Chapter One

Father concerned himself with being certain that "his boys" would not turn into "that woman." He decided that it was bad enough she had "left her taint on the older one," so was determined that we would all forget she ever existed. Her name was never mentioned. Questions about her--our--family were never asked. Even Miss Summers did not speak of her, despite the fire that lurked behind her eyes whenever she stared at Father. I never understood why she remained working for our home. I never forgot the witchery she performed on me the day Aberforth was born.

"Ab initio, Albus. Come now, quickly."

"Firmanus saltu non falso Mentula diues--"

"Mentula, Albus," Miss Summers said, extending her "u".

"Mentula," I repeated.

"Very good, Ab initio."

Latin and history were possibly Miss Summers's two favorite subjects. For the majority of the hours that she taught me, I learned one of those two things, only rarely Maths or English Literature. Aberforth had been 'awarded' his own tutor a couple of years ago, when Miss Summers criticized his handwriting. Since then, she'd largely forgotten, or ignored, the subjects that Father wished me to learn.

"Firmanus saltu non falso Mentula diues
fertur, qui tot res in se habet egregious,
aucupium omne genus, piscis, prata, arua ferasque.
nequiquam: fructus sumptibus exsuperat.
quare concedo sit diues, dum omnia desint.
saltum laudemus, dum modo ipse egeat."

"Most excellent, Albus! I'm quite impressed. However, you're rolling your 'e's, and I'm not even sure how that's possible. Also, the second 'g' in egregious is soft."

Second g, egregious, soft. Not that I was really certain what egregious meant, but that was apparently unimportant to Miss Summers. She never really felt the need to tell me what the poems I memorized meant. For the first few months I attempted to translate them on my own, but they were so confusing that I gave up. Something about girdles and a woman named Lesbia, both of which were things I assumed I'd never find out about. Besides, all Miss Summers wanted was the correct pronunciation. "U"s sounded like long "o"s, except, of course, when they didn't. All "t"s needed to be spoken at the end of words, except, of course, when they needn't.

Miss Summers released me to the kitchens for lunch. Because everyone was still bigger than me, I ate at a small table set in the corner of Father's gigantic kitchen. Father ate in the dining room. Aberforth generally did what he pleased. Which usually meant harassing the cooks and maids who worked in the kitchen while I ate.

"Aberforth, if you keep running amongst the stoves, you may be pushed into one," Mrs. Angleton said carefully, clearly trying to keep her annoyance out of her voice. It was the voice she always used to talk to Aberforth when she was trying to get him to do something. But she could never really sound like she didn't approve, otherwise Father would find out.

She speaks to me like she likes me, I thought happily, spooning soup into my mouth.

Aberforth responded to her warning by edging even closer to the gigantic burning pits, where even huge pigs could be roasted. There wasn't fire in them now, but they were only cleaned once every two weeks, so there was still hardened pig fat and ash stuck to the floor and the sides. If Aberforth fell in, he'd be covered in dirt and fat--

and I'd probably get in trouble for it.

Aberforth finally sped away from the stoves and hurried over toward me, jumping into a seat. I jerked with surprise and spilled beef barley all down my front. I felt my face angrily forming into the lets-not-make-Aberforth-throw-a-tantrum expression as I struggled not to notice the hot soup that was burning its way through my clothes.

"Hey Albus," he giggled, clearly entertained by my soup misfortune. "It goes in your mouth, you know."

He was blissfully unaware that he caused the spill in the first place.

"I'll work on that," I responded, sopping up some cabbage and placing it carefully on the side of my plate. I grabbed a roll, waved to Mrs. Angleton, and left.

Aberforth trotted on behind.

"Where are you going, old chap?"

Aberforth liked to call me old chap. I'm sure he thought it was rather clever, but because it he was only seven years old, it turned out to be rather entertaining, and really not at all clever. He didn't ever seem to notice my smirk when he said it, though, as he never complained.

"I'm changing into clothes not soiled with barley," I told him.

"Ah." He nodded knowledgably.

Aberforth continued following me, his heels clicking on the wooden floor at exactly the same time as mine. I frowned. His legs were half as short as mine.

"So Albus…" he said slyly once I reached the door to my room.

"Yes?"

"You learning French yet, old chap? I just started. Ge mappelley Aberforth."

"No."

Aberforth shrieked with derisive laughter, even began slapping his knees. "Guess you're not going to court then."

I sighed. "Guess not."

Then I walked into my room, and closed the door on his face. Through the wood and walls, I could hear his laughter turn quickly into a tantrum of fabricated tears.

