Chapter 1: Underwater Revelation
Keith felt a surge of excitement as he dropped the gnome that he had just plucked from a bail of hay. They were disgusting little buggers that loved to make Keith's life difficult for him! Before it hit the ground, he drove his foot straight through it. Ah, the sight of the squealing little creature flipping head over heels was enough to bring a thin smile to his lips. It soared out the window of the barn and landed in the creek outside with a plop.
Yes, Keith was a wizard. He had known this fact all his life and had been raised on the invisible boundaries of the magical world. With a Muggle (non-magical) mother and a wizard father, he got to experience the best of the American Wizarding World and the American Muggle World. He knew nothing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry other than the fact his father had studied abroad over there about twenty years before. He knew the famous Auror Harry Potter only by name; who hadn't heard of the Man-Who- Lived, after all? Who really cared though - it wasn't like his name would ever be on a test. The teachers did like to challenge their children, after all. Questions about the most famous modern-day wizard, next to Albus Dumbledore, would be outright gimmies.
He drew his wand and waved it at the bail of hay, calling out in his southerly accented voice, "Faramartho!" The cube of dry grass shifted radically, fading away from view entirely. Keith smirked with triumph and dropped to a knee, picking up a small needle that had taken its place. Yep, he could use magic at his age. He knew not of any regulations that most of the rest of the world shared; in America, it was legal at all ages. A quick glance to the loft above his head gave him an estimate on the space he had for storage. It would be autumn soon, and the cows would need feed for the winter.
Keith mopped his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. Magic could be so tiring sometimes. In all his eleven years, he had learned only one or two spells that helped his mother around the barn. His brother Jethro had tried to teach him more, but Keith really had no desired to read his spellbooks. Geez, were those spells complicated. It was a wonder that anyone was able to cast them.
Hand over hand, the young boy climbed the ladder and transported about fifteen needles in his pocket to the spacious loft. With the counter- curse, he was able to restore them to the haystacks they once were. His father had told him never to leave hay in needle form for too long. It was bad for the cows.
Keith climbed down, affirming that his chores for the day were done. He removed a roll of parchment from his pocket and read down the list. It was written in loopy, green ink.
1. Degnome the hay and move it into the loft
2. Scrub the floors of the kitchen
3. Feed the horses.
He had done steps two and three already, having animated the magical brushes with a simple spell. The third, he had to do by hand. That was fine, however. He enjoyed the company of the three fine steeds that were kept on Hillsfar ranch. His favorite was a large, butterscotch horse named Caramel - he had named her when he was eight.
And so, with a smile of satisfaction, Keith stepped outside the barn and took in some of the heavily scented air. A life in Alabama, living on families farm had hardened him to the usual smell of animals and manure - to him, they smelt like home. The sun was high and bright today, telling him that it was time to play. He followed the creek outside the barn toward his home.
He pushed back his cloak and wiped the sweat from his brow. For a moment, he wondered where Jethro was. He realized that he was probably sitting on his hammock, working on new, clever ways of being useless. Jethro was going into ninth grade at Castagloria School of Sorcery, and boy could he finish his chores fast. He even had three times as many! On some days, his mother could fill up a foot worth of parchment with all the things Jethro had to do, and he'd get them done in a few minutes. A simple spell there, a careful hex there, and he was reading his stupid comic books minutes later.
Sure enough, Keith found his diligent, yet lazy brother laying in his hammock, a bit further up the creek. The Hillsfar ranch consisted of fields, a creek a barn and a farm house, all spread over a fifty acre plot of land. It wasn't the biggest farm in the South, but it was large enough for the Hillsfars and their five children, of which Keith was the second born.
"Don't ya bust yerself too much, Jethro!" called Keith as he stomped over, "I reckon comin' to help me in the barn was beyond ya, huh?"
Jethro put down his comic - the character in front stuck out his tongue at Keith. "Hush you. busy."
Keith just kept walking past him, his ears blazing red. Keith wasn't exactly small, but compared to big, dumb Jethro, he was a shrimp. Trying to put himself at ease, he began whistling a catchy, high-spirited song. A few stanzas put him at the front of his farmhouse, a good three story colonial that had been around for hundreds of years. Magic kept her looking modern and tip-top, and would continue for all time.
He strolled on into the kitchen, where his mother was making lunch. The smell of hardy chili and sliced cabbage filled the kitchen, watering Keith's mouth something awful.
"Hey ma," said Keith as he moved over to the sink and washed his hands. "Finished the job in the barn. Jethro's bein a lazy good-fer-nothin' like usual. thought ya outta know."
Mary Jane Hillsfar gave a motherly smile, you know, that smile a mother gives her child whenever she was trying to appease him. She was a portly woman in her mid-thirties, her brown hair tied in a bun behind her head. "Jethro's finished his work, now hasn't he?"
"But ma," whined Keith, squaring his shoulders to her as he wiped his hands on a cloth, "it ain't fair. pop ain't taught me those fancy spells Jethro's doin! I gotta work three times harder!"
His mother cackled once mirthlessly and dumped a platter of veggies into the non-magical crockpot. Keith had heard the argument between her and his father about electricity. She had said that 'she'd done gone kill herself if she couldn't have electricity in the house', and finally dad had cracked. "And I don't got no magic at all! Growed up doin' things the old fashion way. stop yer whinin'."
Keith growled, sounding like an agitated puppy. His father was always about doing things the magic way. Proud Tories die hard, and the Hillsfar line were pureblooded wizards that traced their roots back to England. In fact, Keith was the first generation of Half-blood wizards in his family history. Probably why he didn't see much of his father's relatives. They didn't much like coming around the farm and lowering themselves.
But, his mother always filled up the house on Thanksgiving and Christmas, be sure of that. With more uncles and aunts than he could count, there little old farm turned into a zoo. With relatives all over South Carolina, Mississippi and Alabama, the number of Muggle cousins Keith had was astounding. Of course, those days weren't all that fun; he couldn't use magic in front of them. More than once, pop had to Memory Charm a cousin or two that walked into his room. The scream said it all -- they had seen the picture of his grandmother, Barbara Malfoy. Naturally, being a pureblood, she would always scream just as loud when a Muggle entered the room and try to shoo them out.
