Please leave a review! This is my first idea for a new fanfic, and I'm gonna keep testing new ones until I find one that people seem to like. So, if you like this one, let me know! Or if you have an idea for a different fanfic that you think I should work with, that works too. :3

I'd also love a beta, if anyone's interested. :3

"Peter? Are you okay?" Jessica's worried voice was the first thing he heard when he regained consciousness. He groaned slightly and blinked his eyes open, squinting into the dim light of his room. Jessica was hovering over him, her brown curls hanging down and framing her pale heart-shaped face. Her hand was clasped tightly around his, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand anxiously.

"Peter, you had us so worried!" Nathan said, and Peter glanced over at him. He was standing on the other side of the Peter's bed, a worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. His arms were crossed, and he seemed a bit agitated - he couldn't seem to stand still, and kept shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Peter wanted to reassure them, but all he could say was, "Ugh... My head..."

"Josh said he thought you passed out from the heat," Jessica said, her eyes wide and earnest. "We took you home, and your mum is calling an ambulance right now to come check you out."

"I don't need an ambulance," Peter mumbled, struggling to push himself upright in his bed. The world started spinning, and Jessica pushed him back into his pillow.

"Don't you dare sit up, just lie back and relax." Her tone was slightly threatening, and she waved a finger in his face.

"Fine," Peter sighed, dropping his head back into his pillows. The grey-blue walls of his bedroom seemed to be spinning around him while staying in place at the same time, which only made his eyes hurt. "What happened?"

"We don't know," Nathan said, sitting down gently on the foot of the bed. "Josh just called us, saying he found your 'lazy ass' passed out on the floor of the store."

"Did that old woman call him?" Peter asked, trying to remember what all happened before he passed out. He vaguelly remembered a very old woman with a British accent talking to him, and then... she said something, he couldn't remember what... but then there was a flash of bright light, and he passed out.

"Old woman?" Jessica asked, then put the back of her hand on his forehead, evidently feeling for a fever. "Peter, there was no old woman."

"Yes, there was, she asked to come sit inside in the air conditioning -"

"Peter, if there was an old woman there when you passed out, she didn't call for help or say anything," Nathan said. "And she had completely disappeared when Josh found you, and he swore he didn't leave you alone for very long. There was no old woman..."

"But..." Peter stared at them.

"Are you okay, Peter?" Jessica asked, dropping her hand from his forehead. "You feel a little warm..."

"I'll be fine," Peter said, pushing himself up again and leaning back against the pillows for support. His new, mostly-upright position allowed him to see his friends more clearly, and he offered them a reassuring smile - he was okay for the most part.

"Can we get you anything?" Nathan asked.

Peter hesitated. "Water would be nice... Maybe some food?"

"Chinese take out?" Nathan asked, grinning at their traditional nights-in food. Peter returned the grin.

"Naturally."

"Okay, we'll go get that. We'll tell your mom you're awake," Jessica said, smiling. "Don't pass out again while we're gone, will you?"

"I'll do my best," Peter said dryly, and Jessica and Nathan left the room, pulling the door closed behind them. There was a small flash, like a flickering lightbulb, and Peter frowned, looking around for the cause. He didn't see one, but at the foot of his bed was a slightly yellow envelope. He reached down for it and grimaced as the movement made his head reel.

"Peter, dear?" his mum's voice came from just outside his door, and she knocked lightly. She didn't wait for an answer before opening the door. Peter wasn't sure why, but he hid the envelope under his sheets. "I'm so glad you're awake, you gave me quite the fright!" Her gentle British accent couldn't help but remind him of the old woman from before, but he smiled anyway.

"Just the heat, I think," Peter answered.

"I told you that you shouldn't take a physical outdoor job in the summer," she admonished. "Paramedics are on their way to make sure you're quite alright. I don't think you need to go to the hospital, but we'll see. They shouldn't take too long to get here."

"Alright," he said, offering a weak smile. "Do you mind if I just rest until they get here? My head hurts."

"Of course, dear, I'll let you know when they get here," she answered, patting his hand and then leaving. Peter sank back into his pillows and closed his eyes, his headache pulsing in his temples. He felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head, and he had sore spots all over his body - probably from where he hit the floor when he fell. The sheets felt rough and almost painful, and his breathing was labored. He forced his eyes open and pulled the envelope from under the sheets.

It was an odd envelope, made out of parchment rather than paper, and was sealed with soft wax rather than glue. Pressed into the wax was a coat of arms with small figures he couldn't make out, and a large A emblazoned across the center. He studied it for a moment before flipping the envelope over, to see if it was addressed to anyone.

To Mr. Peter Myrddin, Muggleborn,

201 Leeside Way, San Fransisco CA

Appartment B

Third bedroom on the left.

That was odd. Why would they say what bedroom? And how would they know? But it was addressed to him, so he opened it. He pulled the letter from inside, looking at the curving penmanship that scrawled its way across the page.

