3. Entrance

The next week passes as slowly as a snail can walk. Training time is reduced to an hour every other day now that our final tournament is finished, which means more free time for me. But, after the initial ecstasy of finally being able to do whatever I like whenever I like, the usual boredom of summer starts to get to my nerves. After all, we don't get to go to the beach, or into the city, every day. So, after a whole day of reading in bed, I emailed Justin for the first time since we sent him our flight details, asking for more information about that world. I did it before dinner from Mum and Dad's computer, and he has replied by the time we cleaned everything up.

Kathy, he writes,

First of all, there is no need to worry. I am sure you'll enjoy yourself at Hogwarts, and find your own unique place in the magical society. Also, you are right. Magic is absolutely real for you, for me, for three thousand other witches and wizards, and for many other beings. The vase and the tulips are there to remind you of this fact, if you haven't already guessed.

You don't need to prepare for Sunday. I know you're taking all your luggages with you, and we will make special arrangements to keep them safe before your departure. Apart from your travel supplies, all you need is an open heart to have fun on Sunday. There will be eight families, each with a magical child around your age. Your brother won't be left out, either, as many other families have more than one non-magical child, too. As for security measures, your guides will be the ones to keep you safe. They are volunteers from Dumbledore's Army, and half of them are temporary Aurors like me. Your family will be introduced to a pair of guides, one Auror and one non-Auror, during the orientation, and they will help you out through your shopping trip.

We will have an introductory lecture of some sort, integrated with activities, for the morning. You'll be informed about the basics in magical lives and customs, including jargons, clothing, media, communication and transportation, magical careers, and the education system. We'll have lunch akin to a normal Hogwarts lunch, and then your guides will take you to Diagon Alley to shop for your school supplies. You'll be given out your official letter of acceptance and a list of required supplies. Everything listed on that letter will be paid for by your scholarship, and you'll only need to pay for anything else you want. There are a few books I think would interest you, Hogwarts, A History being the most recommended of them. A Guide to Elementary Practical Defence would be a fun and useful supplement for your Defence Against Dark Arts class, Magical History in the Twentieth Century is the continuation of your History textbook, written by a different historian, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and An Illustrated Guide to European Magical Plants are for plants and animal lovers, and finally, Quidditch Through Ages is a simple yet comprehensive introduction to Quidditch, the wizarding sport.

I hope the information provided will be helpful to you, as I'm unlikely to guide you on your orientation day. I'll be there, but no one knows to which family I will be assigned, better not keep your hopes up.

That being said, you can always come to me should a problem occur. I am officially your Liaison Officer (LO), and I'm responsible for your and your family's transition and integration into the Magical society. It is my job to inform you and assure you, as well as to help and protect you. You can come to me for anything from buying robes to asking for Protected Persons Status for your entire family. I will either help you directly, or refer you to and work with appropriate departments to ensure your needs are met.

I hope this letter is of use to you and your family. Let me know if you have more questions.

Best wishes,

Justin Finch-Fletchley,

Temporary Auror and Part-Time Intern LO,

DMLE and DNMA

"Well, the chap knows what he's doing," says a voice behind me.

"Dad, you scared me!" I turn around, and don't hesitate to let him know about my displeasement.

He makes a face before putting up a serious expression.

"So you think you'll like their school better?" he asks. His tone is light, yet I know what he is really asking.

"You just admitted Justin is reliable!" I point out sharply, "And that female professor, do you think she's someone to mess us around? I do believe them, and I think it' better for me to go, even just to learn how to control my power. And even if Hogwarts isn't real, Newall Green can't reject me!"

"I'm doubting less now that I've seen the tulips, five days and they still haven't withered a bit," says Dad, showing no signs of relaxing, "But it's the troubles Mum and I are concerned about."

"What about them?"

"Well, I'm sure you've seen the young chap," Dad says, and I nod. I seem to know where this is going, "He's seen some life, and he's a survivor," and I nod again, "What if it isn't just him? What if everyone in their world is - and will be - like this, being forced to mature at such a young age?"

"You're overthinking it, Dad," I say, "For one, Justin said that the troubles are now over, and they are recovering from it. And, there are only three thousand magical folks in Britain, anything could count for trouble with such a small population! A disease, for example, or a massive shooting. And even if we need body guards, it sounds like they are sending capable people for us. Members of Dumbledore's Army, they must be the best!"

"You know what I'm talking about," Dad says, sounding grave.

"I do, Dad, but I think I've made my decision," I sign, "You and Mum always say that having some challenges in life is like adding catalysts of personal growth, and I think it's time for me to walk out of the bubble. It doesn't sound like my personal safety will be at stake, and I'll have the opportunities to see more - that's much better than watching the Telly telling us to donate for African children!"