He stomped out of the kitchen, feeling useless. Deciding to try and expand his mind, Keith flopped on the sofa in the family room and pulled one of Jethro's spellbooks from underneath his couch. Transfiguration Trials and You: Second Year. He flipped open to a random page and began to read about how to turn shoes into pigeons. He didn't get further than the fifth line, however, when he heard a whoosh through the open window. He glanced up just in time to roll off the sofa. A hawk flew through the air, right where his head had been, and landed himself on a perch near the ceiling. It dropped five letters into a bin and squawked at Keith testily.
"Yea, yea, hold yer horses." grumbled the boy as he reached over the coffee table and into the peanut bowl. He tossed a peanut over to the hawk. It snagged it contently, and flew out the window from which it came.
With a lazy toss, he tossed the book aside and stood, clambering stiffly over to the mail bin. He reached in and grabbed the five letters, flipping front to back and looking for something of interest.
"Oh, lookie Ma," laughed Keith once, a bit sarcastically. He held up a moving picture of a huge pumpkin being suspended over the heads of about seven wizards. It was a special pamphlet sent out to all wizards in the Grenich area. "The Rickerson's done beat their old record. a pumpkin that weighs two tons and is as big as a house! They one first place at the fair!"
"Your daddy's gonna be raw," replied his mother's voice from the kitchen. "He's been tryin to get that Growth Charm working for months."
Keith needed no reminder of his father's temper tantrum when, two years ago, he reversed the Growth charm into a Shrinking hex in front of the whole town and finished in dead last with a pumpkin that had to be measured under a magnifying glass. No, Charms were definitely not a Hillsfar talent.
He continued flipping through the mail until his fingers stopped over a letter addressed to him. It was a simple, beige envelope with a multicolored seal. A fourth was devoted to red, brown, blue and green respectively. He noticed that Jethro had a very similar one. This could only mean one thing.
"Ma!" he called out again, enthusiastically. "The Castagloria letters are here!"
She came in, scrubbing her hands with a washcloth. "That's nice, sweetie. Read it to me."
With trembling hands, Keith cracked the seal and removed the letter from within. It was written in the same green ink as the front, the penmanship immaculately refined.
Castagloria School of Sorcery
Principle: Joseph Griffith, (Order of Merlin 6th Class, Archmagi o. Massachusetts Diesis, Godric Prize 1992)
Dear Keith Hillsfar,
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been successfully enrolled at Castagloria School of Sorcery for the fall Semester 2005.
Enclosed with your letter is a list of school supplies that you will need to successfully negotiate your first year of school. All the books that you will need can be purchased new, with exception to Hallora Kain's book: Complete Idiot's Guide to Dark Arts 27th edition, which must be purchased new. Kain's books have always been moody like that.
As a reminder, first years are encouraged to bring a small pet no larger than a basketball. They will be essential in your Transfiguration Classes. All of your supplies can be purchased on Gartherid's Boulevard. Also included is a coupon for a free sample of Bernie Phillips' (The Potions Instructor this year) Every Flavor Softdrink, which can be purchased on the Boulevard at his retail store.
I look forward to seeing you at school, Keith.
Sincerely, Mrs. R.J. Coltrain Assistant Principle
"Awesome!" exclaimed Keith, dropping the letter onto the ground and dancing in place. He needed to get the energy out of his system somehow. "When can we go? When can we go?"
His mother simply smiled wearily. "Not 'til yer father gets home from work."
"But, ma," pressed Keith eagerly, "that ain't fer a few hours!"
She crossed her arms and again took up that mother smile that put Keith back in line. "I can give ya some jobs - take yer mind right off this 'til he gets home."
Keith shook his head furiously and growled once again.
"Go check on yer sisters," ordered Mary with a kind tone. "Think all yer shoutin' might have awakened them."
Keith grumbled and left the family room, heading up the creaky, wooden stairs that screamed in protest, quite literally, whenever he stepped on one.
"AHHH!"
"Y'all shut-up," muttered Keith, shaking his head and glancing down at his feet. Well, if he hadn't awakened his sisters before, that certainly had done it.
His father had, for some reason, felt safer by putting a Screaming Hex on the stairs. Keith never understood why, it was a real pain in the butt when his kid brother Dennis went down stairs at midnight, every night, without fail, to get a glass of water. His little brother didn't sleep well - bad dreams always awakened him at crazy hours. The only thing they'd be good for was if someone wanted to break into the house!
He entered a small room at the end of the corridor on the second floor. The sound of bawling was a good indication that his sisters had indeed been awoken. Carmen and Michelle, the two twins, had each been given their own cribs, but were fast outgrowing them. Michelle was standing up and throwing her toys around the room, having some kind of fit.
"Easy, easy," coaxed Keith as he drew near to Michelle. Her reply was a louder scream, and a rubber duck, thrown accurately at Keith's head. With a sigh, he decided to give Michelle a chance to cool off and moved over to his other sister's crib. Carmen was sucking her thumb passively, watching Michelle with innocent interest.
Keith liked Carmen better.
After finally managing to calm Michelle down by filling her bottle with milk and returning, he went back outside. Swimming in the creek was always a way to pass the time, and so, he decided that he'd do just that. Besides, he hadn't visited Uncle Martin in a week.
He shed Jethro's old cloak and kicked off his sneakers. Beneath his brown cloak, he wore blue jeans and a t-shirt. After pulling off the t- shirt and rolling up the cuffs of his jeans, he waded into the creek, pushing aside a few reeds that grew out of the shallows. Jethro watched him from his hammock for a second or two, but decided that Radiation Man was more interesting than his brother.
