off from her world of origin."
"I have no doubt you've done a splendid job with her. But I believe she has the right to make her own choices about what world or worlds to inhabit, just as your sister made hers, and you made yours ten years ago."
"Not every wizard chooses to leave behind the nonmagical world altogether as soon as they come of age."
Footsteps approach the door; Clover swiftly moves backwards into the chair she'd put in place and picks up the book she'd laid down spine-up so she can look like she's been reading.
She marks her place and sets the book on her lap, as McGonagall enters.
"Your mother would like to speak with you in private."
She nods and emits pleasantries and returns to the living room.
"Yes," she says. "Lily was a wizard?"
Clover begins to consider what to say to her mother to make her okay with it, or to at least agree - what levers to pull or vulnerabilities to poke on -
- something tugs at her chest, at the thought of - playing her mother, like she used to play people.
It's unpleasant. She's fairly certain things did not unpleasantly tug at her chest in this way in her past life.
But all she says is: "I'm sorry. But I want to go."
Solemn hug. And dehug.
"I think I would like to speak to Ms. McGonagall about preparing for Hogwarts now."
"The story I told you is that Lily got involved with people with powerful enemies," said Petunia. "I wasn't just talking about falling in with wizards. When we were children there was a man at Hogwarts named Albus Dumbledore. He - "
"The magical world is more dangerous than our world. It's less politically stable - a small group of people can make life very unsafe for everyone else, a lot more easily. Ten years ago magical Britain was at war, that's why I left with you. Albus Dumbledore fought in that war. And Lily - didn't fight exactly, but she helped Dumbledore in ways that made her and her family a target."
She looks at the closed door behind which Ms. McGonagall is waiting.
"I think Dumbledore would've let Lily leave the war behind if she decided she wanted to. But I think... she got swept up, in magic, a little, in the adventure of it."
"I won't tell you what to do. Your life has to be yours to do with what you will. I just want you to promise to be careful about being swept up in the adventure and excitement of the magical world, and remember that you can always come home to your mother. And in exchange I'll promise to support you in whatever kind of relationship with the magical world you choose to have."
Why is this making her feel things. She doesn't like people being able to make her feel things. Makes her feel a bit ill-at-ease.
(But - )