Prologue

Jack Longstreet was having an ordinary day. As a twenty-three year old assistant at the Dixie Wizarding Academy, he always had work to do, and those duties could range from cleaning the owlery to answering the headmaster's mail. It was in performing the latter task that he uncovered an unusual envelope from the stack. It was large, pink, and bore the inscription "MofM" on the seal.

Jack was tempted to just throw the thing away. He had gotten plenty of these envelopes in the past year, none of which were worth the headmaster's time. They were always the same- warnings to be on the lookout for "Undesirable Number 1," the famed boy wizard who had supposedly slain the great Dumbledore. Americans wizards are tough to fool, and the headmaster had had just about enough of this nonsense. Both he and Jack Longstreet knew full well that no such thing had happened, that Voldemort was on the loose again, and that whatever propaganda the ministry was sending out these days was worth about as much as a buzzard's feathers.

But Jack was bored. He took out his wand, sliced open the envelope's seal, and opened it. He noticed immediately that this one was different. The parchment inside was small- so small, in fact, that it failed to even fill the confines of the envelope. He pulled out the tiny slip of parchment and read it.

Voldemort dead. Ministry retaken. Require meeting soon.

-Kingsley

Without a second thought Jack jumped out of his chair. After stuffing the missive in his pocket he threw on his robe and left the office. He came into a small hallway with a spiraling staircase in the center- it was summertime, so there were no students to be seen. Jack flew up the spiral staircase until he reached a heavy oaken door with a bronze knocker. He did not even bother to knock; the door flew open to his well acquainted touch and Jack entered.

The room he faced was not a large one- it was also rather plain, with simply a cedar desk in the center and a few old flintlock rifles adorning the walls. At the desk sat a monocled man, an old man, with well trimmed gray sideburns and oiled long hair. He was reading a tattered book.

"Letter from the British ministry," said Jack, still catching his breath.

"Oh Jack, I'm finished with their nonsense," said the man in an old Georgia accent. "Even if that boy could cross the ocean to get here there's no way we'd turn him in."

"It's not that sir," replied Jack. "The letter is from Kingsley. The Dark Lord is dead."

The old man slowly put down his book and removed his monocle. It took him a few moments to speak. "Well," he began, "it would seem Dumbledore was right all along."

Chapter 1

Arthur Givens sat quietly on the stony steps to his front porch. He had always been rather quiet, especially when he had a good book in his hands as he did this afternoon. For some reason, however, he couldn't quite focus. Reading about heroes lost in the woods fighting trolls, goblins, and other such devils was usually was his idea of a perfect day, but something was stuck in the back of his mind. He was certain that just this morning he had seen a black carriage disappear off his street as soon as he opened the door, despite the fact that in his sleepy little town no one owned any vehicle besides a truck, let alone a carriage. He was also quite certain that the carriage lacked horses, and he knew from his books that carriages needed horses to even move, let alone disappear.

That wasn't the only strange thing that had happened recently. Last week while shopping with his mother on main street he saw a long-nosed man in a tweed suit no larger than three feet tall standing across the road. Arthur had watched him for a few seconds, but his mother grabbed his shoulder and turned him away, reminding him that it's not kind to stare. Arthur was a polite boy and knew it was not kind to stare, however he had gotten the distinct impression that the three-foot tall man was staring at him.

The final strange thing had happened just the day before. It was a Sunday morning, and he and his mother were walking up the gravel road towards the church. The road was lined with bellflowers, and Arthur noticed that one of them hadn't bloomed yet. With his usual curiosity, he picked the flower, and as soon as he held it in his hand the petals unraveled revealing their beautiful purple color. He dropped it in surprise, and as it fell the petals closed, leaving the flower dormant once again. Arthur did not tell his mother about this, but it was all he could think about as the pastor droned on from the pulpit.

"Arthur!" yelled his mother from inside the house, jolting him back to reality. He dog-eared the current page on his book and walked through the screen door into the tiny living room. The snowy television screen was tuned in to cable news, the dog was sleeping on the plastic covered sofa, and Arthur's mother was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, holding something small and feathery. The small and feathery object was squirming and shrieking while trying to escape the strong hands holding it, and Arthur quickly realized it was an owl.

"Can you help me with this?" barked Arthur's mother. She was wearing a dirty long apron and rubber gloves- her hair was tied up in a bun behind her head. Arthur couldn't remember the last time she had worn her hair any differently.

"What do you want me to do with it?" yelled Arthur, trying to be heard over the squawking.

"Just get it out of the house!" yelled his mother back. "It came in through the damn stovepipe!"

Arthur tried grabbing the owl, but unlike his mother he wore no gloves and soon he was bleeding from the owl's claws. He needn't have tried, however, because after a few more moments the owl escaped his mother's grasp and flew on top of the television set. The dog gave it a bemused stare then went back to sleep.

"Who's ever heard of an owl that wants to be indoors?" asked Arthur's mother. "It ain't right, and it will not be tolerated. Arthur, get the broom."

At that moment Arthur noticed something, however. The owl was sticking out it's leg- and tied to the end of it's leg was a small envelope. "Look at that, mom," said Arthur. "He's trying to give us something." As Arthur turned his eye to his mother, what he saw startled him. She was standing completely still, hand over her heart. But most disturbing of all were her eyes. They were wide open and beginning to fill with tears. She was afraid.

"Come on, mom," said Arthur. "It's just a stupid owl with an envelope. Probably some prank by the Hutchins kids down the road."

"No, no," replied his mother, shaking her head. "No. It ain't no prank. Take the letter Arthur."

Arthur approached the owl- it didn't move. He untied the velvet string connecting the envelope to the owl's leg and motioned to give it to his mother.

"It's for you, honey," she said, still shaking her head. "It's for you."

Arthur looked down at the envelope. Sure enough, it was addressed to Arthur Givens, 13 Citrus Road. He opened it up and took out the letter.

Arthur, it is a pleasure to finally be writing to you. I am an old friend of your father, may God rest his soul. If your mother is in the room I'll bet she's in an awful state, and she has every right to be.

I am writing to ask permission to visit your home. Please ask your mother to give her reply to the owl and he will get it back to me. She knows who I am.

I will be in touch shortly.

"What is this, mom?" asked Arthur. "He was one of dad's friends? Dad died before you had me, what would he want with me?"

"Oh Arthur," replied his mother, kneeling on the ground to wrap her arms around her son. She was still crying. "We're going to have to have a conversation about your dad. But not today." She then stood up and took a piece of paper from the desk by the window. After writing something on it, she tied it to the owl. It flew off, and then she turned around to once more face Arthur. "Why don't you wash up, honey? We're expecting company."

End of Chapter 1