Jethro Dawel, an unassuming-looking ten year old boy, flicked a strand of his long brown hair out of his face as he stood up from the seat of the school bus, shuddering unpleasantly as he felt his sweaty back unstick from his shirt. Giving nods to his few friends, he grabbed his rucksack and made his way to the front of the bus. There, he nodded to the bus driver and disembarked. He waved at the bus as it continued on its way, leaving him alone.
The bus stop was nothing more than a small platform with a crooked sign above it, standing in what could be aptly described as the middle of nowhere. Of course, it wasn't particularly true - it would take less than half an hour to reach the bustling city of London from there. However, it wasn't obvious - as far as eye could see, there were fields with semi-random patches of trees and shrubbery, and the dilapidated, cracked asphalt road stretched on and on.
The sun shone brightly from the cloudless blue sky above the boy as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. It had been hot and dry for almost an entire week, and his black and layered school uniform didn't help with it at all. Even then and there, it continued to stick unpleasantly to his body, and he wished nothing more than to get rid of it and take a long, cool shower. However, he knew he wouldn't have to wear the uniform for longer than it took him to get to his home - it was the last school day. No more lessons, no more homework, no more assignments, just freedom until autumn. Not to mention Jethro would have his birthday the next day - a joyous occasion that made his mood unsulliable, especially when paired with the school's end.
In no time, he reached his home - a farmstead shielded from the noise of the roads by many thick rows of trees. He could already hear the soft clucking of the chickens roaming around as he approached the gate and took out a key from his pocket. However, before he could put it in the lock, the lock clicked and the door opened before him. He stared at it in surprise, knowing no one was behind it to unlock it for him. However, he decided to brush it aside - as he did with all other unexplainable incidents like this - and go through. He made sure to lock the door behind him, though, and then put the key back into the pocket. Immediately, he heard the clucking intensify as half a dozen chickens rushed at him. He immediately forgot all about the incident as his grey eyes brightened at the sight. He laughed and sat down on his knees, allowing the chickens to jump on his legs, and so he hugged them one by one. A wide happy grin was on his face, and he produced a small bag of seeds from the back pocket of his pants. He opened the bag, grabbed a handful of seeds, and dispersed them among the chickens, who happily pecked at them.
"Jeth, you know you shouldn't sit in the dust," a male voice called him, making him stand up and turn his head. His father was a tall tanned man of strong build, featuring the same long brown hair as Jethro did despite the pronounced M-shape of his receding hairline. His slightly cracked and nearly colourless work boots stepped with a surprising grace across the ground as he approached his son, a big smile on his bearded face, "Welcome home, buddy."
Jethro smiled at his dad and hugged him before finally patting on his knees to get rid of the dust. His father chuckled at the sight of his son and the surrounding chickens, then the two walked together. After passing a small yet beautiful garden of many flowers and berries, they approached the family house. It was quite big, used to hosting a larger family, yet not a mansion. The time had left its white paint sunburnt and peeling, the many rains it endured left spots of rust on the roof, a lifetime of being walked on made the floorboards creaky, and countless openings of the doors left their hinges squeaky. On the large terrace in front of the house, in the shadow of the house, Jethro's mother was preparing the table: three bowls, a plate of evenly sliced bread, and a pitcher of fresh water were already on the table.
"Hello, dear," his mother greeted her son, pausing in her preparations. She was a tall blonde woman with a lighter build compared to the father, but there was certain strength behind her movements. Her gentle yet calloused hand waved at her son as her other hand placed a plate of sliced fruit on the table. And just like the father, she was not a day after thirty, "Looking forward to dinner, aren't you?"
Jethro eagerly nodded as he gave his mother a quick hug and went into the house. He practically flew up the creaky stairs, put his rucksack on the floor in his room, and dug into his wardrobe in search for some simple clothes. His room wasn't quite messy, but it wasn't perfectly orderly either - some may call it organised chaos. His large bed had a dream catcher hanging right above the pillows, and the haphazard placement of linens was about the furthest extent to which his bed was ever done. Toys were strewn across the floor in a pattern that allowed him to walk around the room without hindrance, and open books lay on his table in a vague order of importance. A few potted plants were on the windowsill of a lone yet large window, the glass of which was slightly warped from time. A small radio stood alongside the plants along with a three-quarters-full watering can. Slightly faded green wall paper and the painted brown hardwood floors gave the room an earthly feel, and skylights in the ceiling only helped with that. Once Jethro was in his underwear, he gathered his clothes and went to the bathroom, where he deposited them in the laundry basket. A quick shower later, he returned to his room and got dressed in a light-green t-shirt and shorts, then put on a pair of sandals, which fit him surprisingly well, considering that they had to be almost four years old by then. No matter how much he grew, it seemed the sandals grew with him. After he unpacked his rucksack and placed everything in the bottommost drawer, he turned around and raced down the stairs soon enough. He paused on the first floor to pet the cat - a Russian blue - who was lazily relaxing in one of the armchairs in the living room, and then made his way back to the terrace.
