Chapter 1 – Ambition

5 years later…

Mark yawned and opened his eyes to the sunlight filtering in through the window. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He crawled down from the small bed he slept in and toddled through the house to the kitchen.

"Uncle! Breakfeest? Pweeze?" His uncle, Ethan Fulghum, smiled down at the toddler.

"Sure thing Mark! What kind of cereal would you like?"

Later that day, the two were playing catch with a small, soft ball. Back and forth, back and forth they tossed it. Uncle Ethan tossed it under his leg. Mark giggled, and threw the ball high, high up into the air for Uncle Ethan to run and catch. The ball went up, up, up! and down onto the roof of the house. Uncle Ethan grumbled to himself and went to grab the ladder in the garage, not noticing the look of intense concentration on Mark's face. When he came back, the ball was safely ensconced in Mark's chubby little hands. Uncle Ethan smirked. "Why don't we see if we can improve that ability of yours, Mark?" he asked the five-year-old. Mark's eyes went wide and he nodded eagerly.

"Yes! Make ball fly!"

Another five years later…

A ten-year-old Mark sat on the floor, meditating. Ever since watching Star Wars he became obsessed with the idea of the Force. Convinced that his powers were a manifestation of it, he attempted every day to lift objects around the house. His Uncle did caution him not to show others, and restricted him to practicing indoors. Currently cross-legged, they sat together around that same small, squishy ball. A look of focus came over Mark's face. Slowly, ever so slowly, the ball hovered in the air, rising.

"SQAUWK!" An owl crashed into the window. Mark cursed as his concentration broke and the ball fell to the floor.

"An owl?! In the daytime, uncle?" He opened the window and got a mouthful of feathers as the bedraggled bird flew in the window. His uncle merely smirked.

"It seems to have a letter for you, Mark" he gestured to the rolled-up piece of parchment the owl carried. Mark's eyes widened in disbelief.

How absurd he thought. Reaching out gingerly, he untied the letter and rolled it open. His eyes widened in disbelief as he read through the missive. He turned accusingly to his still smirking uncle. "You knew!" he said.

"Oh yes, nephew. I did indeed know. This gift you have is called 'magic' by these 'wizards'. They are offering you a real place at a real school for magic."

"How did I come by this magic…wait. You said that on my eleventh birthday you would tell me how my parents died! Is this related to it, Uncle?"

His uncle sighed. "Mark, I want you to think for a minute. Our world, what they call the muggle", he spat the word, "world, is broken, yes? War and violence abound because people have hate. The same is true in that other world, the one of wizards. Your parents were killed by dark wizards, themselves followers of what some call the darkest wizard ever. I scoured long and hard to find their names when you were little. The wizarding world is deathly afraid of that dark lord, even after his supposed death. His name is Lord Voldemort. The man who lead the attack on your parents, his name was Rodolphus Lestrange. I myself do not have magic, but your parents did. I rescued you from their house that fateful night on orders of your father, my brother. If Death Eaters, those dark wizards, attacked the house, I was to save you at any cost, even if I needed to kill to do so. I don't want to ruin your image of the Wizarding World, but suffice to say, it is much the same as ours. Do not fall into the trap of thinking that magic can fix all of your problems. Sometimes hard work is the only option."

What followed was the tale that all wizarding children grew up with, about the evil of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his defeat at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived. Mark's eyes grew yet even wider at the thought of such a world, with such death, and with such magic. In his little eleven-year-old heart, something was born that day. Something that would change the world. For in his heart Mark resolved to make the Wizarding World better, and safe.

"Now then. To get your school supplies, we must go to London. There is a pub there, the Leaky Cauldron, that in the back alley has the entrance to Diagon Alley, where we will find your supplies. I suppose we can go shopping this week." He stopped as Mark cheered. "Now, to enter the train, you must walk through the barrier separation platforms Nine and Ten. I know it seems odd, but trust me. Your father went through that barrier every year to board the Hogwarts Express. I seem to recall a rule that you could not practice magic at home, but now that I think about it, we never received a notice before your father went to Hogwarts. So after we get your wand, you should be able to practice a bit of magic. Just don't show anyone, and don't tell anyone at Hogwarts and we should be good."

Later that week, the duo scoured Diagon Alley for all of their supplies. First they went to Gringotts, the proud marble edifice that dominated the main street of Diagon Alley. Once inside, his uncle spoke to the Goblins and established a trust fund for Mark, for school purposes. He converted enough pounds into galleons so that Mark would have enough locked up in the vault for his entire school career. His uncle also exchanged more, gathering enough galleons for Mark to purchase extracurricular books if he so desired. Their financial business achieved, they set out. The highlight of the trip was their stop at Flourish and Blotts, where Mark purchased all of his required books, including extra. Mark was now the proud owner of all of his supplies, save one. His wand.

