Hey everyone reading this, hopefully there's more than one of you!

This is my first fic, I'm focusing on OCs and minor characters because it gives me more freedom, and I want to avoid contradicting cannon where possible, while adding to Rowling's world. It's inevitable that I'll be influenced by Methods of Rationality, and will be using scientists looking at magic as a theme, but nowhere near to the same degree.

I welcome any feedback, and am early enough in this project that I will make changes to things I have planned. I expect to go through 9 years of these characters lives, form 1989 when they start at Hogwarts (same year as the Weasley twins) to the end of the wizarding war, the timeline may diverge, and although I'm covering what I cover in detail, there will be time-skips a plenty.
The narrative focus is on what its really like in Slytherin, not the one dimensional evil Harry sees, but the full spectrum of mislead good to complicated evil.

Thanks again for reading, and especially for feedback!

Garret Cross was standing outside his mother's north Kent house in the rain on an unseasonably cold August morning waiting for a sorcerer.
Can there really be such thing as magic schools though? He thought, squinting as the rain sticking his dusky brown hair to his face and then running cold, into his green eyes.

Surely if magic was real one of his teachers, or friends or someone would have told him about it. The professors on the BBC, or the Discovery Channel surely would have known, there would be programs on magic, or books at the library, everyone would have to know about it right?
You can't really just hide magic with more magic can you?

And yet the letter with had been delivered by an owl. And not just that, it was a barred owl, which according to the book he and his mother had taken out from the library to identify it, it was native to north America and so had no business what so ever being here in the UK. It couldn't have flown over by itself, and someone clearly addressed the letter to him. Him, Garret Cross, not his mother, oddly enough. Since when do 11 year olds get mail?

Hopefully this mysterious professor McGonagall would show up soon and set things straight. Sooner rather than latter would be nice- Cross was getting cold.

11:16. She might be late, I'll give here another half hour I guess, provided I don't freeze first. Thought the boy morosely.

There was a sharp crack, and a smell like ozone and rose petals, and a six foot tall witch (including her pointy hat) was suddenly standing in front of Garret, beside his post-box. Just as suddenly Garret was his back in the mud and might have died of embarrassment given the noise he'd just made if he hadn't been so distracted by shock.

"Garret Cross, I presume." Said the witch in a voice so precise and hard that only the people who knew her well could have known she was restraining a chuckle.

"Y-yes mam, er, miss? Aeh, professor McGonagall?" the boy stumbled over his words, but hastily stood up, and tried to regain his composure, and extended his hand, then realizing that it was dripping with mud and water pulled it back and instead said; "Would you like to come in?" in a proper, polite voice he almost never used.

Moments latter Professor McGonagall, Mrs. Cross, and a now toweled off Garret were sitting across from each other at the Cross's dinner table, the women both having steaming cups of tea set before them.

"Soo…" Started Abbey Cross, once Abbey Meier, awkwardly across the table. "So you're a… A witch?" She whispered the last word apologetically, waving a strand of dark brown hair off her forehead.

"Indeed." Said the professor in her crisp, Scottish accent. "I know there is often a negative association with the term in the muggle world, but I assure you we take it as a mark of pride in the magical community."

She sipped her tea with movements even more precise than her accent, and continued.
"Now, I'm sorry to say Mrs. Cross but, well there is simply no easy way to say it but you have been terribly misused by the government of magical, and I would beg your pardon for that," She said looking down, and inclining her head sadly.
"Your husband… How much do you remember of him?"
Garret's mother was sitting bolt upright and slightly pale. Her voice quavered slightly, in that way she did when she had been, or was about to start crying.

He'd asked about it a year and a half ago, and now he pretended not to notice when it happened. His mother pretended not to notice that he noticed as well.

"I'm not sure what exactly you magical people know about things here, but I'm suffer from a disease known as Alzheimer's, which makes it difficult for me to recall certain portions of my life. We were in an auto crash- Julian and I. The doctors think it was caused by that, that when I hit my head…"

Garret reached for her hand to comfort her, but she didn't move. The quaver in her voice had disappeared, but it had a tinge of anger in it now, as she stood up, her fingers whitening as they clenched the tablecloth into fists.

"That accident stole my husband away from me; both his life and most of my memories of him as well. Even the things I remember… they seem fuzzy, and strange, but they're all I have. I sincerely hope you have point in asking me that, or else you can just…
…you can…

… I'm sorry, I shouldn't lose my temper. How could you know after all?"

She sat down, and fixed her hair nervously. "Funny that, sometimes things make me… Makes it hard to control my emotions, its part of the disease."

"No, Mrs. Cross, Your anger is entirely appropriate. Your husband did not die in a vehicle collision. He perished during the wizarding war."

What- Garret started to ask, before cutting himself off. He wasn't even looking at his mother, but he could feel fury coming form her direction. The room was silent apart form a thin pattering of rain on the windows.

"As you have surmised the magical world has policies in place to stop the non-magical world from learning about our existence. Julian told you enough about the magical world to get you into trouble it seems, and when you-" She paused to clear her throat -"When you went looking after the circumstances of his death you became- well you breached the International Statute of Secrecy, and so your memories were altered. Its unfortunate, but necessary to prevent conflict between magic users and non-magic users, however it seems that in your case the memory charm refused to take hold. In fact you resisted it time and time again."

