The Unlikely Wizard

by expectopatronum87

A young, muggle born swimmer, Anthony Brittany, is visited by Professor McGonagall and told that he is a wizard. Though it is a surprise to his family, his mother admits that she never knew her father. Convinced that his grandfather was a wizard, Anthony befriends Harry's son, James, and the two of them enjoy the wonders of what Hogwarts has to offer.

The Unlikely Wizard

By Mahfrin S.

The cheering from the crowd gathered at the pool was starting to sound more and more distant as I was about to jump in. This race meant everything to me. It was the final race of the season and would determine whether or not I would be able to join a higher league in the summer. I had trained hard and I was ready and I could feel the excitement and determination boiling up inside me as I waited for the beep to jump in.

I heard the beep. I dived in as though my life depended on it and began to swim. Before I knew it, I had touched the opposite wall and done my flip turn to finish the lap. This had to be my best time yet. I could hardly even remember swimming at all, it was as though the race was over before it had even started. I emerged out of the pool and looked at the time board, squinting to make sure I was seeing it correctly. According to the board, I had finished the race in 12 seconds.

It couldn't be...

12 seconds? I usually take close to 35. I turned and looked in the pool and every other swimmer had hardly reached the end of their first lap. It didn't seem possible that I had finished so quickly, but there I was, touching the finish line, my time being displayed clear as day.

The crowd was screaming, cheering like I had never heard them before. Over their roar, I could hear my mum. "Yes! Yes!" She was screaming. "That's my son! Wooooo!"

I carried myself out of the pool and my coach was running towards me. "How did you do that?" she shrieked. "How did you do it? You've just set a world record!"

"I don't know!" I said, unable to believe it myself. "I was just so determined. I've never swum that fast in my life!" I pushed through the crowd, high fiving everyone in sight. Everyone was saying how proud they were of me and what a gem they had found, right there on their own community swim team.

The car ride home was nothing but constant praise from my mum. "If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I wouldn't even believe it!" She said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You dived in, I blinked, and you were already at the other end of the pool!"

"I'm telling you, mum. My future lies in swimming. I'm going to go to the olympics one day and even beat all those American swimmers! Move over, Michael Phelps!"

"You will, you will!" Mum yelled. "I'm so proud of you! I wish dad would have come to this meet to see you. He's not going to believe it when I tell him!"

We were pulling into the driveway by now. As I got out of the car, Mum was still going on about how she couldn't believe it, how if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes she wouldn't believe it all, and how I dived in and emerged at the other side of the pool within seconds.

"Go take a shower and get changed. Dad will be home shortly and we will have dinner and share the news!"

"Okay," I said. I head off for my room, replaying the exciting events from the afternoon in my head. Honestly, I couldn't believe it either. I had no memory of swimming my entire first lap. It was exactly how Mum described; I dove in and had hardly taken a few strokes before touching the wall at the end of the lap. A part of me almost felt like I'd done something wrong, that I'd cheated. But it couldn't be. Everyone saw me, my time was recorded, fair and square.

I quickly showered and got dressed, the smell of delicious fish and potatoes making its way into my room. I could hear my mom talking excitedly to my dad, who was now home. I had given up on the idea of her waiting to have me share my own news. She was far too talkative to wait.

It seemed as though I still had some time before Mum would call me for dinner. I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture of the medal I had earned that day and uploaded it to Instagram, wondering how many "likes" I was going to get and how long it would be before my world record in the 50 meter freestyle, achieved at the mere age of 11, would take to go viral. Mum and Dad's voices had suddenly drowned out. I could no longer hear them talking. I was putting my phone down when I heard my mum's voice call, "Anthony! Dinner!" But her voice was not shrieking and excited like it was over the last few hours. She sounded much more serious than she had all afternoon. I grabbed my medal, put it around my neck, and headed to the dining room.

I expected to see smiles on mum and dad, my dad holding out his hand for a high five. But instead, they were both sitting at the table, looking concerned.

"Have a seat, Anthony," Dad said softly.

I sat down, confused at the sudden change in mood.

"Mum told me about your swim meet. It's amazing, and I am proud of you. But unfortunately, no swimming race undos your behavior at school today."

"Um… what?" I was genuinely confused. I was no teacher's pet, but I did well in school. It wasn't unusual for my parents to get an angry email or phone call from my teacher, informing them that I was up to some mischief. But my parents were always quite relaxed about it, hardly ever got angry.

"We received an email from Ms. Whitter informing us of what you did to the class's book reports," my dad continued.

"Their book reports?" I repeated.

"Yes," my dad continued. "Care to explain yourself."

"Um… I didn't turn one in."

"Yes, she informed us of that. Said you had the biggest swim meet of your life after school and couldn't be concerned with handing it in."

"Yeah," I said. "I did."

"And then?" my dad asked, as though he wanted to hear more from me.

"And then what?" I asked.

"Well according to her, you took the stack of reports your classmates had turned in and switched them with a bunch of drawings on how swimming was more important."

"What?!" I couldn't help but laugh. That was hilarious. I began picturing what sorts of drawings I was being accused of drawing, comical scenes floating through my mind.

"Look, this may be a prank to you, but Ms. Whitter is upset. She said that taking something off her desk is an invasion of privacy and stealing. Your classmates worked hard on their reports and deserve to have them graded and be given credit for. Just because you chose not to hand one in does not entitle you to tamper with everyone else's." Dad was looking firm, and angrier than I had seen him in a while.

"But….. I didn't do that," I answered honestly. "I mean, I think it's hilarious, but that wasn't me."

"Who was it then?"

"I don't know." I was confused. Funny thing was, it had crossed my mind that it would be hilarious to pull some sort of prank on Mrs. Whitter that showed her how much I cared about swimming. It felt like someone had read my mind and saw that my idea was put to reality. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

"Anthony." My mum was talking so softly she was almost whispering. "Who else in your class would do something like that? Who else in your class cares enough about swimming to have all those drawings?" She held up her phone. Attacked to the email were several pictures Ms. Whitter had taken of the drawings in question.

"Mum I swear," I said. "I didn't do it." My parents looked torn. I could tell they wanted to believe me, but the evidence wasn't lining up. "Look," I added, determined to explain myself. "Ms. Whitter called me to her desk after school to ask why I didn't hand it in, and I joked at how swimming is more important than her dumb report."

"You said that? You actually said 'dumb report' to your teacher?"

"Yes," I said smiling. My parents couldn't actually be shocked that I said that. "She said I would do well to take my school work more seriously. She went on for a bit, wasting time I could be spending going home and heading to the pool. The minute she stopped talking I left. When did I have a chance to go to her desk and take the reports?"

"Well," Dad was sounding thoughtful. "It doesn't seem like you to go back to school once you've been dismissed the day of a swim meet."

"And besides," I added. "You know I can't draw. Do you really think I drew all of those?" I pointed at Mum's phone.

"We'll go ahead and email Ms. Whitter and tell her that there seems to be a misunderstanding," Mum said. "If she didn't see you, she shouldn't be accusing you."

"But you'd do well to stay out of trouble for a change," Dad added.

Dinner was a more silent event than usual. I was frustrated. I wanted to talk about my race, but I was wrongly accused of something I did not do, completely ruining my parents' mood.

After dinner, I went back to my room and pulled out my backpack to get some homework done so I would have less to worry about over the weekend. Swim meets meant I couldn't do homework in the afternoon, and with Ms. Whitter already on my case, I felt it best to not go another day without anything to turn in.

But it seemed so pointless. I had broken the record for fastest swimmer at the age of 11. I wasn't going to need homework or school. I was going to need swimming. I picked up my phone and opened Instagram. 24 likes, 53 comments. Not bad, considering it had hardly been a couple of hours since I had posted.

I opened the comments. "Congratulations, Anthony, so proud of you!" I smiled. "That was incredible, so glad I was there to witness it!" This was starting to feel really good! I scrolled down to continue reading. I stopped, not believing what I was reading. "Clearly he cheated. It's impossible to swim that fast." "He trains with my son. At the last meet he took 40 seconds, and at this one 12? Clearly there is some foul play going on." This woman needed to get her facts straight. My time for my last meet was 32 seconds, not 40. I went on to the next comment. "You expect me to believe that some kid swam 50 meters in 12 seconds? Explain to me how that's even possible! Clearly he cheated." But I didn't cheat, just like I didn't switch my classes book reports with drawings about swimming.

Was no one going to believe me?

My thoughts began to wander. How was I supposed to prove that such crazy things really did happen to me? Truthfully, this wasn't the first time something weird happened around me, something that I couldn't quite explain. Usually, I just didn't make a big deal of them, so no one else would either. But it was never this big. What if they chose to disregard my swim time and have me rerace? Would I be able to go so fast again, and if not, surely everyone would think I cheated the first time. And what if Ms. Whitter did not agree when Mum emailed her, letting her know that I didn't do what she was accusing me of? What if she insisted that it couldn't be anyone else? How much trouble would I be in then?

I threw my phone down and started putting on my pajamas. At least tomorrow was Saturday. No school, no swim meets. Just a glorious weekend to let the weird events from the day blow over.

I woke up Saturday morning feeling far more down than usual. The excitement from my swim meet was still with me, but tainted by the negative posts on Instagram and the events that took place in school. I brushed my teeth, got dressed, and went downstairs. Mum and Dad were sitting on the sofa, as though waiting for me. Mum was holding a brown-ish paper, staring at it blankly, as though she had read it many times and thought staring at it would make it change what it said.

"Good morning, Anthony," Dad said trying to sound cheerful. "Some tea?"

"Sure. Um… what's going on?"

Dad got up to head to the kitchen to fetch my tea, as though glad for an excuse to do something. Mum handed me the letter. "Here," she said. "Read this."

The letter was quite wet, as it was raining outside, and it looked as though it had been dropped in a puddle. It was written on thick paper and reminded me of those official documents you see in movies from the olden days. But what stuck me the most was that it was handwritten in what seemed to be green ink. Did this person not own a computer?

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Brittany,

I believe your son Anthony will be a good fit for my school. I would like to discuss the details in person so I can tell you more about us and and answer any questions you may have. Please expect me tomorrow afternoon at 1PM. I look forward to meeting you.

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

"What school is this?" I asked.

"Don't know," Mum replied. "It seems the name was written on the seal on this envelope, but it's all smeared from the rain."

"How did rain get in the mailbox," I asked.

"It wasn't in the mailbox. Mail isn't even here yet. It was just sitting by the porch. The stamp has come off too. Who knows how long it was sitting there before we found it."

"Why does it matter," I asked. "I like my school and my friends. I even like Ms. Whitter. I don't need to change. Just ignore it?"

Mum took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, it may be more complicated than that."

"What do you mean?"

Mum sighed again. She looked distressed. "We think Ms. Whitter may have reported what happened yesterday to her authorities. She described your behavior as invasion of privacy and theft."

"But I told you!" I said angrily. "I didn't do it!"

"We believe you, but it would be difficult to prove. We fear that Ms. Whitter may have reported that she didn't feel it was safe to keep you in class. This may be a special school for discipline."

"Oh come on!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sure, I was no goody-goody, but a special school for discipline? I never hurt anyone or caused any harm, just little pranks that made me laugh.

Dad had returned with my tea. "Look Anthony," he said softly. "We will back you up.

We don't want this to be happening either."

But as he said that, a new thought was coming to mind. A wonderful one. "Or!" I said

excitedly. "Maybe this is an athletics school! Maybe they found out about my race yesterday and want me to go train with them! Maybe it's in the United States, where all the world's best

swimmers come from!"

Dad smiled. "I doubt a letter would make it from the United States to England in less than 12 hours."

Mum was looking thoughtful. "You know, it's not impossible that it is a special school for athletics. Anthony is very talented in the pool, he has been doing well for quite some time."

"Of course it is!" I said excitedly. "Try to read the name of the school! I want to Google it!" Mum handed me the letter, but making out any of the words was hopeless. There seemed to be some sort of logo that was drawn in red, green, yellow, and blue. I made out what looked like an eagle. I pulled out my phone and opened Google. "What athletic's school has a logo that is red, blue, green, and yellow, and an eagle?" I typed. But my search results were useless.

"You know," dad said thoughtfully. "We may be overreacting. This may be nothing more than some fancy, expensive school that wants more students so they can make more money. I'm going to call and say we are not interested."

"Wait, dad, no!" I said. "What if it really is an athletics school? I don't want to miss an opportunity." Now that the idea was in my head, I was going to be highly disappointed if it was anything less.

"Anthony, I highly doubt this is anything of significance. If it was…"

But dad was interrupted by Mum. "There's no contact information given. No number, no email, no address, not even a website. It doesn't even look like there was a return address."

"So someone is just going to come to our house tomorrow to talk about a school that we didn't inquire about? This is some shady business. I don't like it." Dad was looking very stern.

"The whole thing may well be a hoax," Mum said. "Anthony, your friends love to prank"

"None of my friends write on parchment with handwriting like that," I said defiantly. "They use computers." Mum and Dad still looked doubtful. I was getting desperate. If this was a swim school or athletics school, nothing Mum and Dad had to say was going to stop me. "Why don't we just listen to what she has to say?"

"I can't say I'm not a bit curious myself," Mum added, to my relief.

"I don't like the idea of a stranger imposing on us, on a Sunday at that, with no option to decline," Dad looked skeptical.

"Then let's meet her at the tea house down the street," Mum said.

"Okay," said Dad. "But how are we going to communicate that to her?"

A silence fell. After what seemed like several minutes, Mum broke the silence. "Look, we don't even know if she is going to show up. Let's just see what happens." Dad shrugged and nodded in agreement. I did too, mostly because there really didn't seem to be any other option.

I spent the rest of Saturday indoors, due to the rain. My best friend, Will, came over to play some Wii. He told me he had heard about my swim meet and was happy for me. I was tempted to tell him that a talent scout from a prestigious athletics school was coming to my house tomorrow to talk to my parents about recruiting me, but I stopped myself, mostly because saying it out loud would make it that much more devastating if it wasn't true.

As the day went on, my imagination about the school got wilder and wilder. It had five Olympic size pools, both indoors and outdoors. Michael Phelps was my coach, and he named me his successor, happy that if anyone were to be better than him, he was glad it was me. My new school was located in the United States, blocks away from the beach and a short drive from the mountains. I fell asleep with a clear picture of where I was going and how amazing it was all going to be.

I woke the next morning with a funny feeling in my stomach. I had let my imagination get the better of me, and was almost definitely going to be disappointed at whatever the real news was. What if Dad was right, that it was all just a hoax and no one was going to show up? Or that he was right that they simply wanted more students so they would get more money? And then, a horrible feeling swept over me. What if it was what Mum and Dad initially thought, and Ms. Whitter had reported me and the school board thought I was a thief and couldn't go to regular school anymore. No, it couldn't be, I hadn't done anything wrong. But how was I to prove it?

I went downstairs to find my parents sitting at the table having breakfast. They were unusually quiet, as though forcing themselves to go on with their routine. Mum placed a plate of hash browns and bacon in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. I quietly started eating, more to have something to do and keep myself busy, even though I wasn't feeling very hungry.

After several long minutes, Dad looked up from his paper. "Listen," he said. "I really think we are worrying for nothing. I doubt this Minerva woman is even going to show."

"You're right," Mum said. "But if she does, we will be ready."

"Ready with what?" I asked.

Dad sighed. "Whatever it is, Anthony, know that we will always support what's best for you. We will stand up for you against Ms. Whitter's report. If it's swimming, we will consider if it's good for you." I beamed. Dad smiled back and continued, "And if it's some money hungry school, we will be firm and get them out the door. And of course, we will be on our guard for any suspicious behavior."

"Er, right," I said. I got up to head back to my room, happy to leave the uneasy scene behind. When I got to my room, I picked up my phone and opened instagram, but closed it quickly, deciding against reading what strangers may have to say about how I cheated at a race they weren't even there at. I put my phone down and started to think back to other strange moments in my life. There was a time around 3 years ago where Will and I were at the park, playing catch with a new ball Will had gotten on his birthday. Some older kids had come along and caught the ball and started taunting us with it, playing on their own and determined to not let us touch it. Will was so upset he started crying. I was so angry, I went up to the bullies and said, "Hey, that belongs to Will! You give it back to him!" To which he replied, "Or what?" All of a sudden, he fell back, as though someone had pushed him hard, landing almost four feet behind where he was standing. "What the hell!" he had yelled. "You pushed me! That kid pushed me!" I could tell he wanted to fight back, but he looked scared. I had pushed him far harder than I knew I could. And what was most strange was I didn't even remember touching him. Will was gloating and so happy at how I stood up for him. I tried telling him that I hadn't even touched the guy, but he didn't believe me, so I played along. "Oh yeah, I totally pushed him!" I said to Will. "You mess with my friends, you'll have me to answer to!"

I spent the morning completing my homework. If I wasn't going to be recruited by a fancy athletics school, it was best I kept Ms. Whitter happy. And besides, it was nice to have something to do, as I wasn't in the mood to swim and didn't really feel like talking to anyone.

At noon, my mum called me down for lunch. I went downstairs to a platter of sandwiches she had prepared and a pot of hot soup. She smiled at me when she saw me and handed me a plate and a bowl. "Help yourself," she said simply.

Lunch was uneventful and quiet. After we were done, we all continued sitting at the table, as though waiting for something to happen.

"What time was she supposed to be here?" I asked, fully aware that the answer was 1:00.

"1:00," Dad answered predictably. "But if it really is something important, I expect she will arrive early. We best be ready."

I glanced up at the clock on the microwave. 12:48. Any minute now was my moment of truth. In my heart, I didn't know what I wanted. I was pining for her to show up and tell me I was going to a special school for athletes, where I'd be able to prioritize my swimming and not have to worry about useless school work. But her not showing up would mean I wasn't in trouble with Ms. Whitter and Mum and Dad wouldn't have to fight for me to continue attending my school.

"I don't think she's going to show up," Mum said a few moments later. "Not if she isn't here by now." I looked up at the clock. 12:58.

"Maybe she was stuck in traffic," Dad said logically.

"Traffic? On a Sunday?"

I picked up my phone and opened Google Maps. "No traffic around here," I said.

"I'm sure if she were to be late, she'd text or call," Dad replied. "Presuming she has found out our number," he added with hesitation.

Though a part of me was relieved that nothing bad was happening, my disappointment far outweighed my relief. Being invited to a school that specialized in athletics would prove to all the haters on the internet that I didn't cheat, that I truly was worthy. All of a sudden, the day seemed like it was going to drag on and on. How many more hateful comments would I have to read? And how were people going to react at school tomorrow?

I looked up at the clock. 12:59. I started to get up as the clock flickered to say 1:00, and with a jump, fell back in my seat. Not a second after the clock changed to 1:00, there was a knock on our door.

Mum and Dad had jumped as well. We all looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. Dad spoke, "Go to the living room. I will talk to her in the doorway."

Mum and I obeyed quickly. The living room wasn't far from the front door, we would be able to hear and see everything.

Dad opened the door. The woman standing at the other side was not what I was expecting. She was old, wearing a long unusual dress, and a pointed hat. All of a sudden, I wished more than anything that she hadn't shown up. Clearly, this woman wasn't an athlete. Whatever she had to offer was at best unimportant, at worst, going to pull me out of my regular school.

Her voice was clear when she spoke. "Good day to you, sir. Minerva McGonagall. I believe you were expecting me?" She held out her hand and dad shook it.

"Um, yes," he said. "But I must say, we are a bit uncomfortable having this meeting in our home. May we reschedule and meet in a neutral location, possibly the tea house or coffee shop across the street?"

"Oh, don't be startled," she replied. "I have been doing these calls for years. I prefer to stick to the old fashioned way. And I have plenty more to make, so unfortunately I will be unable to reschedule."

"Oh, I see," Dad said, sounding polite yet slightly defensive. "Um, may I ask why we couldn't just conduct this matter over the phone? Or possibly Skype?"

"Oh we don't use phones at Hogwarts!" the woman named Minerva replied.

"No phones?" I yelled from the living room, unable to help myself. "Then I'm not going!"

"Oh, this must be Anthony," Minerva exclaimed happily. "Pleasure to meet you." Dad stepped aside, letting her in the house. It seemed useless to try to hold her at the door.

"Um, you too," I said politely. I opened my mouth to say more, but had no idea what to say.

"May I ask where you are from and why you are here?" Mum chimed in.

"Oh yes," replied Minerva. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am here to talk to you about our historic school and Anthony's education."

"Wait," said Dad laughing. "Witchcraft and Wizardry." He paused and laughed again. Mum and I laughed too. "Look ma'am, we appreciate you stopping by, but we don't believe in all that. Anthony is perfectly happy at his current school. He is a competitive swimmer who focuses his attention on his races and he is also scoring good marks in his classes." It felt good to have Dad stand up for me this way. He started getting up, as though the discussion was over, but Minerva wasn't finished.

"Don't believe in that stuff," she repeated. "Anthony, tell me, dear. Has anything funny or unexplainable ever happened to you, usually at times you are feeling strong emotions? Have you ever made something happen without meaning to, or even knowing how?"

This was not what I was expecting to be asked, and I didn't have an answer prepared. This old woman in a strange dress was that last person I wanted judging me or telling me I cheated at my race. "No," I replied defiantly. "Not that I recall."

"Really?" replied Minerva, as though it couldn't be plainer that she didn't believe me.

All of a sudden, Mum spoke. "He got in trouble with his teacher on Friday. She said he switched the other childrens' homework with funny drawings of swimmers simply because he didn't complete his own. But Anthony swears he knows nothing about it." I sat there frozen, annoyed as ever that Mum had to share this news.

"Oh yes," said Minvera. "I've heard several similar stories before from other students. Anything else?"

"Last Friday he set a new world record as the fastest swimmer. He jumped in the pool and literally emerged on the other side. I was there, I saw it!" Mum's tendency to chat and gossip was not working in my favor today. I didn't need this strange woman to know how weird I was.

"It seems so strange though," Dad added. "He is only 11, and he suddenly swam faster than the world's best swimmers."

"I didn't cheat, I swear!" I yelled. I was starting to get very annoyed.

"Of course you didn't," Minerva replied calmly. "There is a reason you are able to make these things happen, Anthony. You're a wizard."

