1. A Special Messenger

'It's still pretty cold, huh?' Jules grumbled, pressing his lips to his hands. They were turning mottled red. 'It's March already.'

Meg looked up at him to reply, then paused.

There was a man walking down to road towards them.

She wasn't sure why this man distracted her. Maybe it was just an unfamiliar face in the small, insular village. Maybe it was the fact he was tall, nice-looking, with a cascade of pillar-shaped earrings dripping from his left earlobe. Maybe it was because he met her eyes as he approached and gave her a small, conspiratorial smile.

She kept her eyes on him as he passed her. His head turned towards her and, just as he was going to get past her, he winked. Then he turned and kept walking like nothing had happened.

She stopped walking.

'Meg?' Jules stopped dead, looking back at her over his shoulder with a frown. 'Something wrong?'

She didn't answer. She watched the stranger swagger down her road, in the direction of her house. For some reason, she just couldn't look away. She had this strange...feeling.

That was the most likely reason why she wasn't surprised when she saw him head into their driveway, feet crunching on the gravel. Why she wasn't surprised when she heard him knock on the door, hidden behind the green privet hedges around their land.

She turned back to her big brother. He was frowning at the house now. 'Must be going to see Mum and Dad.'

'Must be,' Meg echoed.

Jules frowned for a second longer, then seemed to shake it off. 'Oh well. Come on. Grandma said she was cooking for us.'

He started walking again, shoving his hands in his pockets. Meg took one last look at their house, then hurried after him.

After an hour or so of being fussed over by their grandmother, their father came to her door. Grandma tried to usher him in for leftovers, but he declined.

At that, Jules frowned at him. 'You're going to make us leave, aren't you?'

Meg had no idea what was wrong with her father. Usually a man of keen mind and steely focus, he seemed tired and clumsy-mouthed as he brushed his hand through his hair repeatedly in agitation and sighed at the ground.

'Come in, Silas – Nell and Seb have roped me into making cookies,' Grandma tried, only for Meg's father to raise a polite hand.

'Sorry, Millie,' he said through another sigh. 'I should really be getting back.'

'Aww,' Jules erupted, echoed by his younger siblings, but their father shook his head at them.

'No, it might be best if you lot stay here after all,' he said. He turned his eyes onto Meg.

Somehow, Meg just knew this was something to do with the stranger who had passed her on the street earlier.

Her father held out a hand to his oldest daughter. 'Come on, my dear. We have a visitor. He wants to talk to you...about school.'

'School?' Meg repeated, narrowing her eyes at him. Like that would see through the things he'd left untold. 'My school?'

'Just come. It's best if he explains it himself.'

Meg glanced at her grandmother, standing in the kitchen doorway with the twins either side of her, clinging to her apron. Seb, noting the long silence, took the opportunity to reclaim her attention. 'Nana, the cookies!'

Grandma sighed. 'Alright then. Will you be coming over after? I can make something delicious—'

'We'll let you know,' Meg's father replied with a forced smile. Meg took his reaching hand and let him pull her towards the door. 'Say goodbye to the others, Meg. We'll see you later, okay?'

Grandma didn't try to pull him into the web a third time. She turned back to the kitchen. Jules frowned at his sister as their father led her out of the door.

She could hear his complaining already. Why does the visitor want to talk only to her?

The air was still crisp and cold outside. Meg hurried to keep step with her father's longer strides. 'Who's the visitor?'

He sighed. 'A teacher at a very exclusive school. He's come to talk to you about starting there next year.'

A frown crossed Meg's face. 'But...I thought I was going to stay at my school?' With Jules and all our friends. She tried to picture going to some new school, and her heart started fluttering. How was she going to make friends without Jules there?

'It's not a sure thing. He just wants to talk to you.'

Meg fell into silence, thinking that over. She'd just have to politely decline, then. Clearly, that was her only option.

It was a short walk back to their house. Meg's mother stood waiting for them in the hall, looking flustered and slightly pink in the face. 'There you are!'

She came up and took Meg's arms in her hands, bending down to her level. 'Listen, sweetheart – there's a gentleman here to see you. He's going to talk to you, and that's fine, but don't start worrying, okay? You're not being forced into anything. I promise.'

'Beth, please,' Meg's father muttered, grasping his wife by the arm and pulling her away. 'You'll freak her out.' He looked back at his daughter. 'Your visitor is in the living room. Go on through, my dear.'

Meg's eyes went to her mother's face. To her eyes, the woman looked...angry. Like she'd been insulted or something. Silently, Meg squeezed past her parents and headed into the living room.

The stranger stood at the fireplace, leaning patiently against the mantelpiece. No doubt he heard the words of Meg's mother, yet he didn't seem bothered by her concern. When he saw Meg, he smiled.

He had a natural warmth to him, Meg noted. A nice, friendly face and a calm, patient demeanour. He was wearing a t-shirt in a shade of dark orange under a black jacket, with a pair of ordinary black jeans. Meg had been around teachers from posh schools her entire life and yet she'd never seen one who dressed like this. He reminded her of someone who could be found at a rock concert somewhere, dancing in the crowd.

'Good afternoon, Miss Clute,' he said, in a voice like warm honey. 'A pleasure to meet you.'

