Glaring again at the huge yellow and black banners around the Great Hall, 6th year Bill Smeadly frowned. Although no one would admit it, it was his fault that Hufflepuff, not Gryffindor, had won the Hogwarts house cup. It was his ineptitude that had cost his house 300 points over the course of the year. He looked at the teachers' table, his eyes resting on the empty chair of the potions teacher, Mr. Beaugle-Frelt, who was still unconscious in the hospital wing with 3 wooden limbs and reeking of turpentine.
Avoiding the stares of contempt and pity from his housemates, he bowed his head into his pumpkin stew.
It had been a typical year for Bill – awful. His marks were abysmal. Had he done any worse he would have been expelled. His constant mishaps had all but handed the House Cup to another non-Gryffindor house for the 6th year in a row. It started even before he came to Hogwarts.
He received the letter on the 13th of May 1969, during his eleventh birthday party. His mother was a squib and his father a muggle, the Smeadly family lived among muggles on 8 Poplar Avenue. His father, Thomas Smeadly, owned a small but successful lawn care shop. His mother, Gloria Smeadly, tended bar at a local pub. They were a happy and loving family. Thomas had no problems with the wizarding world other that a bout of high-pitched sneezing whenever Gloria's family visited.
"Must be –achoo – my aller – ah – aller – ah – allergies. ACHOO!" he would explain, covering his face with his kerchief. Aunt Gaddy, Gloria's pretty younger sister once devised a poultice for Thomas to use during these visits. It stopped the sneezing so well that Mr. Smeadly couldn't bring himself to complain about he Tartan-plaid rash it caused on the soles of his feet.
The party had been going quite smoothly. He had received several wonderful toys. A record player from his father, a regulation soccer ball from his paternal grandparents, several books he had been asking for from his friends, and enough candy for even an eleven year old to think maybe someone had gone overboard. Gloria's family had sent gifts also, but they were not to be opened in sight of the muggle guests: a Catch-It-All potion for Bill to use as goalie of his academy soccer team, an auto-luminous wand which would light up even for a muggle, and a picture book of famous battles, each reenacted anew as he turned the large, yellowy pages.
Then came the owl, and, with it, the letter.
It was an ordinary wizard's mail owl. It had light gray feathers and unremarkable eyes, but the fact that the bird flew over in broad daylight and dropped a letter on Bill's lap was more than unusual by muggle standards.
The letter was addressed:
Mr. William Smeadly
Head of the Birthday Table
8 Poplar Drive
Liverpool, England
Thomas and Gloria exchanged surprised glances. This was wonderful news, if it weren't a mistake. Young Bill, a healthy, happy, muggle boy, but had shown no wizard talent.
Thomas coughed nervously. "Right, then. Party's over. Thank you for coming."
As Bill's mother pulled him aside, he began to protest, but something in her eyes quieted him. He knew of the magical community, even visited his mother's family on Easter holiday. This was no big deal, was it?
As Mr. Smeadly ushered the guests out of the yard to their cars, he began to sneeze. "Yes, achoo, I know this is sudden. I hadn't noticed the achoo time. Good-bye. Thanks for coming."
"Mom?" asked Bill. "Am I in trouble?"
"No, dear." Said Gloria, handing Thomas a tissue as he came in, followed by the owl. "You see, there is a school, a school for wizards…"
"Yes, Hoqwarts. Gran-Mamma told me of it."
"She did? Well, you see, each year…"
"Eleven year old wizards get a letter inviting them to...to..." a look of surprise came over Bill's face as it dawned on him. "Mom? Me? A wizard?"
"Apparently so, son." Said his father between sniffs. He had a look as though he had won the lottery, but was being paid in pickles. "Gloria, dear, could you move the owl?"
"Yes, Thomas." She tapped the back of her chair and the owl flew to it, perched, and began preening itself.
"What shall we do, Gloria?" asked Thomas, not at all sure what to make of it.
"It is a huge honor, Hogwarts." Mused Mrs. Smeadly.
"But the boy isn't…magical. Is he?" put in Mr. Smeadly
"Not that I can tell." answered Mrs. Smeadly.
"But the letter." Bill put in. "That's got to mean something."
"Right." Mrs. Smeadly was opening the letter. "Congratulations, blah, blah, blah," She began. "You've been accepted, blah, blah, blah…Kings Cross Station, blah, blah, blah." Her eyes scanned the rest of the page. "Well, that tears it. You must be a wizard."