They approached Ollivanders, and swept inside. An old man greeted them,

"Ahh, yes… A wand you will need, for Hogwarts? I can fit you, yes, yes" he muttered as they walked in. He started measuring Mark without so much as a by-your-leave. "Wand arm?"

"Er… I am right handed, if that's what you're asking" Mark replied. Ollivander started bringing up wands, testing them. Some did nothing, others jumped out of his hand and flew across the room. Ollivander grabbed another wand and handed it to him. At once, fire blossomed out of the tip in a wide range of colors, sparks flittering through the air like butterflies. Ollivander smirked.

"Aspen wood and dragon heartstring. 12 and a half inches. A wand for revolutionaries. I suppose we can expect change from you" he smiled with the smile of age and experience. Mark gazed at his wand in adoration. It was a pale yellow in color, long enough for swishes, but short enough for stabs. He smiled at Ollivander.

"Thank you, sir"

They left the shop.

Walking down the alley, he saw a man and a child, walking tall down the middle of street, as if they owned the place. His uncle guided Mark to the side of the street, out of their way. The two continued walking down, sneering at everyone.

"Those, Mark, are purebloods. See how the others scurry out of their way? Those are not. See how the shopkeepers are almost kowtowing to them?" Mark nodded. "This is why I hate them. They crush others beneath their feet and use their wealth and bias in the law to achieve their aims. They have the power in this world. No matter what you do, do not anger one of their children. They can easily complain to their parents who can easily expel you."

Mark shuddered. "How can they do that? Can they, I don't know, vote?"

His uncle laughed. "Vote? That would mean there is democracy. There is none. You remember that dark wizard, Voldemort? He fought for pureblood supremacy, and his followers were the 'upstanding members of society' that still walk free today. Your father's murderer, he ended up in Azkaban. But most of them walk free, escaping from justice with a mockery of a trial. They remained after Voldemort's defeat and they continue to spread their corruption."

The man continued walking, roughly shoving aside someone to enter a store beforehand. His son sneered at them as they passed

His uncle continued "If Voldemort returns, he will find it easy to assume all of his old power. The purebloods are deeply entrenched, and it will take a lot to remove them from their power. But don't let it get you down. You will probably be ignored by them. Just keep your head down and do well in school, alright?"

Mark sighed. "Is there anything that is being done to change this, Uncle?" he asked.

His uncle smiled. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts does what he can to change it. But he is up against centuries of tradition. It takes a revolution to change that, yes?"

Since the pureblood had passed, the two continued out of the Alley. "Now let's head back home and you can take a good look at all of your books."

They left the alley and headed home.

The rest of summer flew by in a haze of studying and reading. Mark scoured the books they had purchased, looking for anything that would give him a leg up over the other children. He didn't know whether or not to believe his uncle, after all, Britain was a fairly progressive country. Surely the magical counterpart would be similar? Still, he knew he was at a disadvantage. The other children had grown up with magic!

Looking through his first-year spell book, he found something that caught his eye:

Wingardium Leviosa

The Wingardium Leviosa spell is used as an introduction in the charms course. It is used to levitate objects in the air with the user's wand directing their height. To cast, one says "Wingardium Leviosa!" and gives their wand a swish and a flick while speaking. To make it more powerful, a simple addition is to add strength to the flick at the end. Be careful, however. Improper words can lead to disastrous consequences.

Mark smiled. So this is what he was doing earlier! Raising his wand, he spoke clearly. "Wingardium Leviosa!" and swished and flicked his wand. The book rose slowly up, before dropping as he lowered his wand. Grinning, Mark continued reading and practicing. He read about Transfiguration, the magic of changing things. He read about Potions, the magic of concoctions that boiled and bubbled in the cauldron. He read about the Defense against the Dark Arts, the spells by which wizards defended themselves. He hurried to his Uncle after reading the last one.

"Uncle, did my parents fight the wizards that attacked them?" he asked.

His uncle nodded. "Indeed they did, strong fighters that they were. But they couldn't last against the numbers. I myself barely escaped."

"How did you do that, uncle?" Mark asked.

His uncle beckoned and led him down the hall. Reaching the end closet, he took from the top shelf a small box and eased it open. Inside lay a gleaming pistol, with magazines filled with bullets.

"You mustn't tell anyone about this, Mark. It saved my life, and it may one day save yours. But that does not mean it is not illegal."

Mark nodded seriously "I won't say a word, Uncle."

His uncle smiled. "You will do well at Hogwarts, Mark. You will do your parents proud."

Mark smiled, and went back to his room to practice and to read.