"Philly, you've got mail."
I looked up from my half-eaten bowl of Crunchy Nut as Mum handed me the chunky envelope. My hand almost dropped into the cereal as I took it; it was far heavier than I'd expected and made of thick paper that was yellowed like an old treasure map. I turned it over in my hands, inspecting it. Elegant green handwriting across the front spelled out my name, address and the room I slept in. Which was kinda weird. The weirdness didn't end there, however, as there was also no stamp, no return address, and an embossed wax seal holding the back together. What kind of weirdo was this letter from?
"Aren't you going to open it?" Mum asked curiously, sliding into the seat next to me.
Cautiously, I slit open the envelope and peered inside. Half expecting it to be full of money or treasure maps, I was disappointed to see only a few sheafs of the same old paper. Pushing aside my bowl, I upended the envelope and watched it's contents spill onto the wooded table. A list, a ticket, and a letter. Perfectly ordinary items.
Except…
I picked up the letter and started to read.
Dear Mr. Lester
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.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
"What's it about?" Mum asked, leaning in for a better look.
I shook my head, a small frown creasing my brow. What was it about? Good question. I re-read the short passage, holding out for Mum to see too. Witchcraft and Wizardry? Surely this was some kind of strange joke. And what did it mean by 'We await your owl'? Mum slowly took the parchment from my fingers as she read, her eyebrows drawing closer together as her eyes flicked across the page. I plucked the list off the table, smoothing it out and reading through it. Hoping for further explanation. No luck. It was just as confusing as the letter, rambling on about spell books, cauldrons and pointed hats. Finally, I turned my attention to the ticket. Unlike the flimsy scraps of paper that were the normal train tickets I was used to, this ticket was heavy and palm-sized. Along with it's ornate border and bold black writing, the ticket felt like a passport to wonderland. It was the kind of ticket that you would keep stuck to the fridge long after the show had finished, or have tucked in a box as a memento of wondrous time. I scanned the writing, unsurprised by its nonsensical words.
Hogwarts Express, Platform 9 3/4, Kings Cross Station.
Platform nine and three quarters? The letter and list had been confusing, but this ticket was simply intriguing. I lined up the list, ticket and letter on the table, gazing at them thoughtfully and skimming idle fingers across their rough surfaces.
Mum, after reading the pages and glancing at the ticket, had shrugged it off as merely a joke or a scam. The rational part of my brain was more than happy to agree with her, but for a moment I let myself imagine that it was real. What if I was magical? That would be pretty ace. I could have… what did the list say? A wand? An owl? Maybe even a broomstick! And what would be in those spell books…
A deafening crack jolted me from my daydreaming, my head snapping around to face the front of the house.
"What was that?" Mum said sharply, dropping a tea towel and starting towards the door.
I slid off my chair and jogged to catch up with her, breaking into a short run as fists pounded the front door. I reached it first, flicking the lock and yanking the door open. There was a flurry of movement as a figure teetered precariously on the threshold.
"Woah, are you okay?" I asked, reaching out instinctively to steady the stranger.
She regained her balance, brushing grey wisps of hair from her flushed cheeks and straightening her overlarge coat.
"Yes, sorry, I'm fine, thank you," she twittered, patting my arm as I let go of her shoulder. "You must be ah, Mr. Lester? You got your letter? Read it all? You must be feeling rather confused by now, ey? I'm Hopkirk, Mafalda Hopkirk."
She held out her hand expectantly and I shook it, feeling rather bemused. Her rapid speech was clear and cheerful, like the twittering of bird. However, despite her merry tone and small stature, she radiated an distinct air of wisdom and power that demanded my attention.
"McGonagall was going to come herself, but she got tied up in some school proceedings and only messaged me this morning - I was supposed to arrive at the same time as the owl but it's all a bit of a mess now isn't it? I was never one for being on time, but - oh dear, I'm confusing you even more, aren't I?
