Lucy Mallard sat at the smallest dining room table in all of New York, hunched over far too much homework for an eleven year old girl. Her chair lurched forward or backward anytime she moved, and the smelly, hot air wafted in from the broken and permanently open window beside her. She absolutely sucked at math, which was the majority of the schoolwork that was laid before her like the most disappointed treasure imaginable, and the annoying and slightly troublesome hum of the dingy white refrigerator wasn't helping her abilities at all.

For all its many flaws, however, Lucy had grown to love the crappiest apartment in Brooklyn. It had exactly four rooms; the main one, which served as a kitchen, dining room, and living room, complete with a broken television that was bigger than Lucy when she curled herself into a ball, the oldest and smelliest couch anyone had ever heard of, the crappy '50's table and two chairs Lucy now occupied, an old fridge, and a broken stove and sink with exactly a foot of counter space, and topped off with cracking plaster and old, crusty carpet. If the wall with the door was the south of the apartment- Lucy had absolutely no sense of direction- then the tv was on the southwestern corner, facing east. The couch had one arm on the southern wall and sat before the television as if it ever worked for more than an hour at a time, and behind it in the southeastern corner was the old plywood door. Next to the television on the western wall was Lucy, then in front of her the table, then the second chair, and then the fridge. Behind that on the northern wall was the sink and then the stove, with a few inches of counter sitting in between. On the eastern wall there was nothing other than three photographs (one of baby Kiran, one of baby Lucy, and one of the two of them together, at 11 and 4 respectively) and the opening into the hallway, directly across from the table.

In the hallway was the door to the other three rooms, which consisted of one rather large bathroom, one rather small bedroom for Kiran, and one medium sized room for Lucy. Inside of the bathroom was cracked subway tile, an old and rusty toilet, a rather nice albeit old double vanity, an old claw-foot tub and a separate old stand-up shower. Inside of Kiran's room was a simple full mattress on the floor and a homemade, rather dilapidated dresser. Inside of Lucy's room was a twin bed atop a homemade bed frame with no box spring, an old but pretty wardrobe, and a rather nice desk that Mr. Whittaker had given her for her tenth birthday. Whenever she wanted to use it, however, she had to pull one of the kitchen chairs into her room, and at that particular moment, it was covered in clothing too clean for the hamper but too dirty for the wardrobe. The quarters at the laundromat added up, so did the gas for Kiran to take her, and Lucy already stole enough of his money without being fussy over practically clean clothing.

Kiran walked out of the bathroom, wearing only boxers and dingy socks, drying his hair with a holey towel. Lucy was pretty sure that was bad for it; he had really thick, really curly, and unbelievably greasy hair. Everytime he washed it, it got worse and worse. Black people hair, he called it. She found that offensive, whether he was black or not.

Lucy touched her hair and was thankful for her dry, loose curls, however frizzy or dull it could get. Kiran had always teased her for having white girl hair, though her skin color told most definitely that if they did have white in them, it wasn't very much.

Kiran looked mixed. He had light mocha skin and brown hair, as well as greyish eyes. Lucy, however, looked completely black, other than the texture of her hair and the bright green color of her eyes. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, though it was lightning as she got older; the picture of her as a baby no older than six months showed her with nearly black skin.

She didn't remember their parents much. They'd died when she was four, and the earliest memory she had was at five. She did remember a pretty, big house in upstate New York, that Daddy had just gotten a new car, and that Mommy had a pretty, lighthearted laugh. Kiran never spoke of them, however, and Lucy was afraid to ask.

What she did know was that when they died, Kiran had taken her and fled. Her name hadn't been Lucy Mallard, and he hadn't been Kiran Mallard, but she didn't remember her real name. He, as an eleven year old boy, had taken her away to Brooklyn.