"Fantastic," I murmured. I turned away from the door (and my crying brother, who was no doubt running off to father right now), pulled off my shirt and pants and went in search of clean ones. I found some grey breeches and was working on the buttons when a knock came at the door.

"Master Albus?" came a feminine voice, clearly distraught.

Really, really fantastic, I thought, feeling my chest start to constrict. I pulled a white blouse over my head and opened the door.

"Yes, ma'am?" I asked, looking up at one of the newer maids.

"Lord Dumbledore wishes to see you," she said softly, curtsied, and then hurried away.

I knew it. Dirty coward, I thought spitefully toward Aberforth. I quickly slipped on my shoes and tucked the blouse into my pants. I reached for a jacket and combed through my hair.

Mama's hair.

Gulping, I sped towards Father's study and took a few quick breaths before I knocked. Don't seem flustered, don't seem worried, I told myself, attempting to slow my heart which was beating almost painfully in my chest. Father's study was adjacent to the family portraits, with the three generations of Lords displayed prominently in the center: stern, brown haired folks who looked at me with the same disapproving stare I knew waited on the other side of the door.

I rapped gently.

"Enter," the steely voice intoned.

I rolled my shoulders back and placed my palm on the doorknob. It felt slick under my touch, and I was a bit disconcerted to realize I was already sweating. I took another breath, walked inside, and shut the door quietly, waiting to be acknowledged.

Father's study was decorated with the Dumbledore plaid and various huge pieces of mahogany furniture. He was working at his desk, head down and quill scratching evenly. The room was so quiet it buzzed.

"You will not be going to Eton," he stated after a few moments, placing the quill onto a coaster. He stared straight at my eyes.

I blinked, feeling mildly surprised. What? Where did this come from? Eton's not for two years.

"Your -- grandparents --" he said the word with clear disgust, "Have informed me that they will not allow you to go to Eton, or any school of the like."

I coughed, confused, and turned away from his cold gaze. "My… grandparents?" I said quietly.

"Yes. Averill and Mildred Prewitt."

I'd never heard the name Prewitt before. In fact, I never really knew I even had grandparents. ("Albus") That they had enough power to override my father's decisions was a rather large shock. I kept mulling over the short meeting in my mind, which had ended with the demand that "Despite you not going to Eton, I expect you to continue applying yourself in your studies," accompanied with a sneer that implied I wasn't applying myself enough.

"Albus!"

To satisfy him, I started translating the Latin poems again.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Would you please pay attention!"

I looked up at Miss Summers and felt my cheeks get a little hot. She'd never had to yell at me during lessons before, but then, I'd never realized that I had grandparents who were still alive before.

"Please excuse me, Miss Summers," I said.

"It's quite alright, I've been rather flighty myself, lately," she admitted, fanning herself in the thick air. "Now, Cornelius Agrippa was born in what--"

Miss Summers paused. She seemed slightly startled, and the reason for it was clear. At the window, a large, tawny owl was patiently pecking at the glass, staring at Miss Summers, and clearly expecting to be let in.

"Miss Summers, what--"

She hushed me quickly and walked over to the window to open it. As if waiting for this cue, the owl flew at me and dropped a rather heavy envelope into my confused hands. Then it went back out.

"Thank goodness," Miss Summers said, relieved, closing the window and shutting the curtains. She appeared rather excited.

"Er… excuse me, but… what just happened?" I looked down at the envelope, which had my address neatly printed on the back in shiny green ink.

Mr. A Dumbledore

The Blue Bedroom

Dumbledore Mansion

Kilmarnock

Miss Summers hurried over to me and snatched the envelope. She turned it over and ran her fingers on the seal. She smiled widely and looked at me.

"You, my dear amazing boy, have been accepted at Hogwarts."

I gave her a blank stare. Hogwarts sounded rather peculiar, and not at all like something I'd want to be accepted at.

She seemed to recognize that I was rather confused, "Oh, darling, just read the letter!"

And with that she handed back the envelope to me. I looked at her, wondering how she could know about something like this, and tore at the seal. Inside, there was a letter, and then several sheets of parchment behind it.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Phineas Nigellus

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Slytherin Alumnus, Editor of Warlock Times)

Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment, as well as an explanation of the school and what you can expect coming from a non-magic family.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Clarence Marjoribanks

Deputy Headmaster

I reread the letter carefully and looked back at Miss Summers, who was smiling broadly.

"W-witchcraft and wizardry?" I stuttered.

"Well yes, of course. Your Grandparents on your mother's side both attended Hogwarts, as have all of your Aunts, Uncles, and cousins. It was only your mother who couldn't go…" she paused. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm also a witch."