There was a silence that followed. In a weird sort of way, it made sense. But it couldn't be.

"In all due respect, ma'am," Dad said. "We don't believe in wizards. Or in magic."

Minerva smiled. She reached into her cloak and pulled out what looked like an engraved stick. Could it be what I thought it was? She pointed it towards the kitchen, gave it a flick and said, "Accio!"

I couldn't believe what came next. The cabinet door in the kitchen opened and four glasses hovered out, floated in midair to the living room and landed lightly on the coffee table. Mum gave out a gasp, looking rather impressed. Dad looked intrigued. Minerva pointed her wand at the glasses and exclaimed, "Aguamenti!" All of a sudden, the glasses magically filled themselves with water.

Now Mum and Dad were looking both impressed and scared. Finally, Dad spoke. "So you're saying Anthony should attend your school and learn how to do this stuff?" Minerva nodded. "But why?" Dad said. "He needs an education! He needs to go to college so he can one day get a good job. Sure, it must be fun to be able to do magic, but it's not fruitful."

"We have a thriving community of witches and wizards here in Great Britain, and we live under our own system and own laws. We have a British Ministry of Magic. Students learn to transfigure objects, brew potions, defend themselves against Dark Arts, and more. Our students attend school for seven years after which they find jobs. Some go on to work at the Ministry, others are healers, what you muggles call doctors, aurors, similar to your muggle police officers, as well as many, many other professions." I looked at Mum and Dad. It was apparent they didn't understand what she had just said any more than I did.

"I'm sorry, what's a muggle?" Mum asked.

"Non magic folks," Minerva replied politely.

Everything she was saying was swirling through my head. Was I really able to do magic and being invited to go to a school to learn how? This may be even better news than my fantasy swimming school. I hadn't seen enough magic for the day.

"So, what if I don't want water," I said semi-jokingly, pointing to the glasses on the table. "What if I want wine?"

"Oh, I don't think it a good idea for you to be drinking wine, Anthony," Minerva said sternly. "Perhaps juice?" She pointed her wand at the kitchen again. "Accio!" she proclaimed. The refrigerator door opened and a carton of orange juice hovered out. Minerva used her wand to direct it back to the living room and pour it into one of the glasses, from which the water had mysteriously disappeared.

"Wow…." I said softly.

Mum and Dad were looking nervous, as though not sure what to make of what they were seeing. Minerva seemed to detect their concern.

"I understand that this news may seem shocking and unusual to you. But we strongly discourage any child who has magic to forgo their magical training. If they do not learn to control it, magical episodes start to become more frequent and more drastic, even unsafe. Anthony will find himself in more and more situations he can't explain, and soon they may become out of control."

"How much does this school cost?" Dad asked. It was clear that this question had been pressing him.

"The Ministry of Magic covers the education for all young witches and wizards. You will need to provide supplies and books. I will be sending out information on what you need and where to go to buy it." I was going to ask if I could just order it all online, but I had a feeling I knew what the answer would be.

"Do I get one of those?" I asked, pointing at her wand.

"A wand? Absolutely. A wand is essential for a wizard." She said it so matter-of-factly, it almost made me feel like I'd asked a stupid question.

"What else will I need?" I was starting to feel excited.

"A cauldron to brew potions, quills, ink, and parchment, your uniform, to name a few."

"Wait," I said, sure that what I'd just heard was a joke. "Quills and ink?" Can't I just use a computer like normal people?"

"In our world, quills and ink are normal," Minerva said.

"But I can bring my phone right?"

"Oh you can bring it, it won't work though. Muggle technology doesn't mix well with the magical enchantments placed around the castle."

All of a sudden, everyone spoke at once. "A castle!" shrieked Mum. "Then how am I supposed to talk to my friends and Mum and Dad?" I asked, unable to believe my ears. "Brewing potions," Dad muttered to himself.

Minerva turned to me. "You can write letters," she said. "And yes, Hogwarts is a castle," she added, turning to Mum.

But I wasn't intrigued anymore. "Doesn't matter," I said. "If I can't take my phone, I'm not going."

There was a moment of silence, but Dad broke it quickly. "How do you think we all communicated with our parents when we were away? You kids are too dependent on your technology. It would do you well to put down your phone. Always posting nonsense on Instagram."

Instagram. I'd be able to avoid all the haters, and do magic, which I'm sure they couldn't do. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Mum spoke, as though something had been troubling her for a while. "But, how is Anthony a wizard? How does this happen?"

"It's a gene that runs in families. At Hogwarts, we have students who come from wizarding families, others who have one parent a wizard and one a muggle, and others like Anthony, who we refer to as Muggle-borns. Someone in your family must have been a wizard somewhere along the way."

"I doubt that," said Dad. "Nothing we know of."

"To be fair," said Mum thoughtfully. "I never knew my dad. I was raised by my mum. She never told him that he had a daughter. According to her, he was …...strange." It had gotten very quiet all of a sudden. Everyone was looking at Mum, and as always was the case when the topic came up, she was loving the attention.

"Strange?" repeated Minerva. "How so?"

Mum took a deep breath. I knew she was going to go off on her story of the little she knew about her father. She loved telling the story to anyone who would listen, but secretly, I always thought she hoped that she could find out more news about him.

"My mum met him at a pub just South of London. According to her, he was frequently there. She spoke very highly of him, but of course, that may be just to make everyone feel better about it all. He was the life of the party! Mum goes on and on about how handsome, charming, and passionate he was. But she admits that she was blinded by his charisma and ignored the signs that he was just plain….. Weird." Mum paused for a second, as though for dramatic appeal. "He refused to give her his number, he always laughed at how he didn't have a phone, as though it was crazy that anyone would use one at all. He was fascinated by her car, impressed at how she knew how to drive. He said he had a house, but never invited her over. She said that talking to him, he always struck her as quite intelligent, but very oblivious to what was happening in the world."

I wished my Mum would hurry up with her story. Sharing it with a stranger who could do magic and may end up being my headmistress was starting to embarrass me. But she continued.

"When she found out she was pregnant with me, she wasn't sure how to tell him, or even if she wanted to tell him at all. She was supposed to be meeting him at the pub a couple of days later, but panicked and didn't go."

I sighed unnecessarily loudly, as though to hint to my mother that no one in the room cared for her personal story. But Minerva was listening intently.

"Later that day, she got a letter. It was long after the postman had delivered that day's mail, and it was just sitting on her front porch." She paused again, but this time, it seemed like she was wondering something. Letter on the front porch? Was it a coincidence that the letter Minerva sent us yesterday was also found the same way? "The letter was from him, expressing how sad he was that she didn't show up and expressing concern that she may not be okay and if there was anything she needed from him. My mum freaked out! She was sure she had never told him where she lived, yet he seemed to know. The letter had no address and no stamp, just her name. He had to have delivered it himself."

Minerva was smiling. It was as though she knew something that we didn't. She was eyeing both my mother and I intently, as though thinking hard.

"Over the next few days, Mum got letters from him every day and she was starting to feel violated and followed. He had to have been nearby, bringing her the letters, and she racked her brain over and over again at their conversations and swore she never told him her address. She was being stalked, was pregnant with her stalker's child, and was terrified.

"One day, after receiving two letters by her kitchen window the same day, she grabbed a pen and scribbled on one of the letters, "Leave me alone, you creepy stalker! I don't ever want to hear from you again!" But she had no idea where to send it to. She crumpled it up in frustration and threw it towards the trash, but it missed and landed right next to it, close to a window.

"She got up and left, and went to her bedroom for a couple hours. When she got back to the kitchen, the letter she had thrown on the ground was no longer there. She searched and searched, even looked in the trash, but it was nowhere to be found.

"My mum was so terrified, convinced that this man had been in her house. She quickly packed a bag and drove about an hour away to her parents', my grandparents' house. While she was there, she received her last letter. It said, "I'm sorry to hear that and hope I didn't do anything to offend you. You are wonderful and I will miss you, but I will respect your wishes." My father had to have followed her to her parent's house, and discreetly, at that, as mum was sure she didn't notice anyone. She was terrified and started to think she had to move out of the country. But over the next few days, to her surprise, she noticed that my father was respecting her wishes. He never sent her another letter, and she never saw or heard from him again. My grandparents convinced her that she was overreacting, that she must have told him her address and not remembered, that he was just trying to be romantic by writing to her so much, and that everything would be fine. She moved closer to my grandparents' home so they could help raise me. I was born a few months later. She never met or heard from my father again." Mum took a deep breath. Sometimes I feel like she was sadder deep down about not having a father than she ever wanted to admit.

Minerva was smiling. "Oh, my dear," she said, looking at my mum with compassion. "It's as plain as the nose on your face. Your father was a wizard."

My mum smiled. This was the first new speck of news she had ever heard about her father.

"How can you know?" she asked cautiously.

"Didn't have a phone number? Found the idea humorous? Fascinated by her car? Wizards don't ride cars, they fly on brooms."

"Brooms?!" Dad and I yelled together in disbelief.

"Yes," replied Minerva simply.

"In fact," Mum added slowly. "I think Mum said he once asked her if her car could fly."

Minerva smiled again. "Yes, wizards do like to fly. But let's talk about those letters. Did you realize the letter I sent you had no postage stamp, as you muggles like to call them? And that it wasn't delivered in the mail box?"

"Yes," Dad replied quickly. "But it was raining, we assumed the stamp fell off."

"Wizards do not use muggle postage. Our mail is carried by owls."

Minerva paused, seemingly enjoying our looks of disbelief. She continued, "Owls know where to find mail recipients and carry mail to them." She turned to my mum. "Your father wasn't stalking her. He didn't know where she lived. He was simply writing her letters and giving them to an owl to deliver. That's how the letter reached her even when she wasn't in her own home."

My mum was smiling. This long awaited news about her father was better than she could have hoped for. Dad chimed in. "But how did he see the letter she threw away?"

"Owls deliver return postage as well. It is likely that her father was desperate for a reply and told his owl to look out for one. The owl must have swooped it up and delivered it to him."

Mum was smiling broader than she had all day, almost as much as when I had won my race a couple days ago. "So my father was a wizard?" she said in disbelief. "And now, my son is too?"

"Oh yes," replied Minerva politely. "I am sure of it. In fact, you said he lived just South of London, so it is likely he went to Hogwarts and I know him. What was his name?"

Mum's smile vanished. "I don't know," she whispered. "My mum didn't want me to go looking for him, said no good would come of it." Mum's mood had changed drastically. I could tell she wanted nothing more than to know whether or not the woman sitting in front of her knew her father. "She also said that she didn't trust him with anything, and wasn't even sure if the name he told her was his real name."

"I see," replied Minerva politely. "An understandable choice, on her part."

After a few silent moments, Minerva rose from her seat. "Well, I must be going. I have two more families to visit today. Oh let me clean up before I go." With a wave of her wand, the glasses of water and orange juice floated back to the kitchen, cleaned themselves, and situated themselves back in the cabinet. She then pointed her wand in the sink, and all the dirty dishes were suddenly clean and making their way back into their cabinets as well. "I will be sending all the information for the start of term over the next few months. Via owl."

"Wow," I said again, purely in awe. "Um, Minerva?"

She looked down at me and proclaimed firmly, "you will be addressing me as Professor McGonagall."

"I'm so sorry, professor, I'll be sure to remember that. Um, what's the coolest bit of magic you can do?"

My new professor smiled back at me. Well you see, I am an animagus. It means I can change to an animal at will." And suddenly, without so much as a second of hesitation, her body began to shrink down and within moments, a cat stood where she had been. I looked at Mum and Dad, who's jaws were practically on the floor. Within seconds, the cat was expanding back to the shape of a person, and the professor stood in front of me.

"Holy cow!" I yelled. I couldn't contain my excitement at what I had just seen. "Am I going to learn to do that at school?"

"Absolutely not," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half amused. "This is very advanced magic and has to be registered with the Ministry. Only seven of us have done it in the past century." She paused and then added, "At least legally."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "Um, is there at least a pool at Hogwarts?"

"No pool, but we do have a lake in the front of our grounds. It's home to a giant squid. Good day to you all." And with that, she walked out the door, her cloak and pointed hat forming a beautiful silhouette in the brilliant sunlight.

Over the next few months, I received more information about my new school and what I would need. Turns out that wizards have their own stores and shopping in London, and Mum, Dad, and I made a trip to Diagon Alley to buy my school supplies. My favorite part, by far, was buying my wand. I had to try seven different ones before being matched with one that was good for me. My school uniform consisted of wizard's robes and I would be later getting a tie once I was sorted into my house. The uniform didn't excite me, as the robes were uncomfortable for someone who spent much of his time in the pool. I bought my cauldron and school books, and though I was eager to start reading them, by the time I got home and started browsing, I realized they were way more complex than I thought, and it was best to wait for instruction before trying anything from them. I was highly disappointed to find that I was not allowed to do magic outside of school until I reached the age of 17. Mum and Dad were upset about this as well, Mum saying it was a waste to learn how to do the dishes in a second and not be able to use it, and Dad saying that if his son was to spend a year away from him, he would like to see what he learned while away. I was allowed to take an owl, cat, or toad, but being a dog lover myself, I chose to pass on that.

Though I was excited about my new school and being a wizard, a very large part of me was sad to be leaving my friends and my swimming behind. My parents decided it was best to not let anyone know where I was going and why, so we decided to come up with a cover up story about how I was going to spend a few years training in the United States. Initially, I was excited about my fake story, but over time, I started to feel sad that it wasn't true. Swimming was familiar, I knew I was good and I knew it was fun. Magic was new, I had no idea how good I would be or whether or not I would even like it. The idea of being away from my phone and connecting with my friends and family was scaring me, and as it got closer to the start of term, I began to get extremely nervous.

I was going to be going to Hogwarts by train. The platform to get on the train was hidden between platforms 9 and 10 and called Platform 9 ¾. Mum and Dad were not happy that they didn't know the exact location the train was taking me, and no matter how much my dad tried to google "Hogwarts" and "Hogwarts location," it was nowhere to be found on the internet.

Finally, the night before I was to leave, I found myself in a quiet and contemplative mood. I had spent the last few weeks doing everything I would miss most when I was gone, mostly swimming, spending time with my friends, and playing on my phone. Will and his family wanted to give me a going away party, but knowing that if they did the focus would be on the fake swimming training I was going for, I decided against it and told them I appreciated their offer but wanted to spend my last night alone with my parents.

The only person we had told about where I was actually going was my grandma. I knew Mum was hoping deep down that me attending Hogwarts would tell her more about who her father was, but she never brought it up. Though I had never felt the need to know much more about my grandfather over the years, I started to desire information about him as well. He was my link to the new world I was to be joining and I felt that knowing I had someone in my family who was like me would take some of the pressure off.

After dinner, which was a quiet affair, I went up to my room to spend one last night of anticipation and excitement before finding out what was in store for me. I paced my room, wanting to do something, but not sure what. Finally, I grabbed my phone, and decided to make one last phone call until I was home for Christmas.

"Hello?" It was nice to hear my grandma's voice on the other end.

"Grandma! Hi!" I said.

"Hello dear! All set to leave for your new school tomorrow morning?"

"Yes!" I said, somehow sounding more confident than I felt. "I just wanted to say bye, one last time."

"Oh Anthony, I'm going to miss you!"

"Me too."

"So how are you feeling? Excited? Nervous?"

"A bit of both. More nervous, really."

"And why is that?"

"Well, other's at my school grew up with wizard parents. They grew up seeing magic. I haven't."

"I'm sure if it's a good school, they will start at the beginning to make sure all students have an equal opportunity to succeed, no matter what their upbringing." Grandma was sounding slightly unconvinced. She wasn't thrilled at the idea of me going to this school, from what Mum had told me.

"You don't think I should go, do you?" I asked, feeling a bit betrayed by her lack of support.

"No I do," she said. "I didn't think it was a good idea, because you are leaving what you are good at behind. And I don't just mean swimming and school. I mean, the world. You will now belong to a new set of laws and a new lifestyle. It's just a big risk."

"Yeah…. I know what you mean." Grandma confirming my fears was not helping.

"But, your parents have decided that this is what is best for you. So I will support you and am sure you will do very well." Her tone had become much more convincing. Grandma had always been one of my biggest supporters and I knew she wanted me to do well.

"Thank you!" I said, somehow feeling much more confident. "Um, Grandma?'

"Yes?"

"What can you tell me about my grandfather?" The question just slipped out. All of a sudden, I felt I couldn't wait any longer.

There was a long pause. "I had a feeling you may be asking this. Your mum called and asked the same thing, and though she's asked a hundred times in the past, she had let the matter rest for many years."

"Um, do you know anything? Anything more?"

"Nothing more, no new information." Grandma sounded like she was deep in thought. "However…." her voice trailed off.

"However?" I asked eagerly.

"However, I did tell your mum something new, something I had never admitted before."

"Oh my, what? What is it?" I couldn't believe there was more to the story that Grandma had been keeping from us.

She sighed loudly. "I suppose if I didn't tell you, your mother would anyway," she laughed a shy little laugh.

"Your mother often used to ask about her father when she was a child. Never because we were unhappy. We had everything we needed and she was well taken care of. But it was only natural for her to be curious.

"When she was a teenager, I thought it best that I at least try to reunite them. She deserved to know, and at the same time, he deserved to know that he had a daughter."

My heart was beating fast. I wasn't sure where this story was heading, but it was long awaited information and it felt like almost any news would be good news.

"But I had no way to contact him. He used to laugh at the idea of having a phone…" I wanted to yell that it was because he was using an owl, but was afraid that if I interrupted my grandma, she wouldn't finish her story, so I bit my tongue.

"The only connection I had to him was the pub we met at and where I used to see him so frequently. It was a small pub, very intimate, those who went frequently seemed to know each other. So I paid it a visit, the next time I was visiting the town.

"I walked into the pub, not expecting, but hoping he would just be there."
"Was he?" I blurted out, unable to restrict myself.

Grandma let out a deep sigh. "No," she said blankly. "But I recognized the owner right away. I approached him and introduced myself, asked him if he remembered me from the days I used to be a frequent visitor.

"He said, 'oh, yes, good to see you again,' but it was apparent he was lying, as had hardly looked up to even glance at me. I told him I was looking for someone. I described who I was looking for, told him his name, and gave some descriptions of his looks and behavior."

"And?" I asked softly.

"And he just laughed at me. He said, "'ma'am this pub has seen hundreds of guests over the last fifteen years. And they were all tall and handsome and charming. This bloke you speak of could be anywhere.'"

"Oh…." I said, feeling let down.

"I wanted to persist, but it was clear he was busy and wasn't going to help. So I left."

I didn't say anything.

"I went back the next day, during the day, when it was far less crowded and busy. I did not see the owner, but I did see his wife."

I was starting to feel hopeful again. There was more to the story, maybe it would lead to more information.

"I was much more open with her about why I was there. When I told her who I was looking for, she too gave me a similar response as I had gotten the night before. But I didn't want to give up. I begged with her, said, "please, please tell me anything you know. This man is the father of my daughter. He deserves to know. She deserves to meet him.

"I could tell she had a hundred questions about what I just told her, but thankfully, she didn't ask. She became much more sympathetic towards me though, and said that she would go through any records she had and call me back the next day.

"I gave her my phone number and left, feeling extremely nervous and even slightly afraid of what was to come."

I gave a soft gasp. Grandma heard. "Don't get your hopes up, Anthony. She didn't find him. She said she went though any records she had, credit card information, special events lists, mailing lists, and couldn't find him anywhere. Said he must have always paid cash and never left his name anywhere.

"She gave me the phone number of a bartender who used to work there at the time. He was a super friendly and chatty man who often chatted with the customers. His name was Joe. I remembered him well and knew that he was present during several occasions your grandfather was there. So I called him up."

She had already told me not to get my hopes up. I didn't know where her story was leading, but I wasn't holding my breath.

"He actually recognized his name right away and started fondly chatting about how he was such a good dancer, so much fun to have around, and how many drinks he bought and how well he tipped him. I asked him if he had seen him recently, or knew anything about his whereabouts."
"What did he say?" I asked, though by this point, I knew what the answer would be.

"He said he hadn't seen him in years," grandma said sadly. "Said he suddenly stopped seeing him one day, that he had more than likely moved. He then asked why I was asking. I admitted that he was the father of my child, but that he didn't know and I was hoping to find him, now that my daughter is older."

"And?"

Grandma let out a long sigh. "And he laughed. Laughed as though it was somehow hilarious. He said he wasn't surprised, and the way "that man flung himself at all the girls, he wouldn't be surprised if he had more children out there he didn't know about."

"That's not a nice thing to say!" I exclaimed.

"No, not a nice thing at all. And it hurt me and scared me. What if what he said was true and he did have other children with other women? Would your mother want to know her step siblings? I hated myself for allowing myself to be so vulnerable to someone I didn't even know. I started thinking I didn't want to find him, that we were happy the way things were and didn't need him in our lives. But I felt I owed it to your mother to know more about who he was."

"Then I realized that it didn't matter. No matter what I wanted for her, and didn't want for myself, I had no way of finding him. The only connection I had to him was the pub, and they did not know where he was. It was then that I started to think that he hadn't even given me his real name."

"What name did he give you?" I had never asked her this before.

There was a long pause. "Anthony," she said finally. "Why do you ask?"

"My new headmistress thinks she may know him. She thinks he was a wizard."

Grandma sighed. "Yes, your mum told me what happened the day your headmistress came over." She wasn't sounding convinced. "And though it makes sense and could be true, I don't think it is wise to jump to any conclusions."

"But it all made sense! Professor McGonagall said she's sure of it!"

"How can she be sure? She…"

"She said…."

"I know what she said. But she does not know him or me. She is simply guessing. And we don't want to start assuming things based on a guess."

All of a sudden, I was starting to get desperate for more information. All I knew is that I would feel much better going to school if I knew that my grandfather had gone there too.

"She said if he was from Britain it is very likely he went to Hogwarts. She asked for his name."

"His name is not her business."

"But what harm is there to ask?"

"Anthony, I understand you are curious, but I don't think it is wise for you to worry about this and go off looking for him." She was sounding sympathetic and stubborn at the same time.

"I don't need to look. I just need to ask."