Keith swam out about a fourth the way across the water, to a point where he knew from experience was rather deep. He took a few heavy breaths and surface dove, pushing himself underwater with a few quick kicks. This area of the creek was about twenty-feet deep, but from his years of swimming, he had become rather skilled at holding his breath. He was athletic, always working on his chores, swimming in his spare time, or running into town to meet his friends. Today, however, he wanted to be home when his father was.
Out of the murky depths, an old fashioned truck came into view. From within, Keith could hear the sounds of watery snoring, deep inhalations and bubbles. He leveled himself with the truck door and peered inside. The water blurred his vision, but he could see the ghostly form of his uncle, sleeping in the driver's seat. With a smirk, Keith knocked on the driver's side window with his knuckle.
"Whoa. what? Whose'er?" snorted his Uncle as he jerked wide-awake. The ghost turned his body toward the knocking and rolled down the window. "Oh, howdy there Keith. I'd invite ya in, but I reckon ye couldn't stay around all that long, huh?"
Keith shook his head, but continued smirking.
"So, why ain't ye in school? What day is it?"
Due to the fact that most of their communication was rather one way, Keith couldn't answer him all that well. He held up six fingers, however.
"Saturday, eh? Well, that'd explain why ye ain't in school," replied his uncle. "Guess I musta been sleepin since ye last came 'round."
Keith shrugged unknowingly, his chest beginning to tighten a bit due to lack of air.
His uncle gave him a look that must have shown some degree of annoyance. "Boy, when are ye gonna get an aqualung er somethin'? It'd make this whole visitin' thing much easier."
Keith shrugged again. In truth, with the pittance allowance he was getting from his mother, he could barely afford a candy bar when he went into town.
"Anyway, how's yer ma n' pop? N' that annoyin little squirt Jethro?"
Keith held out his hand and gave two thumbs up, and then gave a thumbs down, his smirk turning into a frown.
"Jethro still givin' ye a 'ard time, eh?" continued his uncle.
Keith held up his finger, as the desire to breath began to take its toll and force his resolve. He kicked off the ground and a few moments later, broke through the surface with a gasp.
"So, how's Uncle Martin doing?" called Jethro from his hammock.
Keith gave him the evil eye, while he regained his breath. "Why don't ye get off yer butt and see fer yerself." he said, in between pants. "Oh right, ah forgot. ye can't even hold yer breath at all."
Jethro smirked and continued reading his comic book. How he could still be on the same one after all this time was rather a mystery. "Ah'm a sorcerer of Air, moron. I don't do the swimmin' thing."
Keith's breathing returned to normal. He wasn't entirely sure what his brother meant by the Sorcerer of Air thing, but he knew that it had something to do with his magical specialty and placement in school. "Ye ain't much for doin' anything well that don't be requirin' magic!"
Jethro waved his hand dismissingly and seemed on the verge of making a comment, but Keith had already surface dove again and a few seconds later, was back with Martin, who was waiting for him expectantly.
"Ye ferget about Jethro," his uncle said, "I heard it all. don't ye be thinkin' magic'll replace everythin in yer life. Magic be only a tool - make sure ye remember that."
Keith nodded a few times. His uncle had been an Auror once, and had busted many Dark Wizards all across America. He had met his end a few years ago, when Keith was only four at the bottom of this creek, chained to a boulder. Yeah, he had his share of enemies in his time, could have been anyone who did it, really. Whoever had gotten the best of him that night was still at large. Maybe that's why his pop had put all sorts of security measures around the house.
"When ye goin' ta be old enough to get into Wizard's school anyway. seems like ye've been eleven forever."
Keith smiled excitedly, and locked his thumbs together while flapping his hands. His uncle, who was one of the best charades players alive (or dead), was able to catch onto his meaning - he had had much practice. "The hawk came? When?"
Keith touched the tip of his thumb to his index finger, making a zero.
"Just today!" exclaimed Martin, ecstatically. While Keith had forgotten his goggles today, he could tell his uncle was smiling, though the smile didn't last very long. "Congratulations. likely ye'll become a Sorcerer of Water, just like me."
Keith gave him a 'thumbs up'.
"But all the same. just watch yer back."
Keith cocked his head in confusion and mouthed the word, why, a few rogue bubbles drifting out of his mouth.
His uncle sighed, seeing his nephew's confusion. "The Hillsfars ain't popular around certain sorts. yer father n' I used to work hard keepin' America free of Dark Wizards. Our line is famous fer lockin' up bad wizards."
Keith fought against the dull pressure that was building against his chest. His father rarely talked to him about his job, always changing the question whenever Keith asked. His uncle, however, seemed to have no problems talking.
"I always suspected that rotten apple Blake Dexter. Was gittin' awfully close to that one, I was, before I wound up at the bottom of this lake."
Keith wanted to stay down a bit longer and listen, but his need for oxygen was building again. His uncle groaned, apparently reading the discomfort on his face. "Go get yerself some air, pansy. I've been holdin' my breath fer the last seven years. ye can't even go much more than a minute."
Keith scowled and crossed his arms, intentionally fighting his desire to swim away. He really wanted to say 'being dead was an unfair advantage', but it was difficult to speak underwater. He felt his chest heave twice, pleading with him to breathe. He bit down on his lower lip, however, and didn't start for the surface.
Martin laughed, finding this show of stubbornness rather delightful. "Yer stubborn like yer old man and me. Ye'll drown just to prove me wrong, wontcha?"
Keith grit his teeth and nodded, his eyes gleaming with determination. He wasn't going to leave until his uncle took that part back about him being a pansy.
Unfortunately, stubbornness was a family trait for all Hillsfars. His uncle was hardly going to surrender without a fight. "I gotta be tellin' ya, Keith. playin' the waiting game with me down here isn't a wise bet."
The pain grew intense and, against his will, a few bubbles shot out of his clenched lips. Nonetheless, he kept his arms crossed and his legs knotted together, making no move for the surface twenty feet above.
"By Merlin. the damned kid is actually going to drown himself," snorted his uncle.