"I suppose so," Dad says, the lines around his eyes loosening up, "It is, after all, your choice to make. But you'll need to promise one thing -"

I raise an eyebrow while preparing myself for the worst: the absolute restriction of my freedom.

"- You'll observe their world rationally before you attempt to help," says Dad, surprising me, "And you will write to us if things are too much for you to handle. You've got -"

"Two perfectly capable psychologists as parents, yeah, I know." I finish his sentence for him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, "You've told us that millions of times, Dad."

"Well, glad you remember," Dad raises a teasing eyebrow, before turning to leave, "You'll have twenty minutes replying his email."


Sunday morning couldn't come faster. But when it finally does, I find myself in a miserable state. I'd been having a few sniffles the day before, but because of the exhibition games, I wasn't able to take care of it during the day. Then there was the last minute packing chaos and an equally exhausting late evening train ride, and by the time we finally checked into the hotel room, I simply crashed into the bed and fell asleep. Now, eight hours later, I wake up with a pounding headache, a congested nose, and a scratchy throat. And that's not counting the soreness and bruises from the previous day's games.

"Ma, have we got any paracetamol?" I nudge the figure lying beside me and ask quietly, while trying not to breath on her or wake up Dad and Andy. Mum stirs instantly, reaching over to feel my forehead and cheeks. Her fingers aren't as cold as I expected, and I hear her breath in relief.

"No fever, Qian'er," she informs me, "I've got all the medicine locked at the bottom of Dad's suitcase. Can you manage till we arrive or should I buy some more from the pharmacy down the street?"

"Guess I could manage," I murmur after painstakingly clearing my throat, "If you and Dad and Andy can manage an ill and cranky me."

"You sound far too cheerful and energetic to be ill," Mum teases, turning over and reaching for her glasses on the nightstand, "Try and get some rest and I'll see what I can do."

It turns out that 'getting some rest' is so much easier said than done, despite how worn-out I feel. After several tries of getting into a comfortable position, I admit defeat and opt to simply close my eyes and listen to Mum's bustling. Our movements seem enough to wake Dad, as a minute later, the neighbouring bed squeaks, and another pair of footsteps joins Mum's in the bathroom. Murmured words come across the room, then the edge of my bed sinks. I open my eyes lazily, and see Dad watching me with his eyebrows slightly knitted together. His expression softens as he sees me awake.

"Mum's boiling some water for you," he tells me, "And would you be okay with breakfast sandwiches, or would you rather have soup?"

"Sandwiches would be fine, thank you," I say, "And I'm ill, not incapable, or dying."

Dad chuckles before rising on his feet again. I close my eyes again to ease the stinging pain from under my eyelids, and hear him getting changed, leaving the room, and closing the door gently.

Andy is awake by the time Dad comes back, by which time Mum has already shoved two glassfuls of warm water (cooled down by adding ice to boiling water) down my throat, and I feel marginally willing to embrace the day. The breakfast sandwich and hot chocolate, although creating more discomfort than I would have liked, provide me some physical strength for the morning. By nine thirty, all four of us are finally ready to walk to the given address with our luggages, me having the extra burden of a box of Kleenex and a load of Andy's quiet, discreet teasing.

Our destination is much closer and easier to find than anticipated. As a result, we arrived on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place by a twenty to ten. Mum rings the doorbell, and we wait. A moment later, the narrow door opens, and Justin stands at the threshold, smiling at us.

"Hi Kathy, Andy," he greets, remembering my brother's name from my email, "Mr and Mrs Walters - please come in, but be careful not to touch anything or wake anything up."

"Wha -"

"Shhhhhhh. Let's talk in the kitchen."

Justin leads us down the hallway into the spacious kitchen. Looking more like a classroom full of cushioned armchairs and sofas than a kitchen, the room is much bigger and accommodating than one would estimate from the outside, and the only logical explanation would be the use of magic. Perhaps, there is some kind of spell that enlarges a room from the inside?

As if reading my thoughts, Justin speaks, "My friends and I have special permission to enlarge the kitchen for the purposes of today's orientation, they're coming down soon -"

The door opens, and a tall, red-haired young man halts to a stop. From the way he is breathing, he has probably run down five flights of stairs to get here.

"Ron Weasley, one of our guides today," says Justin, "Ron, this is Kathy and her family, Andy, Mr and Mrs Walters."

"Mary and Oscar," Dad holds out a hand, and the man shakes them, and nods at my brother. Then he looks at me, and, to my biggest embarrassment, I sneeze.