I pulled in a long breath. That certainly explained the spell she put on me so many years ago.

Miss Summers must have noted my concerned expression, for she hurried on to explain, "Dear, you're a wizard. And it's nothing bad. Please, read the other bits of parchment. They'll tell you what you need to know much better than I can."

I'm a wizard.

I flipped through the pages until I found a letter written with a loopy hand in dark green ink.

"Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

"As a muggle-born, this letter must be rather confusing. Before you throw it away and declare it a piece of devilry, please think about any part of your life that maybe shouldn't have happened with the way things normally work."

-- popping into my room when things went wrong -- my clothes amazingly clean after Aberforth had played a practical joke -- the ice on the pond repairing itself when I was about to fall in --

"In fact, wizardry has nothing at all to do with devil worship, and many witches and wizards are active members of the Christian religion. The idea that we are evil was a rumor that the Ministry for Magic encouraged so as to further separate our world from that of muggles."

"Muggles?" I asked Miss Summers, who quickly replied, "Non-magic folk."

"Non-magic folk," I repeated under my breath, unable to believe what was going on.

"Wizards and witches have existed since before the time of Jesus Christ. Some of the most famous hail from Egyptian Pharaohs. Many important "muggle" scientists have also been wizards or witches, including Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and Claudius Ptolemy.

"It is necessary that we apprise you of the laws governing witches and wizards. Unless you are in exceptional circumstances (as defined by paragraph eight of the Statute), using magic in the presence of a muggle is seen as a severe breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, and could lead to possible expulsion from Hogwarts, as well as the breaking of your wand. Please keep practice of magic to a minimum, and preferably only in the full view of a wizard or witch who is of age (aged 17 or older).

Sincerely,

Ida Waffling

Minister for Magic"

I looked blankly at the piece of paper. How could it be possible that I hadn't known? That I had an entire family of wizards who had never talked to me? That Miss Summers had never told me?

"Is this--is this why my grandparents didn't want me to go to Eton?" I asked slowly, still reading the surprising lines "please keep practice of magic to a minimum…".

Miss Summers looked flustered. "Your grandparents? When did they speak with you?"

"They didn't. They told Father that they wouldn't let me go to Eton," I said.

"Well," she said, eyes downcast, "That's certainly interesting. But I assume yes, this is why they didn't want you to go."

I looked over the several bits of parchment in my hand. On the sheet I hadn't read, by the Headmaster Phineas Nigellus, there were random words throughout the letter, like Gryffindor, Slytherin, sorting, house points… all of which I didn't quite understand. The promised list of necessary school supplies was enclosed, as well as a small packet of what looked like sparkling green powder. I turned back to the first letter, which explained that I'd been accepted.

"Owl by July 31?" I asked, rereading.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll take care of that. I need to buy your school supplies, here, give me the list and you and I can go fetch them in Diagon Alley in a few days."

"Diagonally?" I felt a little faint now. I'm a wizard.

"Yes, its in London. Now give it here, I need to know how much money to get from your father."

"My… my father?" I said, rather panicked.

"Of course, who did you think would be paying for all of this, me? Now, the list," she motioned with her arm firmly.

Feeling rather like I'd been knocked on the head with a very large object--I knew I would be getting a huge headache within the next few minutes, my skull had already begun to pound--I handed Miss Summers the list, gathered up the pieces of parchment, my notes, and made my way back to my room.

I'm a wizard.

---

Miss Summers announced we'd be going to the "Diagon Alley" a few days later. Her pockets were stuffed with gigantic golden coins, smaller silver ones, and tiny coppers, clearly ready to shop. The money was completely foreign, so I assumed that was the currency wizards used. The word still gave me a sickly feeling in the bottom of my stomach, even days after receiving the Hogwarts letter.

Father, upon hearing about my acceptance, hadn't spoken to me once. Even when Aberforth complained about something I did or did not do, he still did not say a word.

"You foul, dirty treacherous fiend! The devil is on you!"

I gulped. Miss Summers pulled me to the fireplace in her room and smiled broadly. She gave me a tiny sack of shimmering green powder.

"This is called floo powder. You place some of it into your hands, throw it into the flames, step inside, and say where you want to go," she told me, matter-of-factly.

"I'm supposed to step inside of fire?" My voice quavered a little.

"Of course, it's perfectly safe. I'd demonstrate for you, but I'm running out and I don't want you to be left here alone." She pointed a piece of wood at the fireplace. "Incendio!"

