One fine Saturday morning in early July, Jim Roth woke up with an odd feeling. It was like something had changed. He crawled out of bed and into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then headed downstairs.

On the first floor he was greeted by his sister, Emiko, who smiled at him. 'Mornin',' she yawned.

Jim frowned as he followed her to the ground floor. 'I feel weird.'

'Is that strange-weird or ill-weird?'

'Weird-weird.'

'Ah, well, Jim,' grinned Emiko. 'That's just your natural state of being, isn't it?' She ducked Jim's swipe at her head and ran off to the kitchen, laughing. Jim rolled his eyes and headed after her.

The kitchen table was covered with breakfast foods, but other than Jim and Emiko there was no sign of life. Emiko had already devoured a croissant and was halfway through another one. Jim took one for himself and sat down across from his sister. 'Where is everyone?'

Emiko shrugged. 'Mum left for Norwich last night, remember? She's not back 'til tomorrow. Harry's at choir. Dad's probably in his studio.'

Jim nodded as he munched on his croissant. He did remember Mum saying something about Norwich. She was giving a paper or something, and visiting some friends.

He finished his croissant, but, as he reached for another, they heard the garden gate clang open and the letterbox squeaked as the mail was pushed through. Emiko and Jim looked at each other, then, at exactly the same moment, leapt up and raced for the front door. Emiko got there first, but Jim managed to snatch the letters off her and got back to the kitchen before she could wrestle them off him again.

'I win.' He grinned at Emiko.

'I'm still beating you.'

'Not by much.'

'Whatever.' Emiko tried to feign indifference, but she'd never been a good actor.

Jim smirked at her, then, started to sort the letters.

'Bill, bill, magazine, bill, postcard from Uncle Tim, bill, and – what's this?'

The letter at the bottom of the pile was thick and heavy, the envelope made of something like parchment. The address was written in green ink – handwritten, not printed.

Mr. H. Potter

The Top Bedroom

102 Sudbury Gardens

London

'Who's H. Potter?' asked Emiko, reading over his shoulder.

'I don't know. I'll ask Dad.'

'Could it be Harry?'

'Since when is Harry's surname Potter, and since when does he share a room with me?'

Emiko considered this for a moment. Jim turned the envelope over. 'There's no return address.' There was, however, a stamp on the sealing wax. Who still uses sealing wax? thought Jim. It depicted a shield, quartered, each containing a different animal – he could make out a snake, a bird of some sort, and… a lion? He couldn't work out the fourth animal. In the middle was an H. Jim frowned at it.

'Do you recognise that symbol?' he asked Emiko. She looked at it and shrugged.

'Nope.'

'I'll ask Dad.'

Jim took the letter and the bills and wandered down into the basement, where Dad's studio was. He was indeed there, doing a screen print of a cat. He looked up when Jim came in.

'Are those for me?'

'These are.' Jim handed him the bills. 'This –' he waved the letter – 'is for nobody.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's addressed to my bedroom, but the name is definitely not me. My name isn't H. Potter, right?'

Dad took the letter. 'I'm not so sure. It might be.'

'What?'

'I can't remember what your birth name is. It might be H. Potter. We can check if you want. Let me just wash my hands.'

Jim waited, then when he was done ran ahead of him to the filing cabinet of important documents.

'Okay,' said his father. 'Let's see.'

It seemed to take forever to find the file of adoption papers, where there was the proof of the adoption of Harry, Jim, and Emiko.

'Right. Here we are. James Roth… born… yup. It's yours. Harry James Potter.'

'My name was Harry too?'

'Yes, so we took your middle name. Two Harries would be too confusing.'

'My name was Harry Potter?'

'Yes.'

Jim considered this for a moment. 'I prefer Jim Roth.'

Emiko wandered in. 'So, who's the mysterious H. Potter?'

'Me,' said Jim, and ripped open the envelope.

'It's a fake.'

'I have to agree with your sister. There's no such thing as magic.'

Jim frowned. 'But don't you remember the snakes in Spain?'

They did. Once, while on holiday in Spain, the family had visited a zoo. Jim's favourite enclosure had been the snakes, so he'd run on ahead. To his disappointment, they'd all been asleep.

'I wish they'd wake up,' he'd whispered to his dad, and, as if by magic, the four snakes inside had woken up, slithered to the front, and stared at Jim for several minutes, only stopping when he and his family left.

Dad shook his head. 'That was coincidence.'

'You always said there was something weird about their behaviour.'

'Weird. It wasn't magic.'

'What about when Harry lost his voice?' Once, Harry had come down with a bad cold. This was a major problem as Harry was to sing a solo in an important concert the following day and he could barely speak. Jim had sat next to him and talked to him for about five minutes, and the next everyone knew, he was singing all the parts to Britten's War Requiem – simultaneously.

'…fluke?'

Jim was about to respond with a scathing reply, but before he could there was a tapping on the kitchen window. He shot a confused glance at Dad and got up to have a look.

Pulling up the blinds, he was greeted by the sight of a barn owl, tapping gently at the window pane.

'Um. What?' he asked his father.

His father looked just as confused.

Emiko jumped up and joined Jim at the window. 'Look, Jim, it's got something tied to its leg.'

She was right. A piece of paper – or parchment, Jim supposed – was tied to the owl's left leg.

Jim eased the window open and the owl hopped in. Glancing at his father, Jim reached out and carefully untied the note from the owl's leg.

Dear Mr. Potter,

A wizard will be arriving at your location shortly.

Please do not be alarmed.

Jim frowned. 'A wiz –'

There was a loud crack and a wizard arrived at their location. He was small with a large beard, dressed in swirling blue robes.

'Harry Potter!' exclaimed the small man with evident delight. 'I am Professor Flitwick of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

They were alarmed.

Professor Flitwick explained the situation quite well, and Dad seemed to take it calmly, even when the little man started floating the sofa they were sitting on around the house. By the end, Dad was convinced that Hogwarts was the Right Place for Jim, which was exactly what Jim thought Flitwick's aim was.

When Flitwick was finished, Dad looked at Jim. 'So, what do you think?'

Jim considered his options. If he didn't go here, he would have to go to the local state school, Northgate Boys – which wasn't even a boys' school any more. Northgate wasn't a bad school, and he had friends who would be there, but it wasn't very exciting. Hogwarts sounded interesting, and learning magic?

'I'd like to come,' he said to Professor Flitwick.

'Excellent!' exclaimed the little man. 'I shall inform Professor Dumbledore immediately!' He leapt off the sofa, which actually made him look even smaller, and made to go.

'But – ' Jim started to say.

'Yes, Mr. Potter?'

'Um. My name isn't Harry Potter.'

Flitwick seemed to take this badly. 'But… you look so much like your father…'

'Mr. Flitwick, sir, this is my father.' Jim indicated Dad. 'I was born Harry Potter, but I was adopted by the Roths, my mother and father. I have a brother called Harry, an older brother, so when I was adopted they chose to name me James, or Jim. My name is Jim Roth, sir. I hope this doesn't cause too many difficulties.'

'Not… not at all, Mr. Pot – Mr. Roth,' stuttered the little man. 'I shall inform Professor Dumbledore at once. Good day Mr. – Roth, Mr. Roth, Miss Roth.'

With that, he spun around and disappeared, the only sign he'd been there some scratches on the ceiling and the echo of a crack that was, even now, fading in their ears.

'Well,' said Emiko. 'He seemed to take that rather well.'