Meg managed a polite smile. Her parents leaned in the doorway behind her, watching vigilantly.

'Let's take a seat,' the stranger continued, still smiling gently at the girl. 'We have a lot to cover.'

Meg perched on the edge of her mother's hideous pink sofa. The stranger took his time to settle in the chair across from her, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. 'First things first: my names is Professor Logan Fawley. Did your father tell you why I'm here today?'

'You're going to talk to me about a school,' she replied, cautiously. Her father was a Professor. He was a Professor because he taught at a university. This man couldn't be here to talk to her about going to a university. She got good marks in school, but not that high!

He nodded. 'I am indeed. A very special school. It's a school of...well, magic.' He laughed over the last word, like even he was surprised he was saying it.

'Magic,' Meg repeated. She resisted the urge to look back at her parents. 'As in...card tricks?'

'No,' he almost cut her off. 'As in actual magic. Would you like some proof?'

She stared at him. He seemed to take that as a yes, because he reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like the handle of a bread knife. He laid it on the coffee table between them and slid out what appeared to be a brown stick from his sleeve. He pointed this stick at the object and flicked his wrist. A sharp blue light erupted from the tip with a crack; the handle shook, then sprouted legs.

Meg flinched away as the fat, hairy tarantula seemed to shake itself off, rising up off the table. It took a second to look around at its surroundings

Logan Fawley seemed to smirk at her reaction. He leaned over and carefully guided the tarantula onto his hand. 'So?'

'Whoa,' Meg breathed. Her eyes felt wide. 'I can learn to do that?'

'If you work hard,' he said, calmly seating the fat tarantula on his shoulder. The little creature settled there like it was used to it.

Meg suddenly didn't care about her friends at her old school. She whirled on to her parents. 'Can I go? Can I go?'

Her mother stepped into the room, hugging herself. 'It's a boarding school, Meg. I can't...I don't approve—'

'Beth—' her father began.

'Studies say children suffer from being away from their families for so long—'

'Beth—'

'And – it certainly is a clever trick, Mr Fawley, but Meg's never done anything like that before. How—How do we even know she'll be able to…?'

Fawley looked at Meg. 'Surely, Miss Clute, this feels familiar? Things have happened that you can't really explain – cups tipping over without anything touching it, people acting strangely, maybe even a misbehaving candle?'

Meg was quiet. The image of a pair of trousers bursting into flame, only for the fire to vanish a second later. That time Jules lost the ability to speak, stumbling over his tongue like it had swollen in his mouth. A sentence or two and it had gone again, leaving everyone to just assume a momentary lapse in brainpower. Weird things happen sometimes. That's what her mother always said.

'Silas,' her mother said, appealing to her husband. Meg's father sighed, rubbing his eyes.

'I don't know what to say, Beth. This is...confusing.'

Meg saw Fawley watching her parents. He seemed to be examining them, like a teacher at a test. Finally, he breathed a sigh and reached into his jacket again. 'I'm afraid you have little choice. You do have a choice,' he clarified when Meg's mother gave him a horrified look. 'This isn't a prison sentence. But your daughter's magic won't just go away. The older she gets, the harder it will be to control. It's small tricks at the moment, but if left unchecked, the results could be catastrophic.'

He seemed to find whatever he was searching for and pulled it from his jacket, dropping it on the table between them.

It was a letter, addressed to Miss Margaret Clute, Third Bedroom, The Rose Garden, Hals Way, Oxfordshire. It was for her.

Meg hesitated for half a second, then picked it up and flipped it over. It was sealed with wax. She'd never seen a letter like this before. She tore it in the corner, the thick paper fighting against her fingers.

The paper inside was heavy. In the right-hand corner was a shield. The school crest it must be. Red, Yellow, Blue and Green. Meg wondered if the addition of a secondary colour amongst the set of primaries annoyed anyone else.

'Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus,' she read aloud.

For the first time, a smile flickered over her father's face. 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon?'

Meg gasped. 'There are dragons?'

Fawley laughed. 'Not in the castle, but yes.'

'It's in a castle?' Meg whirled onto her parents again. 'Daddy, did you hear that? It's in a castle!'

Her father said nothing. His lips pressed together, bleaching white.

Meg carried on reading the letter. 'Dear Miss Clute, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.' She raised her head. 'Does that mean I'd be a witch?'

'You are a witch. An untrained one.'

Meg turned eagerly to the next page. 'Daddy, I need a wand! And...a cauldron...and I can bring a pet!' She turned to her father again. 'Daddy, you think I should go, don't you?'

'Meg—' he mother began. Her father stepped forward and reached over the back of the sofa to look at the list himself. Meg watched his eyes flick over each item, then to Fawley. The man (wizard?) was observing the three of them intently.

'Is there a shop for this?' her father asked him. His voice sounded weird. Like he'd been hit on the head or something. 'Some kind of specialist magical shop?'

Fawley considered him for a second. Then his eyes flickered to Meg's mother. 'I can show you, if you've made your decision.'

'Now?' Meg asked him eagerly.

The man regarded her for a long pause. 'Yes. Now.'

Meg looked at her father. Her father looked at her mother. Her mother looked at the floor.

Her father made the decision for her. 'If you would be so kind, Professor Fawley, I'd like to know more about my daughter's new school.'