Thomas was shocked. "They can't be serious."
Gloria handed him the letter. There, below the signature:
PS: We are very serious.
And, no, there is no mistake.
Thomas gulped.
"What?" asked Bill.
Thomas handed him the letter. Bill gulped.
Mr. Smeadly sighed. "Well, then, what do we do now?"
Mrs. Smeadly shrugged. "Send him. I suppose."
"I'm right here, you know."
Mrs. Smeadly started, as though this was news to her. "Oh, yes, dear. You do want to go, don't you dear? I mean, it is a great honor, Hogwarts."
Bill's head was swimming with images from the stories his mother's family had told him. Broomsticks, potions, wands, and all manner of beast from Grand-Mamma's stories, the trips to Uncle Gil's, the magical gifts he received on birthdays and holidays, all fought for attention in the young boy's mind. He blinked and was back in the kitchen with his parents. Bill sat up bravely.
"I should like to try." He announced.
They set of the next weekend for Diagon Alley. Grand-Mamma met them at Gringotts in her brightest ping cloak and tallest puce hat. She had a small purse of galleons to Bill.
She handed a jar of salve to the frantically sneezing Mr. Smeadly.
"The exchange rate with muggle money these days is atrocious." She explained, dropping the sack in Bills hand.
The shopping trip was a blur. Bill's mother bought books and cauldrons, vials and potions, this and that. Gloria Smeadly, though a squib, was a shrewd woman and was able to buy all of Bills supplies with quite a few galleons to spare. Meanwhile, Tartan could be seen up to just below Mr. Smeadly's knees, earning him a kiss from his wife.
"You are such a sport, dear." She cooed.
Then came time for Bill's wand.
He tried several. Each failed to meet with the shopkeeper's approval. Oak with dragon tendon, maple with ogre hair, willow with pixie marrow, none worked. Whalebone with roc beak, fir with phoenix ash, even steel with manitore tooth, no luck. Nightfall was drawing near and Mr Smeadly's calves were clearing up. As he began to sniffle, Bill suggested giving up.
"Maybe the letter was wrong." He suggested.
"Nonsense." His mother answered, handing him a fine 14 and 1/2"Dogwood and bunyip tonsil affair.
"Yes, sniff, nonsense." Coughed Mr. Smeadly encouragingly.
Bill looked around for a wand he could use. On the counter, he saw a simple stick of a wand peeking out from under a bag of many flavor beans. Evidently, it hadn't been shelved yet. "What about that one?" he asked.
The shopkeeper chuckled politely. "Oh, no, young sir." He explained. "That is not a wand. My son is working on a muggle studies project. That is what muggles call a ruler. I don't know why. It doesn't rule anything. It just tells muggles how long something is, as if it isn't readily apparent."
"I know." said Bill, stopping himself before announcing he was a muggle. "May I try it please?"
"But it has no magical core." The shopkeeper protested.
"Yes, I know. Call it a hunch."
Shrugging, the shopkeeper handed him the ruler. Bill took the simple piece of wood and waved it as he had some five-dozen that afternoon. What happened next was talked about for several months in the pubs of Diagon Alley. All the wands Bill had tried and discarded arranged themselves in a sort of pile, more precisely, like a little house, or tent. The shopkeeper gasped. Mr. Smeadly beemed.
"Looks like you have a wand." He announced before sneezing loudly.
The rest of the summer was the strangest and most exciting of Bill's short life. He visited Gran-Mamma's house every weekend and poured over a different magical lesson each weekday. Mr. Smeadly once joked that Bill would finish his second year before his first year started. It was all very interesting, but Bill had many concerns. Neither of his parents did magic. And, other than that little wand cabin he had produced at the wand shop, Bill was just as non-wizardly. By now he knew all there was to know about the ingredients for a potion for hiding unsightly extra limbs, the words to all the charms in the first half of Basic Charms: A Primer, and what to feed any magical beast he may encounter in Teaneck, New Jersey, wherever that was. But he still couldn't do much more than get the end of the auto-luminous wand he received for his birthday to glow a bright tan on command.
Bill began to dread the first day at Hogwarts. He couldn't tell his parents. They were far too proud of him. Even his father, who knew almost nothing about magic, beamed when he saw Bill wave his ruler-wand experimentally.
Even so, the summer passed quickly and soon the day came for the trip to Kings Cross station. It was a beautiful day. The sun shown from a cloudless sky. Radios were playing Beach Boys or Beatles, depending on your taste. Mr. Smeady helped Bill and his mother pack the car with Bill's trunk and bags. As Mr. Smeadly was out of salve, he would be staying behind.