The first year had been hard, Kiran said, but Lucy didn't remember it. When she was five and he was twelve, however, he'd gotten a job working for one Mr. Whittaker, an old, fat white man with no wife and three kids, all around Kiran's age. He owned a small bakery in Brooklyn and he didn't have much money, but he gave the little mixed boy a job scrubbing the gum off table, mopping floors, and cleaning the windows. He'd made three dollars and hour and Mr. Whittaker fed them both once a day, which was the most he could spare with three kids of his own. Mr. Whittaker gave her baskets of goods to take to school and she was allowed to keep thirty percent of whatever she sold.

They slept in the kitchen. Lucy had gotten very familiar with falling asleep against Kiran's chest, listening to his heart beat and the purring of the furnace. They only ate once a day, the one time Mr. Whittaker fed them, and they saved enough money to rent an apartment by the time Kiran was fifteen, under Mr. Whittaker's name. As Lucy recalled, Mr. Whittaker often offered to help with rent or pay the boy more, but Kiran refused to take offerings unless they went directly to Lucy. After that, the old man often gave her cakes throughout the afternoons.

When Kiran was sixteen, he was old enough to work by law, but since he hadn't gone to school in five years, there was no one to sign his worker's permit. Still, Mr. Whittaker promoted him to cashier, and he finally had enough money to furnish their dingy apartment. Lucy got a bed frame, Kiran got his own bed and dresser, and they gained their couch. In addition, they now had food; Lucy got lunch whenever she went to school, and now they had a dinner in addition to the breakfast Mr. Whittaker fed them. Not long after, Lucy turned nine, and he hired her doing the same thing Kiran once had, though he paid her two dollars more. Lucy had never been an ace in school, but after she took that job, her grades started to slip.

Now, Kiran was eighteen and Lucy was a day past eleven. Kiran was promoted to help Mr. Whittaker in the back of the shop, and Lucy took over as cashier; Kiran joked about the unfairness, and Mr. Whittaker pointed out that while Kiran looked younger than he was, Lucy looked older.

It was true that Lucy, at eleven, was getting catcalls from the sixth, seventh, eighth and even ninth grade boys. She was five-foot-two with a b cup chest, size 14 pants, and too many curves due to having started her 'monthly gift' at the very young age of eight. Her waist was small, her curves were, well, curvy, and her face was rather pretty. She was often mistaken as fourteen; why not pass her off as a young-looking sixteen year old? Not that many people asked, of course- not here, in the crappiest part of Brooklyn.

However, she was atrocious in school. In fact, she was so bad that she had failed the fifth grade- who ever heard of someone failing fifth grade!

Kiran plopped down into the equally bad chair across from Lucy and smiled. "Having fun?" he asked in his mocking voice. Lucy stuck her tongue out and he laughed. "I'll have to cut that off if you do it again,"

Lucy did it again and put her thumb to her nose, wiggling her fingers. Kiran lurched forward and grabbed her hand and squeezed; Kiran was never gentle with Lucy, and now was no exception. The girl whined loudly in protest and Kiran released.

"Meanie," she pouted.

"I'm teaching you a valuable lesson, sissy," Kiran said with playful eyes and a solemn voice.

"What, that you're a big douche?" Lucy asked, very proud of herself for the quick retort. Kiran raised a brow at her.

"No one is ever going to baby you, especially not someone older and really especially not a boy."

"Really especially is legitimately the worst grammar ever." Lucy stated, and Kiran shrugged.

Quite suddenly, a bird flew into the window. At first, Lucy wasn't surprised- pigeons had a tendency to invade their little apartment- but when it landed smack dab on Lucy's open notebook, she saw that it was not a pigeon but instead some sort of splotchy owl.

It had a raisin colored cylindrical tube attached to its right leg and it peered expectantly at Lucy. Kiran stared at it catatonically, the way he did whenever anything flew into their apartment, from a bird to a mosquito, and Lucy's brow furrowed.

"This is a… New, way to transport mail," Lucy tentatively untied the little cylinder, and the bird instantly flew away.