A ball of flame burst from the tip of the wood and traveled quickly to the grate, erupting in a shower of fire. I glanced at it nervously, then pointed towards the wood. "Is that a--a--"

"A wand, yes. Don't worry, you'll be getting one as well. Now, pour a little of the powder into your hand, there's a good boy."

I stared at the substance, unable to believe that I wouldn't be burnt to a crisp once I stepped inside the flames, but hoping I'd be fine all the same.

I'm a wizard.

"Alright now, Albus. Once you throw the floo powder into the fire, step inside and say 'The Leaky Cauldron.' Do you understand?" She looked a little concerned, apparently finally realizing that I was just the tiniest bit frightened.

"I--I believe so."

I stepped up to the still smoldering wood and felt a wave of heat wash over my body. Shaking a little, I threw the powder into the flames, which turned a brilliant shade of green. The heat from the fire desisted, and I carefully stepped into the grate.

It felt like I was standing in a warm rain shower. I could feel the flames lick my face, yet I knew I wasn't getting burned.

"Your blood will not taint this son."

"The Leaky Cauldron."

Immediately the world around me became a whizzing mass of green. I could see dozens, if not hundreds of fireplaces whirling past. I started feeling a little nauseous right before my body practically spat out of a random fireplace. A few dozen witches and wizards stared at me as I stood up, wiping ash from my clothes. Each of them wore long robes of different colors, some with various lacy decoration. I looked down at my breeches and shirt, feeling out of place.

Swallowing the feeling of nausea leftover from traveling through the fireplace (or maybe from the semi-hostile glances), I blinked at the large room, where clinks of silverware on plates and slight laughter was heard scattered throughout the dining area. Some of the wizards continued to talk amongst themselves, throwing a few looks back my way now and then. The barkeep dried cup after cup, openly glaring at me.

Miss Summers appeared in the fireplace, finally, none the worse for wear. She wiped off a stray bit of ash and smiled. Grabbing my hand, she walked over to the bar.

"Hey there, Ben. Could I have a glass of butterbeer for me and my charge here."

Ben looked at me doubtfully but nodded, grabbed two flagons and filled them with a light brown foamy substance.

"Who's this?" he asked, looking over my clothing.

As if prepared for such a question, Miss Summers said breezily, "Grandson of Averill and Mildred Prewitt."

"Ah," he said, his stance warming a bit. "I haven't met this one, new to Hogwarts this year?"

"That's right he is," Miss Summers said proudly, taking a swig of the butterbeer and winking at me. "I expect him to do quite well there."

"Any member of the Prewitt family will do well, Glenda," Ben smiled. He turned to me, "What, don't like butterbeer?"

I quickly took a sip, gulped, and whispered, "'Course I do."

"Shy one, is he?" asked Ben.

"Yes, his father's rather… secluded," Miss Summers responded haltingly, finishing with a fake smile.

Ben went to take care of other customers. I sat and drank the butterbeer, which warmed my stomach and reminded me a bit of the hot chocolate Mrs. Angleton made, only with caramel. After I'd finished the glass, Miss Summers slid off her stool and motioned for me to follow. She took out her wand, and we stepped through a door in the back. I breathed deeply, glad to be away from all the stares. We were at a dead end outside of the bar. Miss Summers walked up to the alley's end and tapped on a few bricks in succession as if this were an every day occurrence. The bricks began shaking, and moved apart to form a huge doorway. I gawked, astounded, at the sight before me, and had to remind myself that magic existed.

Hundreds of witches, wizards, and children were stuffed into a narrow alley, which was lined on either side by crooked looking shops. Ware sellers could be found at every empty space, encouraging passerby to look at homemade potions ingredients or rare plants for healing. Children ran around, casting magic through the air and turning friends ear's different colors or making them unable to speak (reminding me strongly of Aberforth), which the parents then ended with an annoyed "Finite Incantatem." I hadn't realized there were so many people in the world who could perform magic.

Miss Summers noticed my stare and pulled me to a corner. She bent down and spoke to me eye to eye.

"Albus, you mustn't look so surprised."

"I'm sorry, Miss Summers," I said lowly, trying to assume her seriousness.

"Just pretend like we're walking through another part of Kilmarnock, darling. You mustn't act as if you've never seen this before," she repeated.

"But… but I haven't."

"I know dear," she said, smoothing my hair and standing up again. "Just please, do what I say."

