Chapter I: A tuxedo with leather sandals

It was 11:57 p.m. on December eighth, meaning there were only three minutes left until his eleventh birthday. Whit Glacius was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling from his warm and comfortable bed, thinking about what tomorrow would bring. There'd be no party; his mother and he had it rough, living off child support and welfare. His mother had two jobs, working as a nanny beside her normal part-time job as a librarian at the University of London and even then they had to scrape the bottom of her purse at the end of every month. Besides, even if they had had enough money to host a party, whom would they invite? Family? His mother's family had disowned her after finding out she'd gotten pregnant at age fifteen. His father? He hadn't seen or heard from him his entire life. Classmates? What classmates? Everyone in his class teased him. They relentlessly picked on him every chance they got. Inviting anyone over for a party would be the same as inviting foxes to come snuggle up with the chickens in a hen yard. No, Whit would have to make do with his mother, just like he had done ten times before. In fact, that was just the way he liked it.

Whit stared at the ceiling for another minute. A large crack in the plaster ran over it, here and there widening to places where you could see the bare cement above it. He heard raised voices booming from the apartment overhead. Mr. and Mrs. Jackobson were having their biweekly shouting match by the sounds of it. The subject for today was his unemployment. Whit had found out this was one of Mrs. Jackobson's favourite subjects, since she'd brought it up nearly every time the past few months. 11:59 p.m. One minute to go. Whit wondered if he'd feel different. He heard the door to his mother's room open and close with its telltale groan.

Twelve o'clock. The clock in his room gave a soft tick, signalling the beginning of his eleventh birthday. His mother knocked on the door softly.

'Come in, mother', Whit said as he sat up in his bed. As she opened the door, Whit saw his mother looking proudly at him. She had blond hair, falling down to her shoulders. It was held together in a ponytail by a pink scrunchy. She had blue eyes that were round and penetrating. Her nose was prominent on her face, though not enough to claim all attention. She was smiling.

'Happy birthday, sweety', she said after hugging him warmly, 'would you like to see your presents?'

Whit held out his hands eagerly. 'Yes, of course!' His mother looked at him in an amused way. 'You'll have to close your eyes first.'

After he did, Whit felt something hard pressed in his hands. When he looked down, he saw a present in his hands, covered in gift-wrappings bearing the University of London logo. His fingers slid around the edges. It was square and flat, with wide grooves in the sides.

'Is it a book?' he asked finally.

'Open it', his mother said, 'Open it and you'll find out if it is.'

Whit tore the gift-wrappings off of his present to find a black book with a round logo on the front. It was titled "The Hobbit" by J.R.R. Tolkien. Whit had read it at school and had immediately fallen in love with it. He had borrowed it at the library three times now, re-reading the book as often as he could.

'Mother, I love it!' he said as he put his arms around his mother and hugged her as hard as he could. He flipped the book open and saw that it had little pictures in it too.

'Check the first page.'

Under a bit of print about copyrights and trademarks was a written text. It was in red ink and the letters were round and flowing. He recognized it as his mother's. It said:

To my darling son. May every day be your birthday.

'Mother?'

'Yes honey?'

'I don't want to sound rude, but- don't you think this is a bit much?'

'Try not to think about money today. I've saved up a bit for a while now because I wanted you to have a nice present this year.'

Whit gave this some thought. His mother didn't generally have money to spare, so when she did, that mostly meant she had not bought something she usually did. Last year, she'd spent four months without wearing make-up, just to save money for that red bike he'd had his eyes on. When he'd found out she hadn't been buying any lunch for herself either, he'd suddenly lost all appetite for that bike. He'd made it a point not to show interest in expensive things before his birthday and the holidays. This year he had obviously failed.

Whit knew his mother had needed the money for something else too. There seemed to be some as-of-yet undiscovered law in the universe that whenever she had saved up for something nice, something in the house would break down. His mother had called it 'Whit's First Law of Harsh Reality' when he had told her about it. This month, their television had decided to follow 'Whit's First Law' and because they had no money to repair it, the sat up each night watching the upper half of the news, while the bottom half showed lines that made you feel nauseous when you looked at them too long.

'It's the best present you ever gave me, mother.'

'Good,' she said, smiling at him, 'now go to bed, honey. The rest of the gifts can wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is another school day for you, and I've allowed you to stay awake for far too long already.'

Whit kissed his mother goodnight and fell asleep holding his personal copy of 'The Hobbit' pressed tight against his chest.