"I'm sorry, dear," her voice was sad, as though she knew she was letting me down. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

I knew the matter was closed. I tried to think of something to say that would change her mind, but knew it would be of no use.

"Anthony, your focus now is to do well at your new school. You are entering a new world, and it is important to try your best to be successful."

"Of course, I plan to work very hard."

"That's good. Work hard and be sure to enjoy yourself. Make us proud, and keep in touch."

"I will grandma. Thank you. And my letters will come by owl. So don't be surprised when they arrive at your door with no stamp. I promise I'm not stalking and following you!" Grandma gave a polite laugh. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

Not sure what I wanted to do, I laid in my bed and stared out the window. I couldn't believe that tomorrow I was finally going. I was starting to feel less nervous and more excited, convinced that my grandfather was indeed a wizard, and that I was going to be just like him, whoever he was.

I woke the next morning more excited than I had been since the moment Professor McGonagall had turned herself into a cat in my living room. Now that it was actually happening, I was ready, ready for my new life and ready to deal with whatever it had in store for me. I ran downstairs where Mum and Dad were sitting at the table, chatting quietly.

"Well, you look like you're in a good mood!" Mum said brightly when she saw me.

"I'm so excited!" I shrieked happily.

"Well that's good," said Mum cheerfully. "Now eat some breakfast, and I've packed a lunch for you to have on the train."

Though it was already around 7:30 and we were to leave at 9, it felt like hours before we were finally packing my trunk in the car to finally head to King's Cross station. Mum and Dad were quiet on the way there. When we finally got there, we followed the directions we were given about slipping between platforms 9 and 10, discreetly, so as not to draw any attention from muggles, and sure enough, we found ourselves on a hidden platform with a brilliant scarlet steam engine with the words, "Hogwarts Express" waiting for us. All around us, young witches and wizards and their families were happily chatting and walking around, many hugging and chattering with friends for the first time since their last term, others saying tearful goodbyes to their families. Dad helped me pack my trunk onto the train. After we were done, Mum and Dad stood there, looking back at me.

Mum spoke first. "Well," she said sadly. "I guess this is goodbye. I can't imagine not seeing my baby again until December."

"Mum!" I said softly. This wasn't the time for her to get emotional. She gave a small laugh and pulled me into a hug. When she let go, I gave dad a big hug and he said, "Take care and have fun. Make us proud!"

"I will," I said happily and confidently. The three of us stood there looking at each other for a moment, until Mum said, "well, you'd better go. I'm sure the good seats will fill up fast."

I wasn't sure what was considered a "good seat," but I nodded, said another final goodbye, and hopped on the train.

It was starting to fill up, many students saving seats for their friends. I found a relatively empty compartment and sat down.

After what seemed to be a long time, given my eagerness to leave, the train finally started to move. I sat staring out the window for almost an hour, simply imagining what wonderful adventures I was about to have.

After some time, students began to move around on the train. Though I was never really a shy person, I wasn't in much of a chatty mood just yet. But students were coming to me, friendly and excited, introducing themselves and assuring me that I was going to love it at Hogwarts. Not knowing what to say, I asked many students I met if they liked to swim, but quickly found out that their idea of swimming was splashing in the lake. One thing that struck me as a slight bit odd was how enthusiastic everyone was about their Hogwarts house. At my old school, we were all proud of our house, but Hogwarts students were taking their pride to a whole new level. The names of the houses were long and difficult, but after a few hours and hearing countless stories about why everyone thought their house was the best, I think I had them figured out. From what I gathered, the students in the yellow and black ties were part of Hufflepuff house, and it seemed that I should want to be in their house because everyone there was nice to everyone else. The students with the red and gold ties belonged in Gryffindor, and they were trying to convince me that they were the coolest. The students in blue and bronze ties were Ravenclaws. Turns out the eagle I had seen on the very first letter Professor McGonagall had sent home was from the Hogwarts crest and the mascot of Ravenclaw. The Ravenclaws were much more descriptive about why I should want to be in Ravenclaw. They talked about their common room, about how interesting their classes were, and how they supported each other in finding solutions to any problem they were to encounter. Finally, the students in the green and silver ties were Slytherins, and they simply proclaimed themselves as the best. I also met the head boy, a Hufflepuff student with turquoise hair, named Teddy. He was very kind, welcomed me to Hogwarts, assured me that I would have a wonderful experience there, hoped I was in Hufflepuff, and was then on his way. He walked past about thirty minutes later and his hair had suddenly changed color, from turquoise to crimson red. A woman also came by with a trolley selling sweets. I didn't know what to buy so I asked for her recommendation and she said you could never go wrong with a chocolate frog. She said to be careful, because they jump, and to be sure to collect the cards. I had no idea what this meant, so I put it in my pocket to save for a later time, maybe once I knew how magic worked a bit better.

After many long hours, the train finally started to slow down, and eventually came to a stop. According to the most recent information sent home by Professor McGonagall, it was a tradition for first years to take boats across the lake. We were to look out for a "very large" man named Hagrid, who would be loading us on the boats and taking us across. I told my mum that I would ask them if I could just swim across the lake, but she reminded me that McGonagall said a giant squid lived there and it was best I not encounter it on my first day. It wasn't until then that I realized that McGonagall probably wasn't joking when she told us this.

I got off the train quickly. Many students mentioned that their first view of Hogwarts was one of the best moments of their lives and I was eager for it to finally happen.

"Firs' yers! Firs' yers!" There was a loud voice coming from just off the train. I followed the voice and gasped in awe. McGonagall wasn't exaggerating when she said it would be a large man. He was almost twice as big as anyone I had seen, but despite his enormous size, he had a big smile and a kind face.

I followed his voice and lined up where the other first years were gathering. As I made my way towards the front of the line, I was suddenly cut off by another boy, red headed and running towards the man named Hagrid.

"Hagrid!" he called, running up to him, as though delighted to see him.

"''Ello, James!" said Hagrid, beaming brightly. "I am so happy you are finally at Hogwarts! You excited?"

"Can't wait!" said the boy named James. "I've waited my whole life for this!"

"That you have!" said Hagrid. "Come, come, have a seat."

Hagrid continued to help seat the first years on the boats. When it was my turn, I went as far to the front of the boat as I could, and found an open seat next to the boy named James. He was sitting quietly, looking immensely eager.

"May I sit here," I asked him out of politeness, before having a seat.

"Oh, of course," he said excitedly.

There were a couple of seconds of silence. Then I spoke. "So, um, you know Hagrid?"

"Of course," he said. "Everyone knows Hagrid!"

I felt a pit in the bottom of my stomach and started to feel nervous again. This boy already knew people at school and I didn't even know how to eat the chocolate on the train. Did everyone really already know everything? How much catching up was I going to have to do. My face must have shown I was nervous because James spoke again.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry," he said. "I just, sort of, assumed."

I gave him a small smile.

"He's a really good friend of my Mum and Dad's. He's known me since I was born. In fact, my Dad said he was the first person he met at Hogwarts too!"

I didn't know how to respond, so I gave another smile.

"Um," said James. "If you don't mind my asking, are you a muggle born?"

I nodded, not sure if it was a good idea or not to reveal this news. But James gave a huge smile.

"Wow!" he said, as though he had never heard of such a thing. "What's that like?"

I gave a small shrug. "I'm sort of wondering what it's like to be a wizard."

"Oh, it's great!" said James. "You know, my aunt is a muggle born. And my grandpa works at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department at the Ministry of Magic."

I had no idea what this meant.

"My grandpa loves muggles!" James continued enthusiastically. "He has a lot of muggle collections. Batteries, plugs. He recently got something called a U Phone. He's so excited about it."

"I'm sorry?"

"A U phone. Of course it doesn't work, but he loves having it."

"I'm sorry, but what's that?" I asked.

"Um a U phone? I think that's what it's called. Or maybe, E Phone?"

It came to me. "Oh!" I said. "An Iphone?"

"Yes!" said James excitedly, as though I had just given a brilliant answer to a very difficult question. "One of those. He loves it!"

"I didn't bring mine," I said, wondering why I hadn't. "I was told it wouldn't work here."

"Oh, it won't," said James. "Wait…" His eyes had suddenly gone wide. "You have one?!"

"Yeah, of course," I said, almost adding that everyone does. "But it's at home."

"Wow!" said James, as though this was the most interesting thing he had ever heard.

I grinned. This conversation was making me feel much less stupid than it was a few minutes ago. "So, um, both your parents are wizards?"

"Yup," said James. He smiled, so I smiled back politely.

"Do you, um, know anyone else here?"

"Oh yeah, tons," said James. The Herbology teacher is a good friend of my Mum and Dad's. I've always called him Uncle Neville, but I heard I have to start calling him Professor Longbottom." James said his name in a humorously pretentious manner, as though the idea of calling him that was ridiculous. "And I have some cousins. And my friend, Teddy."

"Teddy?" I asked. "The headboy?"

"Yeah!" said James. "My parents love him, he's at my house all the time. He's super cool, have you met him?"

I nodded. "Yeah, on the train. He said he wants me to be in Hufflepuff with him." It felt good to be able to talk about someone I knew, even if I only knew him minimally.

James burst out laughing as though I had said something ridiculous. "Oh man!" he said. "He says that to everybody! Been saying that to me for the last six years. But nope, I'm going to be a Gryffindor!" James held up his hand, as though in victory, and said the word Gryffindor so proudly, he may have been the most convincing of all the stories I had heard on the train about houses that his was the best.

"How do we choose?" I asked, surprised that he already knew where he was going to be.

"We don't, the sorting hat does." I gave him a blank stare. "Oh sorry!" he added. "You just wear the hat, it reads your mind and places you where it thinks you will do best."

I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. But James continued. "I just know the hat is going to put me in Gryffindor. Both my parents and Godparents were in Gryffindor. All my uncles were in Gryffindor." He seemed extra confident.

"I met some Gryffindors on the train," I said, simply to make it look like I knew what I was talking about. "They were nice. But then, pretty much everyone was nice."

James shrugged. They're alright. Like Teddy is a Hufflepuff but he's super cool. His mum was a Hufflepuff, Dad was a Gryffindor. My Aunt Luna was a Ravenclaw. And apparently my Dad snogged a Ravenclaw under the mistletoe in his fifth year." James said, giggling. He then added, "my mum loves to tell that story. He made her cry!"

I laughed politely. James continued. "But no matter what, you do not want to be in Slytherin," he said in a low voice.

"Why not?" I asked, curiously. "The Slytherin's on the train said they were the best."

James started laughing a sarcastic, fake laugh. "They just think that. They're not. Total jerks."

I wasn't sure what to make of this information and the boy providing it. He seemed friendly and fun to talk to, but very judgemental at the same time, as though already having experienced too much. Not sure what to do next, I decided to keep our conversation rolling.

"You have any siblings?" I asked.

James nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I have an annoying little brother and a cute little sister. You?"

I shook my head.

"Oh!" said James, once again looking fascinated. "My dad is an only child. But my mum has six brothers."

"Wow!" I said. "No wonder you know so many people."

"Yeah, my parents know pretty much everyone," said James, as though what he was saying was perfectly normal and expected.

"I don't know anyone," I said, shyly.

"Hey, you know me!" said James. I smiled. I appreciated him saying that.

"Don't worry, mate," he said. "My dad didn't know anyone when he got to Hogwarts. Neither did my Aunt Hermione. But now they know everyone and everyone knows them. It's quite annoying, actually."

I laughed. The boats had started to move and as they did, the chatty first years were suddenly silent, taking in the beauty of the grounds, all of us eager to get our first view of the castle.

All of a sudden, I saw it, right in front of me, and couldn't help but gasp. Almost every other student had gasped as well, our mouths open in awe and our eyes wide. Hogwarts castle was breathtakingly gorgeous. There were several towers, surrounded by many trees, and the entire scene reflected in the lake for the most picturesque and stunning view I had seen in my life.

As our boat approached the castle, Hagrid's voice was giving directions again. The older students had taken carriages to the castle and were already seated in the great hall. The first year students were about to participate in our sorting ceremony, which would be followed by a feast.

I followed the other students, led by Hagrid, through enormous oak doors and into the Great Hall. The Great Hall was almost as beautiful as the outside of the castle. Hundreds of castles floated in mid air. At first I thought I was outside because I looked up and saw sky, but James told me that the ceiling was bewitched to look like that and we were indeed indoors. There were four long tables, undoubtedly the house tables, and up front the members of the staff sat on a table of their own. In the middle, sat Professor McGonagall. When she saw the line of students walking in, she rose and walked towards us. She led us to the front of the hall and up to a stool on which was sitting an old, battered hat.

"Greetings, first years!" she said brightly. "Welcome to Hogwarts!" I looked around.

Many students were smiling, others were looking nervous.

"When I call your name, you will have a seat and place the sorting hat on your head. The hat will place you in your house. While at Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. Good behavior and victories will earn you points, breaking rules will lose points. At the end of the year, we will award the house cup to the house with the most points." She turned towards the sorting hat and to everyone's glee, the hat burst out in song. It talked about the four founding fathers of the school and what each house looked for in a student (they all sounded wonderful!). After the song, Professor McGonagall began to call names. One by one, students made their way to the stool and placed the hat on their heads and the hat would yell out a house. Some students took mere seconds, others much longer. I knew my turn was coming soon.

"Brittany, Anthony!" She called. James gave my shoulder a little punch as I walked towards the stool. I sat down, waiting for the hat to be placed on my head. James was looking at me and smiling, mouthing the word, "Gryffindor," and nodding encouragingly.

I felt the old hat being placed on my head. To my surprise, it began to talk.

"Ah!" it said. "How interesting! Another one from that family. I was beginning to wonder if I would see more of them."

I almost screamed. Another one from that family? This was it! My grandfather was most definitely a wizard! But what did the hat mean by, another one? Were there more? Did my great grandparents and great great grandparents also go to Hogwarts? And what about Aunts and Uncles? Did I have any cousins?

The hat was continuing to think out loud. "Courage, very intelligent…."

But I wasn't listening. This hat was the answer to my questions and nothing mattered more. It could read minds, right? I focused all my energy to my thoughts, forming questions in my head, desperate from the hat to hear me.

"Lots of drive and ambition….."

"Who was my grandfather? What was his name? Tell me! Please!"

"Creatively minded…."

"PLEASE! Just tell me his name!"

"Likes to take risks, dreams big….."

"WHO WAS HE?! PLEASE! I HAVE TO KNOW!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat yelled. It had placed me in my house. Before I knew it, I felt the hat being lifted from my head and a slight push from Professor McGonagall towards the Gryffindor table, the Gryffindors all cheering excitedly.

I felt a feeling of emptiness sweep over me. I was so close to getting answers, being taunted with news about my family, yet nothing. But what did the hat mean by another one from that family? It had to mean that there were more, but how many? How far back?

I reached the Gryffindor table and had a seat. All around me, Gryffindors were high fiving me and patting me on the back. I looked up at the line of remaining first year students and saw James smiling back at me. "Save me a seat!" he mouthed.

The sorting ceremony continued for almost another hour. According to older students at the table, this was the longest sorting ceremony they had ever been through. Everyone was getting restless, bored, and hungry.

James was indeed sorted into Gryffindor, where he came and had a seat next to me. He was beaming brightly.

"I can't say I wasn't nervous I'd get put in Slytherin or something!" he was saying. Several of the Gryffindors at the table laughed, or gasped a loud, fake gasp. It was clear that many Gryffindors didn't care for Slytherins.

I met the house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, who popped up from under the table. Professor McGonagall gave a welcome speech, going over some rules and demanding that we stay away from the forest by the grounds, and at last, it was time to eat. Platters of food appeared from thin air, full courses complete with drinks, appetizers, and desserts. I tried pumpkin juice for the first time. It was surprisingly delicious, but James assured me that I hadn't lived until I tried Butterbeer, to which several students nodded in agreement.

After a delicious meal, our house prefects led us to our dormitories. The Gryffindor common room and dormitory was located in a tower and protected by a portrait of a fat lady (that's what they called her, the Fat Lady, and she wasn't the least bit offended) who wouldn't let anyone in unless they were able to provide the correct password, which was Felix Felicis.

Lots of students were gathering in the common room, which was a large circular room with a fireplace, and lots of desks and comfortable arm chairs. James and I hung out in the common room for a short while before making our way to our dormitory, where all our things had already been brought up.

Our dormitory consisted of five, four-poster beds, three of which were already occupied. James and I took the last two and looked around at our new roommates. They were smiling and had already started to unpack, so we did the same. After unpacking, we introduced ourselves to each other. I had one roommate named David, who was a muggle born like myself. He breathed a sigh of relief when I told him I hadn't even heard of Hogwarts until a few months ago and said he was scared he'd be the only one. I told him I was scared of the same thing and we all laughed. John was a half blood, meaning one parent (in his case, his mother) was a witch, and the other was a muggle. Stewart was a pure blood like James. We chatted about what we liked to do at home. I told them all about my swimming, to which the muggle born, David, was very impressed, while the others just nodded politely. David was telling us how his parents owned a yoga studio, something James and Stewart had never heard of. John said he couldn't decide which he liked more, soccer or Quidditch. When David and I asked what Quidditch was, the other three started talking all at once about how it's a sport that takes place flying on brooms, something about various balls that fly super fast, six large hoops, people almost getting knocked off brooms, and something called a snitch. James was overly enthusiastic about it, saying both his parents played, his mum even professionally. Stewart was rather quiet and seemed to be one to take his work very seriously. He said his dad worked at the Ministry of Magic and Mum had her own business importing dress robes (formal wizarding attire) to the United States. I told them about the chocolate frog I had bought on the train and how I hadn't opened it. David said he got one too and as soon as he opened it, it bounced away. James said it hops out and catching them takes lots of practice. They encouraged me to open it, so I did, and caught it the moment it jumped out. They all applauded for me, John saying that he didn't know anyone else who had caught it on their first try. I pulled out a card with a picture of a witch, and under it her name, "Rowena Ravenclaw." On the back was a short bio of how she was one of the founders of Hogwarts. "Be sure to save the card," said Stewart. "Yeah, you want to collect those," James chimed in.

The next morning at breakfast, I was given my schedule of classes. "History of Magic, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts…." Classes started that week and I quickly found that magic was far more complex than just waving a wand. Brewing potions was difficult and tedious, History of Magic was dull and boring, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was thrilling, yet dangerous. But my favorite class was Transfiguration. It turned out that Professor McGonagall had taught it for years before being promoted to headmistress. She came into class on the first day and did her demonstration of becoming a cat. Several students, including James, had never seen it before. They all applauded eagerly and everyone wanted to know when they could learn to do the same, but McGonagall went over how becoming an animagus was advanced and dangerous magic and only 7 witches and wizards had legally accomplished the feat. "My grandpa and his mates were animagi," James whispered to me excitedly. "But they did it illegally." I nodded and laughed to myself. James clearly had a wild imagination, who knew what to believe from him.

My first week of classes at Hogwarts were nothing I ever could have expected. I was starting to find very quickly that learning magic was not going to be all fun and games. It required immense concentration, very precise movements of my wand, detailed measurements to brew potions, and lots and lots of background information to understand what it was we were doing. But the worst thing was that almost all the teachers required essays and they had to be written with a quill and ink on parchment. Research had to be done through our school books and supplemented by books we found in the library. I missed my computer and access to Google and the control F function immensely, complaining every night while doing homework that if I had my computer and wifi, I would have been done in a fraction of the time.

"Maybe we should suggest it to Professor McGonagall to build some kind of tech lab," said David on Thursday night of our first week. David, James, and I were in the Gryffindor common room, after dinner, finishing a painfully long and boring essay on History of Magic, a class taught by Professor Binns, who was literally a ghost.

"We really should," I agreed. "It's such a great tool. Why wouldn't wizards want to adopt it?"

"Wizards like to preserve their traditions," James chimed in. "At least that's what my Aunt Hermione always says."

"But why," asked David. "Who wants to make life harder? If they only knew…."
"My Aunt Hermione is muggle born, she does know. Her parents often say the same thing but she is very adamant that wizards don't have to do what muggles do and what works for them won't necessarily work for us."

"It would work for me!" I said stubbornly. "Heck, I'd be happy if I could even just use a normal pen! This dumb feather needs more ink every two seconds!"

James shrugged. "You'll get used to it, I guess."

"Maybe when I grow up I'll work for the Ministry of Magic," David said brightly. "And I'll be the first wizard to bring muggle technology into our world. And the world will never look back."

"I'm in!" I said. We both looked at James. "Heck, me too!" he said cheerfully.

As the week drew to a close on Friday, I found myself both exhausted and energetic. I couldn't wait for the weekend so I could have some free time to swim in the lake and spend some more time outdoors. First years were given a decent amount of homework, but I planned to get most of it done on Saturday so I could have a worry-free Sunday. For the first time in my life, I genuinely cared about doing a good job on my homework. I had a strong inclination that not handing in reports and calling them "dumb" was not going to get me far around here. But before I could do any of it, I had one important matter to take care of; a letter to Mum and Dad. I stayed up late in the Gryffindor common room writing so I could have it ready to take to the owlery in the morning and have it delivered as soon as possible.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I miss you so much! I wish you could be here with me to see what an awesome, exciting, and interesting place I am in. Classes are interesting and fun, but difficult as well. There are lots of other muggle borns like me, so I am not behind or anything. Everyone is super nice, I have made lots of friends. I miss swimming though, I plan to swim a lot over the weekend. I also miss my phone! I wish I could just facetime you right now :(

Mum, something important I wanted to tell you….. I had to wear an ancient magical hat that would read my mind and place me in my house. When I put it on, it said, "Ah, another one from that family." Another one! Mum, grandpa had to have been a wizard! And maybe there are others in the family as well! Maybe his parents were too! Maybe he has more kids! I tried so hard to get the hat to tell me more, but it was only concerned about giving me my house. By the way, I got sorted into Gryffindor. We are known to be brave!

My first week here flew by! Christmas is going to get here in no time and I can't wait to see you then. But in the meantime, please write back to me.

Love you,

Anthony

I didn't want to pester my mum too much about more information on my grandfather. I knew she wanted to know too, but there was only so much information she had. I was hoping that by mentioning it, she would get the hint and try to find out more. I folded and addressed the letter (wondering if the address was even necessary) and placed it towards the top of my bag so I could stop by the owlery in the morning. Then I headed up the spiral staircase into my dormitory.

