Chapter 3: Rat's Tales
A boy of about eleven with pale blonde hair, small watery eyes, a rat-like nose, and pasty complexion sat in a chair by an open kitchen window. He kept staring out the window, sighing on multiple occasions.
"Why isn't it here yet?" he asked in his surprisingly squeaky voice.
"Relax, Peter," a woman who was obviously his mother said as she entered the kitchen. "It'll come when it comes."
"What if Uncle's right and I am a squib?" he said, a worried tone in his voice.
"If your uncle was right," his mother chuckled, "how could you have levitated that salt into his eyes?"
"That was an accident! But, I guess I see what you mean. Maybe the owl's just lost."
"That's the spirit. Now, be a good boy and go wash up; breakfast in ten minutes. We're having cheese omlettes. Okay?"
"O—," he began, but was cut off by the entrance of a large, brown barn owl through the open window. The owl looked wind-blown and dizzy, but managed to stick out its leg so Peter could remove the letter.
"Oh, it's here!" his mother exclaimed.
Peter grabbed the letter off the owl's leg and threw the owl a treat, which it ate happily, seeming to recover from its flight while on the ground.
He read the letter quickly; then a broad grin crossed his face as he said, "Mom, you're going to have to take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow. We've got school shopping to do."
"No problem, Peter," his mother replied.
