Prologue: The Picture Frame

"Five more minutes mum!" Nimbus yelled in retaliation to his mother's cries from downstairs. He'd always hated being woken up. It was worse than the ghastly alarm that his brother had gotten him for his seventh birthday. The shrill pitch of his mother's yell made him cringe as if a branch was being drug down a blackboard.

"If I have to come up there-"

"Alright alright for God's sake." Nimbus interrupted. If there was anything worse than being woken up by his mother, it was having her shake him out of bed. He rubbed his eyes. His nine year old self hated the idea of stirring from what had been a particularly good dream. Something along the lines of unicorns and dragons and giant mega death robots…he'd really gotten into robots lately.

He pounded his feet on the floorboards next to his bead, so that his mother could hear his defiant juvenile poundings. He trudged over to the closet and pulled out a shirt, with a small hole in the right shoulder, and a pair of slacks with ratty bottoms.

His hand ran along the wooden rails as he left his room, collecting dust as he walked down the creaky steps. He felt a sharp prick and muffled a swear word, as he was sure if his mother heard it, she'd give him a weeks worth of chores as punishment. He pulled the splinter from the rail out and sucked on his finger, the copper taste filling his mouth instantly.

"Finally."

Nimbus saw his mother rush over as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You are so lucky it's not a school day." She ran over with a raggedy washcloth and wiped his face. "I need you to run into the market and fetch mummy some bread."

"Why can't you make Rathley do it?" Nimbus complained. He always hated having to run to grab things from the market by himself. His brother was much older and probably less likely to get mugged…not that he'd ever been mugged, but that wasn't the point.

"Rathley is busy trying to apply for college. You know that. He's been working on it all summer." His mother handed him two pounds. "I need you to get two loaves for supper."

"But mum, I haven't even gotten a bite of breakfast…"

"I know sweetie, but please. One of the professors from a college Rathley is looking at is coming over tonight and I need something proper to serve. God knows we need it…"

"Oy, you should do what your mum says."

Nimbus fumed. The annoying semi-screechy voice of his older brother came from the next room over.

"Bug off Rathbone." Nimbus called.

"Bite me Nimbooger."

Nimbus grit his teeth. There was nothing more he hated then that awful nickname. It came from a stupid incident as a child, that his mother liked to fuss over about how for three days straight his nose ran and no doctor had been able to diagnose it. However, it had stopped just as suddenly as it started, but not before several buckets of mucus had needed to be drained.

"It's not nice to call each other names." His mother said. "Honestly boys, with Rathley going off to college soon…you think you two would just get along for one day." She licked her thumb and slicked back Nimbus' hair. He hated this too. "There we are. Now, get along-"

But before she could tell Nimbus to shoo, the door burst open. It was raining outside and the drenched figure of his father walked in. He didn't say anything as he put his hat and coat on the old, stained hooks on the wall. Nimbus didn't know much about what his father did, but he did know the old man was home earlier than normal.

"Evan, what a surprise." His mother stood up and walked over. "Is everything alright?"

"Miranda…we need to talk…not here though…" He looked to Nimbus and gave a weak smile. Nimbus tried to smile back, but suddenly for no reason, his father's eyes began to water and his smile trembled.

"Okay. Nimbus, please finish the dishes for me. I'll just be a minute while I talk to your father."

"God I hate dishes…"

"I don't want to hear it!" For the first time in awhile, his mother's nostrils flared. Her eyes seemed to glow red as she glared. "I've told you to do something, and I expect you to do it." She threw her hands up. His parents then walked to their nearby bedroom down the hall and shut the door.

Nimbus groaned and pouted as he went to the kitchen. There were several dusty pictures that littered the walls in the kitchen. Though there appeared to be an earnest attempt to keep the house nice, it was apparent that things were falling behind. There were more dishes than usual in the sink, dust had begun to accumulate in the corners of the counters, and a spider dangled from a cobweb in the upper corner of the window overlooking the sink. On the opposite end of the sink and counters, a smirking git looked at him.

"Stuck with dishes again Nimbooger?"

"Shut up." Nimbus walked over. He looked at the dishes for a moment and sighed. Why couldn't his family have nice things like a dishwasher? Vicktor Canterbury's family had a dishwasher. It was a lot faster than their method of washing every dish by hand.

"You know, you could be nicer to mum. She really is trying hard." Rathley said.

"Come off it." Nimbus really wished his brother would just shut up. For once he wanted to just be alone. It was always his mother not happy with when he was getting up, his father working all the time, and his brother being a git.

"Just sayin."

And then a tiny miracle happened, Rathley stopped talking. Nimbus actually felt some peace as he took out the bottle of watered down soap…which was nearing the end of its contents. It splashed over an old looking sponge that he used. He did some of the dishes and put them on the worn out drying rack and enjoyed the few minutes of silence.

"-you mean you got fired?!"

Nimbus turned off the sink. He and Rathley looked to the nearby room.

"Miranda please."