When I got there, it was dark. It appeared the others were already sleeping. I quietly pulled out a pair of pajamas when I heard a whisper, "Pssst. Anthony?" came James' voice from his bed.

"James! I didn't know you were still up," I whispered loudly.

"Can't sleep," he said.

"Something wrong?"

"Wrong? Oh, heck no! I'm just too excited!"

"A little late." We were still whispering, though quite loudly. "We're already a week in."

"I know, but it's finally the weekend!"

"Yeah! It'll be fun."

"Wanna go explore?" James was sounding very eager.

"Yeah, sure," I replied. "But I do want to make sure I have lots of time to swim! I really miss it!"

"Okay," said James. There was a pause. "Wanna go now?" He was suddenly sounding very excited, as though he had just had a great idea.

"What now? We can't!" James had clearly let his imagination get the better of him again. "There is a curfew."

"I know," said James, though not sounding convicted at all. "But the castle is so cool at night."

"Yeah….it really is," the idea of exploring was sounding very exciting, but the rules were clear.

"So why don't we just go?" James was sounding far too excited, as though he really thought this could happen. "I mean, my dad never followed the rules."

"To be honest I was never much of a goodie two-shoes either," I laughed back.

"So, you're in?" James had stopped whispering. He was starting to get up from his bed.

"Oh, um, yeah! Why not?!" All of a sudden, I was more awake and excited than I had been all week. The idea of exploring the amazing place I was in so late at night made me feel alive and ready to soar.

"Okay, let's go!" James had jumped out of his bed. We left the dormitory and through the common room, past the portrait of the Fat Lady and into the hallways.

"Ooooh oooh, students out of bed!" came an accusing voice.

I jumped. My heart skipped a beat.

"Relax, it's just a portrait," said James.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh yeah," I said. "I forgot they talk."

James giggled. We continued walking.

"So what happens if we do get caught?" I asked more out of curiosity rather than concern.

James shrugged. "I don't know," he said, not sounding concerned. "Probably get detention. Maybe lose some house points."

"Oh," I said. "I used to get detention and lose house points at my old school all the time."

James gave a huge smile. "So did my dad!" he said excitedly.

Together, we explored for almost an hour. We ran through corridors, into empty classrooms, and even got lost on moving stairs. The portraits were mostly snoozing, but every now and then one would wake and startle us, to which we would just laugh and carry on. Our biggest concern was not getting caught by Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, who was a grumpy man who loved to punish students. But there was no sign of him. The halls and corridors were deserted.

After we had our fill of excitement for the night, James and I found our way (which was harder than expected), back to our common room. We plopped down on one of the couches to calm the rush we were feeling before heading to our dormitory for bed.

"This place is so amazing!" I said.

"Yeah!" James agreed. "And my Dad says it holds all kinds of secrets. I want to start finding some of them!"

"What kinds of secrets?" I asked, slightly intrigued and slightly amused.

"I'm not too sure, he didn't give many details," said James.

"Of course he didn't," I thought to myself. "He's just saying that to amuse you." But instead I said, "guess we'll find out." I was eager to have another adventure again soon, and if James believed there were secrets, he would likely be motivated to join me.

James and I went to bed a short while later. As I lay in bed falling asleep, all I could think about was the glorious weekend ahead of me. I couldn't wait to jump in the lake, I couldn't wait to explore more of the castle and spend time with James and my other new friends. I even felt a tad bit excited to do my homework. After all, I was a wizard and I wanted to be a good one. As my eyes started shutting and sleep started to take over, I couldn't help but think of how lucky I was to be a wizard, who my mysterious grandfather was, and whether or not he too had had the same adventures I was to have over my next seven years at Hogwarts.

My first weekend at Hogwarts was even more exciting and eventful than I had hoped. The lake was warm and smooth due to the bright sunlight and I felt immediately at home when I jumped in. I swam a few laps and looked up to see a whole crowd of people watching and cheering for me.

"Wow!" I heard a girl's voice. "How does he do that?"

"He's so fast!"

"He's the best swimmer I have ever seen!"

I smiled back at the crowd. "Come join me!" I said enthusiastically. "The water is beautiful!"

It was then that I realized that swimming was not too popular a sport with wizards. Several of them said they had never swam before, others said they knew the basics, but mostly just chose to splash around. Through the afternoon, more and more students were joining me in the lake, some clearly having swum before (mostly the muggle borns), and others just enjoying the beautiful water.

I was surprised to find that despite how much fun I was having and how interesting being a wizard was, I did feel sad that I was no longer a competitive swimmer. I wondered if I ever would be again, or if being in a world where it simply wasn't a thing would mean I would no longer get any opportunities.

But my glumness faded quickly with the smiling faces of my new friends, many of whom I had only met that day in the lake, and the fun we were having. David and Stewart had joined in the lake as well, Stewart was quite good. We tried to get James and Jon to join, but they were having fun watching us from under a large willow tree by the foot of the lake, cheering every time someone did anything even remotely interesting in the water.

As the sun was starting to set, the water was beginning to feel cold, so I got out and made my way back to the common room so I could shower and get ready for dinner. Dinner at Hogwarts was never short of fantastic. There was always plenty of food, pumpkin juice, and desserts, and most importantly, lots of friendly faces.

"So who cooks all this stuff and does the dishes?" Stewart wondered loudly as he joined James and I at the Gryffindor table.

I shrugged, but of course James had an answer. "House elves," he said matter of factly. "They are all being paid now. My Aunt Hermione made sure of it."

"Really?" said Stewart skeptically. "I heard house elves only belong to really rich families and they have to serve their masters without question. My mum often comments on how much she wants one."

"They used to, but my Aunt Hermione thought it was really wrong, so she started campaigning for them when she was at Hogwarts. She didn't get very far then but now that she's at the Ministry she's been able to get a lot more done."

James looked at Stewart, his back towards me. I looked at Stewart and laughed silently and shook my head. I had no idea what house elves were, but I was sure that whatever they were, they were not what James was making them out to be. Stewart seemed to understand. He too smiled and politely said, "cool."

After dinner, I went back to the common room to get some homework done so I wouldn't have to do it during the daylight hours on Sunday, which I was planning to spend in the lake again. James was not too keen on doing homework, ("Come on, it's Saturday!") but I convinced him to do it with me so we could get it done. It was definitely more difficult to focus after all the fun we had during the day, but we got most of it done and went to bed that night ready for another exciting day tomorrow.

Sunday was just as enjoyable as Saturday was. Apparently, word that "a really good first year swimmer" was going to be at the lake had gotten around, and lots of people were outdoors, jumping in the water, splashing their friends, and asking me how I learned to "actually swim," as many did not have a realistic concept of what swimming even was. I felt so proud of myself telling them about my races, to which they listened with glee, and how hard I had been training. Many asked me if I planned on continuing, now that I was at Hogwarts, to which I just shrugged, not wanting to think of an answer.

As the weekend drew to a close, I found myself feeling slightly down at the idea of going back to classes. I expressed my blue mood to James while sitting by the fire in the Gryffindor common room on Sunday night, about ready to head to bed.

"Yeah," he said. "I wish we had more free time around here. They give us so much homework."

"I know," I agreed.

"But there is something to look forward to tomorrow," James suddenly looked excited.

"What's that?" I asked, hoping that he would suggest another wild adventure.

"Quiddtich tryouts!" James exclaimed, pointing to a sign on the bulletin board.

"What," I said, not even trying to hide the fact that I thought he was crazy.

"They are tomorrow! We should try out!"

I started laughing. "Quidditch?! I've never even tried to ride a broom!"

"We have our first flying lesson on Wednesday!" James's excitement was similar to the time he suggested we explore the castle a couple nights ago.

"Um, yeah. And tryouts are on Monday," I said uselessly.

"But you can swim!" James seemed convinced this was a good idea.

"How is that going to help me in a game played up in the air on brooms?" I was starting to laugh. I couldn't tell if James was joking or not.

"It's not harder than that! It can't be harder than swimming!" exclaimed James. "If you can swim the way you do, flying a broom is going to be a breeze!"

"How do you even know? Do you even know how to swim?" I was laughing now.

"I don't!" he said, way too happily. "But I know how to fly! And I can't even swim! You're going to be great at flying!"

"You're not making any sense!" and though he wasn't, I felt happy that he had so much faith in me, which made me feel even more excited for my first flying lesson on Wednesday. "And first years aren't even allowed to try out!"

"We're not allowed to have our own brooms, no one said we can't try out!"

"Well, I don't think anyone who makes the team doesn't have their own broom!" I had heard the school brooms were terrible for Quidditch, super slow since they were designed for students learning to fly for the first time, and not suitable for competitive Quidditch players.

"Trust me, you'll be fine!" James insisted. He was sounding so enthusiastic, which was making his idea seem a slight bit less crazy. "My dad made it onto the team the first day he learned to fly. Professor McGonagall saw him flying when he wasn't supposed to and instead of expelling him she made him Seeker! And then she bought him the latest broom!"

I started to laugh again. I wasn't even going to pretend to believe my friend, but I was enjoying his enthusiasm.

"No, I swear!" said James, slightly taken aback by my mocking.

"Okay, okay," I said, not convinced at all.

"Come on, try out with me!" his persistence was too much, this clearly was very important to him. "What's the worst that can happen? We won't make it. At least we tried!"

"Well, yeah, that's true," I said thoughtfully. "My swim coach used to say the same thing."

"Yes!" James called victoriously, giving me a high five. "Seriously, flying is easy! You just mount your broom, look where you want to go, and push off. Super fun!"

Later that night, I lay in bed imagining what flying would feel like. I pictured myself soaring around the Quidditch pitch, a shiny broomstick between my legs. I imagined what it would be like to fly over the lake, then take a dive down from the air and land in the water. The thought of it was giving me more energy than I had felt in weeks, and I found it almost impossible to sleep that night.

Classes the next day seemed to drag on and on. I was too eager for 5:00 to hit so I could finally try to fly. Finally, after many boring lessons and more homework, at 4:45, James and I made our way down to the Quidditch pitch.

A handful of other Gryffindors were already there, some already on their brooms, warming up for the big tryouts. The Captain was a sixth year girl named Ann Stillman. She was tall and had a commanding presence, it was clear that she took her job seriously and was determined to put together a winning team.

"So, girls and boys play on the same team?" I asked James.

"Yeah, of course," said James, apparently surprised that I would ask. "I mean, my mum played for the Hollyhead Harpies for a while, which is an all girl's team. But most are mixed, yeah."

Ann was approaching us. "Names?" she asked professionally.

"James Potter."

"Anthony Brittany."

"Thank you," she said, writing them down on a piece of parchment. Then she looked up. "Um, I'm sorry, I don't think I've seen you two before?"

James shook his head. "We're first years," he said.

Ann looked uncomfortable. "Oh, um, I'm sorry," she said shyly. "First years are not allowed to try out for the team."

"We're not allowed to have our own brooms!" James corrected, quickly and assertively. "We can still try out!"

"Well, I suppose." It was clear that Ann wasn't liking this idea, but wasn't sure how to say so. "But our school brooms are not really meant to go fast. We are a winning team, we really need more experienced players."

"I am experienced!" James said defensively! "My mum played for the Harpies!"

Ann bit her lip, as though not sure how to respond. After an awkward moment, she turned to me. "And you?"

I wasn't going to let her take away my first opportunity at flying. "I'm an athlete!" I proclaimed proudly. "You saw me at the lake yesterday," I added, even though I had no idea whether or not she had seen me.

"Oh, um, that was you?" Ann was clearly uncomfortable, but trying to be polite. "Well, okay. I guess it doesn't hurt to let you try out. But please know, our team is very competitive and several candidates have been training hard all summer. Please don't be disappointed if you don't make the team this year."

"Oh of course," I said, and James nodded in agreement. It almost seemed like he would indeed be disappointed if he weren't to make the team.

We head into the locker room to pick out brooms, James muttering his disappointment at how "dumb" they were and that his mum's broom was way better. They certainly looked old, but I picked the shiniest and newest looking one I could find.

We went back out to the pitch and were asked to line up. Our tryout included taking individual turns flying up, catching a ball (called a Quaffle) that was thrown by Ann, and fly with it to the goal hoops and shoot a goal, without being stopped by the keeper, whose job was to guard the hoops. Ann said she wanted to watch each person for 3-5 minutes and take notes on their strengths and weaknesses. There were 12 people trying out and Ann said she would narrow it down to 7 to go on to the second round, which were to involve bludgers. From what James whispered to me, bludgers were things that tried to knock you off your broom. There were only 3 open spots on the team of 7, as Ann had decided that returning members would be guaranteed their spot back, since Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup the previous year and she didn't want to "fix what wasn't broken," news that wasn't taken well by the people who were trying out.

James and I were standing towards the back of the line. The first candidate, a tall seventh year boy named Evan, mounted his broom and pushed off the floor. In less than a second, he was up in the air. Ann threw the quaffle high up and quite far from him, but he flew towards it without any hesitation, took a large dive down towards the descending quaffle, caught it, and sped towards the goal hoops. He was flying so fast, he looked like a blur from down on the ground. He threw the ball towards one of the three hoops. The Keeper was quite far, guarding another hoop, but skillfully sped towards the quaffle and blocked it. Both Evan and the Keeper were flying so fast and skillfully and had such control of the ball, the small line of students on the floor was clapping and cheering loudly, gasping and wowing at their technique.

After a few minutes, Ann blew her whistle and Evan slowed down and started descending. He landed with a light thud and was met with roaring applause from those who were watching. "Thank you!" Ann called to him happily. "I'll be posting the seven students who make it through to the next round on the bulletin board tonight. Next!"

One by one, the students took their turns shooting hoops with the quaffle. The more I watched them, the more excited I felt about flying my broom for the first time. I watched closely at how they pivotted their bodies to turn and how they leaned forward to gain more speed. Finally, Ann called, "Next!" and James made his way to the center of the Quiddtich pitch.

There was a murmur from the other students. "Who is that?" "A first year?" "What the hell, first years aren't allowed to try out!" "But he's James Potter!"

James mounted his broom.

Ann blew her whistle and he soared up in the air.

From the moment he started, it was apparent that James did not have the experience that every other student who had tried out had. He flew slower, he wasn't nearly as agile and responsive when it came to catching the ball. A few students still waiting in line started to snicker, while others expressed that he wasn't bad for a first year using a school broom. In the span of five minutes, James had only managed to score one goal.

He descended back to the ground with a defeated and sad look on his face. Ann smiled encouragingly and simply called out, "Next!"

I walked to the center of the pitch and mounted my broom the way I saw the students before me do. I was starting to feel nervous. Until James, all the others had made flying look so easy. James had flown before, yet he looked so wobbly and flew so slowly. I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself flying around the pitch, gaining control of the Quaffle. All of a sudden, it seemed impossible. A strong part of me wanted to dismount and tell Ann that I'd changed my mind. But after coming this far, waiting until tomorrow to learn to fly seemed like an eternity away.

I heard the whistle.

It was too late to turn back.

I pushed off the ground, leaned my body forward, and shot up into the air. For a second, I felt nothing but free and alive, soaring in a way I had never soared before.

Then all of a sudden, I realized I had no control. I saw myself shooting at top speed towards the bleachers, in who knew what direction. I pivoted my body the way I had seen, but unlike the smooth turns the students before me had made, I jerked violently in the direction I was trying to turn, and felt like I was about to be thrown off my broom. As I tried to rebalance myself, I found that I was heading for bleachers again, and if I didn't slow down soon, I was going to run right into them. In an act of panic, I jerked my body away from the bleachers, this time clutching my broom as tightly as I could, hoping beyond hope that I wouldn't fall off. Once again, I took a sharp turn and started racing in another direction, thankfully away from the bleachers.

The wind was hitting my face, but I could hear commotion from underneath me. "Come down!" "Stop!" "Try to slow down and descend!"

I looked down at the ground. It had to be at least 60 feet below me. I found that as I looked there, my broom started moving in that direction. Grateful to be descending, but terrified at how I was going to land, I started to descend.

I was bolting at top speed towards the ground. I had no idea how to slow down, or stop, nor could my brain think of anything other than how I was going to hit the ground, going at least 70 miles an hour.

"LEAN BACK!" I heard Ann's voice yell desperately. I did as she said, and thankfully slowed down a bit, though not by much.

The ground was growing closer. I leaned back as much as I could to avoid going head first on the grass. I felt the tip of my broom hit the ground and was thrown off. Impulsively reaching my hands in front of me, I landed on my left wrist, feeling and hearing a crack as it hit the ground.

I was on the floor, students were coming rushing towards me.

First to reach me was James. "Anthony, are you okay?" he sounded worried. I did not respond. James was the very reason I had gotten myself into this humiliating mess.

Ann had reached me. "He's going to have to go to the hospital wing," she was saying, sounding scared. "I shouldn't have let him try out!"

I could hear laughing coming from some of the students.

James was trying to help me up. "Anthony, are you okay?" he kept asking, but I continued to ignore him.

"Don't make him stand," Ann was saying. "Williams, go get help."

A fifth year girl started running off the pitch. I had no idea who she was going to bring, but hoped it wasn't a teacher.

"I can help him," James was saying. "He'll be fine." He didn't sound convinced.

"No, let him sit until help arrives."

A few moments later, the girl called Williams was running back, followed by Hagrid.

"Wha' is goin' on 'ere?" Hagrid asked.

"These two first years came to try out for Quidditch," Ann said shyly, clearly feeling responsible for the events that had taken place.

"Firs' 'eres?! Tryin' out fer Quidditch?!" Hagrid asked, ask though it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "Anthony 'ere is a muggle born! How does he even know abou' Quidditch?"

"I told him!" James told Hagrid, looking slightly ashamed. "I told him how my dad….."

"We better get Anthony over to the hospital wing," interrupted Hagrid. I was glad he did. I had no intention to hear James's nonsense again at how his dad made the Gryffindor Quiddtich team the first time he rode a broom.

I felt a large, warm hand behind my back and before I knew it, Hagrid was picking me up from the ground. "Come on, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll come with you," James said quickly and began to follow. I wished he wouldn't, but was in no mood to argue.

"Firs' 'ears, tryin' out for Quiddtich," Hagrid continued to mumble in disbelief.

"But Hagrid…." James continued to try to defend himself, undoubtedly sticking to his ridiculous story about his father.

"James, yer parents ain't goin' to be 'appy when they 'ear what you did to yer frien',"

"But you know…."

"I'm goin' to send 'em an owl firs' thing I do,"

"My dad lost all the bones in his arm playing Quidditch…."

I stopped listening. It was James's wild imagination that had gotten me into this mess.

At last, we reached the hospital wing where a very angry Madam Pomfrey led me to an empty bed and Hagrid placed me carefully down. Thankfully, she told James he couldn't come with me, not until I had taken my potion and she had mended my bones.

"Am I going to be okay?" I asked her shyly. "My wrist, it really hurts," I added.

"Oh, I can mend broken bones in a heartbeat!" she said as simply. "But why must it be necessary? There is a reason first years don't play Quidditch!"

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Madam Pomfrey took my wrist and pointed her wand at it. She muttered a spell.

Immediately, I felt an unusual sensation in my wrists, as though the bones were moving back into place. Madam Pomfrey continued to mutter spells, pointed towards my broken wrist, and within a few minutes, everything looked back to normal.

"Wow!" I said in amazement. "So I don't have to wear a cast for months?
Madam Pomfrey didn't change her expression. She simply said, "No, no. None of that muggle nonsense."

She walked away and came back a few moments later holding a glass with a dark, amber colored potion and another in a bowl with a green one. She placed the bowl on the table beside me.

"Soak your wrist in here," she said. "It will help with the pain and swelling." I placed my wrist in the bowl and felt a cooling and numbing sensation in the areas the potion touched. It was the most calming thing I had ever felt.

"Keep it there for five minutes," she said, placing an unusual looking stopwatch on the table. "When you are done, drink this potion," she said, pointing to the glass with the amber liquid. "To calm your nerves."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Madam Pomfrey left, leaving me alone in my bed. I felt foolish and humiliated. The laughing from some of the students was flashing in my mind, how stupid I must have looked trying to fly after all the other superb candidates. I thought of the concerned look of Ann's face and thought of how much trouble she may get into, thanks to my lack of judgement.

But most of all, I felt like a fool for allowing myself to let James talk me into it. Would I ever try to tell someone that they should come and try out for a swim team if they had never swam before? How ridiculous would that be? James probably knew I was going to humiliate myself. Maybe he thought that in comparison, it would make him look good, thus increasing his chances to be on the team. But then, why did he look so concerned when I was hurt?

I lay there thinking about how the story of my attempt at flying would have spread and what sorts of taunts I was going to have to face. Would people still remember me as that cool kid from the lake, or was I going to be the new topic for everyone's jokes? I felt a strong sense of anger towards James for putting me in this position. He had to have known that this was all going to result in a fiasco. Would he encourage and participate in the teasing?

I heard the timer go off, indicating the end of five minutes. I took my hand out of the potion. It looked and felt fine. I picked up the potion and gulped it down. It had an unusual taste, like nothing I had tasted before. It tasted lightly sweet, and somewhat fruity, but I couldn't pinpoint the fruit. As I drank it, my anger started to fade and I felt suddenly calmer, yet still shaken and not looking forward to whatever humiliation was in store for me.

I set the empty glass down on the table, wondering what to do next. I didn't have to wonder for long, as Madam Pomfrey returned a few moments later.

"I'm going to have you spend the night here so I can keep an eye on you. If the wrist begins to swell, we'll need a stronger potion to soak it in."

"Okay," I said, unenthusiastic about the prospect of spending the night here, but glad to delay having to face other students. "Thank you."

She started leaving, then turned and said, "By the way, you have a visitor."

I sighed. I had a good idea who the visitor was.

Sure enough, James was walking in, looking scared and concerned.

"Anthony," he said quietly when he reached my bedside. "Are you okay?"

I ignored him. I was beginning to get annoyed with him constantly asking the same thing.

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause. James spoke, "I see Madam Pomfrey fixed up your wrist. It, er, doesn't hurt does it?"

