When Anthony Prewett was 2 years old, his father burst into the kitchen where his mother was feeding him and laid a stack of coins on the table. "Do you know what that is, Muriel?" Emmett Prewett asked.

"It looks like money," Muriel responded drily.

"Not just that," Emmett said, "this is the first step towards our trip to the seaside!"

Muriel looked up and gasped, delighted. "You mean-"

"That's right! I got the raise! And if we save it up, we can all take a family trip together!"

"That's wonderful!" Muriel got up and hugged him.

Anthony, meanwhile, had been staring fascinated at the shiny coins on the table. He reached out to touch one. When his parents looked back, they saw he had stacked all of them in separate piles: the bronze Knuts in one pile, the silver Sickles in another, and gold Galleons in a third.

Emmett chuckled. "Looks like he's as excited as we are!" he exclaimed.

The family went later that year. Walking along the beach, Anthony pointed out numbers on signs. He counted the clouds. "One, two, thee!" A shell caught his attention, so he let go of his mother's hand and stopped to pick it up. Anthony stared at the spiral, marveling at the shape and how it went around the shell, getting bigger. He looked up at the clouds, noticing the slight swirls, and the distant waves on the sea swelling until they reached their breaking point and became small again. Patterns came together in his mind, and for a moment-

"-thony! Anthony!" His mother rushed over to him. "What are you doing? You have to stay with us!"

"It's a shell," Anthony said, unable to find the right words. He tried again. "It gets bigger."

"Bigger?" Muriel looked at the shell expectantly. Was that disappointment in her eyes? "You can't go wandering off," she continued. "It's not safe. Come along." Anthony grasped the shell and walked along with his parents, counting the birds they saw and tapping the numbers on his leg.

One night years later, Anthony had a dream. Piles of knuts, sickles, and galleons lay before him and he counted every single one. As he chanted the numbers, the scene dissolved into a small house on a busy street, Big Ben visible in the background. Anthony and a young woman came out to the car, the woman holding her large stomach. The scene faded into a tall dark tower, in which a quill scratched a name into a book. Anthony woke up, his dream forgotten as he looked at the calendar. January 18, 1971. His 7th birthday! He dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, where his mother was making his favorite breakfast. As he watched, she pointed her wand at some pancakes and they flipped in the pan.

"Anthony, are you excited for your party today?" his mother asked, giving him a quick hug before returning to the pancakes.

Anthony pulled away. "I guess," he said, his mood dampened a little. He drummed his fingers on the table anxiously. "Can't we just go somewhere? I read that the British museum has interesting artifacts. Some of them are rumored to be magical."

"Nonsense," his father said, entering the room. "Your family will be here. They want to see you."

"Anyway, that's in Muggle London," said his mother. "Why visit the Muggles when you can stay here?" She flourished her wand and candles appeared on Anthony's pancakes. "Now stop that drumming and get dressed. Your cousin Molly will be here, I bet she'd like to see you."

Anthony was about to protest but with a look from his mother, he got ready while his parents decorated the house. Streamers burst from their wands, balloons floated up from the floor, and a giant birthday cake was conjured seemingly from thin air. The guests arrived soon after, fawning over the party. "Muriel, the decorations! You are a truly talented witch. They're beautiful! Where's the birthday boy?"

Anthony endured several kisses on the cheek from various family members as well as many variations on "How you've grown!" and "Has your magic shown up yet?" before finally being able to duck into a hallway he thought was empty. Abruptly he stopped as he saw a couple wrapped around each other, kissing.

"Molly, we should get back, they'll miss us," the boy was saying unconvincingly in between snogs.

"Oh, Arthur, relax, no one will-" Molly broke off as she spotted Anthony, who had quickly attempted to turn back.

"Anthony!" she said, quickly getting herself together and smoothing her hair. "Arthur, it's my cousin Anthony! Oh, look how you've grown!"

Anthony groaned inwardly. "Hi, Molly," he said politely.

"So," she said not unkindly, "has your magic shown up yet?"

"No," Anthony sighed. "Not yet."

"Don't worry," Molly said.

Anthony joined in. "It will come in time."

Molly huffed.

"Well it will!" she said. "Mine showed up when I was 4. I got hungry and conjured a cake."

"I was a bit of a late bloomer," said Arthur. "Mine didn't come in until I was 6. So don't worry, there's plenty of time!"

"I'm 7," Anthony said.

There was an awkward pause. Anthony nervously drummed a complicated rhythm on his leg.

"No doubt you'll be as accomplished as Aunt Muriel and Uncle Emmett," Molly said uncertainly. "Arthur, we should get back to the party, they'll miss us. See you, Anthony."

"Hey Molly," Anthony said suddenly, "Do you think you and Arthur will get married one day?"