"Not feeling the best today, are you?" the tall man, Ron, asks, and I feel myself blush. From the corner of my eyes, I see my brother making faces behind Mum and Dad's backs.

"No matter, we've got things for you," the man continues, seemingly unfazed by our family drama, "Oi," he raises his voice, "Hermione! You've got potions and stuff in that beaded bag of yours?"

There are a scurry of footsteps from upstairs. I use the time when everyone is distracted to wave a threatening fist at my brother, but the effects are weakened by a girl's screaming in near-hysterics, "What's wrong? Is anyone hurt? I've got Pepper-Up and Dittany and Turnip and all the other basic healing potions as well as Muggle remedies - Oh Ron, please tell me no one's hurt! I refilled my stash just in case - Oh"

The voice comes to a stop, and a young lady with brown, bushy hair stands in the doorway, looking at us wide-eyed. "Sorry," she says dismissively.

"Relax, Hermione," says Ron lightly, accomplishing the impossible task of calming the girl down, "Young Kathy seems to have caught a cold, that's all."

"That can be easily fixed," says the girl, stepping in and slipping a small, beaded bag from her right wrist. The bag is barely bigger than her palm, yet when she opens it and reaches in, her entire left forearm is swallowed by the seemingly pitless bag.

"This is even bigger than I thought," she mutters to herself, while still trying to pry around in the bag, making her look strangely imbalanced, "I've got a potion that works instantly but I bet you don't want smoke coming out of your ears for the morning," I shake my head in horror, "Then I've got some Advil -"

She pulls out her arm, and rests a clearly labeled, travel-sized bottle inside my hand.

"You can keep it," she says sadly, closing her bag, "I've got more - I never dare to let them run out -"

Then she stops, realising what she has just said. Covering her mouth with her hand (the beaded bag is once again safely concealed by her wrist), she turns away and parts us on the words, "- get some water."

By the time Mum finishes fussing over me and we settle down in one of the elongated sofas, the other families have started to come in, and the introductions are pushed off till later for everyone's convenience. Mum and Dad sit together on one side of the sofa, while I curl up my legs on the other, resting my head on Mum's shoulder to conserve energy. Andy decides that he's comfortable enough lying on the carpet with three fluffy cushions. I look around, the other families are also extremely casual and relaxed. Parents are letting their kids loose, and chinwags start to break out around the room. For some reason, we all feel at home without anyone telling us to. It seems that trust can be gained unconditionally in this room, yet I've got no idea where that feeling comes from.

By ten o'clock, the kitchen is filled with people. Well, the armchairs and sofas are all filled, yet the room itself still looks spacious. The girl who gave us the pills - Hermione - sits in between the red-haired boy and another boy with black hair and glasses. On his knees, a girl with hair as red as Ron's is happily chattering away with a blonde girl, the latter seems to have the most unconventional dressing sense ever, and doesn't care about what people think of her either. I look around the room, there are 15 people around Justin's age in this room, all of whom seem to know each other well. They must be our guides, the selected volunteers of the mysterious Dumbledore's Army, I recall from Justin's email. Though to me, they are all a bit young to be soldiers, let alone the best few who can handle the security of an obviously important event.

"If everyone could just pay attention," Justin enters the room and closes the door behind him. He strides towards the front where a blackboard is fixed in mid-air, "I think it's about time we begin."

The low buzz of hushed conversations are now to a stop, and people - I sit up and give my brother room to squeeze in beside me - I am feeling a lot better now that I've taken some medicine. The day starts with introductions, yet I find myself forgetting people's names and occupations, as well as the meanings of the strange words Justin uses to introduce them. Dad, the smart and studious one, takes out a pen and a notebook and wrote things down - how I only wish to have Dad's wisdom!

Then the presentations begin. Justin and a short, tough-looking girl named Susan go over the words for us again, explains the currency system as well as their exchange rates to Pounds, the traditional dressing code for Wizarding Britain, and ends with what to and not to expect in a magical household and in Hogwarts. Their presentation, although a bit tiring due to its informative nature, is integrated with various activities so that by the end of it, even the youngest children in the room (who looks to be about 4 years old) knows its content by heart.

Two dark skinned youths, Lee and Angelina, take the podium to start a presentation on Media, Communication and Transportation. Justin have already told me about the Portkeys, by which we will travel to Beijing later tonight. But Lee and Angelina's presentation is so much more lively and engaging that it's almost a show. People are laughing at Lee's hilarious Good Press, Bad Press demonstration that they don't even realise the show's over. And the laughter only starts to die down when Hermione and an Asian girl named Cho stand up to take over.