I continued to ignore him.

"Anthony, er, I'm really sorry," it was clear James was expecting a response. I was taking great satisfaction in ignoring him.

"Anthony, really," he added when I failed to give him the attention he wanted. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

My temper rose suddenly. "Then what exactly did you mean?" I was surprised to find that I was shouting. James looked at me, clearly frightened at the shock of how suddenly I was coming at him.

"I just…."

"What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought…"

"What did you expect from someone who had never ridden a broom before?" I was practically shouting. I couldn't remember a time I had felt so angry.

"Well, my dad…."

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT BULL CRAP STORIES YOU HAVE ABOUT YOUR DAD!"

James stared at me, looking shocked, and even slightly offended.:

"No, I swear…."

He was cut off by the sound of footsteps. A student I recognized as a third year Gryfiindor was coming towards us, holding a piece of parchment in her hands.

"Here," she said, holding one towards me and another to James.

"What's this?" I asked curiously.

"From Professor McGonagall," she said.

We each took our parchments and she left. I opened mine:

Detention, Mr. Brittany. Tomorrow- 5PM. My office.

Professor McGonagall

James appeared to have gotten the same thing.

"Oh no," he said sadly.

"Well?" I looked at him accusingly. "I hope you're satisfied."

"No, of course not…."

But I was done listening to him. I turned over in my bed so that my back was facing him and threw my pillow over my head, determined to end this conversation right away.

"Anthony, listen, please…"

"Go away James," I said firmly.

"But…." I heard a slight sniffle. James sounded like he was wanting to cry.

"Go away!" I said more loudly.

From beneath my pillow, I could hear the distinct sound of sniffles. James had started to cry. He stood there for another minute or two until I finally heard the sound of his footsteps heading towards the door. I didn't emerge from my pillow until I was sure he was gone.

I awoke the next morning with no desire to go about my day. The anticipation I had felt less than twenty four hours ago to attend classes, learn magic, and learn to fly seemed like a distant memory. I didn't belong here. I belonged back home with Mum and Dad, winning my swim meets, with my true friends like Will. Quidditch wasn't for me. James wasn't my friend. I was done.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey gave me the okay to leave the hospital wing, I ran back to Gryffindor Tower, unsure of what I wanted to do next. I entered the common room and was about to climb the spiral staircase up to my dorm when I stopped. I had no desire to run into James.

I plopped down on a chair by the fire, thinking about nothing in particular. Around me, tired looking Gryffindors were making their way down to breakfast. It was still early, too early for James to be awake and ready to head down. I sat there waiting, wishing the day would end. I had no idea what McGonagall had in store for me in detention, but I didn't care. As soon as I had a chance, I was going to send an owl to mum and dad and tell them I no longer wanted to be here.

After about thirty minutes, I made my way upstairs to my dorm, confident that James had already made his way down.

I was wrong.

"Anthony!" he said relieved. Clearly, he had been waiting for me. "So glad you are okay." He looked down at my wrist. It was indeed, good as new.

I ignored him. I walked to my trunk and pulled out my school robes.

"Please don't be mad," James said softly. "It wasn't supposed to go this way."

I began undressing and pulling on my uniform.

James was starting to look desperate. "Anthony," he said again. I was beginning to get tired of hearing him say my name. "I'm really sorry."

I looked at him. He looked as if he was about to cry again. I didn't care if he did.

I looked away, finished dressing, and walked out the door towards breakfast without so much as a glance back.

Classes that day seemed to drag on and on. I felt my mind wandering, eager to go home and back in the pool where I belonged. James kept glancing in my direction, but quickly turned away to avoid eye contact. I sat with Jon and David, refusing to answer their questions about the events of the previous day. Between classes, I faced several taunts and snide remarks from the students passing by.

"He can swim but sure can't fly!" "So full of himself, thinking he was going to make the Quidditch team without even knowing how to fly!" Some students even did imitations of me crashing into the ground or making janky turns. I ignored them, and continued on my way.

After classes, Jon said he was going to the library to work on homework and asked if I wanted to come along. Knowing I was unlikely to run into James in the library, I agreed. We worked quietly and strangely efficiently, stopping to talk only about our work. We were interrupted twice by students asking me to tell them what happened the evening before, as it seemed the story had spread like wildfire, though not very accurately. In one student's version, I was 200 feet in the air and crashed into the top row of bleachers and rolled all the way down to the floor. Jon firmly but politely told anyone who tried to ask what happened that it was none of their business and that they needed to leave so we could complete our work. I felt somewhat odd having someone stand up for me and even odder wanting them to leave so I could do my homework. But everything was odd around here, so what did it matter?

4:45 rolled around quickly, and as I packed my bag and said goodbye to Jon, I was getting an uneasy feeling in my stomach about what detention with McGonagall would entail. Slowly, I walked towards the headmistress's office on the seventh floor. I had to stop twice to ask directions to other students. One of them laughed and mocked me for having to serve a detention for being a "failed, flying know-it-all."

Finally, I reached a stone gargoyle that was supposedly the entrance to the office. I stood in front of it, unsure of what to do next. I paced around nervously for a few minutes, knowing that it was getting closer and closer to 5:00 and not wanting to be in more trouble for being late. Would not knowing how to get past the gargoyle be a valid excuse? Was it something I was supposed to know, even though no one had ever told me? I was beginning to feel angry again, more out of place than ever.

"Ah, Mr. Brittany," came a friendly voice from behind me. I turned around to see a familiar looking boy. After staring at him for a couple of seconds, I realized he was the Head Boy, Teddy, who I had met on the train. Today, his hair was sky blue.

"Professor McGonagall asked me to find you and help you get in!" he said brightly. "She said she realized that you would not know how."

"Hollyhead Harpies!" Teddy said loudly, as though speaking to the Gargoyle. Hollyhead Harpies? Where had I heard that name before? But before I could think, I jumped back in shock. The gargoyle had stepped aside and the wall had disappeared, revealing many sets of moving, spiral staircases. Teddy motioned for me to step in first, and he followed. The stairs stopped at a large oak door with a knocker shaped like a Griffin. Teddy knocked loudly.

"Come in," came McGonagall's voice from the other side of the door.

Teddy opened the door and I shyly walked in. Upon entering the room, I gasped. It was beautiful, circular shaped, with portraits of what were undoubtedly past headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls. There were several impressive looking trinkets scattered around the office. In the center was a large desk where Professor McGonagall was seated. "Ah, Mr. Brittany," she said. "Have a seat." She looked up at Teddy. "Thank you, Lupin. Perhaps you ought to find Mr. Potter?"

"I'm on it!" said Teddy brightly, leaving the office.

I sat down. McGonagall remained at her desk, reading what appeared to be a long and official looking piece of parchment. She didn't look up. I waited, staring at a clock over her head.

5:05. James still wasn't here. I continued to sit, waiting impatiently, McGonagall still not looking up from her parchment. 5:10…..5:15….

At 5:23, there was a knock on the door. Teddy came in first, followed shyly by James.

"Mr. Potter, you are late," said McGonagall shortly.

James didn't say anything, but looked down at the floor. Teddy chimed in. "At around 5:15 I went to look for him. Sent someone up to Gryffindor tower to get him. He said he was waiting for his friend, that they had to go together. I had to go up and assure him his friend was already here." Teddy looked at me. I stared back. James continued to stare at the floor.

"Very well," said McGonagall. "A late start only means a late finish. Thank you, Lupin, you may go." Teddy exited the grand, oak doors.

James had sat down in the chair next to me. "Well?" McGonagall said loudly, clearly not amused. "Explain yourselves!"

Neither James nor I said a word. I looked up and saw that she was looking directly at James. "Mr. Potter, I'm waiting for an explanation or we will be here all night!"

James gave a soft sniffle, clearly about to cry again. "I'm sorry," he said.

"I would like an explanation, not an apology!"

James took a deep breath and sniffled again. "I...I...er… I just really wanted to try out for the Quidditch team."

"Even though you are aware that first years are not to try out?"

"But my dad…."

"Your dad was the exception, not the rule!" yelled McGonagall. "He was the youngest Quidditch player in a century! Surely you knew this?"

James nodded.

"Then what made you think it was the norm? Surely you didn't think we would have two first year Quidditch players in the same century?" McGonagall's voice was firm and strict.

James continued to stare at the floor. He shook his head.

"And you?" From the top of my eye, I could see this question was directed at me. "What were you doing, trying to ride a broom without knowing how to fly? Do you have any idea how dangerous this could have been?"

I wanted to say no, that I had no idea because James had convinced me that it would be easy. McGonagall seemed to read my mind. "Or did Mr. Potter here convince you it was a good idea?" she added angrily.

I nodded. As soon as I did, I felt a horrible feeling in my stomach. As angry as I was at James, it was never in my personality to throw others under the bus.

McGonagall turned back at James. "Mr. Potter, it will be essential for you to know that your father got himself into every situation imaginable and is lucky to have gotten out of here alive!"

"Oh yes!" A new voice had suddenly joined us, causing me to jump. James looked up in shock too. The portrait directly behind the headmistress's desk was talking, beaming brightly and speaking as though he was reliving fond memories. "What an admirable young man he was!" The portrait in question was an old man with a long, silver beard and half moon spectacles. At the bottom of his portrait were the words, "Albus Dumbledore."

"Admirable, yes!" McGonagall was not sounding amused. "But listen to me, Mr. Potter! You will not do well to absentmindedly try to follow his footsteps, and heaven forbid pull your friends along with you! Mr. Brittany is lucky to be alive and unharmed, and I expect better judgement from both of you in the future!"

James and I nodded

"Now for your detentions. Follow me."

James and I followed McGonagall back down the moving staircases, through the corridors, and outside towards the Quidditch pitch. James had a frightened look on his face. I felt oddly indifferent, eager to be done so I could start my letter to mum and dad.

McGonagall led us into the locker room. "As you know, first years have their first flying lesson tomorrow. It will be your job to clean this place up for them. All brooms must be polished. All towels must be washed. Showers must be scrubbed and floors must be sweeped. You may not use magic. Any questions?"

"Er…." James's voice trailed off, as though losing the words he wanted to speak

"Yes, Mr. Potter," McGonagall asked sharply.

"I, er, I was wondering, um, can't the house elves take care of it?"

"The house elves have been informed to leave the area untouched, as two first years with serious lack of judgement will be completing the task for them!"

James nodded and looked at me. I looked away as quickly as I could.

"I will leave you two here to complete your task. Should you try to use any magic at all, I shall know. I will check back in two hours. You are to remain here until everything is clean and tidy, even if it's all night."

McGonagall gave us one final look and head towards the door, leaving it open on her way out. I looked around. The locker room wasn't too large and the work didn't look too bad. I was used to doing chores around the house. The most bothersome thing for me was that I was to spend at least two hours alone with James. I was glad the door was left open, as it made me feel less trapped up with him. But James felt differently, walked over the door, and closed it.

I sighed unnecessarily loudly. James looked at me, but didn't say anything. Without a word, I walked to a cupboard and found a broom, whether or not it was intended for flying or sweeping, I did not know, and nonchalantly started sweeping the floors. James looked at me and was about to say something, clearly wanting to tell me that I was doing it wrong, but quickly looked away and said nothing. After a few moments, I saw him head over to the hamper of used towels and robes and began filling buckets of water in the shower. I was glad he was doing the laundry. If wizards were foolish enough to not use electric washers and dryers, I was glad I was not the one who had to participate. I continued to sweep and James continued to wash, using a substance in the water which I assumed was like soap, even though it bubbled like a potion.

We continued to work in silence. The only sounds were that of the water running, the broom dusting against the floor, and an occasional creak that came from the captain's office, more than likely a mouse or other small creature scurrying around.

At least an hour had passed until finally, the only thing left to do was the polishing of the brooms. I was the first to open the broom closet, the same one we had borrowed the brooms from yesterday evening. I knew what to expect. There were at least 40-50 brooms stored away, having collected dust from sitting around all summer. We were definitely going to be here for more than two hours.

James had joined me at the closet and silently, we began taking out the brooms and laying them out of the floor to be polished. When they were all lined up, James found two bottles of broom polish and some rags. He handed me some supplies and we silently got to work.

I was working quickly, thinking polishing a broom should be no different than polishing Mum's coffee table, giving one light coat over the wood and going on to the next. But I looked up to see James working very slowly. He was carefully polishing every nook and cranny on the broom, reminding me of how carefully my mum polished her jewelry. Desperately not wanting to speak, but determined to do a good job, I spoke the first works either of us had said since McGonagall had left the room. "Um, James?" James looked up quickly and eagerly. "I, um, have never done this before. What are you doing? That's the right way?"

James nodded. "My mum taught me," he said.

I nodded and continued to polish, knowing fully well that it was going to take at least another hour or two to complete all the brooms at this rate.

We continued to work for the next ten minutes in silence. Every now and then, I saw James look up, about to say something, but quickly changing his mind and looking back down. Finally, after several awkward minutes, I asked a question that had been burning inside me for the last hour.

"Er, James?" I said softly. James looked up again. "I, um, was wondering. What you said about your father, how he made the Quidditch team? That was, um, true?" I felt ridiculous asking. It seemed so far fetched, yet McGonagall had said it herself: youngest Quidditch player in a century.

James looked slightly taken aback at the question. "Yeah, of course," he said looking confused.

I nodded. There were a few moments of silence, then we both continued our work. I wasn't sure what to say next. James broke the silence.

"Um, did you think I was lying?" he asked, looking both intrigued and offended.

"Not lying," I said carefully. "More like, um, imagining?"

James looked at me, as though not sure what to say. Finally, he shook his head, still staring at me as though he couldn't believe I would ask something like that.

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else I could say. "I, er, didn't mean to offend you."

James nodded, looking back at the broom he was carefully polishing. But this conversation was not over. Now that I had asked, I was eager to know more.

"Um, what happened?" I asked, surprised to find that my voice sounded more intrigued than I felt. "How did he do it?"

James sighed. He was usually so excited and eager to talk about his father, but at this moment, he was looking defeated.

"Well, I guess they were at their first flying lesson, my dad and the other first years. My Uncle Neville, so um, Professor Longbottom, got hurt and Madam Hooch had to take him to the hospital wing. They were instructed to stay with their feet on the floor, or they would be expelled." James paused, as though waiting for me to laugh. When he saw I didn't, he continued. "There was this mean kid in their year called Malfoy. Malfoy found a little thing that Uncle Neville had dropped and took it and flew up in the air and challenged my dad to get it from him." I was trying to picture the situation. The first thing that came to mind was crashing and falling, the way I did. "My dad had never flown a broom before, but he was so mad at Malfoy for teasing his friend, he shot up and started to follow him. Malfoy threw the thing in the air and my dad swooped down and caught it. Professor McGonagall saw and thought he would make a good Seeker." James paused. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to say something, so I remained quiet, wondering how James's father managed to catch a flying object at his first attempt at flying. "So she put him on the team." James finished in a matter of fact tone. It was apparent this story was perfectly normal for him.

Both of us were silent for a long time. I tried to picture it. James's father broke a rule that was supposed to get him expelled, but instead ended up as the youngest Quiddtich player in a century? How could it be that someone who had never flown before could make the team, when flying was so difficult to control? But yet, McGonagall said it herself: The youngest Quidditch player in a century.

"That's really cool," I said politely.

James nodded and smiled slightly. I smiled back and started to look back down at the broomstick I was polishing.

"Um Anthony," James said softly. I looked up. "I'm really sorry. I really thought….." his voice trailed off.

"You really thought the same would happen to you?" I asked accusingly.

James looked like he may tear up again. He nodded slightly. "Both of us," he said. "I really thought both of us had a chance." He was almost whispering. It was clear he knew how stupid he was sounding, yet he was determined to defend himself.

There was a loud creak from the captain's office. We both looked up, as though wondering if one of us should check to see what caused it. Neither of us moved.

"I could have been killed," I replied to him softly. I was just now realizing that this was true. Of all the things I had ever done, of all the rules I had ever broken, this was the first time I truly could have gotten hurt, possibly even killed.

I expected James to apologize again. I expected him to start crying again. Then I remembered what McGonagall had said about how his father was "lucky to come out alive" and expected him to go into more questionable stories about his father. But he didn't. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said softly. "It would have been my fault if something happened to you."

We both sat silently for a long time, not polishing the brooms we were supposed to be working on. I felt sick, as though something wasn't right. I thought back to how I was going to write to mum right away and would be home soon. But surprisingly, that did not make me feel better. I did not know what was wrong. I was okay, unharmed, and my detention would soon be over. Tomorrow, I would go to classes and have my first flying lesson.

All of a sudden, I realized I was excited. I wanted to learn to fly, I wanted to go to be a part of this school and learn magic. Maybe I would learn to polish these brooms with a flick of my wand. Maybe I would hold off on my letter to mum.

Or maybe I wouldn't send it at all.

James was looking down, as though utterly ashamed of himself.

"No," I said softly. He looked up. "It's not your fault." James continued to look at me, a questioning look on his face. "I made my choice," I added.

"But…" James was ready to argue, but I wasn't going to let him.

"I wanted to fly. I wanted to try it early. I felt so alive taking a chance!"
"But you almost died!" said James, clearly exasperated at my change in mood.

I shrugged. "What's life without a little risk?" I said. "I told you, I'm no goody two-shoes!"

There was a loud sound from the captain's office. I sounded like something had been knocked over. James and I looked at each other. I got up and walked towards the office and poked my head in the window. It was dark and completely empty.

"Nothing there," I said. "It was probably a rat or something."

James nodded in agreement. "You know," he said. "My Uncle Ron had a pet rat. But it turned out it was actually a person!"

I let out a small, soft laugh.

James stared at me. "You don't believe me, do you?" he asked shyly.

I laughed again. "Of course not!" I said. His story about his father playing Quidditch in his first year may have been true, but this was too much. I expected James to argue.

James simply smiled. "That's okay," he said. "You don't have to."

We continued to work on our polishing, which was moving slower than ever. We were less than halfway done with the brooms. I started to polish faster. I didn't want to be here all night.

Something was still bothering me. I didn't know what and I didn't know why. I tried to think of everything that could be wrong. Yes, I was in detention, but it was just polishing brooms, nothing horrible. Yes, I had just humiliated myself at my new school, but I'd get past it. I looked up at James. He was busily polishing, looking troubled as well.

Finally, I knew.

"James," I said loudly. He looked up, looking somewhat surprised. I didn't speak right away.

"Yeah?" he said, as though wanting me to talk.

"James, I'm sorry," I said, softly, struggling to make it sound as genuine as I felt. James looked confused. "Really, I am. I shouldn't have blamed you. I made my choice. I wanted to fly. I like people like you who want to do fun things with me." I stopped talking. A slight hint of a smile was starting to form on James's face. I continued. "When things didn't go the way we wanted them to, I shouldn't have let it out on you." Now that I had started, I was determined to say everything that was on my mind. I was already starting to feel better. "I was embarrassed and scared and injured. It made me miss my friends, my mum and dad, and swimming and everything that is familiar back at home. So I let it out on you. That wasn't right. Really, it wasn't. I'm sorry."

James was looking at me, not looking convinced. I was starting to feel ashamed of myself for letting him feel this way. I truly believed he hadn't meant any harm, and I wanted him to know that.

"But you could have gotten hurt," he said. "You did get hurt. Everyone was laughing at you."

"But I'm fine, right?" I said loudly and happily. "And who cares if they laugh? I got to fly right? I got to try it two whole days sooner than everyone else!" The more I talked, the more I realized that the experience was actually quite exhilarating. All of a sudden, I couldn't wait to try flying again.

James was still looking at me, as though scared he may say the wrong thing. I felt bad seeing him this way.

"You were great," I continued. "You came with me to the hospital, you said you were sorry, you even waited for me to go to detention together." I paused. James didn't say a word. "You were great," I said again. "It was me that made things difficult."

James continued to look at me, looking as though he was scared to believe me. Finally, he spoke. "Anthony," he said softly.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"I know it seems so cool to know everyone here. Everyone knows my parents, I know all about Hogwarts."

I nodded. I wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"But sometimes," he added slowly. "I just wish I was more like...like you."

I laughed softly, a tentative and unconvinced laugh. But James was staring at me, clearly not amused.

"Me?" I asked softly. He nodded. "But why?"

James shrugged. "Your life is so much more...more interesting." He was choosing his words very carefully. It was apparent that he was having trouble articulating what he wanted to say.

I laughed again, this time, much more intentionally. James continued to stare.

"Really," he said. "I grew up knowing all about Hogwarts and magic. I heard all my mum and dad's stories. It was always so normal to me. But you…." his voice trailed off. I had no idea what James found so fascinating about my life. I stared at him, trying to figure out what he really wanted to say.

"You can swim. You know about computers and phones. You went to muggle school and have muggle friends." James sounded incredibly impressed. I couldn't imagine what he found so interesting about these things when he grew up in a home where a flick of a wand would take care of everything.

I smiled at him. "There is really nothing exciting about all that. Your life is much more exciting. Everything here is so much cooler!"

James continued to stare. Finally, he shrugged. "I just wish I could appreciate it more," he said softly. "My mum and dad made such a difference when they were here. They went through so much. Everyone knew me before I even got here because of them. But you, everyone knows you as the guy who can swim. They come up and ask you about your life and you get to tell them. With me, they tell me about my life and what my life should be. They know me as James Potter because of what my parents did. They have an expectation of me, and no matter what I do, I'll never be as cool as my dad was."

James's voice was soft and serious. I assumed he was hung up on the fiasco that had landed us in our current detention. "Your dad seems awesome," I said politely. "But don't worry. You're awesome too!"

James smiled. "Thanks," he said. "My dad…."

"Er, James?" I interrupted him. Now that we were not fighting and my anger towards him had faded, I did not want to risk hearing more stories about his father which may give him more ideas to get us in trouble again. He looked up. "Not to be rude, but I find it kind of, um, annoying, when you keep talking about your dad." As soon as I said it, I felt as though I shouldn't have.

James turned red.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry!" I said, truly meaning it. "I didn't mean…" But James was beaming.

"Don't worry," he said brightly. "I get annoyed talking about him too!'