She paused, breathing deeply, evidently just noticing my bewildered expression. She wasn't wrong, I was even more confused now then when I'd read the letter, but I was also burning with curiosity. My rational thoughts had slunk, defeated, into the corners of my mind, shoved aside by the flamboyant flailing of my overexcited imagination. This was far too elaborate to be a scam or a joke. Either the woman was stark-raving mad, or she and the letter were telling the truth.
"Would… you like to come in for a cup of tea?" Mum asked hesitantly, gazing at the flustered woman with mild concern. "You look rather worn out. Then, perhaps, you could tell us what's bothering you."
"Oh, that would be wonderful, dear," sighed Hopkirk, shuffling over the threshold. "You are a kind soul."
Five minutes later, Hopkirk was seated on a threadbare armchair with a cup of hot tea balanced on her lap. Mum and I perched on the couch opposite, staring at her expectantly.
"Well," she announced, taking a sip of tea. "I have a lot to explain. Feel free to ask questions at any point, for I'm sure you'll have thousands."
Despite her assurances however, it was impossible to interrupt her once she was talking. Mum and I sat in silence - our jaws slowly dropping - as Hopkirk told us about witches and wizards and magic school call Hogwarts that I'd apparently been signed up for.
Because I was a wizard.
Crazy, right? But at the same time, it did explain why strange things sometimes happened around me. For instance, the time when I fell out of a tree trying to reach a stuck cat. The fall should have seriously injured both me and the cat, but I had somehow floated to ground and landed without a scratch (I was convinced that it was just a dream). There was also the fact that my grade five teacher's hair turned bright pink every time he shouted at the class (he just had angry hair, okay… completely normal).
"So, I'm really… a wizard?" I asked, when Hopkirk had finally stopped talking. "An actual, you know, magic-boom-spells-kinda wizard?"
"Yes," Hopkirk said kindly. "I know it's a lot to take in, but yes, you are a wizard."
"Will I be like Gandalf?" I asked eagerly. "Will I get a magic staff or something?"
"No, no, of course you won't get a staff," Hopkirk laughed. "The muggle fiction versions of witches and wizards are very different to real life."
My face fell, and Hopkirk must have seen it because she leaned forwards and whispered, "You won't get a magic staff, but you will get a wand."
With a dramatic swish of her long violet coat, she produced a thin stick of wood from a hidden pocket and held it out in her open palms for me to inspect. I leaned in towards it, reaching out a finger to stroke its worn surface.
"Is this mine?" I breathed, fighting the childish urge to snatch it up and wave it about.
"No," Hopkirk said with a hint of laughter in her voice as she closed her fingers protectively over it's carved base. "This one is mine. You'll get your own wand from Ollivander's when you go in to buy your school things."
"Where exactly would you buy 'magical school stuff'?" Mum inquired coolly, a slight edge to her voice. "I mean, you can't just stroll down to the shops and ask for a wand and spell books, people will think you're mad!" Her tone indicated that she was one of those people, and I could see the suspicion in her warm blue eyes.
"I'm not mad." Hopkirk stated simply. "And of course you wouldn't just trot down to any old muggle shop and ask for magical supplies, you would go to Diagon Alley. It's brilliant, best place to shop for all your magical needs. It's muggle-proof too. Non-magic people can't even see the entrance, it's wonderful."
Mum frowned, clearly unimpressed at Hopkirk's definition of wonderful.
I, on the other hand, was sitting forward with my chin resting on my hands and my head tilted to the side, drinking her words like a man dying of thirst. In my head, it all made sense. I always knew I was different to my classmates. People who were mean to me always ended up with strange conditions and ailments (sudden and stubborn acne, premature hair loss and hiccups so violent they could barely speak, to name a few). While it did teach bullies leave me alone, it also caused a few nasty rumours about me (voodoo magic was one of the most ridiculous, second only to the wild accusation that I was Satan's child). There was also a group of kids whose only communication with me was a variety of death stares and dirty looks.
"It's that odd look in his eyes," they'd whisper, shooting me suspicious glares that pierced me even through the protective barrier of my closest friends. "I just know he's up to something. He's trouble. Stay away from him."