Miss Summers grabbed onto my hand again and walked swiftly to the Cauldron Shop, pulled out a few shiny coins and bought a heavy pewter cauldron, which she handed to me. The apothecary came next, and the cauldron was soon full of tinkling beakers filled with strange substances. The helper informed Miss Summers they had an "anti-breaking charm" cast on them. More shops, more things, and many books followed. Eventually my arms became so weighed down that Miss Summers made a trunk appear from nothing. She began packing in the potions beakers, ingredients, cauldron, my books, and quills and parchment. Certain that such a box couldn't possibly fit everything we needed, I looked inside and noticed that the space was practically the size of my room at home.

"What did I say about staring?" Miss Summers reminded me out of the corner of her mouth.

I quickly pulled my head out of the box and continued to follow, acting like I was walking through the streets of Kilmarnock.

I finally sat down at Madam Brousseau's Perfect Fit, where there was a queue of new students waiting for robes. I stared at my feet, Miss Summers humming to my right. A few minutes later, a squat, smiling assistant stopped next to us.

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"What fabrics would you like?"

"Cotton, two silk, and wool."

Silk? Father gave her enough money for silk?

"Right," the Assistant said. She looked a little like Mrs. Angleton. I expected her at any moment to offer me a sweet roll. Instead, she let go of the parchment she'd been copying on. It remained floating in place, quill poised to take notes. I reminded myself not to gawk. "Please follow me."

That last sentence was to me, so I walked into a spare room, Miss Summers following. The Assistant, who identified herself as Martha Malkin, quickly pulled out a measuring tape that started measuring my entire body all on its own.

Don't gawk.

"So you need the entire Hogwarts student package?" she asked gently, rummaging through a closet nearby.

"Yes. We'd also like two pairs of dragon hide gloves, not one, and three black day wear hats with embroidery." Miss Malkin's quill added notes next to the measurements it had been taking down, switching sides of the paper as Miss Summers spoke.

"What kind of embroidery would you prefer?" Miss Malkin asked, the different fabrics in hand. She showed them for approval, and Miss Summers nodded.

"Runes of protection, on only two."

The quill noted that as well.

Seven minutes, and what seemed like dozens of questions and requests later, the scroll rolled up and the measuring tape fell to the ground. Miss Malkin smiled at me, then looked back up at Miss Summers.

"Your order will be finished in approximately three hours. Thank you for shopping at Madam Brousseau's."

With a smile, she popped out of the room.

My mind was racing with what had just happened. I realized I was starting to get a headache again, and I looked pleadingly at Miss Summers. She rubbed my head apologetically.

"Just a few more stores Albus, then we'll be done."

I was about to collapse by the time we reached what appeared to be the end of the alley. I tried to stay awake, but it was really hard.

"Last one, dear."

I looked up at a sign, which said "Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." It appeared fairly dingy, and inside the window (which needed a good scrubbing), there was a single wand resting on a dusty purple cushion. I followed Miss Summers inside. One spindly old chair sat surrounded by hundreds of small boxes, lining the shelves which seemed to stretch on forever. Miss Summers, spying a place to sit, promptly fell onto the beaten cushion. I stepped up, looked back and forth for someone, and eventually noticed a small bell. I pushed it, and instantly, a man appeared from the back with a blank expression on his face.

"And you are?"

I looked at Miss Summers, she nodded. "Albus Dumbledore."

The man looked to be in his mid-thirties. He nodded, his pale eyes instantly memorizing my face.

"Right-handed?" Snapping his wand, another measuring tape began flying all over me. I stood quite still.

"No, left," I said slowly, entranced by the tape measure.

"Parentage?"

"Squib and muggle," Miss Summers answered, while I stared blankly at Mr. Ollivander, who had disappeared into the stacks.

"Grandparentage?"

"Pureblood, the Prewitts."

Mr. Ollivander emerged, with what had to be 15 or more boxes perched in his arms. He set them carefully down. He opened the first box and gave the wand to me, then motioned that I should swish it.

Nothing happened.

I tried the next wand, and then the one after that. I was getting rather confused (and bored) until finally at the twenty-seventh, a bright reddish-gold gently emitted from the tip of the wand at my swish.

"Ah hah," said Mr. Ollivander, producing a creepy smile. "Very powerful wand, that. Quite rare, considering your blood. Hazel wood, 12 inches, quite bendy, with a Phoenix feather core, good for Defense and Transfiguration."

I didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but Miss Summers looked fit to burst. Mr. Ollivander gave the "very powerful" piece of wood to me, Miss Summers paid for the wand, and we left. She looked at me expectantly as soon as we crossed the threshold.

"Well?"

I blinked and stared at my new possession, confused.

"Aren't you excited! You have your wand!"

I looked down. "Oh, yes, I'm quite excited. Of course."

