Don't own J.K Rowling's stuff, but I own the crunk.
Anwar Jackson was playing in his back yard, which was a mess of old tires and beer can, with long scraggly blades of brown grass. He was throwing up beer cans and swinging a stick at them like he was playing baseball. The sun was bearing down on him hard, causing sweat to soak his white tank top and gather in his Afro he was trying to grow.
"Yo Anwar! Get yo ass inside this house!" bellowed Mannie, his heavy foster mother. Anwar turned as the beer can fell to the ground, looking at the shack. Mannie was inside the kitchen fixing dinner, and she probably needed to yell at him for not cleaning the big pot. Anwar dropped the stick into the dead grass walked to the screen door, entering the shack.
These people weren't Anwar's family. His mother had been killed two years ago, and that was the only relative he had. He had been in and out of foster homes since he was 8. The Browns weren't a bad family, but they really didn't pay that much attention to him unless he didn't clean up something. Anwar wiped a hand across his forehead, gathering sticky sweat.
Damien, Mannie's son, came out of a bedroom and began walking with a slow strut towards Anwar. He was wearing a black t-shirt with many chains, and carrying a large boom box blasting Run DMC. Damien looked down at Anwar with blood shot eyes.
"What up, Damien?" Anwar said, being hard. Damien just gave him a nod and walked out the door Anwar just came in from. Anwar wasn't old enough to hang out with Damien. Damien was 16, Anwar 11.
"Anwar!" His foster mother yelled again. Anwar ran in the kitchen, immediately noticing the smell of fried chicken and green bean casserole. He saw Mannie looking irritated, a pair of prongs in her hand. She had her thick black hair up in a bun and was wearing a large floral dress. Beside her was a tall black man Anwar had never seen before.
Anwar knew he wasn't from the ghetto. It wasn't just because of the nice clothes, because he saw Damien wearing nice things all the time he bought with drug money. It was the vibe of the man. He didn't give off the air of someone who had grown up poor… but still; he didn't look like someone anyone would want to mess with.
"Anwar, this is Mr. Murphy. He wants you to go to some school o' his," she said, looking down at Anwar suspiciously.
"Hello Anwar. May I speak to you?" Mr. Murphy said in a deep voice. Anwar nodded, giving a last glance at his foster mother, and followed Mr. Murphy through the front door. Outside was hot and muggy, but it wasn't much better inside the house, so Anwar didn't complain. He looked down at the man's fingers, which were adorned with huge rings encrusted with diamonds and other jewels.
"So Anwar, you like it here?" Mr. Murphy said, leaning against the porch post. Anwar sat down on the steps, looking out across the littered street.
"It's okay. It's hard, but I can handle it." Anwar paused. "What school was Mannie talkin' bout?"
"It's called Apprime."
"Never heard of it."
"Well, it's not in Georgia." Mr. Murphy straightened up. "Let's go for a walk."
Anwar was too intimidated to protest, so he sat up and followed Mr. Murphy off the porch. They walked for almost a minute before he spoke again.
"Are the Brown's your family?" He asked.
"Nah man, my momma died when I was eight. The Browns are my foster family."
Mr. Murphy seemed to be thinking. "How long have you been with them?"
"'Bout two months."
"They treating you okay?"
"Yeah, I guess. What's this school you want me to go to? What's it fo? I suck at school."
"You don't do math at Apprime. You do magic."
Anwar stopped in his tracks, and looked up at Mr. Murphy. He began to laugh.
"Dang, give me some of what you been smokin'!" Anwar chuckled, slapping his knees. Mr. Murphy gave a small side smile.
"I figured you would react that way," he began. "But I'm serious. At Apprime, you can hone your skills-"
"What are you talkin' bout? Are you try'na say I'm a warlock or something?" Anwar asked. This man was crazy.
"I would be pleased if you would quit interrupting me." Mr. Murphy said sternly. Anwar became silent. There was no one on the street to save him if this man wanted to hurt him…
"Apprime is a school for wizards, not warlocks. Don't degrade yourself by using that term."
"How can I be a wizard?" Anwar said, almost laughing again. He though he was being Punk'd, but he remembered he wasn't a celebrity.
"Your father was a wizard." Mr. Murphy's voice became explanatory again. "Your mother was a Muggle. She probably didn't know your father was a wizard."
"What's a Muggle?" He asked. Could he be believing this?
"It's a non-magical person. But you inherited your father's magic."
"I don't even know who my father is! He died before I was born!"
Mr. Murphy began walking again, and Anwar followed.
"His name was Cameron," he explained. "I worked with him."
"Doin' what? Creatin' love potions?" Anwar said exasperatedly.
"That's a Muggle's idea of what a witch or wizard does. Although we are capable of creating Love Potions, we leave that to silly adolescents like your female peers. Your father was an Auror when I was. An Auror is someone who fights Dark Wizards."
"So there are good and evil of you?"
"Of us? Yes. Cameron met your mother and settled down, but was killed before you were born."
Anwar didn't know how he felt about this. This Mr. Murphy seemed to have a lot of specific facts about this whole Wizard idea, but it was too ridiculous.
"Killed by who?" He asked hesitantly.
"The leader of the ones we were fighting. Cameron was very powerful, and Voldemort wanted him for his side."
"Who's Voldemort?"
"He was an extremely powerful dark wizard. Caused terror for many years… but he's been destroyed."
"Destroyed? By who? Why couldn't my daddy destroy him if he was supposed to be powerful too?"
"About three years ago in Britain, Voldemort came after a family. He had killed the two parents of a baby, but when he turned his curse on the boy, it reversed and destroyed him instead. Harry Potter was the boy's name… He's the only one to survive the Killing Curse. No one knows how he did it."
"Where is he?" Anwar asked.
"He's four years old and living with some Muggle relatives, last time I heard. We shouldn't discuss this anymore." Mr. Murphy's voice now became firm. "Apprime is on an island off the coast of Canada. If you choose to attend, you will live there, coming back home for Christmas and summer. You will learn how to live in the Wizarding World, and how to hone your magical skills. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts there."
They kept walking for fifteen minutes, not saying anything. Anwar was very confused, but excited.
"You know," Mr. Murphy said, breaking the silence and startling Anwar, "I'm surprised you haven't asked me to prove anything."
"Prove what?" Anwar asked, then immediately regretted it. "No, I was testing you! So, ya gonna show me something'?"
Mr. Murphy smiled, then stopped again. Anwar stopped and looked at him intently. Mr. Murphy took a thin piece of wood as long as a ruler out of his pocket.
"A wand!" Anwar exclaimed. Mr. Murphy laughed.
"Yeah, Birch with dragon heartstring," he described. He pointed the wand at rock lying on the sidewalk.
"Accio, rock!" he said, and the rock flew from the ground into his open palm.
Anwar's jaw fell open. "I can't believe it," he sighed, sounding like a little kid at a magic show.
"That's a pretty simple incantation," Mr. Murphy explained. "If you go to Apprime, you'll learn how to do many more things."
"And there's no math?"
Mr. Murphy nodded.
"When do I start?"