Molly started and blushed. "I mean, I guess maybe one day, we've only just met, anything could happen. What gave you that idea?"

"I don't know," Anthony answered honestly. "It was just a thought I had. Nevermind." He suddenly had a headache. Anthony rushed to his room and slammed the door.

"Anthony!" His mother called. "Come down and open your presents! And there's cake!"

"I'm not feeling well!" Anthony shouted back.

When Mr. and Mrs. Prewett came to check on him and found no fever, her face was white. "After all the work I put in, inviting everyone and doing up the decorations. The least you can do is stay at your own party. I'm so embarrassed, I won't be able to show my face for a week!"

"Anthony," his father joined in, "if you don't want a big party, just tell us! We could have made other arrangements. Oh blast it, you've made me late for a meeting."

Anthony groaned and rolled over.

After that, Anthony had several odd dreams and visions while dreaming or drumming on his leg. Sometimes it was no more than a strong feeling, sometimes it was more distinct. Once he dreamed of finding something he'd lost, then found it the very next day. The most terrible was attending his mother's funeral, after which he was afraid to fall asleep until he was too exhausted. He tried telling his parents a few times, but his father told him to stop making up stories while his mother simply smiled and nodded before changing the subject.

One day when Anthony was 9, he was out in the garden, watching a flower change colors and drumming on his leg. The color changes seemed random, but he soon realized the pattern. Muriel came to find him. "Anthony," she said. "Remember I have my garden club today, so you'll get to go play with your friends at Ethel's house!"

Anthony groaned. "Do I have to? All they talk about is what house they think they'll be in at Hogwarts and..." he hesitated, having never voiced his fear before. "And I haven't done any magic yet. Maybe I don't belong at Hogwarts."

"We don't have time for this, Anthony," Mrs. Prewett said firmly. "You're going to love Hogwarts! Maybe some of those children will be in your house! Do you think you'll be in Slytherin like your father? Or Ravenclaw like me?"

Anthony turned around. "All right," he said matter-of-factly. "I'll go. But this is the last time I'm going."

Mrs. Prewett smoothed her dress and straightened her hat. "Don't be silly. Come on, we're going to have to Apparate now, we're already late."

She took his arm and twirled on the spot. They arrived at a lush landscape with a white house in the middle. They hurried inside, Muriel rushing to the drawing room and greeting her friends with hugs and kisses on the cheek. Anthony went downstairs, where a small group of children were gathered around a boy with a wand pointed at a glass of water. "Vino vecto!" he said. "Vino vecto!" The water jiggled a little.

"What are you doing?" asked Anthony.

"Trying to turn this water into wine," the boy, who was called Corban, replied. "I read about it in my dad's spellbook. I don't know why it's not working."

"Maybe you're saying it wrong," another boy piped up. "Try making the o nice and long. Vinooo vecto!"

"Shut it, Rodney," said a girl. "Anyway, I bet it's the wand. It was your grandfather's, right? You need your own. I can't wait until I get mine! I hope I get unicorn hair."

"It's not the wand, Susan." said Corban. "Look." He gave it a flourish. "Lumos!" The wand's tip lit up and cast light all around the room.

The children gasped admiringly and clamored to be the next to use it. They passed the wand around the group, each one shouting "Lumos!" Anthony watched as the wand lit up for each in turn, then reached out to take it when it was offered.

"Lumos," he said. And waited. "Lumos," he tried again. Nothing. "Lumos!" he said. The wand tip stubbornly remained dark.

"He can't do it. Maybe he's a squib!" Rodney chortled.

"Give me back my wand, you squib!" said Corban. "You'll break it."

Anthony's face flushed as he handed back the wand. "I'm not a squib," he said. "I've done magic!"

"When?" Susan asked curiously. "What did you do? I accidentally enlarged the head of my little brother once."

Anthony thought of his dreams and stayed silent. What if they laughed at him? Or didn't believe him? He started drumming nervously on his leg.

"Don't worry," said Corban. "Mum says there are lots of uses for squibs. A lot of them clean the houses of those too poor to afford a house-elf."

"I-" sputtered Anthony, staring at the floor and drumming faster.

"Hey, maybe you can clean your mum's one day!" Corban continued, laughing. The others joined in and the laughter turned to a rushing in Anthony's ears.

Anthony's head snapped up and he looked him directly in the eyes. Anthony pointed a finger at him menacingly. "You," he said, "are going to end up in Azkaban. And you'll be eaten to death by a snake."

Corban's eyes went wide. "Mum!" he yelled, running upstairs as the others looked on, stunned. "Anthony's casting curses on me!"

Anthony shook his head and stumbled back, wide-eyed, as his mother came down the stairs. "I'm..sorry-" he stammered.