Keith found his resolve quickly draining as bubbles began to spew from his mouth and his chest began to heave into his throat. As stubborn as he was, he wasn't stupid, and wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.
"Alright, alright," grumbled his uncle with defeat. "Yer not a pansy. wouldn't want ye becomin' ma passenger for the next eternity - you'd never give me a moment of peace!"
Though, Keith didn't hear the rest of that. The moment he heard the phrase 'yer not a pansy', he pushed off the muddy floor with as much force as he could muster and swam frantically for the surface. He broke through a few seconds later, gasping, coughing and hacking. Jethro had actually gotten off the hammock, and was in the process of taking off his cloak.
"Merlin H. Magic!" exclaimed Jethro from the shoreline. "I had thought crazy old Martin had tried to drown ya! Ye were under there fer like two minutes!"
Keith gasped and spluttered, coughing violently as he swam slowly for the shore. That was definitely the last time he'd be visiting Uncle Martin this summer! He staggered up the shore and rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. He squinted against the sun directly above his head.
"Jethro..." panted Keith, rolling his head over, ". who - who is Dexter Blake?" He didn't know why that question was so important to him, but he had almost drowned for that name. He might as well find out all he could about it.
Jethro shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "You been listenin' to Martin's stories again?"
Keith nodded, sitting back up and coughing the rest of his discomfort away. "Yea. maybe that's who killed him, y'know?"
"He has no idea and neither does pop," said Jethro stubbornly, throwing his brown cloak back over his wide frame. "The only things that tickle Martin nowadays are telling you stories and trying to drown you, it seems."
Keith fixed him with a cold expression. "How would you know? Not like ye go down n' talk to him yerself."
Jethro flopped back onto his hammock, "Well, duh. yer the one whose always swimming." He fell silent, as if that in some way resolved him.
Finally, Keith rose and proceeded to dress himself again. He rolled down the sodden cuffs to his jeans and threw his shirt over his drenched body. Having nothing more to say to Jethro, he went back to the house, hoping lunch would be ready.
And boy, did the hours pass slowly. Between his nagging mother, his crying sister Michelle, the Screaming steps every time he went up to check on her and his agonizing wait to get involved in the Wizarding World, he thought time was just about at a standstill. After lunch, his younger brother Dennis came home and approached the sofa where Keith was reading. He had actually managed to read the entire section on turning shoes into pigeons and he was eager to try it.
Dennis, with his usual kind greeting, withdrew his wand. Keith only noticed him after he waved it. "Pookoo!"
A slight zap of harmless yellow energy hit Keith in the earlob, a jolt of surprise shooting through his body. He gripped his lob and turned on his little brother. "Ya wanna get tossed in the creek?"
His brother, younger by only two years, giggled. "Nerd! Yer readin', yer a nerd!" He jumped on the sofa next to him. "Nerd! Nerd!"
Keith simply groaned and slid to the end of the sofa. His brother matched his movements, keeping the distance between them constant. "Nerd Nerd Nerd Ner."
Keith closed his book and slammed him over the head.
"MAA!" wailed Dennis, sobbing and running out of the room. "MAA!"
Keith wanted to be anywhere but home right now.
At long last, he heard boots crunching the rocky road leading up to their house. Keith leapt off the sofa, grabbed his Castagloria acceptance letter, and raced to the door. A moment later, it swung open. Francis Hillsfar was about to enter but stopped, eying his son with a fatigued expression. "Hello, Keith," he said stiffly, his hooked nose held high.
"Pop, pop, I got my acceptance letter to Castagloria today. Can you take me to Gartherid's Boulevard? Please, Pop, please?"
His father stared at Keith for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Can I at least get my foot through the damned door first?"
Keith blushed red and backed off, looking down at his bare feet. He hadn't bothered to put on his sneakers after the swim, nor had he really bothered to change either. Come to think of it, his mother was probably going to kill him when she found out how wet the sofa was. He winced, really wishing he knew a Drying Charm.
His father drew out the step, but finally dropped his black leather boot upon the wood floor.
"So, please, Pop, please!" continued Keith, jumping up and down, waving his hands like a stranded passenger on a deserted island.
With a groan, his father stuck his head back out the door, his long blonde ponytail swinging back as he turned. He always dressed darkly, with an indigo satin cloak and black undergarments. "No sense getting settled in. you won't be giving me a second to myself. JETHRO, get over here!"
His larger brother came waddling up from the creek. If pigs could walk on two legs, they'd probably look a lot like Jethro. His face was porky pink from the effort. Mary had entered the room as well. She gave her husband a kiss. "Don't worry, dear. Dinner will be on the table when you get back. a nice, non-magically cooked one at that."
Francis nodded, though Keith didn't miss that flash of discontentment. "Alright boys, we've got about two hours before everything closes. Let's hurry along."
Dennis, who had forgotten to brood over Keith's vicious book slamming, rushed down the stairs, having heard it all. "Can I come too?"
"No, Dennis."
Dennis' jaw dropped with outrage while his freckled face dropped, looking like a human flycatcher. "But why do THEY get to go?" he whined, tears beginning to ring his eyes again.
"Crybaby," muttered Keith, while Jethro chortled trollishly, running his finger from his eye down his face, pretending to cry.
Dennis screamed with outrage and ran back upstairs, sobbing once again.
"Keith, Jethro. that was uncalled for," rebuked his father firmly. He led them to the fireplace and withdrew a handful of ashes. With a careful touch, he sprinkled half into the hands of each of his boys. "You know how it works." He then stared pointedly at Jethro, "Speak clearly and whatever you do, don't say "Garfield's Boulevard" like last time. I had to go to Buffalo to track you down, and that wasn't fun."
Jethro frowned with distraught, but Keith happily walked into the empty fireplace with practiced calm. He had waited for this day all summer!
"Gartherid's Boulevard!" exclaimed Keith, dropping the ash down at his feet. With a rush of green flames, he felt himself falling into the fireplace, being pulled by his very nose by magic he didn't understand.