"Then why do you do it?" I was hardly surprised. Nothing James said made much

sense anyway.

James was still beaming. He shrugged. "Because he is so annoying when he keeps talking about himself! I figured if I have to be annoyed, you do too!"

I smiled at him. Strangely, this made sense. "He sounds wonderful," I said politely.

James's smile faded slightly. "Really, he does!" I didn't know whether I meant it or not, but it seemed like a fair assumption. I imagined that if James's dad was indeed the youngest Quidditch player in a century, and everyone at Hogwarts already knew him, he really must be quite wonderful.

"He's cool," James said assuringly. "Annoying, but cool!"

James and I continued to polish our broomsticks. As we did so, we continued to chat. James wanted to know all about my iphone and my computer and how it worked, and was surprised when I couldn't tell him how it was able to do what it did. He was most impressed by the fact that I could be sitting at home playing a game against a friend who was sitting in their own home and was disappointed when I couldn't tell him how exactly it was done. I told him that there were people called engineers who worked on making programs for our computers and James proudly announced that if he were a muggle, that would be his future career.

Finally, I picked up the last broomstick that needed polishing. "Go slow," James said. "Take your time."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

James shrugged. "It's fun, isn't it?" I paused for a second and realized that what he said was true. I had rather enjoyed my last hour or so, chatting with James as we polished the brooms.

"Yeah," I said, astounded by how true it was. "This place is awesome! Detention at my old school was never this much fun!"

I expected to see James beaming and laughing, possibly suggesting we do it more often. But I looked up to see a solemn look on his face. I gazed at him questioningly.

"Anthony," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Can I just tell you one more thing? One more thing my dad told me?"

I nodded. I was sure that whatever it was would be as outrageous as everything else.

"My dad told me about detention here. Some of them were really scary." James was talking so softly, I had to lean forward to hear him. He was sounding grave.

I glared at him, not sure if I should ask more.

James continued. "In his first year, he had to go out into the forest to look for a creature that was killing unicorns. He found it and it tried to kill him and a centaur saved him."

It took all my effort to not burst out laughing. Though I had no doubt that this story was entirely made up by James's dad, possibly to scare him into behaving, James's grim expression made me feel like it was inappropriate to mock him for it.

"And another time, in his fifth year, he had to write lines with a quill that made him write in his blood. And the trace of his writing carved onto the back of his hand."

I bit my bottom lip, determined to not hurt James's feelings by making fun of his imagination, or making him feel naive for believing these outrageous stories. But James wasn't done. "He still has the scar on his hand," he said, more softly than ever. "You can still read it. I must not tell lies. It's on his hand. And he wasn't even lying." James's voice was shaking as he spoke. He seemed genuinely frightened.

I stared at him, not sure what to say.

"I was really scared," James went on. "When we were given detention, I was really scared of what they would make us do. I was scared it would put you in danger and it would be my fault."

I still didn't know what to say. A part of me wanted to tell James that he had nothing to worry about, that his dad was probably just trying to scare him into behaving himself. But another part of me was questioning the fear in his voice. Did his dad really still have a scar from writing in his own blood? Finally, I responded. "I guess we just got lucky," I said assuriningly.

"Yeah," said James. "McGonagall really went easy on us."

"She did," I said. "It's almost like she wants us to be friends."

James smiled and shrugged. "I guess," he said softly, and slowly, the two of us finished the last of the polishing for what had been by far the most interesting and enjoyable detention I had ever served.

McGonagall quickly dismissed us after a short check to see that we had completed all our given work. ("Well done, boys, this place is ready for your flying lesson tomorrow. You may go.") James expressed his relief that she was not more angry about what we had earned detention for in the first place as the two of us walked back to the Gryffindor common room.

The common room was noisy and busy. Several small groups of students were gathered to work on homework, while others had gotten comfortable on the arm chairs by the fire and were napping or chatting. As both of us had homework to complete, James and I decided to retrieve our school bags from our dorm and finish our homework together in the common room.

We entered the dorm to find David and Stewart doing what appeared to be yoga. David was in a perfect downdog position and Stewart appeared to be copying him, his face somewhat curious, though mostly amused. Jon was sitting on his bed, watching them, looking thoroughly entertained.

"James! Anthony! Join us!' Stewart called, still in his upside down position, when he noticed we had walked in the room. "David is teaching me how to do yoga!"

"And once they are done, Stewart and I are going to teach David to play exploding snaps!" Jon chimed in.

"What's yoga?" James asked bewildered. "This is what David's parents teach the muggles?"

"What's exploding snaps," I asked, eager to know, but slightly worried it was something that would land me another detention.

"It's a game. We play it all the time at home," James said simply. "Um, why are you doing that?" he asked Stewart, who was still holding his downdog.

"Deep relaxation," David answered. "Warms up your entire body, gets blood flowing, increases flexibility."

"Try it," I told James.

"Why don't you?" he asked amused.

"Okay," I said. I walked next to Stewart and got into a downdog.

"Now three legged dog," said David. I shot my right leg upwards.

"Hey!" yelled James. "How did you know what to do?"

Stewart was looking at David, whose leg was also up. He tried to copy, but fell over laughing.

"You've done this before?" he said, looking at me impressed.

"Of course!" I said. "Everyone has done at least some yoga!"

"WHAT?!" Stewart and James asked bewildered.

Jon had started laughing. "They're right, you know."

David was coming out of his posture, so I did too and sat on the floor. "Okay," said David. "Enough of that. Exploding snaps! Teach us!"

"Okay!" said Stewart excitedly, walking over to his trunk. "Anthony, you don't know how to play either?"

I shook my head. "Oh, you'll love it!" he said.

"Um," I said softly, hardly able to believe I was actually going to say it. "I can't. Homework."

"Do it later?" Stewart shrugged.

"I shouldn't," I said, still in shock that I was turning down an opportunity to learn a new game for homework. "I just came out of detention. McGonagall was way too nice for this one. I have a feeling she'll be tougher if I get in trouble again."

"I'll do it!" James said. We all looked at him. "I already know how to play. I'll do it, you just copy mine."

"I've finished mine," said Jon. "You guys can just copy mine."

"No, no," said James. "If too many people copy the same we'll get caught. I'll do it, Anthony, just change enough to not get caught. You guys go on and teach them how to play. I'll join when I'm done."

James grabbed his school bag and headed out the door back into the common room.

There was a long pause in the common room after he left. Finally, Jon turned to me. "You still mad at him?" he asked carefully, as though worried he was asking the wrong thing.

I shook my head. "No," I said apologetically. The other three boys stared back at me, as though I was up to something I wasn't telling them.

"It wasn't right for me to be mad at him. I made my choice and it all sounded like a good idea at the time. It's not fair to be mad at him just because it didn't work out the way he said it would."

My friends were silent. Finally, David spoke. "Yeah," he said. "I think he meant well."

"He needs to tone it down though," Jon said. "Being a Potter and all has gotten to his head."

There was a long pause. I didn't like the way he was talking about my friend, but I wasn't sure I understood what he meant either. David looked confused as well. Finally, he spoke.

"Are his parents celebrities or something?" he asked.

"Yeah, how does everyone know him?"

Stewart and Jon looked at each other. They looked confused, as though hoping the other would answer. Finally, Stewart spoke. "My mum said his dad saved the world or something."

David and I burst out laughing. "Whatttt!" David said mockingly. Jon and Stewart looked amused as well. "Yeah, something like that," Jon said.

"Wait, you guys are being serious?" I asked. David was still laughing.

"My mum said the same thing," Jon said, clearly not sure if he believed it himself.

"Please, tell us more!" David was now laughing so hard his eyes were tearing up.

Stewart and Jon were clearly hoping the other would reply. Finally Stewart spoke. "I guess there was this guy who thought all muggle borns should die and started killing people. And James's dad took him down. Or something like that."

Even Jon was laughing now and Stewart joined in when he realized how silly he had sounded. David was running around the dormitory, roleplaying an exaggerated version of what he had heard. ("I don't like muggle borns! Are you a muggle born? WHAM!" He said in a comically low voice, pretended to point his wand at me and take me down. I fell to the floor laughing. "Wait, no, I'm James's father," he now had a shreikinly high voice. "Stop killing muggle borns." He fluttered around the room waving his wand in fake, flourishing spells.)

The four of us were laughing harder than I had laughed since I had gotten to Hogwarts. Finally, we began to settle down.

"I wrote to my mum and told her that James Potter was in my class," Stewart said. "She said that if he's anything like his father he would be immensely brave, mischievous, and kind."

We looked at each other. "He is," I said finally. "He seems brave, he's already gotten into loads of mischief, and he is kind."

"Yeah," Jon agreed. "He's a bit of a whaco, but I like him."

"Me too," said Stewart. Then he added, sounding a slight bit embarrassed, "I feel bad we made fun of him."

"I don't think he'd mind," I said. They looked at me. "He told me today that his dad annoys him too. He said that's why he talks about him so much, that if he needs to be annoyed by him, we do too."

Stewart laughed. "He does seem like a good sport," he said.

David nodded, smiling as well. "He's fun."

"I told my mum in an owl too. That he was in our class," Jon said. "She said we'd be learning all about what happened in History of Magic soon."

"Binn's class?" I asked, all of a sudden much more bored at the thought of it.

"Maybe we can offer to do a skit on the events," said David playfully. "I'll play the bad guy who wants to kill all the muggle borns." He pointed his wand at me with a hilarious look of mocking on his face.

"I'll be James's father!" I yelled out, jumping up and pointing my wand at David, trying to give him a smug look.

The two of us burst out laughing and soon Stewart and Jon were laughing as well. At last, we settled down and finally got started on learning how to play exploding snaps.

The game was fun. David and I learned quickly and started to play. Soon after, James came back in, holding his homework out to me and I quickly copied it, changing a few things here and there so as to not get caught, and got back to playing again. The five of us played and laughed until almost midnight when we finally decided that it was time to sleep, mentioning how we wanted to be fresh and energetic for our first flying lesson tomorrow.

As I lay in bed, I felt immensely grateful for the day's events. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I wanted to write to mum and tell her to get me out of here. I felt a strong bond of friendship with David, Stewart, Jon, and most of all, James. I thought of the endless possibilities Hogwarts would hold for me for as long as James and I would remain friends. I was eager to learn to fly, so eager that I really started to think I may prefer it over swimming. As I closed my eyes, my thoughts began to wander towards my mysterious grandfather. Was he also raised by muggles, as intrigued and fascinated with what Hogwarts had to offer him? Did he get out and explore much, or was he bookish and academically minded, like Stewart? What were his friends like and what house was he in? Would he be proud of me for being a wizard, or would he be upset with me for landing myself in detention? I wanted to know, more than ever, who he was and what he was like.

The next morning at breakfast, an owl swooped down by me, dropping a letter on my plate, nearly knocking down a glass of orange juice.

"Mail!" yelled James. "Who is it from?"

For a second I was confused. Then I remembered the letter I had written to mum and dad last week. Sure enough, Mum's writing was on the envelope.

"My mum and dad!" I said excitedly, opening the letter.

Dear Anthony,

I'm so sorry it took me so long to reply to you! I just don't know how this owl thing works. It took me ages to find an owl and I don't even know if it knows what it is doing! I really hope this letter reaches you. Please write back to let me know, and maybe include some instructions on how I can make this reply process easier ;) Oh how I wish your phone worked at Hogwarts!

We are so happy to hear that you are having fun at Hogwarts and that you have made new friends. We were worried that being a muggle born would hinder your education, but it seems like you are doing just fine!

Now about your grandfather, I do think he was a wizard, but it is not wise for you to go around trying to find out about him. What the hat said really doesn't mean much. If he was a wizard, then it is likely he had some ancestors that were too, that's probably all the hat was trying to say. And after all, it's just a hat, don't overthink it. What is important is that you do your best at Hogwarts, no matter who he was.

Missing you like crazy! Dad has already started planning some fun activities for when you are back with us at Christmas. Can't wait!

Love,

Mum

"Anything good?" James asked as I looked up from my letter. It appeared he had been watching me read.

"My mum!" I said excitedly. "It was nice hearing from her."

"That's good!" said James cheerfully. "I like hearing from my mum as well." I was tempted to ask if his mum shared crazy stories about his dad in her letters, but resisted the urge, not wanting to come off as being rude.

After breakfast, James and I walked with Jon, David, and Stewart to our first class for the day, which was Transfiguration. We were surprised to find Professor McGonagall standing by the blackboard.

"Settle down," she said after most of the class had arrived. "I will be covering class today."

After some instructions, we were to divide into pairs and work on transfiguring a feather into a fork. James and I were able to master it relatively quickly, so we found ourselves starting to get bored about halfway through the class.

Professor McGonagall was walking around the room, checking progress and offering suggestions to those who were struggling. When she got to us, she expressed admiration for how quickly and thoroughly both of us were able to master it. "Very good, boys!" she said happily. "Ten points each for Gryffindor," James and I beamed at each other. "You both have the potential to be superb wizards if you spend more time focusing and less time getting into mischief," she looked straight at me and gave me a smile. She did not look angry from the events that took place the last time I had seen her. But something about her smile seemed curious. It was as though this was something more than being proud of us and earning our house, which was also her house, points. It was like she knew something that I didn't, something that I was capable of that I did not know yet.

"James," I said quietly.

"Yeah!" He didn't look up. He was too busy fidgeting with the feather on his desk, clearly bored with practicing the transfiguration we had mastered almost fifteen minutes ago.

"Can I tell you something?" I spoke in a low voice, careful not to be overheard.

James looked at me, intrigued by whatever secret I was about to share with him.

"My grandfather is a wizard," I said softly and excitedly.

James stared at me. Finally he said, "Cool." He looked back down at his feather and started making it move with his wand.

I was disappointed with his lack of response. "James," I said again, this time slightly more loudly. "My grandfather! He's a wizard!"

James looked up again. He looked confused, but seemed to have noticed the excitement in my expression. Finally he said, "I'm sorry, I don't quite follow."

"What's not to follow?" I asked angrily. "You know what wizards are!" I was feeling a bit impatient, not sure what was throwing him off.

"I know," said James carefully. "But, er, why is this a big deal?"

I understood. James had a whole family of witches and wizards. This was not new or exciting to him.

"Well," I said, feeling a bit silly, but determined to share my enthusiasm. "I never even knew what wizards were. But it turns out, there was one in my family." I gave James a short version of the events from when Professor McGonagall had come over to my house and what little I knew about my grandfather from my mum and grandmother.

James smiled. "That's really cool," he said politely. It was clear that he understood my excitement, but was struggling to feel it himself.

"And you know," I added, finding it helpful to say my thoughts out loud. "I think McGonagall knows something about it."

James shrugged. "Probably," he said simply. "She knows everything."

"Really?" I said, starting to feel a rush of energy and excitement. "You think she knows who he is?"

"Maybe," said James, clearly still failing to understand my enthusiasm. "Ask her."

"I can't just ask her!" I exclaimed, stunned at how casually he suggested it.

"Why not?" asked James. "It can't hurt." I thought about it and realized that he was right. I wouldn't be doing anything wrong, the worst that would happen would be that she didn't know.

"Okay," I said. "You've convinced me! I'll ask her!"

James beamed. "You're easy to convince," he said brightly.

"Well this idea of yours actually makes sense!" I said happily.

"You can ask her after class," said James, wanting to sound helpful. "Should I come with you?"

"No, thanks," I said. "I'll be fine. I think it's best I'm alone anyway." James smiled and nodded.

After class, I lingered for a few moments while the rest of my classmates quickly poured out of the room. Some were looking excited about their success with the feather, others rather defeated. McGonagall had her back turned to the door and was using her wand to clear out the materials from our lesson and prep for the next one. Feathers and forks were flying towards her, neatly landing in a box that was open on her desk.

She turned towards me, as though aware the whole time I was there, and smiled. "Ah, Mr. Brittany," she said. "What may I do for you?'

I felt nervous, more nervous than I did when I mounted a broomstick for the first time a few days earlier. This may be it. I may be leaving the room with information about myself that I never knew before.

"Um, may I ask you something?" I said unnecessarily, stalling for time so I could work out what to say.

"Ask away," said Professor McGonagall, looking rather impatient.

"Um, if you recall, you'd come over to my house over the summer. We talked about…"

"I remember clearly," she interrupted me. It was clear she wanted me to get to the point.

"Right, um…" I figured I just had to say it. "My grandfather. You think he was a wizard. The sorting hat mentioned that it had seen others from my family."

McGonagall was looking at me very carefully.

"Do you, um, know anything? Who he was? Anything at all?"

There was a long pause. Professor McGonagall signed loudly. "Well, Mr. Brittany," she said finally. "I was expecting you to ask. It is only natural that you are curious."

I nodded. There was another pause. "Anything at all?" I said again. "Do you know him?"

"I believe I do," Professor McGonagall said softly, as though not sure she was saying the right thing. My stomach did a flip flop, my heart was beating fast. "In fact, I'm quite certain that I do."

"Who….. what was….who…" I wanted to know it all. I didn't know what to start with. "How do you know?" I blurted out.

"I thought about it long and hard after I left your place over the summer. There was a familiar look to both you and your mother, though I couldn't immediately place it. I thought and thought about the time period and the locations of your mother's story. And then it came to me. And when it did, it seemed clear as day."

"Wow!" my heart was beating faster than I could ever remember. This was more exhilarating than the swimming race I had set a world record in just a few months ago. "Tell me everything! Who was he? What was his name?"

But Professor McGonagall closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I've already said too much," she said regretfully. "It is not in my place to share this information with you."

"What?" I couldn't believe she would keep this information from me. "But he was my grandfather! My family! He is a wizard!"

"I would be doing your mother and grandmother a great disservice by revealing this information to you without their consent," said McGonagall. "It is only right that I withdraw from saying anymore."

"But my mum wants to know too!" I said truthfully. "She has always wanted to know who her father was. She would be so happy to know!"

"This is much deeper than casual conversations. I cannot assume anything, family history and information is very sensitive to some, it is only right that refrain from sharing what may be very personal information."

"But…" I knew it was useless. Professor McGonagall seemed to have her mind made up.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brittany," she said, genuinely sounding sorry. "I realize this must be disappointing for you." Disappointing didn't even start to describe how I was feeling. I had already started scripting my letter to Mum in my head. How proud and happy she would have been to hear the information.

"Can you share anything?" I asked desperately. "Anything at all?"

"Well," Professor McGonagall sounded thoughtful. Finally she spoke. "You share his talent in transfiguration," she said smiling.

I smiled back. This wasn't the type of information I was seeking, but it would do.

"Now go on, Mr Brittany. You don't want to be late to your next class. You have already landed yourself in one detention this week, let's not make it two." I got up and began to leave the room. When I got to the door, I stopped and turned back to her. "Thank you, Professor," I said genuinely. "If I ever get to meet him, we'll do transfiguration together!"

Professor McGonagall gave me a smile and nodded. Suddenly, she looked rather sad. "Is, um, everything okay?" I asked, hoping that by conversing more I would be able to get more information.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she said solemnly. "I understand curiosity. I'm sure he would love you. But we must leave it for now."

I nodded. An idea had come to me. Professor McGonagall said telling me would be disrespectful to my mum and grandmother, but they wanted to know too. Tonight, I would send an owl to mum letting her know what she had told me and she could ask herself. McGonagall wouldn't say no then.

I left the classroom feeling excited again. The rest of the day seemed to last twice as long as it actually was as I kept thinking of what I would say in my letter to mum and picturing how excited she would be when she found out that the answers she had seeked her whole life were only a few letters away. Even my first flying lesson, which I had been looking forward to, seemed to drag. I was also pleased to find that when properly taught, flying wasn't too hard.

At long last, classes were over for the day. I told James that I would be late in joining him and the others for dinner and quickly sped up to the common room, which was quite empty, and grabbed some parchment and my quill.

Dear Mum,

I got your last reply! You have to trust the owls! They don't fail us. Just find one and tell it to find me and it will. It's actually quite easy!

You won't believe what happened today! I asked Professor McGonagall after class if she knew who my grandfather was and she said that she did! She said that she thought about everything we told her and once she figured it out, it was obvious to her. But she wouldn't tell me much more. Said it was not her place to tell me without asking you first. All she would tell me was that he was good at transfiguration, like me. (I did very well in my lesson with her, we were turning feathers into forks).

Maybe if you asked her she would tell you? If you want to send her an owl, all you have to do is write her name on it and tell the owl and it will find her.

I can't wait to find out more!

Love,

Anthony

Two days later, an owl swooped by me, dropping off a letter during breakfast. I grabbed it excitedly, quickly identifying Mum's handwriting on the envelope and tearing it open.

Dear Anthony,

I think I have this owl thing figured out! I hope you get this letter more quickly than the last.

Now I understand that you are curious about your grandfather. I am too, after all. But I really do not think that asking your professor about him is the way to go. There is really no way she can know. She is only guessing, and even if she says she is certain, that doesn't make it true. The last thing we want is to get too attached to the idea that we are going to find out who he is, only to discover that it was the wrong man all along.

Anthony, please do not pester your professor about it any more. She was right not to share the information with you and you do not want to make her uncomfortable about it. She may say she is sure, but there is no way she can be.

Glad you are doing well in transfiguration! Next time we need forks, I'll go to the garden and find some feathers and you can make them for me! :)

Take care and write back soon!

Mum

I read the letter twice to make sure I had read it right. I could not believe that after coming this close, Mum did not want more information. It sounded like she did not trust McGonagall, but what did she have to lose by hearing what she had to say? My face must have shown disappointment, because soon James asked me what was wrong. I showed him the letter.

After reading it, James looked at me. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know you were eager to hear more."

"I don't understand," I said softly. "She was eager too. Now all of a sudden, she doesn't want to know. It doesn't make sense!"

"It sounds like she's scared of what she may find out," James said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's all just too much for her."

"No, she's not like that," I said. "She's not the kind to get scared about anything."

"Then maybe it's what she said about being worried that it wouldn't be true."

"Yes," I said, realizing that this was actually a very possible reason. "I think she just doesn't trust McGonagall. Can't really blame her, I guess. She doesn't really know her."

"My dad was always pestering her for information about his parents," James added.

"Your dad? Oh, um, why? Did he not know him either," I wasn't sure where James was going with this story.