Lucy stared after it for a moment before looking down at the cylinder. It was some kind of metal wrapped around with a pop on-and-off lid. It was a bit thicker than her finger and roughly the same length. She popped the top off and pulled out a manila envelope folded into a circle.

However, when she had it in her hand, it was much bigger than the tube. With a frown, she tried to put it back in and succeeded; she did it several more times with a deep-set frown.

"Give me that," Kiran demanded and snatched the cylinder. He pushed all of his finger into it, and it fit; he pulled his finger out and compared it to the thing, which was significantly shorter than his finger. Lucy looked away from her deeply astounded, deeply disturbed brother and unrolled the manila envelope.

It had a melted wax seal with an intricate pattern on it; the only thing Lucy could see definitely was the word Ilvermorny. "Ilvermorny… Must be one of those weird English boarding schools using some super weird science. Jillian from school got a few letters for different schools all over the world.

Kiran stopped fiddling to give Lucy a look. "Jillian is smart, unlike you."

A burning anger in Lucy's chest simmered down when she remembered he hadn't finished the fifth grade, either. "Mr. Whittaker says everyone wants American students. Maybe they're desperate enough to go for the less than amazing ones,"

"Mr. Whittaker is racist against anyone who isn't from America. Of course he thinks that, crazy as he is."

"Ilvermorny is a very British name! I'm sure it is, like I said, a weird British boarding school."

"You mean, like Hogwarts?" Kiran smirked. Lucy groaned and rolled her eyes.

Ever since a weird, British reporter by the name of Anita Skater popped up, rambling about some Magical Community hidden right before our eyes, babbling about Hogwarts and Boobottoms and Dumbstring, everyone had made a joke about it all. Still, some people did take it serious, and the very thought of it made Lucy agitated for one reason or another. Not necessarily because of the thought of it, but the thought of there being some cool world she could never be a part of being rubbed in her face… If it were real Anita Skater should've kept her mouth shut, and if it wasn't, everyone else needed to close theirs.

Lucy opened the folder and slid two pieces of paper out, and nearly groaned again.

Dear Miss Lucy Mallard,

It is with great pleasure we inform your of your enrollment into Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, pending confirmation via owl or other convenient method by July 31st (or three weeks after the arrival of this letter; which ever happens to be the latter). The Giant Horned Serpent leaves from MACUSA headquarters in the Woolworth Building of New York City, New Work at noon sharp on September 1st. Arrival at Ilvermorny via other means is allowed, but we ask that you arrive sometime after noon and require you to be there before five-thirty in Eastern Standard Time.

Sincerely,

Asera Picquery

Asera Picquery, Chief Headmistress of Ilvermorny

Kiran was watching his sister. "What is it?"

"A joke," Lucy said with a frown, and pushed the sheet towards him and looked at the second piece of paper.

Uniform:

One set of Ilvermorny School robes

One royal blue dress shirt

One scarlet/similar colored skirt and/or dress pants

One pair of neutral toned dragonhide shoes

One pair of neutral toned dragonhide gloves*

One pair of neutral toned socks

One neutral toned scarf*

One neutral toned hat*

One neutral toned dragonhide jacket*

Textbooks:

Astronomy: Our Magical Universe, Volume I (Starla Hamphshard)

Charms: A Beginner's Guide to Charms and Hexes (Krianna Maywell)

Flying: Theoretical Knowledge of Flying (Mismadeillorne Dubois)

Herbology: Plants and Herbs, Volume I (Neville Longbottom)

History of Magic: Prehistorical and Native Magic (Druella Alanson)

Potions: The Rookie Potioneer's Guide (Horace Slughorn)

Transfiguration: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration and Jinxes (Anniark Maywell)

Miscellaneous:

One wand

One telescope*

One broomstick*

One beginner's potioneer kit

*Optional, but highly recommended

Parents will note that students are allowed up to two of the following pets; special requests for number of species to be made with the confirmation of your enrollment

Cat

Rat/Mouse/Small Rodent

Puffskein

Small erpent

Owl/Similarly-sized Bird

Toad/Frog

Dog

Parents will also note the the chances of a third year or younger making the Quidditch team is highly unlikely, and are encouraged to provide these years with their own broomsticks, as lessons with the team of their house occur weekly.

