Dear Miss Evans,
We interviewed a number of candidates for the Curse Breaker position, and we have determined that another candidate is the most qualified for the requirements of our opening. This letter is to let you know that you have not been selected for the position.
Thank you for taking the time to come to Gringotts to meet our interview team, unfortunately they were unable to recommend you.
We wish you success with your job search and in the future.
Regards,
Tim Mullich
HR Director, Gringotts
***
Dear Miss Evans,
Thank you for your interest in the St Mungo's Junior Apprentice Healer Programme. We have reviewed your application and due to the high number of applicants this year we are unable to offer you an interview at this time. Good Luck with your application process.
Yours sincerely
Hlr Dai Llewellyn, Dean of Admissions
***
I stare at the letters.
The urge to cry is overwhelming. I press the heel of my hands over my eyes and take a deep shaky breath. It's okay, I tell myself, it's fine. They're just rejections, it's not the end of the world and even though I know that's true, I can't help but feel devastated all the same.
I mean really, couldn't something go right? Just for once? Don't get me wrong, I wasn't always such a loser. Once upon a time I used to be a straight O student, Head Girl, member of the Slug Club. Life was carefree, fun, happy.
Then I grew up.
Supposedly I'm a twenty year old, independent, high powered professional. At least that's what my parents think. The truth is, I live in a miniscule flat in dodgy South London (Brixton, if you were wondering), and I have a job I hate, working as a journalist for 'Transfiguration Today'. Sounds fancy I know, but in reality I'm basically translating mind numbingly boring reports about research into readable English. Why do I hate it? It's soul destroyingly tedious. Plus I don't even like Transfiguration. I always wanted to do something based in Potions or Charms (hence the job applications) and something practical.
The contrast between my job and my aspirations would be funny if it wasn't so hideous.
I reread my letters feeling thoroughly depressed. 3 years. 3 years I've been stuck and I can't catch a break. Trans Today was only supposed to be bloody temporary.
I remember when I first decided to apply for Healing. I honestly thought my life was about to change.
I get up from the bed and walk to the window, forcing it open and hearing the rusty hinges squeak. The window sill feels rough against my fingertips and I grip it tightly as tears pour down my cheeks, the cold wind stinging my nose.
Think about something else.
I have a meeting in about half an hour courtesy of Dumbledore, no idea what it's about, at an old country home up north. I am suddenly very aware of my dirty top (which I used to wipe my nose from crying) scuffed shoes and lank hair. I cringe at the thought of meeting my old professors in such a state. The Lily Evans they knew used to be immaculate. But frankly, at the moment, I'm too depressed to care, so pulling on a long coat and tying up my hair into a bun, I apparate with a crack.
Never guessing how much I will regret it in the next few minutes.
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