CHAPTER [0]: Meet Gary Stu

Cygnus Black II and his wife Violetta Bulstrode were stunningly awful, even by the piss-poor standards of 1920s Magical Britain. No one knows why Cygnus Jr. behaved like a stuck-up, paranoid, frothing lunatic all of the time.

Some say his behavior came from generations of inbreeding. Others think he constantly overcompensated for being named after Zeus's horny swan form. The prevailing theory is that he was just a dick. Whatever the case, Cygnus's wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy. The loving Blacks named him Marius. And high hopes rode on Marius's shoulders.

Unfortunately, Marius was a Squib.

So as soon as the poor kid hit age 11, Cygnus and Violetta then kicked their little boy to the curb without a single Knut to his name, obliterated his name from the Black family tree, obliviated him, washed their hands clean, and promptly forgot they ever had a child named Marius. Lovely people.

Muggles may expect a brave, heartwarming story about how Marius defied all expectations, won back the respect of his parents, and carved out a place for himself in Magical British society, proudly embracing his Squib status. But this is not that story because that's not what happened.

This is the story of Marius's grandson Gary.

Gary Stu worked as an engineer for Microsoft back in 1985, when the company name made kids giggle. But other than being a decent programmer and a relatively well-spoken person, Gary was pretty thoroughly mediocre in every other regard.

Slightly overweight. Showing traces of male pattern baldness at the ripe old age of 28. Big vegetable nose. Bad at ordering at restaurants. Awkward around women. Also awkward around men.

And not the slightest bit magically gifted.

Every Squib is able to see a glimpse of the magical world, which is one of fate's cruel jokes. They're just barely magical enough to feel Dementors and catch dragon pox. It's really the worst of both worlds.

Gary also had the great misfortune of simultaneously being (1) hypersensitive to magic and (2) completely ignorant of the magical world. Something in the back of Gary's head just never felt quite right.

So Gary lived his thoroughly mediocre Muggle life unsatisfied until the day Walburga Black died.

No one cried in 1985 when Walburga Black died. No one cried in 1986 either. Spoiler alert: 1987 was also a pretty dry year for Walburga Black.

Walburga was not very literate, so she didn't have a will. When it came time to divvy up the Black family's possessions, the wise goblins at Gringotts were surprised to find that none of Walburga's relatives came forth.

1) Her son Regulus slept at the bottom of an Inferi-infested lake.
2) Her other son Sirius sat in a godforsaken metaphor for Guantanamo Bay.
3) Her niece Bellatrix sat in the same poorly-designed Dementor zoo.
4) Her other ludicrously wealthy and extraordinary distant nieces Andromeda and Narcissa actually couldn't give less of a shit.
5) Her grandnephew James Potter had been dead for some time. James probably didn't even know his relation to Walburga.

The only response to Gringott's letters would come from an odd American squib by the name of Gary Stu.

Gary Stu had always had the sense that Bellevue, Washington was playing a prank on him. Gary could smell the charmed air. Gary could hear the whistling of residual spells and potions gone wrong. Gary could taste the gravitas of great magical power, grand and majestic and old. Gary could feel magic, and that feeling tickled in the worst way possible. But whenever he squinted at the world to scratch the magical itch, everything disappeared.

Such is life for Squibs in the Muggle world.

One day, a barn owl came for Gary.

Gary sat outside on a bench eating his usual burgers and fries when, to his alarm, the owl perched on his shoulder and proffered a letter in her beak.

'Why the fuck is a barn owl delivering mail?' Gary thought as he ripped open the envelope.

OOOO

Mr. Gary Stu,

We are sorry to inform you that your relative Walburga Black (relation: 1st cousin, once removed) has passed away. As a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, you are eligible to claim a portion of the Black inheritance. To do so, please reply by owl to set up an appointment at your earliest convenience.

Our sincere condolences,

Gringotts Wizarding Bank

1412 Diagon Alley, Magical London, WC2H 0AP UK

OOOO

Gary finished reading at looked at the owl, who hooted at him and looked expectantly.

'Jesus fucking Christ, this sounds like a scam,' Gary thought. But then a quiet voice in his head whispered, 'Things are magical when you're not looking.'

Gary had to admit it would be a pretty awful scam. They'd provided an address, and Gary wouldn't have to give them jackshit about his personal information.

He whipped out a legal pad, scrawled a message about meeting tomorrow morning, ripped the note out, and gave it to the barn owl. The owl clutched the message and took off in a hurry.

Gary's ordinarily rational mind felt the years of magical superstition break down his skepticism.

'Poor creature, is she supposed to fly all 5000 miles to London?'
'Who bothered to domesticate owls? That seems like an awful lot for a scam or prank.'
'It would take a mid-sized bird flying at top speeds at least 200 hours to fly 5000 miles.'
'Holy shit, did another owl just drop an envelope into my French fries?!'

A second owl took off after rudely dropping a second package into Gary's food. Extremely weirded out, Gary opened the envelope to find another letter with a packet inside.

OOOO

Mr. Gary Stu,

Excellent. You are confirmed for tomorrow, July 1st at 10:30 am (GMT). Since we are detecting your magical presence outside the jurisdiction of Magical Britain, we have attached a roundtrip international portkey to this letter.

We look forward to seeing you,

Gringotts Wizarding Bank

1412 Diagon Alley, Magical London, WC2H 0AP UK

OOOO

Gary's rational side angrily shouted, 'Definitely a scam! Occam's Razor! Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence! Science requires testing of falsifiable –'

But then Gary's inner child took over as he unwrapped the portkey. Somehow, he felt the unreasonable urge to peel the wrapping carefully and avoid touching the portkey.

It was an ordinary-looking button. But it was also button radiating with the most intense aura that Gary had ever felt – just like the tingling sensation Gary sometimes felt around phone booths and fireplaces. His neck hairs stood on end, his heart raced, and Gary felt oh-so-alive as he felt energy pulsating in the air.

This was definitely magic.

Silencing and murdering his inner rationalist voice, Gary grabbed his cell phone (a brick-sized monstrosity) and immediately rung up his boss to clear out 5 business days for a vacation to London. Good thing I'd saved up my sick days. Arrangements were made, bullshit excuses were flung, and soon Gary had cleared out a week for his magical excursion.

Then Gary set down the phone.

"I have a magical inheritance," Gary mumbled giddily. "I'm going to Wizarding Britain!"

Gary would be a part of the magical world, even if only for a week.

It would be the second most magical week of his life.