Miss Summers beamed. We picked up my robes (a gigantic package, all of which fit in the magical trunk), and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Here, I picked up more floo powder. Go ahead, and quickly now. I'm sure you'll want to try out a few spells before you leave for Hogwarts."

I smiled weakly, "I-- of course."

---

Over the next few weeks, my lessons changed completely. Miss Summers thought it imperative that I learn the beginning charms and transfiguration spells she said every other wizarding child would have already been taught.

"Alright Albus, go ahead," she said encouragingly.

I looked at my pillow. My pillow looked at me. Apparently, I could make my pillow levitate.

"Go ahead, Albus!" she repeated.

"Win-wingardium leviosa." I swished and flicked, willing the pillow to move at least a tiny bit. I thought maybe it had shuddered, but then realized the window was open, and that the wind was blowing.

Miss Summers was not to be swayed. "Try again. You can do it!"

"Wingardium levi--er--Wingardium leviosa." Swish and flick again. Stare stare stare. No movement.

At Miss Summers's command, I attempted the levitation charm dozens of more times until eventually even she was sick of it.

The pillow hadn't budged. I was beginning to think it was trying to spite me.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, slapping her wand softly against her left hand. "He's pronouncing it correctly, he has the motion, yet that damned pillow refuses to move. Well, there's nothing for it."

Miss Summers looked up at me, giving a strained smile. "Transfiguration, yes?"

I sighed as she gave me a pin that I was supposed to turn into a piece of string.

I looked at it dubiously.

Miss Summers made shooing motions with her hands. "Just try, Albus, would you?"

Two hours and not one strand of thread or levitated anything later, I was released to my room to study chapters one and two of An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms by Tralien Tyuri. I jumped down the steps to my room and walked through the halls of my Dumbledore ancestors, who looked more dishonored by my actions every day.

"Because I chose to be a wizard," I said sarcastically under my breath.

Yes, you certainly did! I just knew they'd retort.

My school supplies were stacked neatly in a corner of my room, next to the trunk Miss Summers had conjured that day in Diagon Alley. I wasn't sure whether to use it, though, as I didn't think I'd be able to get anything back out. Placing my wand carefully on my dresser, I sat on my bed and pulled out the acceptance letter from my night stand.

"pleased to inform you" "separate our world from that of muggles" "expect coming from a non-magic family" "please keep practice of magic to a minimum"

I closed my eyes tightly and shut the letter back where it belonged. You're a wizard and there's nothing you can do for it; magic exists, I told myself harshly, probably for the eight hundredth time. In less than a se'en night, Miss Summers and I would "floo" to the Leaky Cauldron, again, with my things, where we would make our way to Kings Cross station. When I was told I'd be going to Hogwarts by rail, I'd been pleasantly surprised and fairly excited (I'd never been on a train before), until Miss Summers ended the sentence with "Platform 9 and 3/4," which seemed slightly ridiculous.

Miss Summers said it was to keep muggles from finding out about the magic world.

I sighed and fell onto my bed. Mother would have been so excited about the wizarding world.

She'd always been excited about the tiniest things, especially when it made her little-bumblebee even more special, especially when it was a secret. If she'd read the acceptance letter, she would have clapped, then told Father.

She wouldn't have understood what it meant. She wouldn't have understood why Father would have… would have…

…again.

"Please don't punish me, please stop, Mr. Dumbledore, please I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, please stop…"

I turned myself onto my side and flung my arm over my head. Stop it, I told myself, trying to forget that there was a wand which was apparently 'very powerful' sitting innocently on my desk. Remembering the past doesn't help the now. He doesn't even care, anymore.

Thirteen hours and forty-two restless minutes later, I rolled myself out of bed and sighed. The sky was beginning to lighten and I could hear the faint cries of a few morning birds. Walking over to my mirror, I stared heavily at my reflection. Same red hair, same freckled face, same arms, and same stubbly height. I yawned and pulled off my dressing gown, looking for my nice pair of slacks, blouse, and jacket. My shoes were neatly polished at the foot of the bed, and there was a small cravat laying over my wand that I was apparently supposed to fiddle with.

I had no idea how to tie a cravat.

I caught myself in the mirror again and straightened, trying once more to notice any differences.

"Who invented birthdays, anyway?" I mumbled aloud, slipping the shoes on and tightening them. "If we're going to have them, why don't we change each year, too?"