Neither boy said a thing as they walked over to the nearby wall. The voices were loud enough that they didn't even need to go to the door.

"You know what Evan? I can't do this anymore. I've stood by you all these years as you clawed your way in that hopeless job to try and make management, and they just up and can you?! I'm going down to the office to give them a piece of my mind."

"Love, you can't just do that. They arrest people for less."

"This is your problem." Nimbus thought he heard something slam down. Maybe on a table or dresser, he wasn't sure. "You always cower when faced with adversity. This is why we can't make ends meet. I need a breadwinner!"

"Miranda, I might have a lead. Marty from the office says his cousin works for a factory that hires."

"A factory? Jesus, Evan. I can hardly show my face at parent teacher meetings as it is. We are the laughing stock of this neighborhood. We can't afford another mortgage. And god knows with the boys outgrowing everything…I can't take a job. I'm already doing part time work for the tailors down the street. You make jack shit at those types of jobs and the risk involved…"

"What else do you want me to do?" There was an exasperated gasp from his father. Nimbus couldn't quite tell, but he thought his father's voice was quivering. "I'm barely coping with everything. I'm running out of options…"

"Think they're gonna split?" Rathley said. He'd clearly heard enough and walked back over to the table.

"What do you mean?" Nimbus asked.

"You know, split up. Divorce. Not live together." Rathely took a half bruised apple from the table and took a bite.

"How can you say that?" Nimbus shook his head. "Don't they love each other?"

"Love isn't an easy thing…" Rathley sighed. "It doesn't just fix all problems."

"But that's what the Boggles always say." Nimbus sniffled. Despite how his parents were fighting, and how he couldn't stand his git of a brother, he always was taught by his favorite tv program that love always wins the day.

"You mean that show for toddlers?" Rathley said. He snorted and chuckled, taking another bite. "You're better off watching something more real. Grow up you booger."

"Stop calling me that!" Nimbus balled his fist. He could feel red boiling up inside him.

"Are the dishes done?" The boys looked over as their mother, whose eyes looked puffy and red as if she'd been crying for years ambled into the kitchen. She looked as if she would faint any minute.

"I…I did a few…" Nimbus said. He felt a little guilty.

"It's fine, I'll do the rest. Please just go to the market. Remember…two loaves."

"Two loaves?"

The entire family looked over. Their father stood in the entry way, his clothes looked disheveled.

"Is there something wrong?" Nimbus' mother turned around and leaned against the wall for support.

"For heaven's sake Miranda. You go off on me for not making enough money and you are sending Nim for a run of two loaves of bread?"

"If you recall, Evan." She stood up and walked over, putting her hands on her hips. Nimbus could feel an uneasy wave rising up, about to crash over the kitchen. "Professor Sampson from the Imperial College of London is coming for dinner tonight and I need something to put on the table."

"We have enough food without needing to give up what little pounds we have left." He scowled.

"For the love of God, Evan! Rathley needs this."

"Yeah dad, I need every chance I can get."

"Stay out of this." Nimbus' father said, turning to Rathley.

"Don't you dare talk to him that way. He's been applying and putting in the work. More than I can say for you." Nimbus' mother stepped between his father and brother.

The arguing erupted and continued on for several minutes. Nimbus just stood there. Was Rathley right? Was love just some stupid concept that was on silly children's tv programs? He didn't know what else to do. He felt red rising. He hated it here. He hated wearing clothes that weren't as nice as his friends, he hated the fights that had been ever increasing, and he disliked getting splinters from the stairwell.

"I hate it here." Nimbus said in a brief lull between the fighting. Everyone looked at him.

"What?" His mother looked exasperated.

"I hate it here!" Nimbus shouted. He felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He walked to the door. Maybe going to the market was the thing he needed right now after all.

"You can't mean that." His father said. All three of his family members stood near the entry way as Nimbus put on his shoes.

"I hate this house, I hate listening to you all argue, and," He tied his laces as he ranted. "I hate all of you."

"Surely, you don't mean that." His mother said. She stood there, blinking and resting her weary arm against the nearby off yellow wall.

"I do. Rathley is right. Love isn't real and it's silly. We are all just…sad all the time. There's no point. I hate you all." He stood up and grabbed his jacket.

"Hate is a strong word." His father said. "You can't mean you don't care for your own family."

"Yeah, well I don't anymore." Nimbus looked at them furiously. "Get a job, go to college, and stop yelling at each other. I can't wait until I can leave."

"That hurts us a lot…" His mother looked like she was going to cry.

"Well maybe it would hurt less if you all just dropped dead!" Nimbus shouted. He opened the door, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.

"NOOOO! STOP I DIDN'T MEAN IT." Nimbus woke up in a cold sweat. It was a little after midnight according to the mangy watch he had. He sat straight up and tried to make the nightmare stop. It did, but it didn't change anything. He could feel the numbness sweeping into him once again. On the musty, old table next to him, he picked up the only picture he had left of his family, everything else had been lost. They looked so happy. He felt tears sting his eyes and start to fall on the frame. In the dim moonlight pouring in from the nearby window, he could still see their smiles. He hugged the frame tightly and cried. He felt sadness sweep his soul.

