Jane woke up. The light was reaching through the crack of the curtains and shone into her eyes. She raised her hand and covered her eyes, and in that moment, she wished she could get some new curtains that would close all the way.

One of these days, she thought, having that crack open in the curtains is going to be the end of me.

She sat up and reached for her wand—ten and a half inches, acacia wood and a dragon heartstring core. When she'd first gotten it two years prior, Olivander had told her that it'd be a difficult wand to master, but when it had gotten used to her, she'd be able to produce some powerful magic with it. She stuck the wand in her pocket as she got up from her bed.

She walked downstairs. The old man was sitting at the dining room table, sipping on some coffee and flipping through The Daily Prophet. His wand, a ten inch wand with a slight curve on the handle, was sitting across the table close to where he was placing his coffee cup.

Jane studied the man silently for a moment as he raised and lowered his cup periodically. She didn't even know the man's name, and yet she'd let him stay there, in her house, overnight.

The more she thought about it, the less it made sense. She didn't even know the man's name. The only explanation she could come up with was that she was desperately lonely after her mother had run off and abandoned her.

The old man himself had that look to him that only came with great wisdom, or at least so Jane had assumed. He had the grey beard, but lacked the arrogance of an old man who'd become set in his ways; and when you were in his presence, you got the impression that this was someone who had spent his life fighting the good fight.

Jane stepped down from the stairs into the dining room.

"You're awake," he said.

"Yeah,"she said. "Did I oversleep?"

"No," he said. "You're right on time."

Jane sat down across the table from the old man.

"Last night I said I'd give you an explanation for all of this, didn't I?" he said, his American accent sounding a little thicker now that he had a little bit of caffeine in his system.

"Yeah."

"As you no doubt know, Voldemort has taken over the British Ministry of Magic," he said. "Because of this, there will no doubt be little room for a Muggle-born such as yourself to return to Hogwarts."

"I never said—"

"You never had to," the American man said. "Once upon a time, I grew to be acquainted with a Hogwarts professor named Flitwick. Perhaps you've heard of him; he does speak so highly of you in his letters."

Flitwick, she thought. He'd been her head of House when she was at Hogwarts—when she was still welcome at Hogwarts, of course. The American man had been right to say being Muggle-born had put a thorn in her plan of returning to the Ravenclaw dormitory that year.

"He's a good teacher," Jane said.

"And an amazing wizard. I remember hunting dark wizards with him twenty years ago. It's a shame he's not still in the business; I think he could give some of those Death Eaters a run for their money."

"So why come all this way?" Jane said. "You're not British. America is going to be safe from Voldemort for years, even if he does want to expand outside of Britain and Ireland."

"Because I want to gather up a couple of young, gifted Muggle-borns," he said. "I want to train them. When the time comes, I want them to be the spark that burns the Death Eaters to the ground."

"There's a prophecy."

"About that Potter boy?"

"Yeah, him. They say he'll be the one who beats Voldemort."

The American shrugged. "That all depends on the wording of the prophecy," he said. "Have you ever heard the exact wording of the prophecy?"

Jane shook her head.

"Then how do you know he'll beat Voldemort? How do you know that Harry Potter will kill Voldemort himself? Maybe he'll clear the path for someone else to do it."

Jane nodded. "Fair point," she said. "But why come to me first? There's better witches than me. If it weren't for Voldemort, I'd be going into my third year of Hogwarts this year."

"Because you're the one I had the easiest access to," he said. "Some Muggle-borns are hiding away somewhere that I can't easily find them, even if they are the same age as you. Some are old enough to have fled the country. Others simply don't want to be found.

"But you? Well, where else do you really have to go? Your mother disowned you last month because she couldn't fully understand how dire things are for you right now. You never knew your father."

"For me, it's either follow you, or risk being caught by Voldemort's cronies."

"Exactly. So will you let me teach you?"

Jane began to nod. The old American raised a finger.

"Don't say yes immediately," he said. "Some of the things I'm going to teach you are things they wouldn't have taught you at Hogwarts for years. Some of the things I'm going to teach you are spells that are so difficult, even the most powerful, experienced wizards I've ever met have had difficulty with them.

"The road ahead is going to be filled with difficulty, and I'll be showing you magic that will stretch your abilities to their limit. Will you let me teach you these things, Jane?"

"On one condition," she said.

"I'm listening."

"You tell me your name."

He smiled. "My name," he said, "is Thomas Albus Dresden. I'm from Chicago." He paused for a minute and said, "Do you want some breakfast?"

Jane smiled. "Yes please."