Now that he was in a t-shirt and shorts, the weather didn't seem too hot anymore, only a little above being pleasantly warm. He fished in his pockets for a hairband, found it, and quickly tied his long hair behind his head in a ponytail, making sure there was not a single loose strand. After this was done, he joined his parents at the table, and both of them tied their hair behind their heads as well.
A big pot of steaming vegetable and lentil soup was in the centre of the table now. Each person had a bowl in front of them, filled to the brim with the soup, and spoons were placed to the left of each bowl. But before the family began to ate, they joined hands together and closed their eyes. For a moment, they sat like this as if listening. The gentle stillness of the nature produced barely any sound on this dry day, and all the animals seemed to be hiding from the heat.
"Nature has given us a plentiful," the father spoke first.
"The earth fulfils our hunger, the sky quenches our thirst," the mother said after him.
"Honest work brings honest rewards," the father finished, then the three nodded and ate in a comfortable silence.
For a time, there was nothing but the sound of slurping and scratching of metal spoons against the wooden hand-made bowls. A few glances and smiles were exchanged, and everyone sat back once they finished.
"So, Jeth, how was your day?" the mother asked.
He somewhat slowly gestured, explaining how they had to endure a few lessons in a stuffy classroom because something happened to the ventilation. But otherwise, the day wasn't all that different from the rest, and he was glad the school ended, allowing him to get out of the uniform and relax during the summer. At the end of it, Jethro asked if he could go with his friends to the lake on his birthday, his eyes looking at his parents with hope.
"As long as you and your friends are going to be careful, of course," the mother smiled at him with a nod, "Do you remember the safety rules on the water?"
Jethro nodded and then explained them in detail. Never swim alone, supervise others, don't play breath-holding games, use a rope to help a drowning friend instead of jumping in, always enter the water feet first, and most importantly, always be observant. As he ended the list, both his parents nodded in satisfaction, granting him a soft smile each.
"Very good," the father said approvingly, "You're a big boy now, it's good to see you taking responsibility."
Jethro beamed at him with a twinkle in his eye and a large grin, then made a few gestures. His parents smiled at him, and the family continued eating in a pleasant quietness.
x
Next day, Jethro awoke and jumped out of bed - finally, it was time for his birthday. He did a few stretches to really get the sleep out of his system and went for a shower, barely containing his excitement and desire to run down the stairs. In the hall, a clock showed nine in the morning - just half an hour before his friends would arrive and the whole party would go to a lake at the very edge of Dawel property.
After finishing the shower and getting properly dressed - a white t-shirt and the same green shorts he wore yesterday along with sandals - Jethro made his way downstairs.
"Happy birthday, Jeth!" his father greeted him, offering a hug which the boy gladly took, "You're eleven now, definitely a big boy."
Jethro giggled, then went on to hug his mother who offered the same greetings.
"Taylors phoned a few minutes ago, they'll be here just in time," the mother said, "But someone arrived early..."
"Jeth!" a girl ran towards the boy, jumping into a hug, "Happy birthday!"
He used gestures to thank Rose, the girl from a neighbouring farm he had known since childhood. She had tanned skin, even darker than his, and her short dark hair was slightly sunburnt. The two chatted for a bit about their respective schools - Rose went to a different one and a year higher than Jethro. Both were looking forward to doing nothing for the two free months they had.
Next arrived Jack - a friend from Jethro's school. He was a lanky boy with buzzed mouse-coloured hair and square-framed glasses. The two exchanged a handshake and went on to chat about things they wanted to do during summer along with Rose. For once, building a treehouse was a definite possibility. Jack's family was doing renovations in their house and had plenty of old furniture and planks and miscellaneous stuff that could go towards making what any kind would want. The question was how to transport it - Jack lived a reasonable distance away. After a few minutes of discussion, they came to a conclusion that Jethro, being the strongest of the three, could use his bicycle and a cart attached to it to do a couple runs between his own and Jack's houses. It would take at least an entire day to transport everything, and they had to do it quickly before it was all hauled off to the nearest dump.