He was gone a moment later.
Keith felt a surge of excitement as he dropped the gnome that he had just plucked from a bail of hay. They were disgusting little buggers that loved to make Keith's life difficult for him! Before it hit the ground, he drove his foot straight through it. Ah, the sight of the squealing little creature flipping head over heels was enough to bring a thin smile to his lips. It soared out the window of the barn and landed in the creek outside with a plop.
Yes, Keith was a wizard. He had known this fact all his life and had been raised on the invisible boundaries of the magical world. With a Muggle (non-magical) mother and a wizard father, he got to experience the best of the American Wizarding World and the American Muggle World. He knew nothing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry other than the fact his father had studied abroad over there about twenty years before. He knew the famous Auror Harry Potter only by name; who hadn't heard of the Man-Who- Lived, after all? Who really cared though - it wasn't like his name would ever be on a test. The teachers did like to challenge their children, after all. Questions about the most famous modern-day wizard, next to Albus Dumbledore, would be outright gimmies.
He drew his wand and waved it at the bail of hay, calling out in his southerly accented voice, "Faramartho!" The cube of dry grass shifted radically, fading away from view entirely. Keith smirked with triumph and dropped to a knee, picking up a small needle that had taken its place. Yep, he could use magic at his age. He knew not of any regulations that most of the rest of the world shared; in America, it was legal at all ages. A quick glance to the loft above his head gave him an estimate on the space he had for storage. It would be autumn soon, and the cows would need feed for the winter.
Keith mopped his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. Magic could be so tiring sometimes. In all his eleven years, he had learned only one or two spells that helped his mother around the barn. His brother Jethro had tried to teach him more, but Keith really had no desired to read his spellbooks. Geez, were those spells complicated. It was a wonder that anyone was able to cast them.
Hand over hand, the young boy climbed the ladder and transported about fifteen needles in his pocket to the spacious loft. With the counter- curse, he was able to restore them to the haystacks they once were. His father had told him never to leave hay in needle form for too long. It was bad for the cows.
Keith climbed down, affirming that his chores for the day were done. He removed a roll of parchment from his pocket and read down the list. It was written in loopy, green ink.
1. Degnome the hay and move it into the loft
2. Scrub the floors of the kitchen
3. Feed the horses.
He had done steps two and three already, having animated the magical brushes with a simple spell. The third, he had to do by hand. That was fine, however. He enjoyed the company of the three fine steeds that were kept on Hillsfar ranch. His favorite was a large, butterscotch horse named Caramel - he had named her when he was eight.
And so, with a smile of satisfaction, Keith stepped outside the barn and took in some of the heavily scented air. A life in Alabama, living on families farm had hardened him to the usual smell of animals and manure - to him, they smelt like home. The sun was high and bright today, telling him that it was time to play. He followed the creek outside the barn toward his home.
He pushed back his cloak and wiped the sweat from his brow. For a moment, he wondered where Jethro was. He realized that he was probably sitting on his hammock, working on new, clever ways of being useless. Jethro was going into ninth grade at Castagloria School of Sorcery, and boy could he finish his chores fast. He even had three times as many! On some days, his mother could fill up a foot worth of parchment with all the things Jethro had to do, and he'd get them done in a few minutes. A simple spell there, a careful hex there, and he was reading his stupid comic books minutes later.
Sure enough, Keith found his diligent, yet lazy brother laying in his hammock, a bit further up the creek. The Hillsfar ranch consisted of fields, a creek a barn and a farm house, all spread over a fifty acre plot of land. It wasn't the biggest farm in the South, but it was large enough for the Hillsfars and their five children, of which Keith was the second born.
"Don't ya bust yerself too much, Jethro!" called Keith as he stomped over, "I reckon comin' to help me in the barn was beyond ya, huh?"
Jethro put down his comic - the character in front stuck out his tongue at Keith. "Hush you. busy."
Keith just kept walking past him, his ears blazing red. Keith wasn't exactly small, but compared to big, dumb Jethro, he was a shrimp. Trying to put himself at ease, he began whistling a catchy, high-spirited song. A few stanzas put him at the front of his farmhouse, a good three story colonial that had been around for hundreds of years. Magic kept her looking modern and tip-top, and would continue for all time.
He strolled on into the kitchen, where his mother was making lunch. The smell of hardy chili and sliced cabbage filled the kitchen, watering Keith's mouth something awful.
"Hey ma," said Keith as he moved over to the sink and washed his hands. "Finished the job in the barn. Jethro's bein a lazy good-fer-nothin' like usual. thought ya outta know."
Mary Jane Hillsfar gave a motherly smile, you know, that smile a mother gives her child whenever she was trying to appease him. She was a portly woman in her mid-thirties, her brown hair tied in a bun behind her head. "Jethro's finished his work, now hasn't he?"
"But ma," whined Keith, squaring his shoulders to her as he wiped his hands on a cloth, "it ain't fair. pop ain't taught me those fancy spells Jethro's doin! I gotta work three times harder!"
His mother cackled once mirthlessly and dumped a platter of veggies into the non-magical crockpot. Keith had heard the argument between her and his father about electricity. She had said that 'she'd done gone kill herself if she couldn't have electricity in the house', and finally dad had cracked. "And I don't got no magic at all! Growed up doin' things the old fashion way. stop yer whinin'."
Keith growled, sounding like an agitated puppy. His father was always about doing things the magic way. Proud Tories die hard, and the Hillsfar line were pureblooded wizards that traced their roots back to England. In fact, Keith was the first generation of Half-blood wizards in his family history. Probably why he didn't see much of his father's relatives. They didn't much like coming around the farm and lowering themselves.
But, his mother always filled up the house on Thanksgiving and Christmas, be sure of that. With more uncles and aunts than he could count, there little old farm turned into a zoo. With relatives all over South Carolina, Mississippi and Alabama, the number of Muggle cousins Keith had was astounding. Of course, those days weren't all that fun; he couldn't use magic in front of them. More than once, pop had to Memory Charm a cousin or two that walked into his room. The scream said it all -- they had seen the picture of his grandmother, Barbara Malfoy. Naturally, being a pureblood, she would always scream just as loud when a Muggle entered the room and try to shoo them out.