After eleven full years I hadn't yet solved that problem. I placed my wand into the inner pocket of my jacket. Miss Summers had warned me never to go anywhere without it, but it felt rather strange weighing against my chest. I sauntered over to the kitchens, my stomach rumbling excitedly over the prospect of a nice, warm breakfast. Mrs. Angleton made a fantastic maple-y oatmeal, which was possibly the most delicious thing ever created. She only served it on special occasions, and I hoped that she'd consider my birthday at least somewhat special. Especially as it was my eleventh birthday, and especially as I'd be leaving for a whole year in five days.

However, at about twenty feet away from the kitchen, I heard mumbled yells, a heaving cry, and lots of dishes being banged about. It wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting, which was Mrs. Angleton waiting by the door, ready to wish me a Happy Birthday, as she'd done for the last four years. I poked my head into the kitchen, and frowned.

Aberforth stood sobbing in the center of the room, drenched in what appeared to be maple-flavored oatmeal. Mrs. Angleton and two other cooks were trying to towel him off, all the while asking him to "please, keep your voice down" and telling him that "it's all your fault, anyway." His eyes were streaming tears, and he kept bouncing back and forth, probably trying to keep the hot cereal off of his skin (since it had soaked into his clothes). Three maids were busily attempting to mop up the mess he was making, and another was cleaning out the pot that had previously held the oatmeal. Aberforth's nanny sat at the table, staring at the tantrum glumly. It figured that he'd would ruin my breakfast. I breathed deeply, trying not to laugh at Aberforth's problem, and trying very hard not to feel disappointed about my lost meal.

I did enjoy maple-flavored cereal.

I trudged back to my room, and noticed that a rather sizeable trunk had replaced the one Miss Summers had conjured. It had my name chiseled on the lock in calligraphy, and on top, there was a small note, which hid the Hogwarts crest.

Happy Birthday, Albus!

I picked this up for you in Diagon Alley a few days ago. Its an Expandable, Thief-Proof trunk. According to the pamphlet, it'll never run out of space, and no one but you can open it (and if they try, they'll get a nasty surprise; Anti-Thievery Charms, you know). I left the instructions on your desk. Get packing, only five more days!

Auntie Summers

I hadn't called her Auntie Summers in more than seven years.

I turned to my desk and picked up the instructions, flicking my gaze between them and the trunk. Expandable, Thief-Proof Trunk? The instructions said the first tap of wand and a password of my choice would 'set it properly'. Only my voice, word, and wand could open it after that.

Thinking carefully, I pulled my wand out of my jacket and poked it, muttering "socks." The lock clicked, and I delicately pulled the top up, looking inside.

It didn't appear to be Expandable. Instead, it actually looked rather standard. There was a large sack sitting in the left corner, with a note next to it in Miss Summers' writing that said "From your Father." I opened it and blinked at the shine; there had to be over 100 large gold 'Galleons' in there. Quickly shutting the sack with surprise, I wondered why he'd given me money--or more likely, what Miss Summers had threatened to do for it. The amount in there made me a little uneasy, and this without even knowing how many crowns a galleon was worth. I doubt Father had ever given anyone that much money in his entire life.

Replacing my wand, I began stacking the robes from Madam Brousseau's, the cauldron and potions ingredients, large bits of parchment, multiple quills and ink, and a few of my books into the trunk. Every time the pile reached the top, the bottom of the trunk seemed to retract, leaving room for just one more book, or just one more cloak. I picked up the side and looked at the floor, which did not have a hole the size of the trunk bored into it. Shaking my head and reminding myself that I had to get used to this whole magic idea, I walked to my closet to gather my dressing robes.

Mother would have found the trunk funny. She probably would have put every piece of clothing inside, just to make sure it never filled up.

---

Five days and still not a word from Father later, Miss Summers and I were once again positioned, floo powder at the ready, in front of her fireplace. A short Incendio, and Miss Summers was once more reminding me to go to the Leaky Cauldron, imploring me to stay put when I arrived, and to try not to attract any attention.

Miss Summers' door flew open, and Aberforth rushed inside, his face red from exertion and a look of determination in his blue eyes.

"I've decided to go with you, old chap," he said haughtily. I noticed a small sack of clothes being held tightly to his side.

"No, you haven't," responded Miss Summers, forcing him back out.

"Why does Albus get to go, and I don't?" he whined.

Miss Summers pushed him out of the room, and as she closed the door she told Aberforth softly, "Because Aberforth, you're not ready yet."

She tapped the doorknob with her wand, and it glowed slightly. I could hear Aberforth on the other side, first rattling the doorknob, then banging on the wood, and after realizing he wouldn't be able to enter, crying. Miss Summers shook her head, dumped a little floo powder in my hands, and motioned towards the fireplace impatiently.