Back then, I was different. I was 'That weird kid' (or 'That Satanic child'). But not anymore. Here was the explanation for my oddness. The reasoning behind the strange incidents. Here was someplace I could belong.
I had so many questions, I didn't know which ones to ask first. Eventually, after a few seconds of silent turmoil, I blurted out, "Can you show me? Please? Some magic?"
Hopkirk smiled, fingering her wand. "Just a little bit, ey? Just to demonstrate."
She glanced around her, possibly deciding what magic to perform, and her eyes fell on the worn holes in the armchair's upholstery. She pointed her wand at a ripped seam on the armrest and whispered: "Repairo."
There was a small pop, and the hole disappeared. Pop. More ragged stitching mended. Pop. Another tear fixed. She repeated her spell on all the rips and tears within reach, until finally the armchair looked as good as new.
Mum stared, her eyes popping and her mouth moving soundlessly.
"Magic," she said at last, her voice faint. "Actual magic. Its real. It's actually real."
Her fingers found mine, gripping my hand in the same way a drowning man grips a floating life-raft. I squeezed her fingers comfortingly, gaping at Hopkirk's wand.
"Can you teach me how to do that?"
"Keen to get started, I see," Hopkirk chuckled, stowing her wand back in her voluminous coat. "But you won't be learning from me. That's what your teachers, and school books, are for."
"When can I go and get my books? And all my other stuff?"
"Now, if you'd like," Hopkirk grinned, turning to Mum. "And if it's okay with your mother, of course. You're welcome to come too, Mrs. Lester. But I'm afraid you'll have to drive. I, uh, don't exactly know how. Never learnt. Flying is much easier."
Mum's eyebrows rose quizzically, but she made no comment on Hopkirk's odd statement.
"I can drive us," she said pleasantly, slowly relinquishing her death grip on my hand. "Assuming you know the way, of course?"
Hopkirk nodded as a pink flush crept across my hand, circulation returning to my fingers. The two adults discussed directions for a few minutes, Mum's frosty tone melting as she chatted amiably with Hopkirk. I was left alone with my thoughts.
A wizard. I was a wizard. I wasn't just an oddball outcast anymore, I had magical powers. No bully was going to push me around anymore, I was sure of that.
"Are you ready Phil?" Mum asked, standing up to leave.
"Just going to get a jacket," I called over my shoulder, springing lightly off the sofa and racing down the hall to my bedroom. I picked out a bright blue hoodie and at the same time changed out my baggy green shirt for a sunny yellow one. I wanted to make a good impression.
"Don't forget to bring your list," Hopkirk called as she strolled out the front door.
I snagged the list off the table, sparing a moment to shove my half-eaten cereal in the fridge.
Scooping Mum's handbag off a hook as I passed, I joined her in the front hall and handed it to her.
"Are you okay?" She whispered anxiously, enveloping me in a warm hug.
"It all makes sense," I murmured, relaxing into her embrace. "I always knew I was somehow different."
She leaned back, holding me at arm's length to examine my face with worried blue eyes. Eventually, she smiled, ruffling my hair affectionately as she turned to walk out the door. "Your father would have been proud."
Eyes sparkling and heart swelling with pride, I skipped out of the house behind her and shut the door. The soft thunk and click sent shivers of delight down my spine; I was ready for an adventure. In shutting the front door behind me, I was closing off not only the house but also my old, normal life. From that point onwards, I was Phil the Wizard. (Okay, not the best title. But hey, at least it's better than 'Phil the Weirdo').
Perching on the worn back seat of our small car, feet tapping excitedly, I stared with glazed eyes at the houses flashing past. My mind was in a far away place, imagining what it would be like at a magic school. What kind of stuff would I learn? Would I be able to turn people into toads? Would I be able to make food appear out of nowhere? Would I make heaps of new friends? I had no idea what to expect, but I knew that whatever happened, it was going to be ace.