With the plans set in motion, the three agreed to also ask for Finn's help as well. He would arrive along with his much older brother Ellis, who was nearly thirty. The two belonged to Taylor family, who begrudgingly accepted Finn's and Jethro's friendship and thus let their son - under the supervision of the older brother - attend the birthday.
Soon, the Taylor brothers arrived, and the entire party, along with Jethro's father for adult supervision, left to the lake. Jethro's mother, on the other hand, decided to stay home and read a book in the comfort of an armchair on the terrace. Let the boy have some fun without adults looking over him too much - after all, he needed to learn responsibility for himself as well as for others, especially as he crept closer to teenagehood.
The mother was reading Lord of the Rings - a book she thoroughly enjoyed since her teen years. Adventure and magic were her favourite things to read about, and the shelves of her room were filled to the brim with various fantasy novels.
As she read, her mind drifted - for many times throughout her son's life, she noticed strange things happening around them. When he was just a baby, things seemed to fly into his hands when he wanted them. As he grew, the accidents became even more evident - doors opening and closing by themselves when he went through them, favourite clothes never being too small, he even climbed to the top of a tree in what seemed like a second once. There was no explanation other than magic, she thought. Yet, despite searching for it, she could never find anything definitive - there were, of course, strange accidents here and there in the country, but they could be explained, even if one had to stretch it a bit to fit something more reasonable, more mundane, more logical. However, she and the father were both sure there was magic - they simply couldn't prove it with a hundred percent certainty. But what else could explain what was happening to their son? Gusts of wind? Luck? Laughable excuses, and they knew it.
A small bell rung on the post - someone was at the gate. The mother furrowed her brows - everyone who wanted to come were already with Jethro. She bookmarked the page and folded the book, placing it on a small table nearby, and stood up to see who was there.
In front of the gate, patiently waiting, stood a tall old woman dressed in a somewhat outdated tartan three-piece suit. Her black hair was mostly hidden underneath a wide-brimmed slightly tilted hat on her head. Her face was stern but didn't radiate unfriendliness, being merely neutral.
"Can I help you?" Jethro's mother asked as she approached the gate.
"Good day, Mrs. Dawel," the woman replied, "I'm here to talk about your son's education."
"I don't believe we've met," she cautiously replied, unsure of whether to let the woman in. She knew the teachers in Jethro's school, and this woman was certainly not one.
"I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, representing a prestigious boarding school in Scotland that your son, if you choose to accept it, will attend," the woman explained, "This is rather to be discussed in private."
"Very well," Mrs. Dawel nodded, unlocking the door and letting the professor in, "My son is at his birthday party right now. Should I..."
"Oh, let him have his fun," McGonagall shook her head slightly, "We still need to discuss many things that a child might not be too interested in yet."
Mrs. Dawel led Professor McGonagall to the house, going straight to the living room. The family cat looked at the tall woman with suspicion and stretched before jumping down from her favourite armchair. She made her way up the stairs, lying down the last step, her eyes focused on McGonagall. Meanwhile, Mrs. Dawel offered her tea, which she graciously accepted.
"So," the professor began, taking a sip, "Have you ever noticed your son doing something... strange?"
"Oh, many times," the mother said slowly. Then she thought a bit about it - she saw what looked like a wand stick out of one of McGonagall's pockets, and her outdated style was certainly peculiar. There was also an air of... something surrounding her. It didn't take too long for Mrs. Dawel to put two and two together, and a realisation dawned on her, "I think I know what this is about. My son can do magic, doesn't he?"
McGonagall looked surprised, but it took her only a few moments to recompose herself. A small smile appeared on her face.
"He is a wizard, yes," she said, nodding in confirmation, "Well, I suppose this makes things easier for us. How much do you know about magic, Mrs. Dawel?"
"My husband and I had some suspicions, but we could never really find anything to truly confirm them," Mrs. Dawel replied and took a sip of the tea, "But there's just nothing else that could explain it all."
McGonagall proceeded to explain how the magical world existed alongside the muggle - non-magical - one, how it is hidden, and what happens to people who try to reveal its existence to muggles. However, exceptions were granted to direct relatives of muggleborn children as well as muggle spouses of wizards and witches. Along with that, it was explained how Jethro would be able to study at Hogwarts, the school to which all British wizards and witches were automatically applied upon their birth. The next few hours were spent discussing magical law as the two women decided to wait until Mr. Dawel and Jethro returned from the birthday party to explain to them simpler details of the wizarding world and what it meant for their young son.
