Prologue

I don't dream often. But that ceiling full of gray clouds and a car-sized moon tells me I am. So then, why does everything feel so…real?

For like the hundredth time, I take a long look around the "Great Hall." I'm in a giant castle—this place they call "Hogwarts"—full of kids wearing funky graduation gowns and waving wooden sticks. There are hundreds of us. Boys and girls, all around my age, seated along a huge table filled with plates of half-eaten food. They're all chatting about…sorting? Houses? Gryffin…what? I haven't the faintest clue what they're talking about.

Is this what rich kids do in their free time?

"Hey," a boy with ginger hair next to me pokes my elbow. "Where are your robes and wand?"

I stare at him, then down at myself. I'm still wearing weather-beaten Chicago Bulls hoodie and grimy jeans picked up from the charity shop near King's Cross. At the total of three pounds, seventy shillings.

"Didn't feel like putting it on. It makes me...itchy."

That's a lie. I didn't have the money to buy all the fancy gear other kids have. That boy's not the first to ask that question. I see few kids staring, murmuring, nudging chins at me.

"But…you'll get in trouble! You heard what Professor Longbottom told us at the entrance hall!" He looks really serious, nervous even. What a geek.

"Come on, we're all gonna change into pajamas later anyway, right?" I crack a joke, winking, trying to smooth things over. The boy looks at me blankly, then turns to kids on the other side of him. I'm pretty sure he's rolling his eyes.

Alright, to be honest, I don't have any money, period. Not for that train ticket, and certainly not enough to pay entrance fee for...wherever here is.

I'm guessing this is some sort of a drama camp. Or a fantasy role-playing camp. You know, one of those places where kids with loving parents sign up to pretend to be princesses and wizards? Everyone I saw on the train seemed so excited. I thought it weird anyone could get that worked up over playing imaginary. But I didn't want to sound out of place or worse, get booted off the train. So I kept my mouth shut.

My plate is sitting empty, except for a few chicken bones with gristle on top. I admit, I was pretty impressed when that lady playing head counselor—Headmistress McGonagall or something—waved her stick around and made the food appear out of nowhere. An awesome trick. I still haven't figured out how she did it. A simple bait and switch? Mirror tricks? Maybe there's some hidden mechanism, a lift that brings stuff up from below. I spent nearly fifteen minutes looking for hidden seams in the table before noticing I was drawing too much attention.

The food was real, though. Chicken, roast beef, trifles, cakes…the best meal I've had in a while. A hundred times better than mum's bland frozen chow mein. They must've spent hundreds of thousands of quid setting this place up. I mean, those hologram ghosts alone are so realistic! Like the stuff they use in Hollywood. The Star Wars-grade tech.

A realization strikes me. Of course. This must all be special effects! One of those startup entertainment companies, renting a whole castle and costumes to draw in young fantasy fans. Kinda odd they didn't cover the opening in the paper or on TV, but whatever.

I begin to feel more relaxed, happy that I took the risk when I did. I smile back those ogling eyes, even wave back. So what if I'm surrounded by spoiled kids and dazzling CGI? The meal alone had been worth it. True, I probably won't get to go back to London for a while. But what have I got to miss in London? Until they catch me and drag my scrawny butt back to my foster parents, I can just bum a few free meals and mess around with these theater nerds for a while. A page for my life journal.

Then that old hat on the stool starts talking, and I completely lose my shit.

I have no idea how long I've been sitting there, mouth open. At first I thought it was just another CGI. An animatronic, or puppet work. But seeing these campers go up and put it on , I realize there's nothing controlling it. Not even invisible strings. Even I know our technology hasn't come that far. I don't even know what it's supposed to be.

Am I seeing things? Is THAT an actual ghost?

I soon figure out that the hat is "sorting" the campers into four groups. Gryffindor. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff. Slytherin. For Chrissakes, is that hat calling our names?! Once sorted, each person leaves for the houses tables. Thunderous cheers—and jeers—ring out after each announcement. Our table grows emptier as minutes pass by.

This is no longer funny. I can feel chill crawling down my back. Maybe if I sneaked out of here now…if I could just find my way back to the station, I could make it to London before dawn tomorrow…

Suddenly, I realize all's gone quiet. I blink, and see everyone looking at me. Everyone. Campers. Counselors. The ghosts. Even that freaky scary-ass hat. Wrinkles of its face are frowning.

I'm the only one left at the table. This is not good.

"You, boy!" the hat shouts. "How come I don't know your name?! Who are you?"

I freeze. A wave of confused murmur spreads across the hall like an oil spill.

And this...is where I get busted.

"Umm," I stammer. "I'm Nate. Nate Liang. I...uh...arrived late. Forgot to bring some stuff from home, and I..."

"Where is your robe, Mr. Liang?" "Headmistress" McGonagall glares me. The same way those idiots at the Social Services do at every appointment. "Haven't you read your acceptance letter? Or paid attention to your prefects?"

"Ah…I…also forgot it?" I flash a smile. It is not returned.

"Never mind that! Let's get this over and done with," the hat grumbles. "Come over here, Nate Liang!"

It feels like forever just to stand up. I shuffle forward like prisoner on death row, trying to shut out all the staring, muttering, and giggling. I slowly lift the hat up onto my head, pausing just enough to check there's really nothing in there. Nope. Nothing. No gears, no batteries, nada, none.

I sit still on the stool, praying this unnatural creature won't swallow my head or crush my skull between its folds.

"I'm not a monster, you stupid kid," the hat snaps. "Now let's see what house—wait…what?"

"Please," I whisper, my eyes shut. My hands are shaking so bad. "I didn't mean to crash without paying! I was just hungry, honest!"

"By Merlin's beard…!" the hat whispers in shock. "You're…a muggle!"

Hope you've enjoyed the bit!