"You what?" Mrs Cross's voice was a hiss. "You've been altering my memories?" The sound a boiler reaching maximum pressure would make when fueled with nothing but pure hate. It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. Garret didn't want to be in this room anymore. He wasn't sure he wanted to be anywhere. His mind wasn't working right.

McGonagall spoke again, sadly, gently, but still precisely; "The memory charm is usually harmless, however you would not be dissuaded form your line of inquiry. It simply didn't work properly on you, and so the Oblivators had to remove more and more of your memory, and repeat their charms. From what I understand of muggle doctors they diagnosed you with a disease based on the symptoms, which were caused by overzealous or overworked Oblivators who didn't take proper care in-"

"And you think." Mrs. Cross said, still hissing "That is acceptable." It was a statement that didn't leave room for argument. McGonagall, apparently, disagreed.

There was the slightest pause before the witch began to protest she didn't have time to finish, as the younger woman flung her teacup at her in one fluid motion switching directions, letting out a rising growl and hurling her chair at McGonagall, closely followed by a flurry of strikes.

The teacup smashed on once invisible barrier, which flared blue at the impact, followed by the chair which bounced away, but either some of the kinetic energy got through, or the surprise of the attack sent the witch stumbling backwards. Even in surprised retreat, the McGonagall was a veteran of the wizarding war, and her wand was in her hand almost instantly and with a quick flicking motion pushed the other woman backward, even as the spider-web cracks of the blue shield knitted back together and vanished. Another flick of her wand stopped the muggle in mid air. And then another series of flicks accompanied some unpronounceable syllables which caused strong vines to grow form from the wood cabinets and floor, as if it weren't long dead and encased in varnish, and grasped Mrs. Cross's limbs keeping her suspended and helpless.

Slower than his mother, but still following her lead Garret had stood up and grabbed a chair which he had begun to hoist before the professor held out her right hand, as if motioning him to stop, and he froze, entirely unable to move his limbs.

Professor McGonagall scratched her head and sighed as she lowered her wand.
"If it makes you feel any better Mrs Cross, you would had me at your mercy if I hadn't put up a kinetic shield before arriving, just in case. Although I really had hopped it wouldn't be necessary."

Mrs. Cross swore furiously at the other woman, who put up a quieting charm around her son and took the verbal abuse for several minutes, until her rage was spent, or at least less loud, and she took the silence off of Garret.

"What my government has done to you is entirely unfair. It was during a war, and people often do not act as they should during such times. I am here to try and make that right. I am going to walk over to you now, and I am going to try and restore your memory as best I can. Is that alright?"

"You… Yes do it." She said after a pause.

The witch took a couple of steps forward and tapped the muggle's forehead head with the tip of her wand and she relaxed, and they stayed like that for several minutes as Garret tried to yell, tried to move, but could not.

Finally, McGonagall turned around and let Mrs. Cross down into a sobbing heap and allowed her son to run to her.

As garret held her, unsure of what to do, she whispered "I remember" again, and again, and laughed a dust-choked sound. Eventually she stood up, her son still clinging to her.

"Thank you Professor McGonagall. But… this isn't it is it? I know there is more, but are they…"

"More memories might return in time," the old witch said, looking and sounding much older than she looked now. "But I do not expect much; the Oblivators used entirely too much force and, it is likely that some memories will not be recoverable. I'm not sure how much comfort it is to you, but I'll see to it that the people who did this to you are brought to justice. I have some connections within the ministry."

"Right." The younger woman said.

"Does this mean that mom isn't going to… forget things anymore?" asked Garret, his eyes still burning.

"That… is mostly true. I was not able to repair all of the damage, and I'm not entirely sure why, however I can return with potion capable of healing almost any injury. With it you should make a full recovery."

The next few hours passed in a blur for Garret, and concluded with him agreeing to go to Hogwarts School for witchcraft and wizardry, and be instructed in the magical arts. Under normal circumstances he would have had uncounted questions, but he was far too occupied by his emotions and a feelings of shock. He was a wizard, like his father before him. His father had died in some sort of secret war. He had been a soldier, it sounded like. And the magical world had messed with his mother's mind so much she had trouble holding onto memories, even ones unrelated to her husband.

But McGonagall could fix everything, with a simple wave of her wand and a healing potion, like it was nothing. Is she a magic doctor? Garret wondered before drifting off to sleep that night. Can they just magic away any disease they want?
Garret's mom had learned how to fight a long time ago, before she'd met his father, but it hadn't mattered. McGonnagall had shields. Shields! Like on Star Trek! Mom hadn't been able to fight the people who stole her memories either.

Was there any way to hurt a wizard at all? Without being a wizard yourself anyway.
But if that was the case why were they so secretive? The prime directive?
Garret had never really understood the point of the prime directive. It just seemed to get in the way of Kirk and Picard doing the right thing, and it's not like they didn't just break it when it was important. Maybe that's how it was for wizards.

Or maybe, the boy thought, before drifting off to sleep, maybe the world needs a hero to go and break it.