The next morning, Whit came into the living room holding his book and saw that his mother had decorated the ceiling with birthday flags. He saw that there were balloons on the floor and some were hanging from the flags too. His mother kissed him on the cheeks and then went into the kitchen to make breakfast. When she came back out, she looked at the time and quickened her pace.

'God, you're going to be late again. You have to be at school in ten minutes.'

Whit quickly stowed away his two ham sandwiches and grabbed his bag. After carefully placing his new book in the bag, he flung it onto his back and kissed his mother goodbye.

Whit had spent twelve minutes in the bathroom looking at the tiles on the walls, occasionally checking his watch. He knew that if he left the bathroom at 7:46, that he'd have about ten minutes to get to school after eating his breakfast. Since the walk took exactly nine minutes, he'd only have to endure one minute of playground torture, less if his classmates didn't notice his arrival immediately. Whit passed the Broadstreet Bridge, took his regular shortcut through Westmore Avenue and arrived at school. He checked his watch. 8:28 a.m. Whit was about turn back and wait for a minute when he heard a familiar voice from the playground.

'Anyone order ice-cream?'

Robert Dupree didn't even take time to wait for anyone to reply. He pointed at Whit and said: 'Nobody ordered you, snowcone, so why don't you run back home?'

Whit sighed. I guess certain things don't change when you grow older... Slowly he trudged out toward the playground where he knew another two minutes worth of insults and taunts would follow. If they didn't start about his appearance or anything he had said, than they would start about his surname, which was as odd as it was unique. Whit liked it. He thought 'Glacius' sounded cool.

During classes, the teasing mostly stopped. As bold as some of the kids in his school were, none of them had the audacity to insult him directly in front of the teachers. He was seated in the front row, right in front of the teacher's desk. When he opened his bag to get his pencil and paper, the black book he had gotten for his birthday stood out. He picked it out gingerly and wiped the front, even though there wasn't really any dust on it. When he put it back, he heard Marie whisper something to Clair, whom passed it on to Robert. A big smirk flashed on his face. Not a good sign.

The day passed without any real problems. Whit had another 'memorable moment' when he kicked the ball into his own goal during gym-class (after being picked last of course) and had to endure an entire classroom of people, including his gym-teacher, laughing at him. Still, it wasn't until Whit walked back home that the real fun started...

As Whit walked back towards the Broadstreet Bridge, he suddenly felt a big push against his back. Toppling over forward, he smacked headfirst onto the pavement. It took him a moment to register what exactly had happened. In that moment, Jason ripped open his schoolbag and in one swift motion pulled out his birthday gift.

'What's this, snowcone?' Robert sneered, 'did your mommy find you a book in the bins while looking for food?' Some people might have gotten angry at this comment. Some people might even have gotten violent. Whit had endured enough torment from Robert to know not to. Four classmates always surrounded Robert, and this was no exception. Like flies around a turd. Just let them have their fun and they'll move on.

'Looks expensive,' Robert continued, 'your mother must have found it in a bin in Somerset.'

At this comment, Whit had to suppress a grin. Robert would do anything to remind people he lived in Somerset road, a street in London where lots of rich, upper class people lived.

'Trash is still trash,' Robert said, grinning slyly, 'even if it's from my neighbourhood. Should I make the world a better place?'

All four of Whit's other classmates nodded in agreement to this. Whit didn't understand. In his view, the only thing Robert could do to make the world a better place was not to take part in it.

'You should always recycle your trash...'

Jason and Marcus shot forward and restrained Whit as Robert and Dwight both took a side of his beloved present. Only then did it dawn to Whit what Robert meant. He tried to get the book out of their hands, but no matter how hard he tried, Jason and Marcus, both in the junior rugby league, made sure he didn't even advance an inch. Robert and Dwight started to pull on each side of the book, which split right down the middle. Robert deposited the remains of his gift in front of him. Jason and Marcus let go and together, they walked away. Whit quickly gathered all the pages of his book, while tears started rolling down his face. Why? Why did they have to do that? Mommy spent so much time saving up to buy it. Bastards!

Whit replaced the pages back into his torn book with as much care as he could. Even so, pages stuck out at odd angles, some smeared with mud and sand from the road. The book's back was partly torn, a deep gash running from the bottom all the way up to the middle. He pressed the book against his chest and ran the rest of the way, slamming the door closed as he got home. He ran to his room and fell down on the bed. Why do I have to be the one everyone picks on? Why me?

Slowly, his pillow filled with his tears as he drifted off to sleep.

'Wake up, honey. Come on, wake up, dinner is almost ready.'