He stomped out of the kitchen, feeling useless. Deciding to try and expand his mind, Keith flopped on the sofa in the family room and pulled one of Jethro's spellbooks from underneath his couch. Transfiguration Trials and You: Second Year. He flipped open to a random page and began to read about how to turn shoes into pigeons. He didn't get further than the fifth line, however, when he heard a whoosh through the open window. He glanced up just in time to roll off the sofa. A hawk flew through the air, right where his head had been, and landed himself on a perch near the ceiling. It dropped five letters into a bin and squawked at Keith testily.
"Yea, yea, hold yer horses." grumbled the boy as he reached over the coffee table and into the peanut bowl. He tossed a peanut over to the hawk. It snagged it contently, and flew out the window from which it came.
With a lazy toss, he tossed the book aside and stood, clambering stiffly over to the mail bin. He reached in and grabbed the five letters, flipping front to back and looking for something of interest.
"Oh, lookie Ma," laughed Keith once, a bit sarcastically. He held up a moving picture of a huge pumpkin being suspended over the heads of about seven wizards. It was a special pamphlet sent out to all wizards in the Grenich area. "The Rickerson's done beat their old record. a pumpkin that weighs two tons and is as big as a house! They one first place at the fair!"
"Your daddy's gonna be raw," replied his mother's voice from the kitchen. "He's been tryin to get that Growth Charm working for months."
Keith needed no reminder of his father's temper tantrum when, two years ago, he reversed the Growth charm into a Shrinking hex in front of the whole town and finished in dead last with a pumpkin that had to be measured under a magnifying glass. No, Charms were definitely not a Hillsfar talent.
He continued flipping through the mail until his fingers stopped over a letter addressed to him. It was a simple, beige envelope with a multicolored seal. A fourth was devoted to red, brown, blue and green respectively. He noticed that Jethro had a very similar one. This could only mean one thing.
"Ma!" he called out again, enthusiastically. "The Castagloria letters are here!"
She came in, scrubbing her hands with a washcloth. "That's nice, sweetie. Read it to me."
With trembling hands, Keith cracked the seal and removed the letter from within. It was written in the same green ink as the front, the penmanship immaculately refined.
Castagloria School of Sorcery
Principle: Joseph Griffith, (Order of Merlin 6th Class, Archmagi o. Massachusetts Diesis, Godric Prize 1992)
Dear Keith Hillsfar,
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been successfully enrolled at Castagloria School of Sorcery for the fall Semester 2005.
Enclosed with your letter is a list of school supplies that you will need to successfully negotiate your first year of school. All the books that you will need can be purchased new, with exception to Hallora Kain's book: Complete Idiot's Guide to Dark Arts 27th edition, which must be purchased new. Kain's books have always been moody like that.
As a reminder, first years are encouraged to bring a small pet no larger than a basketball. They will be essential in your Transfiguration Classes. All of your supplies can be purchased on Gartherid's Boulevard. Also included is a coupon for a free sample of Bernie Phillips' (The Potions Instructor this year) Every Flavor Softdrink, which can be purchased on the Boulevard at his retail store.
I look forward to seeing you at school, Keith.
Sincerely, Mrs. R.J. Coltrain Assistant Principle
"Awesome!" exclaimed Keith, dropping the letter onto the ground and dancing in place. He needed to get the energy out of his system somehow. "When can we go? When can we go?"
His mother simply smiled wearily. "Not 'til yer father gets home from work."
"But, ma," pressed Keith eagerly, "that ain't fer a few hours!"
She crossed her arms and again took up that mother smile that put Keith back in line. "I can give ya some jobs - take yer mind right off this 'til he gets home."
Keith shook his head furiously and growled once again.
"Go check on yer sisters," ordered Mary with a kind tone. "Think all yer shoutin' might have awakened them."
Keith grumbled and left the family room, heading up the creaky, wooden stairs that screamed in protest, quite literally, whenever he stepped on one.
"AHHH!"
"Y'all shut-up," muttered Keith, shaking his head and glancing down at his feet. Well, if he hadn't awakened his sisters before, that certainly had done it.
His father had, for some reason, felt safer by putting a Screaming Hex on the stairs. Keith never understood why, it was a real pain in the butt when his kid brother Dennis went down stairs at midnight, every night, without fail, to get a glass of water. His little brother didn't sleep well - bad dreams always awakened him at crazy hours. The only thing they'd be good for was if someone wanted to break into the house!
He entered a small room at the end of the corridor on the second floor. The sound of bawling was a good indication that his sisters had indeed been awoken. Carmen and Michelle, the two twins, had each been given their own cribs, but were fast outgrowing them. Michelle was standing up and throwing her toys around the room, having some kind of fit.
"Easy, easy," coaxed Keith as he drew near to Michelle. Her reply was a louder scream, and a rubber duck, thrown accurately at Keith's head. With a sigh, he decided to give Michelle a chance to cool off and moved over to his other sister's crib. Carmen was sucking her thumb passively, watching Michelle with innocent interest.
Keith liked Carmen better.
After finally managing to calm Michelle down by filling her bottle with milk and returning, he went back outside. Swimming in the creek was always a way to pass the time, and so, he decided that he'd do just that. Besides, he hadn't visited Uncle Martin in a week.
He shed Jethro's old cloak and kicked off his sneakers. Beneath his brown cloak, he wore blue jeans and a t-shirt. After pulling off the t- shirt and rolling up the cuffs of his jeans, he waded into the creek, pushing aside a few reeds that grew out of the shallows. Jethro watched him from his hammock for a second or two, but decided that Radiation Man was more interesting than his brother.
