Chapter Two - After the War

Hamish removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the spindly wooden chair he then took a seat on, thinking, as Aberforth shuffled around and the kettle hissed on the stove ... what was this all about? Perhaps the man was deluded, losing his grip in his old age? And yet there was something about Aberforth's eyes; they were clever, knowledgeable. But what if he was just winding Hamish up? It would be a pretty lame joke if he was ... and besides, bits of it sort of fitted together: his ability to move objects without the need to touch them ... now he thought about it, there were plenty of occasions when unusual things had occurred, things that begged for an explanation. Like when he'd got into a fight with an older kid at school, who had stolen his pack of playing cards. Hadn't Hamish managed to get the boy stuck on a low branch by the neck of his shirt just by pushing him? Or when he was being chased by a full-grown wild dog that had escaped the woods beyond the Meadow; he had yelled at it desperately to back off, to which it whimpered almost pitifully and retreated back to its forest home ... it was only when he recounted those episodes now that he grasped how odd they were. He even registered how no one in the market seemed to realise he was stealing their goods, because there were heart-stopping moments when they appeared to catch his eye, but they would merely look away again without a word – well, until today of course.

Hamish returned to the present with a start as Aberforth laid a steaming cup in front of him. It was chipped on the rim but clean nevertheless. He helped himself to goat's milk as the old man took the seat opposite, gazing at him with those disconcertingly blue eyes.

'How're you feeling, kid?'

Hamish couldn't think of a simple answer. It just dawned on him that this afternoon's event had put an end to his theft in the market: too many of the shopkeepers and customers there would recognise him again now. He would have to start buying from now on, but how? He had no money and the chances of his mother earning from a job were less than zero. He supposed there was still the option of obtaining monthly tesserae in exchange for a greater chance of competing in the Hunger Games, but those supplies were barely useful in the long run.

In all honesty, his whole life had been a struggle. According to his mother, his father had left them both after Hamish's birth because he hadn't intended to have a child. Neither had heard of him at all for the past fifteen years and there was the possibility that he was dead, unless he'd persuaded a mayor to get a job in another district, under a new identity. Less than a decade later, Hamish's mother had fallen fatally ill and even now spent all day at home in bed. Yes it was stressful, but Hamish loved her more than anyone. There were times when she would hallucinate, seeing traumatic experiences from her past, but Hamish made sure she was strong enough to ride it out; on better days, she could be bright as a bunny and would sit up in bed knitting for hours or tell Hamish stories or sing to him happily. It had always been the two of them in that cosy house not far from the market square.

'I'm fine,' said Hamish indifferently. He picked up the cup with both hands; despite the sizzling weather outside, it was still somewhat relieving to feel the heat of the cup surge through his fingers. 'I'd love to hear about magic and wizards though.'

Aberforth smiled, leant back in his chair and coughed his airway clear.

'Where to start, where to start! Well, once upon a time there was a school. A school for witches and wizards, such as yourself, and it was called Hogwarts. Hogwarts was the best magical school in Europe, maybe even the world. Every magical parent in the country would send their kids to Hogwarts to harness their magic. I had a job in the local village, Hogsmeade, working as a barman in one of the pubs.

'Then one day, after an awful lot of build-up (which I won't go into details about), a huge war broke out at the school, between the bravest young wizard I knew and the darkest wizard of all time. Don't get me wrong, they were as powerful as each other, evenly matched certainly. Armies on both sides fought in the school. At the very climax of the battle, when both sides had stopped to watch, those two fought it out. First to go was the young wizard, Harry, Harry Potter. Barely a few seconds had passed when one of the teachers killed the other wizard.'

By now, Aberforth's eyes were staring far, far into the distance as his mind evidently was entranced in the images he was recalling. He cleared his throat again.

'The battle that followed was deadly. The clever ones escaped when they could, including myself. The building was blown to bits, but that was the least of our worries. Both sides fought to the death. Rumour has it that the final battle left barely a handful of wizards standing. Almost complete destruction of the whole race.'

Hamish was speechless. He was now convinced Aberforth was telling something of the truth because no one could make that sort of thing up so spontaneously.

'That's awful,' he croaked. Aberforth gave a tiny nod. 'So ... how many wizards do you think are left?'

'Who knows?' grunted Aberforth. 'Since all the flooding and other disasters around the world, there might not even be enough land for the remaining wizards to stand on!'

He took a large gulp of tea before continuing.

'And then I found you, Hamish. I've been keeping an eye on you for the last few years, if you don't mind me admitting. I couldn't believe it when I saw you perform those acts that only a wizard could perform.'

This did surprise Hamish, but his trust in this man was high enough for this fact to concern him.

'Forgive me, but I could sometimes watch you on the school playing field and you somehow strung up that bully to the tree by the neck. I couldn't blame you, it's exactly what I would've done.'

They both laughed and Aberforth drank again.

'A classic, unmistakeable sign of magic, that was. I knew you were special,' he said cheerfully, raising his mug to Hamish as if toasting. 'I couldn't quite believe it at first: "Another wizard, here in Panem?" I asked myself. It was so far-fetched yet the best news I'd had in years. It made me wonder if any others survived. Are any of your family magical, do you know?'

'I doubt it,' answered Hamish with a sad smile. 'My mother's been very poorly for as long as I can remember, and I've never even met my father ... though I guess there's a chance he could be a wizard.' If he's alive, Hamish finishes in his head.

'Oh – I'm sorry to hear that, son,' said Aberforth, and he meant it.

'What about you?' asked Hamish.

'Well my brother ... he was an extraordinary wizard, I have to admit that. He was Headmaster at Hogwarts for decades, you know ... I did have a sister, too, a very, very long time ago ...' a cloud of misery, pain, or even anger passed across his eyes briefly and Hamish looked down at his empty cup sheepishly. 'But I'm afraid I'm the last Dumbledore standing ... and who knows how much longer that will last.'

Hamish tried to open his mouth, but what was there to say to comfort?

'Anyway, son, before you leave for your mother, I'd like to offer you something.'

Hamish looked up again. The face opposite him had been cleared of discomfort and had been replaced with something like anticipation.

'Go on.'

'Good lad. Well, chances are we're the only two wizards in the district. So – how would you feel about coming down here, say every other day, and I'll teach you how to control your magic. A brave chap like you could be carved into an excellent wizard, unless I'm mistaken. Should you choose to accept, another gift awaits you.'

The boy smiled. Magic. Magic. This would surely put an end to many of his problems. Perhaps even cure his mother.

'I accept, of course,' said Hamish with a grin.

'Excellent.' Aberforth rose from the table with surprising speed and strode over to the corner with the stack of books and brought to the table a wooden box, like a small treasure chest, which Hamish hadn't previously noticed. He fished out a small golden key and inserted it into the lock of the box.

'I gathered a nice little collection of these during the Battle of Hogwarts. I'm glad they're about to be put to use.' The lock clicked loudly and Aberforth spun the box round so that its contents would be revealed to Hamish. Aberforth raised the lid and Hamish's eyes feasted upon several thin sticks of wood, one of which produced red sparks, and he knew exactly what they must be.