He'd give anything to take back the last awful thing he'd said to his family on that horrible, rainy July day.

—

The next day, Nimbus walked down the hall to the tiny kitchen. Unlike his house on the other side of London where he'd grown up, this shack that barely qualified as a house was run down. He'd thought his life was hell prior to the death of his family, but his aging grandfather's living quarters weren't any better. If anything, it was as if he'd been living in a castle and woke up in a sewer. There was always a musty, grotesque smell of mold coming from everywhere, and the tinge of metal that wafted into his nostrils. With no other living relatives, Nimbus had been assigned to live with his estranged grandfather. He never even knew he had a grandfather until it had actually happened.

"That you?" A gruff, aged voice called out.

"Yes grandpa." Nimbus said. he walked into the kitchen and began to turn on the stove. With his grandfather out of commission and sickly, he'd had to care for him. This involved doing every awful thing that had been asked.

"Bout time, I was wondering when I was gonna get my God Damn eggs." He said. he sat in his rocking chair, which was propped in front of his tiny black and white television. They took up a good eighth of the already tiny place. If not for a tiny card table separating them, he'd have practically been standing next to the old man from the kitchen.

He turned on the burners and began to crack the eggs into the tiny frying pan.

There was some old time singing program that was playing on the television behind him. He heard his grandfather hum off tune to the program. It hurt his ears, but he knew better than to complain. His grandfather would just assign him more chores or strike him again. He didn't need another burning cheek or more things to do.

"Hurry up with them eggs!"

"Sorry grandpa, almost done." Nimbus finished frying the eggs and brought them over on a plate.

"Finally, ahh…how I do love my eggs. Mrs Norris used to love them too…" He started to sniffle. Every time grandpa Filch mentioned the name Mrs Norris, he started to cry profusely. He didn't know who Mrs Norris was, but he assumed it was some lady friend his grandfather used to have. Maybe a dead wife? He really knew better than to inquire, because otherwise that just meant more chores or beatings.

He brought his grandfather a handkerchief.

His grandfather snatched the handkerchief out of his hand and blew really hard into it, tossing it back on the boy. It smelled and tasted disgusting, like rotting, slimy food. Nimbus gagged and tore the thing off of him, tossing it in the nearby basket. He'd have to wash it with the rest of the dirty handkerchiefs later.

"You know grandpa…I turn eleven tomorrow…and I start school in a couple weeks. Would it be alright if I got a new shirt?"

"You know I don't have money for that…stupid boy." His grandfather said. He snarled and scarfed down his eggs. "Now, go pull out weeds before you say something else stupid."

"Yes grandpa." Nimbus bit his lip. He tried not to cry. He walked outside. There wasn't even much of a bother. Only like…three sprouts came out of the dirt ground that surrounded the metal house. A small rickety wire fence surrounded the tiny dirt plot that his grandpa owned. However, his grandpa never left the house, so it always gave Nimbus an excuse not to have to do anything else. He took a couple moments to pull the sprouts of grass out, which came out, roots and everything. How easy it was to kill a living thing. Ever since that day, Nimbus hadn't taken death as lightly as he used to. He hated the idea that people could just…kill whatever they wanted to or end something's life so easy. He used to take everything he had for granted…

Now, as he sat on the dusty porch, looking down the street at the other rickety houses, he longed to have the life he had back. At first, after moving in with his grandpa, he'd argued. He tried to call out for help, but no one would listen. Just said he was lucky that he had anyone to take him in. Soon, he'd given up fighting and just did as he was told. He'd lost the spark he had a couple years ago at age nine.

He held out his hand, bored, and began to trace lines in the dirt. However, his finger never touched the ground. He'd been able to do this little trick for as long as he could remember. He could draw on the ground, his own personal canvas. He'd draw elephants and robots and anything else he could think. Unlike other boys his age who would use sticks, or draw with their fingers, he could make the markings appear out of thin air. It was fun. His one solace in a world where everything felt dim and gray.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, a small thing floated towards him. It was white and fluttered against the gray sky. It slowly dropped and landed with not so much as a sound as it kissed the ground.

Nimbus, curious, walked up to it and picked it up. There was writing on the front. It was addressed to "The boy in the metal house in the middle of nowhere, London" from "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He looked on the back and amidst his world of black and white, a bright red waxy seal closed the envelope.

"Hog-warts?" Nimbus said out loud. He didn't know what to make of this. He'd never received a letter before. He'd also never heard of any place named Hogwarts. He already had a school…what was it?

A/N: It's been years since I've written a good fanfiction. I had a lot of ideas come to me all at once and just wrote. I hope you enjoy, I have some massive plans for this as you probably have seen from my inclusion of "Grandpa Filch." I hope y'all keep reading :)