As Whit opened his eyes, he saw the slim form of his mother standing beside his bed, gently prodding his side until he woke up fully. She smiled at him endearingly. 'Are you hungry? You look exhausted.'

Whit was about to wipe his eyes, knowing they were puffy and red, until he realized he was still holding the remains of his present.

'Have you been crying?'

'No', Whit lied.

'Oh come on, son. I think I know you a little better than that. Tell me what happened. Was it that dreadful Robert again?'

Whit nodded in agreement.

'What did he do this time?'

Whit swallowed. Mother isn't going to like what I'm about to say. 'He tore up my birthday present.' He handed out the book without looking at it. He had seen enough to know it was ruined. 'Jason and Marcus held me while he and Dwight pulled it apart.'

His mother didn't reply. She merely stared at him, looking incredulous.

'I'm sorry mommy, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have taken it with me.'

'This book got ripped apart? This exact book?'

Whit glanced down. The big gush on the back was gone. The pages were all standing in the same direction, none of them sticking out. The book looked clean too, as though it had just been printed.

'I don't understand.'

'Neither do I, mommy.'

His mother flipped the book open on the first page. His mother's handwriting was still visible in red ink.

'What are you thinking, mother?'

'I don't know what to think. Yet somehow, something else keeps coming into my mind. I think you know what.'

Whit did know. It had crossed his mind too. More than two years ago, Lara, another one of his wonderful classmates, had pushed him from a swing. His arm got caught on one of the cables though, so when he fell, his arm had twisted into an impossible position. He had to visit the school nurse, which told him his arm had been broken on several places and that he would have to go to the hospital immediately. Before he even got there, the pain had subsided though, and his arm was perfectly normal again.

There were more occasions like this. Bruises and scratches that would have taken days to heal disappeared overnight, things that were broken and expensive miraculously started functioning again, and bills that his mother would never be able to pay somehow got lost in administrations or were even paid for by others by mistake. Luckily, his mother believed his word when something unexplainable had happened. She had called Robert's parents one evening, after he had punched Whit in the face. The bruise on his face had disappeared before she had even gotten back from work. Still, she stood by him, taking his word that it had really happened. Robert's parents had questioned him (reluctantly), and Robert had admitted it.

'Let's not try to think this out,' his mother suddenly said, 'we've tried that before and we never found an answer then. Let's just enjoy the rest of your birthday together.'

And so they did. His mother had bought him some pencils for school, a nifty poster showing the new line-up for FC Arsenal and a pair of new socks. She had even been able to get two slices of pie. One of them was mocha flavoured and with a big cherry on top, the other a strawberry-filled whipped cream pie with a slice of peach. They ate them greedily and spent the rest of the night playing games.

The rest of the year passed by quickly, filled with teasing classmates, worries about money and several candle-lit dinners (after all, a candle costs less than two light bulbs). During the rest of the winter, Whit had spent most of his time at home, reading books or watching the telly. Winter passed into spring, spring passed into summer.

Whit was walking back home on a Friday in high spirits. Today had been the last day of school and at last he was freed of Primary school and his horrible classmates. He set a brisk pace. His mother had been browsing through several folders for secondary schools, looking for a good place for Whit to attend. There were a lot of schools that Whit would be allowed to attend at (Whit was a relatively good study), so Whit had high hopes of never having to see Robert, Lara, Dwight or any of his other former classmates again.

Whit passed the gardeners' shop on the corner of Surrey Street and Abercromby Avenue when he saw the most curious of people. It was a man wearing a black tuxedo with a large pink tie. At first, Whit assumed that he was a businessman, but after closer inspection, he was also wearing white sport socks in leather sandals. Between his legs he had lodged a black leather suitcase. He was standing in front of the shop, reading a newspaper. Whit couldn't see his face, as the newspaper obscured it. He walked on, inwardly laughing at the oddness of his attire. He hadn't even walked ten feet when an odd feeling started to work in his stomach. He felt like he was being watched. Whit quickly turned around, looking for any sign of Robert and his cronies, but he saw no one. Whit's eyes passed the man in the tuxedo. The sneaking feeling came to him that he was watching, but he was still holding up the paper, so unless he could see through the paper, Whit assumed he was imagining things.

Once at home, Whit flipped on the telly and spent an hour blissfully lounging around. It felt great knowing he didn't have to face either that awful school or everyone in it ever again. His mother entered only an hour later, her hair in a tight bun, as it always was when she had to go to work.

'How was your day honey?' she asked when she closed the door.

'Great! Apart from Jason pushing me into a desk at school, nothing really happened.'

