The wool is soft beneath my fingers. My needles click together, looping the speckled blue. It won’t be long before my blanket is finished. Well, her blanket. Little Gina is only six, but she asks me questions that I can’t answer.

“Grandpa?” she begins in her angelic way, “why was I born this way?”

She never means it as a complaint- it’s always pure curiosity. While the other children run around outside, Gina rolls along with them in her wheelchair. Kids these days are so accepting. They treat her like they would anyone else (as far as possible) and she gives them rides on her lap. That never would’ve happened in my day.

My granddaughter is my hero. My inspiration.

*

I try and steal the blue from the basket, but the old man is onto me. “That’s not your ball, Bessie,” he smiles and moves it away. I know it’s not. I may be twelve, but who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

My favourite thing in the world is seeing my family smile. Bobby with his glasses, who always sneaks me food under the table. Little Gina in her wheelchair who plays endless fetch with me. She also sneaks me food under the table. I never complain.

Gina is strong. Her parents couldn’t handle her, that’s why they dropped her here. But Bobby knows. I know. She’s going to change the world. I just hope the world is ready.

But first, a belly rub.

*

I pick up the almost-finished blanket. It’s my favourite shade of blue. Grandpa dozed off while knitting, so I take Bessie out for her walk. She always walks slow with me. Sometimes I want her to run, because then I’ll fly.

I don’t want to fly away though. I love grandpa and his cozy house and Bessie. But sometimes I wonder if I’d be happier with mommy and daddy. I don’t remember them much. I was only two when they left me with grandpa.

“You know your parents love you, right?” Grandpa asks me all the time.

“Yeah,” I say. But sometimes I’m not sure. Grandpa says they couldn’t take care of me. I think it’s because I’m magical, and one day I’ll get powers. They’re muggles.

When I get home, grandpa is up. He gives me some tea with honey. My favourite. I stroke the knitting as he finishes it up. It looks like the sky at night with stars. The wool is soft.