Mrs. Dawel - who, before marriage, was named Jane Wright - was supposed to become a lawyer. According to her parents' wishes, she studied it hard and studied it well, and a university was planned for her upon finishing school. However, her fate was not to become a lawyer - an eccentric young man named Gareth Dawel met her, and the two hit off. Just a year later, they happily married despite Jane's parents' disapproval. Since then, they lived on a quiet farm off London, growing various plants to both sustain themselves and sell to support their easy, happy, and quite a joyful lifestyle. Jane preferred the freedom of the outside compared to the cramped and stuffy offices and halls and was more than happy to forget about becoming a lawyer. However, she still had plenty of knowledge from her days studying law and was now quite interested in various implications of the Wizarding Law. Minerva McGonagall, having spent a few years working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before becoming a professor, remained quite knowledgeable of it and was quite glad to be able to discuss it with a muggle, getting a whole new different perspective on it.
"There's also one very important thing, for our son," Jane said, "He can't speak. With magic, there are spoken incantations and spells, right? I'm not sure how well Jethro will be able to perform."
"Our school will be happy to accommodate," the professor assured, "Some additional classes may be in order, but perhaps it would be good for your son to start learning non-verbal spellcasting right away. It will be difficult, and he will likely take more time learning the same spells compared to his classmates, but, with enough time and effort, I'm sure he will succeed."
Past noon, Jethro and his friends returned to the house, all of them thoroughly sore from the swims and runs and all sorts of activities they've done at the lake, and they were now quite hungry. After whispering in Jethro's ear and making sure the other kids waited at the table, Jane led him and his father Gareth upstairs where the three sat down with McGonagall to discuss Jethro's future. The boy's eyes widened at the news.
"Yes, you are indeed a wizard," the professor smiled at him, "Would you like for me to demonstrate some magic?"
He nodded eagerly, and then a deep frown appeared on his face as she turned a chair into a pig and then back again. The parents exchanged glances worryingly at the display as well.
"Don't worry, it was not a real pig," sensing the mood, McGonagall explained, "A chair is always a chair, although it certainly acted and looked like a pig for the duration of the transfiguration."
"I hope there won't be spells used on animals, professor," Gareth said, discomfort clear in his voice.
"It is a part of the curriculum, but I believe I can talk to the Headmaster to accommodate your son if you're uncomfortable with it," McGonagall nodded in understanding, "Would willing participants be alright?"
"As long as no one's hurt," Jane nodded.
"I oversee each transfiguration class, and I will be able to reverse anything the students may come up with," the professor assured.
Jethro thought for a moment and then gestured excitedly. Unfortunately, despite her age, McGonagall had yet to learn the sign language.
"Jethro wonders if wizards can turn into animals," Gareth translated.
"Some, certainly," McGonagall nodded, then promptly turned into a cat, making the muggles and their son jump with gasps. A moment later, she turned back into herself, "Learning it, however, is not a part of the curriculum. It is a long and very dangerous process. It should not be attempted without proper preparations and without supervision," she said sternly, driving the point home, "And if a person succeeds in becoming an animagus - this is the term for someone who can turn into an animal - they will have to register with the Ministry of Magic."
Jethro nodded, now deeply in thought. Despite the warning from the professor, he couldn't help but think about what kind of animal he would be if he became an animagus. Maybe he would be a bird, able to get into high places easily. Maybe he would be a dog with a useful sense of smell. Or maybe he could be a bug or a rodent, able to hide away from sight easily. The possibilities were endless, yet he decided to think of them later, having no desire to disrespect the professor with daydreaming.
After she explained everything to the young boy, she gave him a lift of Hogwarts supplies he would need to buy and promised she would come back for him and his parents the next day to lead them to Diagon Alley to get what he needed for school, as well as to introduce him to a larger part of the wizarding world. With that being said, she stood up to leave.
"And please remember, you can't tell anyone. Not even your closest friend, the law is quite clear on that," she warned the young boy, who nodded sullenly. However, his expression quickly brightened at the thought that he was still going to be a proper wizard, to learn something no one else around him knew.
But a boarding school? His mood dropped again - he would have to leave his school and the friends he made there. However, he promised to himself that he would write to them, even if he had to hide where he was going exactly.
Still, he was a wizard!