Mr. Peter Myrddin,

We are pleased to inform you that we have identified you as a muggleborn. We would like to invite you to join us at Ardenaire School of Magic and Magical Studies, with thirty-one other recently identified muggleborn students. Enclosed is a detailed listing of supplies you will need, along with a calendar and explanation of school functions.

We hope you will be joining us shortly;

Signed, Alexandryne Skyfaller,

Head of Allagian House and Summer Camp Coordinator.

Peter stared at the letter in confusion. His eyes were swimming, so he closed them, allowing the thoughts to cycle through his head: school of magic and magical studies? It must be Nathan playing a joke on him. After all, the letter was where Nathan had been sitting on the bed.

"I'm sorry about that," a voice said, and Peter's eyes flashed open. The old woman from before was sitting at the foot of his bed where the letter had been moments before, her cane leaning against her knee.

"What the hell!? You!" Peter yelped, scooting away from her. "How'd you get in here?"

"I had to make sure," the woman said, looking at him with a regretful expression.

"Make sure of what?" Peter asked, and then repeated, "How'd you get in here? What happened?"

"Magic, my boy," she said, folding her hand over the end of her cane. "Answers to both your latter questions. I had to make sure you were one of them. The muggleborns that we lost track of. That's what caused the headache. Sorry, lad. But now you have your letter, and are formally invited to Ardenaire."

"What?" To Peter, her words made about as much sense as Russian over crackling AM Radio. "God, am I hallucinating now?"

"No, you aren't hallucinating," she said, her voice sympathetic. "I am Malinda Thorn with the Ministry of Magic. I am a witch."

"Oh, yeah, that really convinces me I'm not hallucinating," Peter said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"You aren't hallucinating, and I'm not crazy," the woman said. She pulled her cane onto his bed and started unscrewing the top of it, which came out as a long tapering stick, about a foot long. She waved it through the air and light traced after it through the air, leaving a blinking glow floating above his bed.

"Holy crap," Peter said. He reached out to touch the light, and it dissolved under his fingers, fizzing in the same way that sodas do.

"There, I do hope you will believe what I tell you now," she said, rewarding him with a smile. "You are a wizard, young man."

"A wizard?" he asked, his mouth agape.

"Yes, a wizard," she replied. "You are a muggleborn wizard, which means your parents do not have magic like you do."

"Okay... so, I can make light with a stick like you just did?"

"Yes... if you have a proper wand, anyway," she agreed. "You can't just use any stick."

"Where do I get a wand?"

"You will get your supplies when you go to school."

"But school doesn't start for another three months! And who on earth would give me a wand in my school?"

"You aren't the quickest lad, are you?" she asked, frowning at him. "You wouldn't be going to your school. I'm here to bring you to Ardenaire, a school for witches and wizards."

"Ardenaire?"

"Yes. It is an American school for witches and wizards, located in the Oregon. It's to train young witches and wizards in the arts of magic and the ways of the wizarding community."

"Why would they start it in the senior year of highschool?" Peter said, frowning. "That doesn't make any sense. They should either do it as a highschool or a college."

"Well..." She shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting slightly. She slid her wand back into her cane and screwed it together before answering. "It starts when a child enters middle-school, and goes up through high-school. This would be your first - and last - year at this school."

"Why wasn't I told about this sooner?" Peter's brows knit in confusion, incredulity spelling its way across his face.

"Because you're a muggleborn," Malinda Thorn offered as explanation. "More importantly, you are a muggleborn who was born in 1997. In 1997 and 1998, a dark wizard ruled the wizarding community all across the globe, and he was... well, he preferred pure-blooded wizards, to put it lightly. He disliked muggleborn wizards to such an extreme that he burned the records for every witch or wizard born to muggle - non magical - parents. We eventually overthrew the wizard, but the records were still gone, and it took us years to recover from the war - we're still trying to find all of you. We didn't start searching the Americas until last year, and you're one of the last ones... Most of the others will have had more time to get used to the idea than you."

"But... if all the other witches and wizards, the ones who weren't born to 'muggles', have been doing this since they were twelve, how am I possibly going to get on in this school? They'd all be so far ahead. How am I supposed to catch up to seven years of education in only one?"

"They are doing a summer camp," she answered matter-of-factly. "It will start June 10th."

"But that's only in two days!"

"I know. You will have to decide whether or not you are going very soon." Her voice was apologetic, but she offered no loop holes. "I didn't go to Ardenaire, so I do not know what it is like there, or what you will be getting into. I went to Hogwarts, the British school of magic. And I work with the British Ministry of Magic; the only reason I came to speak with you is because you were British-born. I'm afraid I can't answer all the questions you have... Ardenaire is very different from Hogwarts. I think you would like it more than your current school, though."

"But, what about my job?"

"You would have to quit," she said.

"But..."

A siren cut off his next question. The ambulance that his mother had called was pulling up outside, and he could hear voices as they unloaded their supplies from the back to come up to his apartment.

The woman looked at him, smiled, and said, "I'll be back for your decision this evening at midnight. If you decide to go, I will put you in touch with an administrator of the summer camp, who will come speak with you tomorrow, June 9th. Good evening, Peter." There was a flash of light, and she disappeared.