Keith swam out about a fourth the way across the water, to a point where he knew from experience was rather deep. He took a few heavy breaths and surface dove, pushing himself underwater with a few quick kicks. This area of the creek was about twenty-feet deep, but from his years of swimming, he had become rather skilled at holding his breath. He was athletic, always working on his chores, swimming in his spare time, or running into town to meet his friends. Today, however, he wanted to be home when his father was.
Out of the murky depths, an old fashioned truck came into view. From within, Keith could hear the sounds of watery snoring, deep inhalations and bubbles. He leveled himself with the truck door and peered inside. The water blurred his vision, but he could see the ghostly form of his uncle, sleeping in the driver's seat. With a smirk, Keith knocked on the driver's side window with his knuckle.
"Whoa. what? Whose'er?" snorted his Uncle as he jerked wide-awake. The ghost turned his body toward the knocking and rolled down the window. "Oh, howdy there Keith. I'd invite ya in, but I reckon ye couldn't stay around all that long, huh?"
Keith shook his head, but continued smirking.
"So, why ain't ye in school? What day is it?"
Due to the fact that most of their communication was rather one way, Keith couldn't answer him all that well. He held up six fingers, however.
"Saturday, eh? Well, that'd explain why ye ain't in school," replied his uncle. "Guess I musta been sleepin since ye last came 'round."
Keith shrugged unknowingly, his chest beginning to tighten a bit due to lack of air.
His uncle gave him a look that must have shown some degree of annoyance. "Boy, when are ye gonna get an aqualung er somethin'? It'd make this whole visitin' thing much easier."
Keith shrugged again. In truth, with the pittance allowance he was getting from his mother, he could barely afford a candy bar when he went into town.
"Anyway, how's yer ma n' pop? N' that annoyin little squirt Jethro?"
Keith held out his hand and gave two thumbs up, and then gave a thumbs down, his smirk turning into a frown.
"Jethro still givin' ye a 'ard time, eh?" continued his uncle.
Keith held up his finger, as the desire to breath began to take its toll and force his resolve. He kicked off the ground and a few moments later, broke through the surface with a gasp.
"So, how's Uncle Martin doing?" called Jethro from his hammock.
Keith gave him the evil eye, while he regained his breath. "Why don't ye get off yer butt and see fer yerself." he said, in between pants. "Oh right, ah forgot. ye can't even hold yer breath at all."
Jethro smirked and continued reading his comic book. How he could still be on the same one after all this time was rather a mystery. "Ah'm a sorcerer of Air, moron. I don't do the swimmin' thing."
Keith's breathing returned to normal. He wasn't entirely sure what his brother meant by the Sorcerer of Air thing, but he knew that it had something to do with his magical specialty and placement in school. "Ye ain't much for doin' anything well that don't be requirin' magic!"
Jethro waved his hand dismissingly and seemed on the verge of making a comment, but Keith had already surface dove again and a few seconds later, was back with Martin, who was waiting for him expectantly.
"Ye ferget about Jethro," his uncle said, "I heard it all. don't ye be thinkin' magic'll replace everythin in yer life. Magic be only a tool - make sure ye remember that."
Keith nodded a few times. His uncle had been an Auror once, and had busted many Dark Wizards all across America. He had met his end a few years ago, when Keith was only four at the bottom of this creek, chained to a boulder. Yeah, he had his share of enemies in his time, could have been anyone who did it, really. Whoever had gotten the best of him that night was still at large. Maybe that's why his pop had put all sorts of security measures around the house.
"When ye goin' ta be old enough to get into Wizard's school anyway. seems like ye've been eleven forever."
Keith smiled excitedly, and locked his thumbs together while flapping his hands. His uncle, who was one of the best charades players alive (or dead), was able to catch onto his meaning - he had had much practice. "The hawk came? When?"
Keith touched the tip of his thumb to his index finger, making a zero.
"Just today!" exclaimed Martin, ecstatically. While Keith had forgotten his goggles today, he could tell his uncle was smiling, though the smile didn't last very long. "Congratulations. likely ye'll become a Sorcerer of Water, just like me."
Keith gave him a 'thumbs up'.
"But all the same. just watch yer back."
Keith cocked his head in confusion and mouthed the word, why, a few rogue bubbles drifting out of his mouth.
His uncle sighed, seeing his nephew's confusion. "The Hillsfars ain't popular around certain sorts. yer father n' I used to work hard keepin' America free of Dark Wizards. Our line is famous fer lockin' up bad wizards."
Keith fought against the dull pressure that was building against his chest. His father rarely talked to him about his job, always changing the question whenever Keith asked. His uncle, however, seemed to have no problems talking.
"I always suspected that rotten apple Blake Dexter. Was gittin' awfully close to that one, I was, before I wound up at the bottom of this lake."
Keith wanted to stay down a bit longer and listen, but his need for oxygen was building again. His uncle groaned, apparently reading the discomfort on his face. "Go get yerself some air, pansy. I've been holdin' my breath fer the last seven years. ye can't even go much more than a minute."
Keith scowled and crossed his arms, intentionally fighting his desire to swim away. He really wanted to say 'being dead was an unfair advantage', but it was difficult to speak underwater. He felt his chest heave twice, pleading with him to breathe. He bit down on his lower lip, however, and didn't start for the surface.
Martin laughed, finding this show of stubbornness rather delightful. "Yer stubborn like yer old man and me. Ye'll drown just to prove me wrong, wontcha?"
Keith grit his teeth and nodded, his eyes gleaming with determination. He wasn't going to leave until his uncle took that part back about him being a pansy.
Unfortunately, stubbornness was a family trait for all Hillsfars. His uncle was hardly going to surrender without a fight. "I gotta be tellin' ya, Keith. playin' the waiting game with me down here isn't a wise bet."
The pain grew intense and, against his will, a few bubbles shot out of his clenched lips. Nonetheless, he kept his arms crossed and his legs knotted together, making no move for the surface twenty feet above.
"By Merlin. the damned kid is actually going to drown himself," snorted his uncle.