Sensing his son's nervousness, Mr. Smealdy chatted confidently. "I'm quite proud of you, my boy. I know your mother is absolutely ecstatic to have magic in the family." He went on. "Don't know what to make of it myself, but you are a bright boy and should do fine."
"Thanks, Dad." muttered Bill.
Mrs. Smeadly honked the horn.
"Right, then," said Mr. Smeadly, "Off you go." He was bending down to give his son a hug when something wonderful happened.
Mr. Smeadly sneezed.
The hustle and bustle of King's Cross station was nothing new to Bill. In fact, he felt more at home among throngs of muggles than he had with the crowds in Diagon Alley. Even Gran-Mamma's house made Bill uneasy when he was alone there.
"I can't be the only one who knows I'm a muggle." Thought Bill to himself. "Dad probably faked that sneeze."
Bill's pondering was cut short by a shrill call from what had to be another Hogwarts parent. "Gloria, dear. How have you been?"
Mrs. Smeadly sighed as though not at all happy to see the tall, well kept woman bearing down on them. "Hello, Importia. I'm fine." She began to usher Bill towards the barrier between gates 9 and 10.
Importia stepped in their way. " I must say," she declared, "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Here we are." Quipped Gloria, stepping aside to expose Bill, who had been making a valiant effort to seem interested in the Gate 9 sign posted above his head. "This is Bill, my son. Bill, this is Mrs. Malfoy."
The tall woman nodded curtly and Bill and looked around. "I don't see that muggle husband of yours. Do our kind still make him flatulent? I mean, those of us who can…" she waved her hand airily.
"We make him sneeze, Importia. He is at home. Where is your husband, off evicting more kelpies from the family lake?"
"They were disturbing the..." she began defensively, then smiled. "Ferdinand had some business to attend to." Mrs. Malfoy was interrupted by a young boy of Bill's age approaching.
"Mother," he intoned. "Could I have an advance on my allowance, incase your first owl is delayed?" He looked Bill over much as the way thrift store shoppers when they are deciding if 3 pence is too much for a smock.
Mrs. Malfoy ignored the question. "Lucius, this is Gloria Smeadly and her son, Will."
"Bill." Corrected Gloria.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Malfoy. "This is Lucius' first year at Hogwarts. We are expecting great things from him."
"I'm sure." Drawled Gloria. "He favors his father, unfortunately."
"Yes, we are all quite proud. By the way, how is your dear muggle?"
"He has a name."
"I'm sure, they all do."
Bill wanted desperately to be somewhere else. Home, preferably. The other boy, Lucius, was eyeing him arrogantly. Bill was bigger than the boy, but only slightly. Luscious Malfoy had a calculating look about him, cunning, defiant, but mostly smug. Bill hoped he would have little to do with him at Hogwarts.
The tone of the mothers' conversation was getting even less cordial.
"Everyone is still shocked that you landed a catch like Ferdinand." Mrs. Smeadly was saying. "We were all sure it wouldn't last. But, here you are, eleven years later, or is it twelve? How old are you again, sonny?" her face had a mischievous grin.
Mrs. Malfoy blushed suddenly. "Come Lucius, mustn't be late." She grabbed her son. He continued to glare at Bill for another step or so. With a sidelong glance at the crowd, the two disappeared through the barrier.
"What a vile family." Gloria commented.
Bill and his Mother took the barrier at a casual jog. Bill had to shut is eyes at the moment they passed thru.
The other side on the barrier was no busier than the muggle side, but much stranger. Children were changing into cloaks of various sizes and colors. Owls were being stuffed into cages. Truncks were being stowed. Cheeks were being kissed, and lipstick was being wiped from recently kissed cheeks.
By the time the conductor called for all aboard, most students already were. Bill plopped down in the first empty seat and began to read Treasure Island, a birthday gift from his best friend, Charley Hathaway. For the first half hour of the trip the students largely ignored him. Occasionally, someone would introduce himself or herself, but when they realized he was reading a muggle book, they quickly, if not always politely, found somewhere else to be. Bill was torn between relief at being left alone and lonliness.
"Hi," came a cheerful voice some 45 minutes into the trip. "Didn't I see you at Diagon Alley?" A gangly boy of Bill's age with bright red hair was smiling down at him.