"Anthony Edgar Prewett!" Muriel yelled. "Of all the things. I'll never be able to show my face here again! We're going straight home and you are going to wait right there until your father gets home!" She disapparated with him on the spot and deposited Anthony in his room. She closed the door and he lay down on his bed, shaking with fear and anger and regret. Mercifully, his father returned too late to do more than give him a stern word. He sank into a dreamless sleep.

Anthony was more careful after that. He still had dreams, but stopped talking about them altogether and wrote them in a journal instead.

When Anthony was 10, his parents took him to visit a healer.

"So you're saying," Mr. Pomfrey said to them, "he hasn't shown any magical tendencies at all?"

"That's correct," said Mr. Prewett.

Mr. Pomfrey consulted a list. "Teleportation? Conjuration?"

The Prewetts shook their heads.

"How about Seeing? Are there perhaps any in your family?"

Mrs. Prewett shook her head firmly. "Certainly not. We are a respectable family, Healer Pomfrey."

"Dear," put in Mr. Prewett, "Wasn't your great-aunt a Seer?"

"A fraud," Mrs. Prewett sniffed. "Making up stories, just like Anthony."

Mr. Pomfrey pursed his lips and took a breath. "I see. Well, in that case, I think you need to be prepared for the possibility that your son may be a squib."

Mrs. Prewett put her hand to her mouth and Mr. Prewett looked worried. "A squib?"

"Yes," said Mr. Pomfrey, "but many fine respectable people have been nonmagical." He looked through a stack of pamphlets and pulled out "Seeing the Extraordinary in an Ordinary Life" and "Famous Squibs Throughout History," along with a children's book titled "I'm a Squib: What now?"

"Isn't there anything we can do?" asked Mr. Prewett. "Remedies? I'm sure we can afford anything you might recommend."

Mr. Pomfrey shook his head. "Could you cure a cat of being a cat? Even if such a thing existed, I would still encourage you to see the strengths in young Anthony instead of his apparent weakness. Accept him and love him as he is."

Mr. Prewett glanced at his watch. "I need to be getting back to the office. I'll see you both at home. Love you, Muriel. Buck up, old champ," he told Anthony. "There's hope yet." He pecked Mrs. Prewett on the cheek and disapparated with a loud bang.

Anthony, meanwhile, had been drumming on his leg and staring silently.

"Does he drum a lot like that?" asked Mr. Pomfrey.

Mrs. Prewett started. "Yes, he does," said surprised. "He used to drum on the table until it got to be too much for my nerves."

"That's quite a complicated rhythm," said the Healer.

"Anthony," Mr. Pomfrey said, bending down on his level. "I want you to know that you have a lot of good things about you. Even if you don't get into Hogwarts next year, try to focus on what makes you happy and what you can do well. Can you do that for me?"

Anthony stopped drumming and looked at Mr. Pomfrey with a curious look on his face. "Yes," he said carefully. "I think I can."

"That's the ticket!" Mr. Pomfrey patted him on the back. "Do let me know if anything changes or if there's anything I can do," he told Mrs. Prewett as they left the office.

The next January felt colder than usual. As Anthony's 11th birthday approached, he started keeping more and more to himself.

"Anthony," Mrs. Prewett asked him one day. "Your birthday is next week. I think we'll keep it to just our little family this year. Would you like to go to the British museum? There are some interesting wizard artifacts there."

"That's for little kids," Anthony replied sullenly. "I don't want a birthday this year."

"We'll think of something," Muriel said, "You need something to get your mind off of.." she trailed off. "We'll think of something," she repeated and left the room.

Anthony spent more and more time in his room the next week. On Jan 17, he was playing wizard chess against the enchanted board. After the fifth loss in a row, he flopped down on his bed and went to sleep.

The next morning he woke refreshed and full of energy. He dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs two at a time.

"Well," said Mr. Prewett at the breakfast table over his newspaper. Anthony caught part of a headline "MINISTRY HOPEFUL" before his father put it down. "I'm glad you finally decided to put on a brave face."

"How wonderful!" said Mrs. Prewett, putting pancakes down in front of him. "Happy Birthday! Why the sudden change?"

Anthony smiled with his secret. "I just think today might be a good day," he said, digging into his pancakes with gusto.

Suddenly, there was a rap on the window. A large owl was tapping on the glass with its beak.

"Are you expecting anything, dear?" asked Mrs. Prewett to Mr. Prewett.

"No," he replied. "Are you?"

Muriel gave him a sour look. "Emmett, you know all my friends stopped talking to me years ago."

"I think we should let him in," Anthony piped up.

The owl swooped straight to Anthony's seat and perched on his chair with his leg out. Anthony took the envelope excitedly as Mr. Prewett paid the owl and it flew off.

"Well?" his parents asked him, clutching each other.

"Mum, Dad," Anthony said, opening the letter, "I've been accepted to Hogwarts!"

**End of Part 1**