His mother smiled warmly. 'Am I to assume that today being your last day at that school helped a bit too?' Whit smiled. His mother could read him like a book. She gave him a warm kiss on the forehead and trudged to her room.

'Listen up, Whit,' she said after getting some clothes from her wardrobe, 'I'm going to have a quick shower and get into something more comfortable. Do you want to go through the folders for secondary schools afterwards?' Whit nodded eagerly in response. While his mother took a quick shower, he opened the dresser drawer and took out the different folders and fanned them out on the table. Most of them showed happily smiling children, supporting bags filled with books and standing in front of an old building. One really cool folder also held a DVD containing some visual material. Too bad we don't own a DVD player.

Moments after he heard the shower turn off, there was a knock on the door.

'Can you get that, honey?' his mother yelled from the bathroom. Whit got up and stood on his toes to look through the peephole. He saw the face of a man in a tuxedo with a pink tie. His hair was short and thin, the hairline visibly receding. Whit guessed he was in his thirties. Whit opened the door, but left the chain on, just to be sure.

'Can I help you?' he asked. His mother had taught him years ago that he always had to be distant to people at the door he didn't know.

'Yes, mister Glacius,' the man said in an upbeat way, 'but I think I can help you more.'

'Are you a salesman?' At this, the man gave out a hearty laugh that sounded like it came from deep inside.

'In a way', he chuckled, 'I guess I am. My name is Mr. Williams, but you may call me Bernard. I'm a ministry representative for one of Britain's most acclaimed and distinguished schools. We would like to have a word with you and your mother.'

'Who is it, honey?' Whit heard his mother say behind him. She had put on a pair of sweatpants and a tanktop. Her hair was still damp from showering and she was busy wrapping a towel around it. When she saw the man in the doorway, she paused.

'Are you a tax collector, or from the bank?'

Mr. Williams' eyes darted from Whit to his mother, then quickly back to Whit. 'No Mrs. Glacius, I'm a ministry representative from a school that is interested in accepting your son, Whit.'

'How do you know his name?'

'We pulled up some data from the government quite a while ago. Every year, a select group of children is allowed to enrol in our school.' Mr. Williams' eyes had stopped darting between Whit and his mother, Whit noticed. They now focussed solely on his mother. He blushed slightly. 'I-If you'll just allow me in for a moment, than I can explain everything to you.'

'What's this school's name?'

'Hogwarts, Mrs. Glacius', he said, a slight smile creeping on his face as said it, 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Whit's mother seemed temporarily stunned. Looking from the stranger at her door to Whit, look of disbelief etched itself on her face.

'W-Wizardry?'

'Yes. Your son has been enrolled to study at Hogwarts for quite some time now. Actually, he's been enrolled since birth. In my suitcase, I have a written acceptance letter. Would you like me to show it?'

Whit's mother was still stunned and speechless, not unlike he was himself.

'S-Since birth?'

'Yes,' Mr. Williams said, 'I would prefer if we could discuss this matter in a more private way. Our community prefers to remain hidden from prying eyes as much as it can.'

Whit unlocked the door and opened it further. Mr. Williams stepped in slowly, unsure if he was supposed to enter. Whit's mother was still silent and it appeared to Whit that Mr. Williams didn't want to intrude. He walked over to the dinner table where Whit had fanned out all the folders and placed his suitcase on top of them. Two big, silver locks on each side of it that had no visible opening or keyhole locked it.

'I see you have been busy trying to decide what school to send Whit to, Mrs. Glacius. I hope that by the end of the day, you have been able to make a satisfactory choice.' After that, Mr. Williams pulled a thin piece of wood out of his pocket and tapped his suitcase with it. The two locks that were on it sprang open instantly. He lifted up the lid and after replacing the piece of wood in his pocket, took out an envelope. It was sealed, Whit noticed, with red wax, engraved with an emblem.

'This is yours, Whit', he said, giving him the envelope, 'It's the letter that states that you've been accepted into Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When I was your age, I received my letter too. It was the beginning of a new life for me.' Mr. Williams then turned around and faced Whit's mother. 'Mrs. Glacius, I was sent here by the ministry of magic to help you and your son fully understand what magic is, why your son is accepted into Hogwarts, and what preparations you will have to make. I am here to make your passage into the world of magic as smooth as it can be.'

'Miss,' his mother said. She had been silent for quite a while now, and there was an uncertainty in her voice Whit had not heard before.

'Pardon?' Mr. Williams said.

'Miss Glacius, Mr. Williams.'

'I see. Call me Bernard.'