**Child-sized trunks are hereby banned from the grounds of Ilvermorny, and several smaller suitcases are recommended for the transport of your child's items.

***No-Maj born families are advised to visit 233 Broadway, Manhattan, New York. The recommended form of entry is to stand on the street and extend your dominant hand.

"We have got to try this," Lucy finally said after a long while of re-reading the paper.

"I thought you said it was a joke?" Kiran asked.

"I do." Lucy grinned at her brother. "But on the astronomical off chance that this world really does exist-"

"That's ludicrous," Kiran asserted, giving Lucy that look- the one she hated, the condescending one. Lucy tensed.

"And what have we got to lose?"

Kiran shook his head. "Our pride."

Lucy scoffed. "You scrubbed toilets under the table after kidnapping your younger sister. Do you really have any pride left?"

Kiran glared at Lucy for a long time, and she never once broke eye contact. They knew how to get under each other's skin.

Eventually, Kiran stood and stalked to his bedroom. Lucy sat back and waited ten and a half minutes- Lucy counted the seconds, the one thing she was good at- before Kiran walked out, fully dressed in a U2 shirt and dirty jeans. Lucy grinned and followed him out of the door and out of the building, locking the door behind her, holding her key and the two sheets of paper.

They stood on the street and looked about. After seeing no one who was in any position to judge them, Kiran shoved his right arm forward. Nothing happened.

Lucy giggled. "You're not the magical one… You're the- er- No-Maj."

Kiran glared at her, though less harshly than he had before. "Get on with it, then."

Lucy cleared her throat and closed her eyes, straightening her back and setting her shoulders. She gave a contented exhale through her nose and ignored Kiran's annoyed muttering, and slowly, pushed her left arm forward, thinking about just how much she wanted to be inside of the magical version of the Woolworth Building.

She opened her eyes when she heard someone clearing their throat and saw- very oddly enough- a rather large, double-decker golden bus in front of her eyes, a teenaged girl leaning out and peering down at her. Kiran stared in shock.

"Another No-Maj born?" the girl asked with a sardonic expression. She had curly blonde hair, tanned skin, and shrewd blue eyes. She chomped loudly on bubblegum and looked no older or younger than Kiran. "Get on here, already," she snapped.

Lucy and Kiran climbed on board. There were seats lining the outside of the bus, two bed in the middle; Lucy looked up to see more seats and more beds. Lucy and Kiran met eyes before sitting down.

The girl stood and held onto a pole. "I'm Axelle Dubois," she said without looking at them. "And you are?"

"Lucy Mallard," Lucy said. Kiran stared grimly at her.

Axelle Dubois whipped her head to stare at Lucy and narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't talking to you, kid."

"He's Kiran," Lucy said with a frown. "He's a No-Maj. I think."

Axelle looked him up and down. "I'm a pureblood,"

"Like, a dog?" Lucy scrunched her nose. She didn't like Axelle.

Axelle sneered. "No, stupid; pureblood, not purebreed."

"She's not stupid," snapped Kiran. Axelle gave him a look before shrugging and walking catlike around the pole until she had her back to them, and put her hip on the pole.

"Where to?" the driver called. Lucy looked up to see a cute-ish man, maybe late twenties, smiling back at them through the rearview. "And don't mind Axelle, she's a…"

"The letter says 233 Manhattan, New York, but I specifically need the wizarding part, I think," Lucy frowned at her papers.

The driver grinned at her. "I know where to take ya. Sit back and buckle up; this isn't going to be like anything you've ever done before.

Lucy didn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing, but what she did know what that from know on, she was officially a part of an entirely different world.