"Thank you, everyone, for being such amazing audiences," Cho starts, "Hermione and I are here to give you the most important presentation of the day. For parents, that is."

My brother laughs along with two other teenage boys in the room, while everyone else is paying extra attention to the speaking girls.

"I will be giving you important information on magical careers, while Hermione will talk about Hogwarts and the current school system in wizarding Britain."

And so she goes on explaining the advantages and disadvantages on becoming Ministry officials, Ministry clerks, Law Enforcement Officers/Workers, athletes, businesspeople, media workers, professors, and special personels such as curse breakers, researchers, herbologists and magizoologists. Her speech is long and rather dull, yet the parents in the room are taking numerous notes, as if missing one bit of her information could result in their sons and daughters jobless in the future. Hermione's part is more entertaining, mainly because Ron and his friends are muttering witty yet good-natured comments at her speech from time to time, making the room snort in laughters. At least, from her friends sitting down on the sofa, I know that OWLs results are delivered by owls, and there ends the resemblance and connection of two terms. When the speech finally comes to an end, Keith, a boy with big, clear eyes raises his hand and asks, his face full of hopeful fantasy,

"Does it mean that we can say goodbye to math and science?"

Several people laugh, and the older kids - our guides - exchange a look that I don't recognise. Then, still at the podium, Hermione answers,

"I'm afraid not, Keith. The Ministry, the School Board, and the Headmistress have decided that all students should be well acquainted with the Muggle world by the time they graduate, and thus making Muggle Studies mandatory. However, just like the other classes, there are levels rather than years starting this coming September, and all of you will start with B1, which is Muggle Academics 1, and move up or down depending on how you handle the material. Any more questions?"

I raise my hand, and Hermione nods at me.

"I'm Kathy," I say, "Could you explain the level system in more details? I'm not sure I understand it and I'd like to know what you mean by 'moving up and down'."

"Sure," says Hermione pleasantly, yet the older kids all groaned, "We have designed the level system to cater various students' needs after last year," she pauses, and several faces turn blank, "You will enter Hogwarts with different level of abilities, and you will find some classes harder than the others. The point of this system is to help the students find where they are at their studies, and make sure that they have a solid foundation before going into the next level. For example, in your first year, some of you may be taking Charms-1, and some will find it too easy and move up to Charms-2. The same goes to all core classes and most electives. There are typically eight levels for each class, 1 to 7, plus a P which stands for Professional. Muggle Studies have a slightly different level system. Muggle Studies A means Comprehensive Studies. There are only three levels in MSA, and they are aimed for pureblood or halfblood students who know little about the Muggle world. MSB, the Academics, has seven levels and will prepare you for A-Levels when you graduate - all first year Muggbleborns are enrolled in this class because of their superior knowledge of the Muggle World. There are also two levels in MSC, the Transition Pathway, aimed for students with a good understanding of the Muggle world yet don't have the basics in Academics as you do. Therefore, it is possible to see first years and fifth years sitting in one classroom together. To move up or down a level, all you need is to talk to your mentor before the third week of September, and your Head of House will update your timetable if the change is approved."

"But how do we know who our mentors are?" asks Amelia, a girl with chestnut-coloured hair.

"They'll be sixth-year student volunteers," answers Hermione, "They'll find you during or after the Welcoming Feast, and you can rely on them for as long as they remain in school. They will be responsible, caring, and understanding, so you can go to them for anything. When you enter your third year, however, your Head of House will take over from your mentors."

Even though her answers don't quite clear everything up, there doesn't seem to be more questions, so Hermione returns to her seat, and Justin stands to give the last words of the day.

"We'll have lunch in a moment," he gestures at a table full of cold plates against the wall, "But I'll just take one more second and announce the guide arrangements so that you can get to know each other over lunch: Dean and Seamus, you're with the Sloans; Neville and Luna, the Yeats; Susan and Angelina, the Blaires; Ron and Hermione, the Murphy's; Harry and Ginny, the Walters'; Parvati and Padma, the Lornes; Ernie and Cho, the Scotts, and finally Lee and I will go with the Douglas'."

People are rising from their seats, stretching their legs and walking around. Andy drags me to the food table while Mum and Dad make their way to Ron and Hermione's friends, the black haired youth and the red haired girl. I frown at the food on the table as we approach it: sandwiches and salads dominate the selection of dishes, yet neither appear appetising for me today. Clearing my still sore throat again, I go and pour myself a glass of orange juice, hoping the sugar in it will be enough till dinner.


A/N: Not much to say today... Please review and let me know about how I'm doing!

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