Keith found his resolve quickly draining as bubbles began to spew from his mouth and his chest began to heave into his throat. As stubborn as he was, he wasn't stupid, and wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.
"Alright, alright," grumbled his uncle with defeat. "Yer not a pansy. wouldn't want ye becomin' ma passenger for the next eternity - you'd never give me a moment of peace!"
Though, Keith didn't hear the rest of that. The moment he heard the phrase 'yer not a pansy', he pushed off the muddy floor with as much force as he could muster and swam frantically for the surface. He broke through a few seconds later, gasping, coughing and hacking. Jethro had actually gotten off the hammock, and was in the process of taking off his cloak.
"Merlin H. Magic!" exclaimed Jethro from the shoreline. "I had thought crazy old Martin had tried to drown ya! Ye were under there fer like two minutes!"
Keith gasped and spluttered, coughing violently as he swam slowly for the shore. That was definitely the last time he'd be visiting Uncle Martin this summer! He staggered up the shore and rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. He squinted against the sun directly above his head.
"Jethro..." panted Keith, rolling his head over, ". who - who is Dexter Blake?" He didn't know why that question was so important to him, but he had almost drowned for that name. He might as well find out all he could about it.
Jethro shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "You been listenin' to Martin's stories again?"
Keith nodded, sitting back up and coughing the rest of his discomfort away. "Yea. maybe that's who killed him, y'know?"
"He has no idea and neither does pop," said Jethro stubbornly, throwing his brown cloak back over his wide frame. "The only things that tickle Martin nowadays are telling you stories and trying to drown you, it seems."
Keith fixed him with a cold expression. "How would you know? Not like ye go down n' talk to him yerself."
Jethro flopped back onto his hammock, "Well, duh. yer the one whose always swimming." He fell silent, as if that in some way resolved him.
Finally, Keith rose and proceeded to dress himself again. He rolled down the sodden cuffs to his jeans and threw his shirt over his drenched body. Having nothing more to say to Jethro, he went back to the house, hoping lunch would be ready.
And boy, did the hours pass slowly. Between his nagging mother, his crying sister Michelle, the Screaming steps every time he went up to check on her and his agonizing wait to get involved in the Wizarding World, he thought time was just about at a standstill. After lunch, his younger brother Dennis came home and approached the sofa where Keith was reading. He had actually managed to read the entire section on turning shoes into pigeons and he was eager to try it.
Dennis, with his usual kind greeting, withdrew his wand. Keith only noticed him after he waved it. "Pookoo!"
A slight zap of harmless yellow energy hit Keith in the earlob, a jolt of surprise shooting through his body. He gripped his lob and turned on his little brother. "Ya wanna get tossed in the creek?"
His brother, younger by only two years, giggled. "Nerd! Yer readin', yer a nerd!" He jumped on the sofa next to him. "Nerd! Nerd!"
Keith simply groaned and slid to the end of the sofa. His brother matched his movements, keeping the distance between them constant. "Nerd Nerd Nerd Ner."
Keith closed his book and slammed him over the head.
"MAA!" wailed Dennis, sobbing and running out of the room. "MAA!"
Keith wanted to be anywhere but home right now.
At long last, he heard boots crunching the rocky road leading up to their house. Keith leapt off the sofa, grabbed his Castagloria acceptance letter, and raced to the door. A moment later, it swung open. Francis Hillsfar was about to enter but stopped, eying his son with a fatigued expression. "Hello, Keith," he said stiffly, his hooked nose held high.
"Pop, pop, I got my acceptance letter to Castagloria today. Can you take me to Gartherid's Boulevard? Please, Pop, please?"
His father stared at Keith for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Can I at least get my foot through the damned door first?"
Keith blushed red and backed off, looking down at his bare feet. He hadn't bothered to put on his sneakers after the swim, nor had he really bothered to change either. Come to think of it, his mother was probably going to kill him when she found out how wet the sofa was. He winced, really wishing he knew a Drying Charm.
His father drew out the step, but finally dropped his black leather boot upon the wood floor.
"So, please, Pop, please!" continued Keith, jumping up and down, waving his hands like a stranded passenger on a deserted island.
With a groan, his father stuck his head back out the door, his long blonde ponytail swinging back as he turned. He always dressed darkly, with an indigo satin cloak and black undergarments. "No sense getting settled in. you won't be giving me a second to myself. JETHRO, get over here!"
His larger brother came waddling up from the creek. If pigs could walk on two legs, they'd probably look a lot like Jethro. His face was porky pink from the effort. Mary had entered the room as well. She gave her husband a kiss. "Don't worry, dear. Dinner will be on the table when you get back. a nice, non-magically cooked one at that."
Francis nodded, though Keith didn't miss that flash of discontentment. "Alright boys, we've got about two hours before everything closes. Let's hurry along."
Dennis, who had forgotten to brood over Keith's vicious book slamming, rushed down the stairs, having heard it all. "Can I come too?"
"No, Dennis."
Dennis' jaw dropped with outrage while his freckled face dropped, looking like a human flycatcher. "But why do THEY get to go?" he whined, tears beginning to ring his eyes again.
"Crybaby," muttered Keith, while Jethro chortled trollishly, running his finger from his eye down his face, pretending to cry.
Dennis screamed with outrage and ran back upstairs, sobbing once again.
"Keith, Jethro. that was uncalled for," rebuked his father firmly. He led them to the fireplace and withdrew a handful of ashes. With a careful touch, he sprinkled half into the hands of each of his boys. "You know how it works." He then stared pointedly at Jethro, "Speak clearly and whatever you do, don't say "Garfield's Boulevard" like last time. I had to go to Buffalo to track you down, and that wasn't fun."
Jethro frowned with distraught, but Keith happily walked into the empty fireplace with practiced calm. He had waited for this day all summer!
"Gartherid's Boulevard!" exclaimed Keith, dropping the ash down at his feet. With a rush of green flames, he felt himself falling into the fireplace, being pulled by his very nose by magic he didn't understand.
He was gone a moment later.