James shook his head. "I don't know my grandparents either. I mean, I do, on my mum's side. Not my dad's. They died when he was a baby."

"Oh, um, I'm sorry," I wasn't sure what to say. A part of me thought James was making this up, maybe to make me feel better, like I wasn't alone in not knowing my grandfather.

James shrugged. "My dad was raised by his aunt and uncle. They were mean to him. He hated it there."

"Oh," I said, politely. "That's too bad."

"Yeah," said James. He always talked about how he got to Hogwarts and people told him about his family. He didn't know anything about them until he got here."

"Oh, um, did he know they were wizards?" I asked.

James shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Just like you," he added, smiling at me. I smiled back. It was obvious that James was making this up to make me feel better, and I appreciated his effort.

"Mum doesn't want me to pester McGonagall," I said, happy to change the subject. "I wonder if there is any other way I can find out more."

James shrugged. "Maybe try the library?" he said.

"The library? Why?"

James shrugged again. "My Aunt Hermione always says that you can find answers to anything in the library."

I laughed. "I would say the same for Google! Too bad we can't use that here!"

"What is Google?"

I spent the remainder of breakfast explaining Google and the internet to James. Jon had joined in our conversation, telling us hilarious anecdotes about how his father had finally convinced his mother, who was a witch, that the internet was written by people, and not some "muggle charms" as she liked to call them. David and Stewart joined the conversation later, David talking about how his parents were going to start offering "live stream" yoga classes through the internet, an idea that Stewart and James were thoroughly amused by.

As the weeks went on, I found that Hogwarts was like a long lost home that I was finally reunited with. Classes seemed much easier than they did at my old, muggle school, as the focus on practical knowledge made learning much more interesting. I still swam in the lake almost every weekend, but the days were getting short and the nights chillier, so I knew that there would soon be a time when it would be too cold and I would have to take a break from swimming.

But I was strangely fine with that. Flying lessons were going well, and though I still had a lot of work to do to gain speed and control my movements in the air, James was convinced that if we worked hard enough throughout the year, we would both make the Quidditch team by the next.

One bright Saturday morning in mid October, I finally got to experience what a Quidditch match was like. The first match of the year was to take place, the teams that would be playing were Ravenclaw and Slytherin. All the first years were excited to watch their first match and our enthusiasm was apparent the night before in the common room. James had made it abundantly clear to myself, Jon, Stewart, and David that even though Gryffindor was not playing, we needed to support Ravenclaw because "Slytherin is known to cheat," and "no one likes it when Slytherin wins." Jon asked him why he was so anti Slytherin and James gave a look of disgust so convincingly, it was unnecessary for him to explain himself any more.

Saturday morning after breakfast, we made our way out to the Quidditch pitch. It was clear that Quidditch players were heros at Hogwarts. People had been applauding them since they arrived for breakfast, others had used magic to add the names of their favorite players to the backs of their robes. Several students from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were wearing either Ravenclaw or Slytherin colors to support their friends on the teams that were playing, and James seemed to be right that more Gryffindors supported Ravenclaw over Slytherin.

The stadium was packed, it seemed as though the whole school had come out to enjoy the first match of the year. It was obvious where the Ravenclaws and Slytherins were sitting, as they were decked out in their house colors from head to toe. The staff was situated in their own section, their attire showing no bias for one house over another. Finally, a loudly amplified voice spoke.

"Hello, and welcome to our first match of the year! Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin!" There was a roar of applause. I looked down to see that the voice was coming from the Head Boy, Teddy. I looked around him to see if he had a microphone, but could not spot one. After a second, I realized that his voice was probably amplified using magic.

The game began. The players were flying so fast, they looked like blue and green blurs as they whooshed by. Teddy was providing detailed commentary of the events. "And the quaffle is in possession by Ravenclaw…" I squinted around to try to catch a glimpse of the Golden Snitch. The game ended only when the snitch was caught and it was worth 150 points. I saw no sign of it. "Slytherin chaser throws the quaffle, and it's blocked by the keeper!"

After about an hour and a half, the score remained 0-0. The crowd was losing enthusiasm and several students were getting up to leave. "...and the bludger almost knocked him off his broom!" Teddy was continuing his commentary as though every play was the most interesting thing to happen in the game. "...blocked by the keeper!"

"This is boring," David said. "A soccer game would be over by now."

"And it would actually have some points," Jon added.

"I could have swam a hundred races by now."

Only James seemed to be just as entertained by the match now than he was over an hour ago. "These keepers are so good!"

"I've been to a few Quidditch matches before," Stewart chimed in. "They were way more interesting."

"...close call for Ravenclaw, but once again blocked by the keeper!" It seemed like Teddy was saying that a lot.

There were audible groans from the audience. The skillful moves from the keepers were starting to get old.

"The problem is both teams have superb keepers and mediocre chasers," James said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one cared to listen.

"Someone just hurry up and catch the snitch, I don't care who," Jon said yawning.

"If my dad was playing, he would have caught it ages ago," James piped in, a tone of slight irritation at how his dad was not actually there to carry out the task.

"And what's this? Oh, Oh…!" Teddy's voice seemed excited. It seemed the audience had perked up too. The players were flying so fast, it was clear something was happening.

"RAVENCLAW SCORES!" There was tremendous applause from the stadium. The band played an energetic fight song while Ravenclaws jumped up and down and hugged each other.

"All that work for 10 points," Jon said, sounding slightly annoyed. "I'm going inside."

"What?!" James looked at him as though he had said the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

"What?" said Jon. "This is boring. Whoever catches the snitch is going to do so by sheer luck."

"I'm a bit hungry, I may go in too," Stewart was getting up.

"Yoga over sports," said David. "I'm out."

James didn't seem bothered. He was watching the game too intently to be disturbed.

"Coming Anthony?" asked Jon.

"I think I'll stay," I said. "It's slow moving but I'm enjoying it."

"Okay, see you," said David.

"Yeah, we'll see you guys at dinner," said Stewart.

"See you!" I said.

"Bye James," said Jon.

"Bye," said James nonchalantly, his eyes still glued to the pitch.

Two hours later, the score was Ravenclaw 30, Slytherin 20. More than half the stadium had cleared out, as students were clearly getting bored with the lack of advances in the game.

"This is the longest match we have had here at Hogwarts since the 1960s," Teddy was saying in his magically amplified voice. There were audible groans and boos from the audience.

"The beaters are good, keeping everyone safe from falling off," James was saying to no one in particular. "Keepers are fantastic. But man, those chasers and seekers! If I was in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, I would have made the team over them!"

"And you would have caught the snitch by now," I said, half sarcastically, half jokingly. "Like your dad."

"My dad was a really good seeker. He was the…"

"Youngest in a century, I know," I said shortly.

"Yeah," said James, unbothered at how I had cut him off. "My Uncle Charlie was a Seeker as well. Mum was a Chaser. So was my grandpa back when he was here. My Uncle Ron was a Keeper. My Uncle George was a Beater." James paused. "His twin was too."

"You have twin uncles?" I asked.

James shook his head. "Uncle Fred died." He looked somewhat sad.

"What?!" I wasn't expecting this. "I'm...I'm so sorry." I knew James had not made this up. As wild as his imagination was, he would never go so far as to imagine a dead uncle, much less one that had a twin.

"Me too," said James sadly. "He seemed so cool. My Uncle George is one of the most fun people you'll ever meet, but he is really sad without him. They were twins. Did everything together."

Not sure what to say, I hesitated, then decided it was best to keep talking.

"So you have all the positions covered in your family," I said, sounding rather impressed.

James nodded. It was clear that this was no novelty to him.

"Cool," I said, not sure of what else I could add to the conversation.

Several more uneventful minutes passed by. Well over half the stadium had cleared out and it appeared the players were starting to lose interest as well. They were flying much slower and the passing of the quaffle seemed much less enthusiastic than it had a few hours prior. Teddy's commentary was getting rather repetitive, as he was running out of things to say. At one point he said he was going to forget the game and just tell jokes, but McGonagall cut him off, much to the disappointment of the audience. James was especially disappointed, as according to him, Teddy told "hilarious jokes."

Though I was enjoying watching and spending time outdoors with my friend, I too was starting to consider leaving the game early and joining Jon, David, and Stewart at whatever they may be up to. I was about to express this to James when he suddenly looked at me and asked, "Do you think your grandfather played Quidditch?"

I stared at him. Since Mum's last letter and James's useless suggestion about trying to find out about him in the library, I had more or less given up on the idea of trying to find out anything more. Though it had always been at the back of my mind, there seemed to be nothing more to do, and it would all just be a waste of time and more disappointment.

"How would I know?" I asked James, somewhat impatiently. "I don't even know his name."

"Er, right," said James slowly, clearly wondering if he had offended me. I wanted him to know that he hadn't.

"It would be cool if he did," I said. "I'm an athlete, Mum used to play a lot of sports too when she was in school."

"Maybe she got it from him!" said James happily.

I shrugged. "I guess we'll never know," I said.

James was staring at me. "Didn't McGonagall say that you looked like him?"

"What?" I asked, having to think about our conversation. "Oh, um, yeah. I think she did. Well, she said Mum and I both looked familiar, whatever that means."

"They have pictures of all the Quidditch teams through the years in the library," James replied thoughtfully.

"Oh, um, how is that going to help? I don't know what he looks like."

"He looks like you!" said James eagerly.

"But in what way?" I asked, trying to work out how this idea would be able to help me. "I'm sure loads of people have dark hair, dark eyes, and an athletic build... Especially Quidditch players."

"It can't hurt to look," said James encouragingly,

"Yeah, I guess…." It seemed impossible that I would recognize my unknown grandfather in old pictures of Quidditch teams, but James was right in that it couldn't hurt. At worst, I'd waste some time. At best, I'd find out more.
But I was interrupted by a sudden roar of applause and people jumping to their feet, as though to get a better look at what was going on in the slow moving, boring match.

"It looks like they've both seen it, who will get to it first?" Teddy was shrieking in excitement. "Is the longest game in decades finally coming to a close?"

All but two players on the pitch had stopped moving. The two seekers were both speeding in a direction as though their life depended on it. After a few seconds, the Beaters got involved trying to aim the bludgers at the opposite team's seekers, but they were going way too fast. The Chasers and Keepers had stopped playing, realizing that their efforts were essentially useless.

"Where is it?" James was squinting in the direction the two seekers were flying.

"There! There it is!" I had seen it. Unmistakably, there was a tiny glimmer of gold a few feet ahead of them, both of them trying desperately to contain it, but it was fluttering around too quickly.

"Where? I don't see it…."

"There! Ravenclaw's almost got it. She is so close!"

"I see her reaching, but where…"

James was interrupted by thunderous applause. I too was applauding. The Ravenclaw seeker had caught the snitch.

"RAVENCLAW WINS!" Teddy was exclaiming joyfully with his magically amplified voice. "What a game!"

"Wow, that was so cool!" I said happily, very glad that I had chosen to stay until the end.

"Yeah!" said James. "But I'm so sad I didn't see her catch it. I couldn't see it."

"I saw it! It was so fast and fluttery!" I knew my voice was portraying just how amazing I thought the whole thing was.

"Yeah, I'm definitely not going to try out for Seeker," said James laughing. "I didn't really want to anyway. Too much pressure, since my dad…."

"Yeah," I cut him off, fully aware of what he was going to say next if I didn't.

"I don't want to be Chaser either," said James. "Mum was a chaser. Too much pressure there too."

"So Beater or Keeper it is?" I asked him. "Like your uncles."

James beamed. "Yes!" he said, enthusiastically as we started to walk back towards the castle. "But you should try out for Seeker!"

I smiled. "I did see the snitch from quite far away," I said proudly. I pictured myself being the one to catch the snitch, earning Gryffindor 150 points, and finally ending the game. Only I would catch it much sooner than the two today did.

"You did!" said James excitedly. "You'd be a really good Seeker!"

"Just got to get better at flying," I laughed, all of a sudden eager to practice flying more diligently and seriously.

"Yeah, me too," said James. "Hey…. Do you think your grandfather was maybe a Seeker?"

I smiled. I had no idea, but the thought was quite comforting. "I don't know," I said sadly. Then I added, "I wish I did."

James looked at me. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "We still have about an hour before dinner. Want to try our luck in the library?"

I shrugged. Deep down, I did not believe that looking at pictures of past Quidditch teams was going to help me find out anything, but the rush from the game was still fresh and the idea of looking at pictures of past Quidditch teams seemed rather appealing. "Sure," I said. "Let's go."

We made our way to the library and found that it was rather empty. We walked over the Madam Pince's desk and told her what we were looking for. She smiled and brought out a large album which we took over to an empty table.

James opened a page at random. A photo of seven Hufflepuffs was waving back at us. "Nope," said James flipping the page. "We need Gryffindor."

"How do you know he was in Gryffindor?" I asked.

"Because you're in Gryffindor!" said James, sounding slightly amused that I would ask this question.

"Doesn't mean he was!" I said, half wondering if he was right.

"My entire family was in Gryffindor!" said James, flipping another page in the album, this time finally revealing a sea of red and gold.

"1987," I said, looking at the date at the bottom of the page. "That's too recent. Let's go back earlier."

James nodded and began to flip back pages.

"1975?" he said, opening to another moving photograph.

I shrugged. "Maybe," I said. We looked down at the picture!

"Hey! That's my grandfather!" James was excitedly pointing at the picture of a wizard with messy hair and hazel eyes. The picture was smiling cheerfully and waving back at him.

"Wow!" I said. "You said he was a chaser?"

James nodded proudly.

"It'd be cool if my grandfather was on the same team as him!" I said, starting to look closely at the rest of the picture. Of the seven players, only three others were males.

"It's interesting that boys and girls play on the same team in Quidditch," I said.

James looked up at me. "Why?" he said, looking confused.

"Well, in swimming and in other sports, muggle sports, males and females compete separately."

James was staring at me as though this was the first time he had heard such a thing. I remembered he had a similar reaction when I had asked him the same thing the evening he had tried to tryout for the team. "Why?" he asked again.

I shrugged. "To be fair, I guess. Males and females have really different body types, so they perform in sports differently."

James looked bewildered.

"But when you're on a broom I guess it doesn't matter," I added quickly.

"No," said James. "No, it doesn't."

I looked back down at the picture. Of the three remaining males, two of them had blonde hair. I pointed to the last player, who had dark hair and dark eyes. "Maybe him?" I asked, not sounding any more convinced that I felt.

"He has dark hair!" James said a little too enthusiastically.

"Yeah," I said. There was a pause. "But that's all," I added sadly. "Doesn't look like me at all."

"No, he doesn't. Let's keep looking."

James flipped the page. Slytherins. He flipped it again, quickly, as though the Slytherin page held something dirty. Hufflepuffs. Then Ravenclaws. Finally, the next page was Gryffindors, this time, with the year 1976 written at the bottom. There were only two players that were different from the previous year's photo. James found his grandfather once again, and the dark-haired boy was there as well. But the new people were both girls.

We spent the next ten minutes flipping pages, pointing out any features that even vaguely resembled mine. "This guy looks like he's the same height as you!" "This one has dark hair too." "His eyes are sort of shaped like mine." The more we looked, the more I realized that I was enjoying looking at these pictures of past Quidditch players, waving back at me. Soon, the hopes of finding my grandfather in one started to feel less important than my picture being featured in this album someday. I expressed this to James.

"Of course it will be!" he said happily.

We had started looking at pictures of past Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams as well. James flipped past the Slytherin pages quickly. I was wanting to look at them, so I asked him why he had such strong feelings against Slytherin. He responded by saying that it's because "Gryffindors hate Slytherins." I laughed and mentioned the names of two or three Slytherins we share classes with that we have gotten along with just fine. James shrugged, admitting that they were nice. He flipped to another page. A team of players dressed in green and silver was waving back at us. The year said 1977. This time, James did not flip away from the page.

I looked at it. At this point, I was just pointing out features of the players as though it was nothing more than a game. "This one has dark hair like mine," I said pointing to a skinny, good looking Slytherin boy.

"Yeah," said James, looking more closely. "Dark eyes too." He started to look away, then suddenly turned back to the picture.

"Wait…" he said, thinking out loud. "I think I know who that is?"

"Who is he?" I asked, expecting him to say it was a friend of his fathers.

"Um, no one. Never mind," said James, unconvincingly.

"No, tell me!" I said.

James frowned. "I'm not sure," he said slowly. "But he looks a lot like my dad's godfather. I think this is his brother."

"Oh," I said nonchalantly. I reached out my hand to flip another page, but James was still staring at the picture.

"Do you, um, know him?" I asked.

James shook his head. "I think my dad said he died. He died a really scary death." James was speaking softly, slightly shuddering, as he often did when he told stories about his dad.

"Oh," I said, not sure what to make of this. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said James. "He's not your grandfather," he added unnecessarily.

"I know," I laughed. "But why specifically?"

"Well, I think he didn't much like muggles." This was a response I wasn't expecting, but why he didn't like muggles and how James knew this, I was not too interested in hearing. Instead I just said, "Oh, that's too bad. Does, um, your dad's god father miss his brother?"

James looked at me. "He's dead," he said blankly, as though surprised I did not know this information.

"I got that," I said. "But does he miss him? Your dad's godfather?"

"No, he's dead too," said James. "My dad's godfather is dead."

"I thought his brother was dead.." I was starting to feel confused, and slightly disturbed at how many people were dying in James's stories. Only earlier he had said his uncle's twin was dead too.

"Yeah, he is too."

"Oh!" I said startled. "I'm so sorry." But James did not look too upset. I was going to ask how they died, but decided that it may be too insensitive. "How do you know it's his brother then?"

"He looks like him," said James. "My dad has a few pictures of his godfather. He misses him a lot. I'm actually named after him. That "S" in my middle name. That's from him."

"Oh, wow, that's cool," I said politely, wondering whether or not it was appropriate to ask how it was that everyone in his stories were somehow dead.

James smiled and nodded, and flipped to the next page in the album.

"Psst, Anthony. Anthony, wake up!" I rolled over in my bed. I couldn't have been sleeping long. "Anthony! Wake up!"

"What?" I asked sleepily. I opened my eyes to find James standing next to my bed, holding a small piece of parchment in his hands. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight." James said excitedly. "Look, I got Teddy to tell me the password to the prefect's bathroom."

"Splendid, have fun," I said, not bothering to ask why I was supposed to be interested in this information.

"Come on, let's go check it out!" James whispered urgently.

"I don't need to go to the bathroom," I mumbled, flipping over in my bed, turning my back on James.

"But it's supposed to be really cool," James was starting to speak louder. There was undeniable excitement in his voice. "The baths and soaps are really special."

"My mum has taken me to Bath and Body Works enough times, I don't need special baths and soaps," I said, flipping over in my bed again, still half asleep.

"What's that?" James asked eagerly.

"A store that sells special soaps and bath stuff that my mum thinks smells super special," I said, smiling as I imagined James walking into the store and being greeted by the muggle who stood in the doorway.

"Is there a ghost there?" James asked. I turned to face him and saw that he was looking completely serious.

"Why would there be a ghost in a muggle store that sells soap?" I asked sarcastically.

"Oh, er, right," said James, looking slightly embarrassed. "But there is one in this bathroom. Or at least, she stops by sometimes. Her name is Myrtle"

"I was now starting to feel more awake. Whether or not Myrtle was another fragment of James's imagination, I did not know, but felt somewhat inclined to find out. "What's she like?"

"Really whiny," said James. "They call her Moaning Myrtle.

I looked at him, about to say something. Then realized that the Gryffindor house ghost's name was Nearly Headless Nick, so maybe Moaning Myrtle was not as unusual a name for a ghost as it seemed. I continued to stare at James.

"So, are you coming?" James asked, eagerly.

"Now?" I asked. "Why?"

"Because we can't go there when anyone sees us, we're not prefects!"

"Oh," I said, suddenly more excited. This was much more than visiting a bathroom. It was a chance to explore areas of Hogwarts. "Maybe we can go tomorrow?" I was rubbing my eyes. I had to have been asleep for at least an hour.

"Let's go now!" James said urgently. "What if they change the password by tomorrow?"

"You think they will?" I asked, not having considered this possibility.

"No," said James matter of factly. "But I don't want to take the chance. I've always wanted to visit the prefect's bathroom. My dad took a golden egg in there and had to hold it under water."

I smiled to myself, imagining what details James would make up if I were to ask him why on earth his father held a golden egg under water in the prefect's bathroom, or even how he acquired a golden egg in the first place, but of course, I didn't ask. All I knew was that I wanted to explore as much of Hogwarts as I could, and James had found us a way to get into a place I may not otherwise get to go. I started getting up from bed.

"So you're in?" James was beaming. "Yes? Let's go!"

I quickly got out of bed. James had not changed into his pajamas yet, but I did not find it necessary to change out of mine. I grabbed a coat and the two of us scurried out of the dormitory, through the common room, and past the portrait of the Fat Lady into the halls.

As soon as we stepped out, I felt a rush of adrenaline, much like the first time, almost two months prior, that James and I had crept out of bed to explore the castle. We hurried down the stairs and through some corridors. I had no idea where James was going, but he seemed to be following directions that he had scribbled on the piece of parchment.

"How did you get Teddy to tell you the password and where to go?" I whispered to James.

"He had just come back from Hogsmeade and I think he'd drunk some Firewhiskey," James whispered back with a smug look on his face. I did not know what any of this meant, but assumed it had something to do with whiskey.

We were on the fifth floor. James was whispering something about the "4th door." When he seemed to be confident that he had chosen the correct door, he stopped. We were facing a statue.

"This is the statue of Boris the Bewildered," James told me.

"I see," I said, disinterested in the name.

James muttered something to the statue. When I was about to ask him what he said, the statue suddenly swung open, revealing a large room.

We walked inside and I couldn't help but gasp. This was no ordinary bathroom. It was made entirely out of white marble, lit by a chandelier holding several beautiful candles. The water faucets were made of what looked to be solid gold with jewels that were sparkling under the light from the candles. But it wasn't the gold or the jewels that made my jaw drop open. In the middle of the room stood a magnificent swimming pool, a small diving board at the side. It was smaller than the pools back home that I swam laps in. After all, according to James, it was technically a bath. But the idea of being able to swim at all filled my body with a familiar warmth and energy that I had not felt in quite some weeks. "Wow…." I said audibly, unable to contain my excitement.

