The Goodwin Chronicles

Mr George Goodwin, to all other people, seemed like a strange man; a private person, reluctant to speak to other people about any of his personal matters. He lived in a large house, on the outskirts of a small town with his daughter. Children would go to the house at night, whispering, scaring each other.

"Dad says Mr Goodwin's a madman."

"My Mum reckons there's something wrong with the girl."

"I reckon she's a witch."

"Freak more like."

"They both are I reckon."
Little did they know the truth in those rumours.

Life had not always been like this for the Goodwins. Six years earlier, in the summer of 1965, Police cars turned up outside the Goodwin house. Little was known of the events of that day. All that was known was that something had happened to Ava Goodwin, George's beautiful and talented wife, and that she had died under mysterious circumstances. Even more interestingly, a girl of five had been the only one in the house at the time.

These unfortunate turn of events were relished by the neighbourhood; there was rarely an event as exciting and mysterious as this in Little Whinging. Stories flew around for years, becoming more and more absurd. Little was known about Mr Goodwin's daughter after then. She was rarely seen, always hidden away inside the house. Everyone believed her to be insane, and some even believed she'd died in the house; it wasn’t until the year of 1971 that they found out that Violet Goodwin was very much alive, and very much sane. She was blessed with sanity, intelligence, as well as beauty.

Violet Goodwin was the spitting image of her mother. She was tall, slim, with a shockingly feminine figure for one so young. She had long brown hair, which fell in soft curls to her shoulders. She had large hazel eyes, framed with thick, long eyelashes. Her complexion was clear and her skin, pale and luminous. That was not the only inherited characteristic from her mother. Everybody knew that Ava Goodwin was a brilliant musician, and her daughter was no exception. It was soon revealed that Violet had been home-schooled for her whole primary education, but was now going away for secondary school; she was being sent to a boarding school.

Violet knew nothing about this new school she'd been enrolled in, except that her father had already bought all the supplies, and that she would be leaving home on September 1st.
The time flew by, and before she knew it, she was going away in a matter of days. She was sitting in her music room one night, playing on her mother's piano, when she was called to the drawing room. Her heart began to thud inside her chest; she only went in there to speak to her father.

The relationship between father and daughter had been strained ever since that fateful day in 1965. Mr Goodwin couldn't help but blame his daughter; she had been the only one in the house! And even worse that the child was a replication of her mother and possessed the same talents! It was like having the ghost of his late wife haunting him. Violet, blissfully unaware of these feelings of her father's, spent many a day wondering why her father disliked her, why he did not want to talk to her, or ask her how her day had been like he used to. It was no surprise that Violet's heart rate quickened at the news of a meeting with her father.

She walked quietly down the stairs and knocked on the door of the drawing room. After a moment, she entered the room, and saw her father stood by the desk. He looked up at her, and a flash of pain crossed his face, before he looked away to pick up a large envelope from beside him. He walked over to her and handed her the letter.

"I have taken the liberty of getting all of your school supplies for you, all except for the wand."

A flash of confusion passed over Violet's face, a wand? Whatever was that for?

"Of course everything will be explained in this letter. One of them came and explained the situation to me, and I have agreed that perhaps it will be beneficial for you. You will be dropped at the station on Friday morning."
He paused and looked at her, before swiftly leaving the room.

Violet's eyes remained fixed on the door for a while after he'd left, before she remembered the letter in her hand. She turned it over, broke the seal, and began to read. She'd been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term began on September 1. Another piece of paper was in the envelope, so Violet pulled it out, and read it. It was a list of required materials, uniform, books, and various other equipment. It was just all so much to take in. Magic? Her mind buzzed, she was a witch?

Mr George Goodwin, to all other people, seemed like a strange man; a private person, reluctant to speak to other people about any of his personal matters. He lived in a large house, on the outskirts of a small town with his daughter. Children would go to the house at night, whispering, scaring each other.

"Dad says Mr Goodwin's a madman."

"My Mum reckons there's something wrong with the girl."

"I reckon she's a witch."

"Freak more like."

"They both are I reckon."
Little did they know the truth in those rumours.

Life had not always been like this for the Goodwins. Six years earlier, in the summer of 1965, Police cars turned up outside the Goodwin house. Little was known of the events of that day. All that was known was that something had happened to Ava Goodwin, George's beautiful and talented wife, and that she had died under mysterious circumstances. Even more interestingly, a girl of five had been the only one in the house at the time.

These unfortunate turn of events were relished by the neighbourhood; there was rarely an event as exciting and mysterious as this in Little Whinging. Stories flew around for years, becoming more and more absurd. Little was known about Mr Goodwin's daughter after then. She was rarely seen, always hidden away inside the house. Everyone believed her to be insane, and some even believed she'd died in the house; it wasn’t until the year of 1971 that they found out that Violet Goodwin was very much alive, and very much sane. She was blessed with sanity, intelligence, as well as beauty.

Violet Goodwin was the spitting image of her mother. She was tall, slim, with a shockingly feminine figure for one so young. She had long brown hair, which fell in soft curls to her shoulders. She had large hazel eyes, framed with thick, long eyelashes. Her complexion was clear and her skin, pale and luminous. That was not the only inherited characteristic from her mother. Everybody knew that Ava Goodwin was a brilliant musician, and her daughter was no exception. It was soon revealed that Violet had been home-schooled for her whole primary education, but was now going away for secondary school; she was being sent to a boarding school.

Violet knew nothing about this new school she'd been enrolled in, except that her father had already bought all the supplies, and that she would be leaving home on September 1st.
The time flew by, and before she knew it, she was going away in a matter of days. She was sitting in her music room one night, playing on her mother's piano, when she was called to the drawing room. Her heart began to thud inside her chest; she only went in there to speak to her father.

The relationship between father and daughter had been strained ever since that fateful day in 1965. Mr Goodwin couldn't help but blame his daughter; she had been the only one in the house! And even worse that the child was a replication of her mother and possessed the same talents! It was like having the ghost of his late wife haunting him. Violet, blissfully unaware of these feelings of her father's, spent many a day wondering why her father disliked her, why he did not want to talk to her, or ask her how her day had been like he used to. It was no surprise that Violet's heart rate quickened at the news of a meeting with her father.

She walked quietly down the stairs and knocked on the door of the drawing room. After a moment, she entered the room, and saw her father stood by the desk. He looked up at her, and a flash of pain crossed his face, before he looked away to pick up a large envelope from beside him. He walked over to her and handed her the letter.

"I have taken the liberty of getting all of your school supplies for you, all except for the wand."

A flash of confusion passed over Violet's face, a wand? Whatever was that for?

"Of course everything will be explained in this letter. One of them came and explained the situation to me, and I have agreed that perhaps it will be beneficial for you. You will be dropped at the station on Friday morning."
He paused and looked at her, before swiftly leaving the room.

Violet's eyes remained fixed on the door for a while after he'd left, before she remembered the letter in her hand. She turned it over, broke the seal, and began to read. She'd been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term began on September 1. Another piece of paper was in the envelope, so Violet pulled it out, and read it. It was a list of required materials, uniform, books, and various other equipment. It was just all so much to take in. Magic? Her mind buzzed, she was a witch?