I arrived in the Leaky Cauldron a tiny bit more gracefully than the last time, in that I didn't slide out ten feet and, though covered in soot, was at least not on my rump. There weren't nearly as many wizards and witches this time, so only a few noticed me arrive. I dragged the trunk (which now sported wheels) over to the side of the fireplace and grabbed a spare bit of robe to wipe off the ash. Miss Summers appeared a moment later, looked me over, and muttered "Scourgify!"

I blinked. All the ash was gone from my trunk and robes, as was a small egg stain that had been on my shirt a few weeks ago, and all the dirt that had accumulated under my nails over the past several days. My black, "dragon-hide" shoes even looked like they'd been newly shined. I did, however, feel like I'd been scrubbed heavily. I could feel my arms start to burn red.

"You don't have a second chance for a first impression," Miss Summers said smartly, exiting the Leaky Cauldron, wand pocketed, and my hand grasped firmly in hers, ignoring my slight discomfort.

There were hundreds of people walking along the streets. Acting as if they didn't exist, Miss Summers plowed through, determinedly shoving people aside as we made our way to King's Cross. I'd never seen her quite so focused--

"One day your father will realize he's absolutely nothing, baby Albus. He's nothing, and he'll never be anything again. He's worthless. Absolutely nothing." --

The stench of horse manure followed us the entire walk to the station. I was jostled back and forth, and several times I saw tiny kids trying to feel into Miss Summers pockets for some money. All of the roads were paved with cobblestones, and I could hear the wheels of carriages crunch over stray gravel underneath the din. The sky was a large, smoky grey, with billowing clouds coming from buildings off in the distance. The sun hid behind the grey. I stared at it easily without my eyes hurting.

"Stop dawdling, Albus!" Miss Summers said impatiently, when Kings Cross Station appeared in our line of sight. It loomed in the distance, gleaming and looking practically new. The bricks were only starting to grey from the smoke in the air, and the molding was still smooth. We walked inside. Dozens of tracks stretching off into nothingness, so far away they were swallowed by the grey, cloudy sky. There weren't nearly as many people here as in the street, and most of them were dressed nicely. I wondered blankly how the women managed to balance with such large hats lying precariously on the top of their heads, as every single woman I saw looked like she was holding an elephant made of various colors on her head.

Miss Summers halted abruptly between platforms nine and ten. She looked around and then matter-of-factly walked through the wall, dragging me along with her. I shut my eyes tightly, ready to run into it, feel squished, or something equally unpleasant.

Eventually we stopped, and Miss Summers tapped me on the head impatiently with her wand. I opened my eyes and saw a gigantic, bright red steam train, happily emitting white smoke. To the right of it was a sign that said Platform 9 3/4. I looked behind me and stared at the wall we had just walked through. From this side, it was invisible. I could see people moving back and forth beyond it, not even noticing that the wall hid a secret world.

Miss Summers's wand rapped me on the head again. "Stop gawking, Albus!" She pulled me to a bench and sat us both down. I looked forward, trying not to stare at the train, while being quite puzzled that it was so amazingly red. The steam issuing from it also smelled more like sugar, rather than actual smoke. It had 5709 written on the front in proud gold letters. A few students laughed in a group together, and some others were boarding the train, saying goodbye to their parents. A clock above me read 10:45.

"Pay attention, boy!" Miss Summers snapped, and I immediately apologized, turning towards her and looking at my hands.

"Now, this is important, so I want you to remember everything I say. If someone asks you who your family is, you're a Prewitt. When they ask who your father is, tell them he went to Durmstrang--"

"Durmstrang?" I asked.

"Another wizarding school, now--"

"But Father wasn't a wizard," I interrupted, speaking quietly.

"I know," she murmured, but continued. "Your family is usually in Ravenclaw. If they ask why you don't know much about wizarding, tell them your father enjoyed seclusion. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "But why do I need to lie?"

Miss Summers' mouth formed a straight line. Her voice was grim, "Because I said so. Now get on that train."

My throat was curiously constricted as I walked towards the Hogwarts Express, which had begun to whistle shrilly. All around me, people were getting on. I gave Miss Summers a short wave, breathed in deeply, and stepped into the red.

Notes: Comments are appreciated. Heavily constructive comments are especially appreciated, and be certain that I will take them into consideration, if not change the story for posting on FictionAlley, Mugglenet, PhoenixSong, Checkmated... etc. I realize the story hasn't yet been Britpicked--it's getting there, and will be eventually. Once it is, I'll be sure to re-upload. Many thanks to lilasiancutie for posting a comment ont he Prologue.