Bill didn't remember seeing the boy, and doubted he would have remembered if he had, bright red hair is unusual among muggles, but what was unusual for muggles often didn't translate into unusual among wizards.
"I'm not sure," answered Bill, trying to be polite. "Where would I have seen you?"
"Wand shop. I was next to be served after you. That was quite a trick you pulled with that thing. What is it? A 'leader'?"
"A ruler." Bill muttered.
"What are you reading?"
"Treasure Island. It's a muggle adventure story."
"Muggles have adventures?"
"Yes, we do. I mean, they do."
The boy sensed Bill's discomfort. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything."
Bill shrugged and went back to reading.
"My name is Arthur Weasley."
Bill looked up and blinked. He had expected the boy, Arthur, to leave. "I'm Bill Smeadly."
Arthur held out his hand, Bill took it. "Pleased to meet you Bill Smeadly. May I sit?"
"Please do." Bill marked his place and returned the book to his bag.
The two began chatting about each other's homes and families. Arthur was fascinated by muggles, and Bill was eager to get a peer's view of the magical world. They talked about Quidditch and football, television and house elves, cars and brooms. When the food cart came by, Bill bought them each a sandwich and a package of Bernie Botts Many Flavoured Beans. Bill's first bean tasted of root beer, Arther's: tree bark.
The two had been talking for several hours when Lucius Malfoy walked buy.
"Are you really a muggle?" he asked plainly.
"No." answered Bill, not sure of what to make of such an accusatory question. "Are you really a bast-"
Arthur nudged him in the ribs. Nodding toward the steward who had just entered the car.
"No, I am not. That's how I got here." Bill continued. "Thank you for asking."
Malfoy sniffed derisively and walked on.
Bill spent the rest of the trip describing the exchange between his mother and Mrs. Malfoy.
"Bloody snobs, they are." commented Arthur, "My Mum would love that jucy bit. I'll owl her tomorrow."
When the traing began to slow, Bill took a look out the window. The sun had set, but the lights from the station allowed Bill to see bits of parchment and dust blowing around on the platform. Bill and Arthur pulled their robes around them reflexively.
***
Bill could hear a loud voice from the platform. "First years, this way. Don't mind your baggage. Will be taken care of."
Bill and Arthur followed the voice to one side of the platform. The voice's owner was a huge young man, easily 7 feet tall, will a chin darkly shadowed by the beginnings of a beard. His beatle-black eyes surveyed the crowd of confused and anqious first years. "Right,' he said, "I'm Hagrid, the assistant game keeper here at Hogwarts. I'll be showin' ya to yer first feast at school. This way." He gestured with his massive arm and the first years followed dutifully.
The group was lead to a small dock. Moored to the dock were several small boats. At Hagrid's instruction, they climbed in. The night was breezy, but pleasant. The inky black water was calm, as if it had simply decided to ignore the wind.
Bill got in and looked for the oars. He stopped himself before asking Arthur, remembering he was among wizards. He sat down gingerly and glanced at his boatmates; Arther, and Molly, a friendly-looking girl with plump, rosey cheeks who had been sitting quietly in their train car the whole trip. Arther winked at Bill while Molly grinned nervously at them both.
The boat trip was silent and uneventful and the next thing Bill knew, he was in the great hall at Hogwarts. Bill thought he was used to magic by now, but he was not prepaired for the spectacle before him. Candles floated in mid air below a ceiling that seemed to immitate the sky he had seen over the lake. Four long tables, loaded with students, extended from what must be the staff table. The roar of the crowd dropped to a murmer as the first years entered.
With great reverence, one of the teachers rose and stepped down from the head table. He had auburn har that was well on its way to light grey. His eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked over Bill and his peers. After stepping into a side room near the front of the Great Hall, he brought out a stool with an old wizard's hat perched upon it. The hat was worn with several patches and stains. Bill gave Arthur a quizzical look that Arthur returned with a shrug.
Suddenly, a tear near the brim of the hat opened and the hat began to sing.
Hogwarts students, listen here! For it is that time of year. School has started. It is time for the Sorting Hat's new rhyme. Sit on the stool. Do not dread. Place me snugly on your head. Listen, watch, and we shall see in which Hogwarts house you will be. Loyal? Hardworking? That's the stuff of a house called Hufflepuff. Witty? Intellegent? Look with awe at the students of Ravenclaw. Cunning? Ambitious? You should be in the Hogwarts house called Slytherin. Brave and Strong? Say no more, for you belong in Gryffindor.