James was looking around with wide eyes as well. He was examining the jewels on the faucets, as though trying to decide which one he wanted to start. He chose one at random and turned it. A heavily perfumed scent began to fill the room and bubbly water started to flow. James quickly turned it off, as though worried about whether or not it was supposed to be turned on.

We stood there, glancing around for a few more moments. Finally, I looked at James and said, "Well, what now?" A part of me wanted to fill the pool up and jump in, suddenly unaware that it was well past midnight. But I had no intention of doing so in what was technically a bathroom, with James there watching me.

"I don't know," James seemed to be wondering the same thing. "I was kind of hoping we'd see Moaning Myrtle."

I had forgotten all about the supposed ghost that sometimes visited this place. I was about to mention to James that there was clearly no ghost and that he must have misunderstood his dad, when low and behold, there was a scream coming from inside the pipes and the ghost of a young girl jumped out, floating to James at full speed and yelling, "What did you call me?!"

She was clearly angry. She had a grumpy look on her face and her hands were on her hips, and she stared at James with a look of utter disgust. James had jumped back and was looking half amused and half frightened.

"Oh, um, hi," he said shyly. "You must be Myrtle?"

"Yes," Myrtle had an annoyingly shrieky and high pitched voice. It was easy to see how she had earned her nickname. "Myrtle! That's correct! And who are you?!" I was so distracted by her overly dramatic movements and unnecessarily loud and high pitched voice, it took me a moment to realize that this question was directed to me.

"Oh, um hi," I said politely. "My name is Anthony. It's er, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet me?" All of a sudden, Myrtle was crying. Her sobs were echoing against the marble in a partially terrible, partially comedic way. "You are here to tease me! You are here to call me Moaning Myrtle! No one ever wants to meet Myrtle!" And she continued to sob, living up to her nickname quite thoroughly.

"No, um, really," I said, slightly ashamed for hurting her feelings this much. "My, er, friend here said that he knows of you. He said we should come meet you."

Myrtle suddenly stopped crying, so suddenly that I wondered if she had truly been crying in the first place.

"Your friend?" she snapped at me. "How does your friend know me?" All of a sudden, she had floated in front of James, her nose barely an inch away from his. "Who are you?" she demanded.

James looked like he wanted to burst out laughing. I saw him bite his bottom lip, trying to suppress a smile. "I'm James," he said. "James Potter." He put just the slightest emphasis on his last name. But it was clear that he didn't need to. As soon as he said who he was, Myrtle floated back at full speed.

"POTTER!" She screamed so loudly, there were a few seconds of echos to follow. "I knew it!" She was now floating around the room in circles. "Snooping around at night, just like your father, huh?"

James smiled. He seemed immensely proud of himself.

"Your father came snooping around here before he was a prefect too!" Myrtle was now nose to nose with James again. "Came in with that GOLDEN EGG!" She flew up to the ceiling and started to circle the room again. Golden egg? Had James not made that up?

"Let's get out of here," James whispered to me, though over the sounds of Myrtle's whining, whispering was hardly necessary.

"Nah, this is hilarious," I said smiling. "Let's keep talking to the ghost." James shrugged. It was clear that talking to a ghost wasn't much of a novelty for him.

"So, er, Myrtle?" I said, trying to sound as polite as I could. She stopped her wailing, gave me a glare, and suddenly, I found her nose inches away from mine. "Um, how did James's dad get a golden egg?" I was smiling wide at the prospect of what ludacris answer she may give, wondering to myself whose stories would be wilder, her's or James's. James looked somewhat confused by this question.

"Stole it!" she shrieked, shooting back up into the air. "Stole it from a dragon!"

I couldn't help but laugh at this response. Even James was beginning to look amused.

But Myrtle found this far from humorous. "You think it's funny, huh?" she screamed at me.

"Well, yes," I said, hoping to get some more reaction out of her. "Was the dragon, er, breathing fire," I asked, making an imitation of fire coming from my breath with my hands.

"How would I know?" Myrtle was now crying again. "It's not like I get to go outside and watch these things?" Her wailing was echoing terribly around the marble bathroom.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else I could respond with.

"But there were two!" Myrtle was now crying louder than ever. "Two boys! His father!" she was suddenly back in James's face, her voice somewhat disgusted. "And the handsome one!" She was now wailing again.

"Who's the handsome one?" I asked.

"HE DIED!" Myrtle was now crying so loudly, James took his hands up to his ears to muffle the sound. Who this handsome boy was and whether or not he really died didn't seem important at the moment. Moaning Myrtle was suddenly far less amusing and much more annoying, and I was ready to be back in my warm bed in the quiet, Gryffindor dormitory.

After a few awkward, yet far from silent moments, I cleared my throat. Myrtle stopped her wailing just as suddenly as she had the last time. "Um, Myrtle, we're going to go to bed. But, um, I'm a swimmer and I'd love to check out this pool sometime. Maybe we'll meet again," I said as politely as I could, not sure if I wanted to meet her again.

All of a sudden, she was right next to me, her face inches from my cheek. "Oh, yes," she said, too sweetly for comfort. "I love it when handsome boys come and swim in the pool."

"Er, right," I said, feeling suddenly uneasy and wondering if it would be worth it to swim, if I meant I'd have to deal with Myrtle's wailing and uncomfortable comments.

"Um, good night," James said loudly.

"Good night," I said, and the two of us quickly walked back towards the statue of Boris the Bewildered and out of the loud, echoing bathroom as fast as possible.

As soon as we stepped out and the door was closed, James started laughing. "Well, that was interesting!" he said happily.

I was laughing too. "Yeah, you never know who you might find around here."

"That is true!" But it wasn't James's voice who said it. It was a stern, female's voice, clearly angry. I looked up. Professor McGonagall was standing in front of us, her expression clearly unamused.

"Follow me." James and I looked at each other for a fraction of a moment, then clearly back at Professor McGonagall as we began to follow her up the stairs to what I was sure was going to be her office.

Sure enough, we followed her up the spiral staircase, back into the same office i had visited once previously, the night James and I had served our detention in the Quidditch locker room. With a swish from her wand, two chairs appeared by her desk to which she motioned us to sit down. We sat down, and after a moment of deafening silence, I looked up and found that she was glaring at us. James was still looking down. McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, causing us both to jump, and James to finally look at her.

"Well?" she said sharply. "Explain yourselves!"

Neither of us said a word. The portraits of the past headmasters were snoozing, the sounds of their breathing breaking the uncomfortable silence.

McGonagall's glare was so piercing, I looked down so that I could think. I had no explanations, no reason to give. I thought of what James had said about how his father had to go out in the forest for a detention once. According to Myrtle, his story about the golden egg was true, so who was to say the one about the detention wasn't? I was starting to feel scared.

"We don't have all day! Explain!" James and I both jumped.

"Um," James started to say something, then closed his mouth.

"Yes?" McGonagall was clearly not going to let this one go.

"We, er, just wanted to visit the bathroom…"

I closed my eyes. James couldn't possibly think this was going to be an acceptable explanation.

"The prefect's bathroom?" McGonagall questioned. "While you two are fully aware there are bathrooms located in your dormitory that do not require passwords and strolling through the halls well past midnight?"
James and I nodded. "Well?" McGonagall was starting to sound angrier. "Then explain!"

"We, er, wanted to meet Moaning Myrtle," James was sounding so unconvinced, it was clear that even he did not believe his story. "She's er, a friend of my dad's and he said we should…."

"I can assure you that your father and Myrtle were far from friends," McGonagall interrupted him. "And I see no reason why he would advise you to pay her a visit." James was silent. "But if you insist on sticking to your story, I will send your father an owl to confirm…."

"No!" James said, unnecessarily. It was clear that McGonagall did not need confirmation that James's story was bogus.

Suddenly, I had an idea. "It was for me," I said loudly, surprised at how confident I sounded. James and McGonagall appeared to be taken by surprise as well. They both glared at me. All of a sudden, I felt nervous. But I continued to speak. "We were at the library a few days back and I happened to see that there was a swimming pool located within the castle." I paused, running through the story in my head, terrified that I accidently slipped in something about Google or the internet that would immediately give my lie away. When no one said anything, I continued. "I have been so miserable not being able to swim these past few weeks, as the lake has been so cold. I begged James to help me find out how I could get in to use the pool." I paused again. Still, no one said anything. "We found out that only prefects had access, so we snooped around as much as we could until finally we overheard how we could get in." At this point, I was making things up as I went. Still, no one interrupted. "Tonight I was crying before bed because I missed swimming so much. James told me he'd come with me to see the pool if it would make me feel better." I stopped talking, impressed at the story I had made up, yet terrified that McGonagall was going to see right through me.

"I see," said McGonagall after a few moments. Her tone was unclear as to whether or not she believed me. "So you thought that wandering the halls at midnight to visit a place you should not have access too was a better solution than simply coming to me and expressing your problem and asking if we could make arrangements for your access?" I realized this question was directed at me. I thought of what she said. "You would do that for me?" I asked with genuine fascination.

"Oh, I'm not saying I would," said McGonagall shortly. "I am simply emphasizing the stupidity of your actions."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "I'm, er, I'm sorry."

"Wandering the corridors at night is a serious offence, no matter how homesick one may be," McGonagall was still sounding angry. I was starting to feel worried again. "Not to mention trespassing with a stolen password." She paused and looked up. I saw James give a small nod. "You will each be losing 50 points from Gryffindor."

"What!" James and I interrupted her at the same time.

"Oh yes," she said, sternly. "That should teach you to obey the rules and abide by the curfews."

James was looking down again.

"This wouldn't be the first time I have had to have this same conversation with Gryffindors, as I am sure your father has told you." McGonagall was looking directly at James. He looked up and nodded, looking scared. "You would do well to learn from his mistakes!"

"As for you," McGonagall was now looking at me. "I don't know what sorts of rules you are used to and what those muggles expected. But here at Hogwarts, we have a standard. We have expectations. And you would do well to respect them!"

I nodded. I did not like the way she was talking about my muggle school, as though they had low standards and no expectations. I was never one to follow the rules there either.

"You will be serving your detention with me Wednesday, 5:00." She was looking at James. She then turned to me. "And you on Thursday, same time."

"Detention?" said James. "But we already lost points!"

"Oh, yes," she said strongly. It was clear that this was not up for negotiation. "I will be escorting the two of you back to Gryffindor tower," she said getting up. Suddenly, the portrait directly behind her spoke. It was the same portrait I had seen the last time I was here, the old man with the long, silver beard and half moon spectacles. "Always pleasant to see a Potter here," he said with a smile.

James looked up at the portrait. The old man gave him a wink. James smiled.

"And you," said the portrait, now looking at me. I looked back, not sure if I should say

anything. "What a surprise it was…."

"Albus," said McGonagall sternly, cutting him off.

"Ah, yes," said the old man. "Good night to you," and he walked away from his frame,

leaving a blank portrait behind him.

"Wait!" I called back, much more loudly and assertively than I had intended to. "Come back! You know him too! You know my grandfather!"

"He is gone, leave him be," said McGonagall cooly.

"No!" I said, not caring that I was practically yelling. "I need to know! He knows my grandfather! You do too! Why will no one tell me?"

James was looking at me with his mouth open. It was clear that he wanted to get out of the office as soon as he could, but I did not want to leave. I was once again so close to gaining information, and it had been taken away from me.

McGonagall sighed. She did not look angry. "Mr. Brittany," she said, her voice much more calm than it had been this whole time. "I understand this is frustrating for you." She paused for a moment. "But I have stated plainly why it is inappropriate for me to say anymore. And that is my final word."

"But…."

"I shall now escort the two of you back to your dormitory." I knew that this was not the time to argue. As Professor McGonagall began to walk out of her office, James and I followed and I felt tears welling in my eyes. How was it fair that James got to know everything that went on at Hogwarts through his father and it was all being kept from me? I pictured Professor McGonagall telling me who my grandfather was and sending him an owl letting him know who I was. I pictured him coming to see me, excited to visit Hogwarts so many years later, this time with a grandson he didn't know he had. And then, a wonderful thought filled my mind. What if he had other grandchildren as well? What if after he met my grandmother, he went on to get married and have more children and grandchildren. What if they were in Hogwarts with me? I stopped in my tracks. It took Professor McGonagall and James a moment to realize I wasn't following them.

When they stopped, James was looking at me with a look of desperation and urgency. I knew he wanted to get back to Gryffindor tower and out of any further trouble as soon as possible. But being in trouble was the last of my concerns right now.

"Can I just ask one more thing?" I said softly.

Professor McGonagall looked at me. I was unable to make out her expression. She nodded. "Do I have any, er, cousins here? Does he have more children and grandchildren that can do magic?"

There was a long pause. James was looking curious, McGonagall deep in thought. Finally she spoke, "Well, I can't say for sure," she said. "But not that I know of." There was a long pause. I felt disappointed by this answer, but at the same time, a slight bit relieved that it was one less mystery I'd have to solve. I nodded, and we continued walking, through the corridors and past the Fat Lady's portrait, into the common room, where McGonagall dropped us off, assuring us that if we were to go anywhere other than straight to our dormitory, the consequences would be far more severe than house points and detention.

We silently made our way up the spiral staircase and into our dorm. Jon, Stewart, and David were fast asleep. It was probably at least 2am.

"Anthony, I'm sorry," James muttered softly. "I got you in trouble again. I'm sorry."

But my mind was far from angry. "Don't worry about it," I said honestly. "I found a pool at Hogwarts. And I found that the past headmaster knows my grandfather as well."

"How do you know he did?" James asked curiously.

"Couldn't you tell?"

James nodded. "It did seem like he did. He knows everybody."

"If McGonagall hadn't stopped him, I think he would have said more."

James shrugged. "Go back and ask him," he said.

"I can't do that!"

"Not now, but sometime. My dad had snuck into an office once to use the fireplace to talk to his godfather."

I did not know how a fireplace would help in talking to someone, but I knew better than to ask. James and I said good night to each other and I quickly fell asleep.

The next few days were uneventful and dull. I was anxious about our detentions, convinced they wouldn't be nearly as pleasant as the last. It was apparent that McGonagall realized that we had fun at the last one and was determined to prevent it this time. I thought back to James's stories about how his dad had to go out in the forest at night and how he had to write lines with his blood.

He's imagined it, he imagines everything, I tried to convince myself. But there had been something in his voice that day. His horror seemed genuine. And after all, he was telling the truth about his father making the Quidditch team having never flown a broom.

As our last class on Wednesday, the evening of James's detention, was coming to a close, I expressed my fears to James.

"What do you think she's going to make us do?" I asked him nervously.

"I don't know," said James, sounding concerned. "I sent an owl to mum and dad and my mum replied back saying that whatever she gave us we would deserve."

"Yeah," I said, understanding where his mum was coming from, but not agreeing that a trip to the forest was a fair punishment for simply being out of bed at night. "I guess."

At 4:45, James began to make his way to the Headmistress's office and I made my way to the library with Jon. Our plan was to start our homework right away so we could have some free time in the night to play more exploding snaps. David and Stewart were going to work in the Common Room where we were to meet them after we were done so we could copy each other's work and finish up more quickly.

"How long do you think James will be gone?" Jon asked casually, clearly not concerned about what he may have to do.

I shrugged. "Hopefully not long," I said, trying to sound calm.

"Er, that was really selfish of you guys," said Jon, clearly uneasy at what he was saying. "Sneaking out at night and loosing us 100 points." It was clear that Jon had been waiting to say this for a while. I looked at him. He looked somewhat worried, as though I may not react to his comment well.

I understood his concern, but not enough to regret my actions. "I'm sorry," I said, disappointed at how ungenuine I sounded.

Jon stared at me. Finally he spoke. "Just, um, don't do it again, okay?"

"No promises!" I said happily. The idea of never sneaking out again sounded imprisoning.

"Come on!" said Jon, starting to sound angry. "Why do you two need to always be up to mischief? Can't you just follow the rules like everyone else?"

"Oh, that's no fun!" I said, wondering what could possibly be so appealing about a life of rule following. Jon did not look amused. "Tell you what," I said. "Next time, you come with us!"

"No!" said Jon. "I don't want to land in detention with the two of you!" But he looked somewhat curious.

We continued to walk in silence until we were at the library, where we found a table and set down our book bags. I hoped that Jon wasn't mad, as I very much liked him and had not enjoyed the time that I had spent being angry at James earlier in the year. I looked at his face, which was somewhat frustrated, but nothing more. I told myself not to worry, especially since I was already feeling worn by worrying about what James and I were going to have to do.

"I can work on the Transfiguration essay," I said confidently. "Maybe you can do the Potions one?"

"Sounds good," said Jon, pulling out his books. He looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back, relieved that this was not another fight.

We worked for about 20 minutes when I heard a voice behind me. "Um, Anthony? You're Anthony Brittany, right?" I looked up. Jon had stopped working too. Approaching me was the Head Boy, Teddy, his hair mint green today.

"Oh, yes," I said, surprised as to why he wanted to talk to me.

"Message," he said, handing me a small bit of parchment. "I had to see McGonagall and, well…." he held it out and winked. I took it from him, slightly worried as to what this could all be about.

"Who's it from," Jon asked, trying to sound casual.

"No idea," I said truthfully. I opened it to find James's writing, clearly written in a rush.

Anthony,

I'm with McGonagall cleaning up the Transfiguration room. She said I'll be done at 7 and you'll continue tomorrow. She is here doing her work as she watches me.

SHE IS NOT IN HER OFFICE. NOW IS YOUR CHANCE!

James

I had to read the message twice before realizing what James was implying. Jon was staring at me.

"Everything okay?" he asked, sounding concerned.

But my mind was spinning with thoughts. It was crazy. Was it wise to sneak into the headmistress's office when I already had one detention lined up for tomorrow? But then, if all I have to do is clean the Transfiguration room, it seemed like a minor price to pay. But how would I get in? It was unlikely that she would have changed her password to get past the gargoyle so soon, so maybe it was worth a try indeed.

Jon was still staring at me. I thought of what he had said just a few moments earlier about why I couldn't just follow the rules like everyone else. But I'm not everyone else! My defiant thoughts were like a surge of energy, lighting up my adrenaline for yet another adventure. An adventure that may lead me to my granddad.

"Everything's fine," I said excitedly to Jon, who looked even more puzzled by my reaction. "But, er, there is something I need to take care of. It, um, can't wait." I had started piling my books into my bag, my unfinished Transfiguration essay on top, wanting to get out before Jon could stop me.

"Oh, okay," said Jon. "I mean, you should definitely do what McGonagall says." I realized he assumed that the message was from McGonagall and used that to my advantage.

"Yeah," I said, getting up from our table. "Hopefully it won't take long. I'll see you tonight!"

I left the library quickly and glanced at my watch. 5:31. Perfect. I had until 7. I quickly ran towards the headmistress's office, got past the gargoyle with the same password I had heard McGonagall use just a few days prior, and ran up the spiral stairs. When I got to the door, I paused. I was literally trespassing in a school that was protected by magic, breaking rules, but worse, breaking trust, of someone I did quite respect. For a split second, I considered turning back. But the expression on the old headmaster's face about "what a surprise it was" when he saw me was filling my heart with hope, and a desire stronger than ever to know who my magical grandfather was.

I opened the door.

For a second, I thought I was caught. There was a clear rumbling of voices when I entered that had suddenly stopped upon my arrival. I looked around to find the office deserted. Suddenly, from a picture frame high up on the back wall came an angry voice. "It's a student!" it exclaimed. "A student here by himself!"

The murmur of voices began again. This time, I knew where it was coming from. "The head mistress isn't here." "Why is he here?" "What does he need?"

I looked directly at the portrait directly behind Professor McGonagall's desk. Albus Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes were staring curiously at me, the slightest trace of a smile upon his face. "Professor McGonagall is not here, my dear boy," he said gently. As he spoke, all the other portraits became silent.

"Er, yes," I said, not sure of how to start. "It was, um, actually you who I was hoping to see." I could feel the painted eyes of all the portraits around me staring intently, clearly curious to know what this could possibly be about.

"Me? Ah! I see!" said the portrait of Dumbledore excitedly. "To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear boy?" His eyes twinkled a little as he stared at me, now clearly smiling. He had a warmth to his voice and a caring demeanor. I felt oddly comfortable speaking with him.

It was then that I realized I didn't really know how to start. "Um, Professor Dumbledore," I said, stalling for time. He continued to smile at me. "Last time I was here, you, er, expressed something that made me think….um, I was wondering…. It seems like you know my grandfather?" The words just slipped out. They couldn't wait any longer, I needed answers.

Professor Dumbledore continued to smile. "Oh, my dear boy, I do, I do," he said happily. Was his smile because he liked my grandfather? Or was he happy that I asked about him?

"Tell me!" I yelled out. There was no time for stalling and politeness. My heart was beating fast.

But Dumbledore's smile faded. "I'm sorry, Anthony," he said politely. I was surprised to hear him say my name. He must have heard McGonagall saying it when I was last here. It felt good to be addressed by my first name by a headmaster. "But Professor McGonagall's wishes are that we do not disclose this information."

I could feel my heart sinking. I started to feel anger towards McGonagall. How many people had she told? How was it that even portraits knew but I couldn't? "But Professor McGonagall isn't here!" I blurted out loudly, unable to mask my frustration.

"And neither should you!" Another portrait had joined in the conversation. I looked up to see the name Phineas Nigellus Black written under his portrait. His frame was quite high up, I assumed he was headmaster a good number of years ago. "Snooping around the castle, bursting into the headmistress's office! He should be punished." I realized that the portraits were likely in close communication with McGonagall, but strangely, I didn't much care if they tattled on me.

"Now Phineas," Albus Dumbledore's voice was extremely calm. "Curiosity is not a sin. After all, you were encouraging Minerva to reveal the truth to him as well."

My stomach did a flip flop. Had McGonagall discussed this with all these portraits? Did they all know my grandfather? Had he been up in this office before? Or did he have family members who went to school under some of these headmasters?

"How many of you know?" I asked, looking around, realizing all the portraits were glaring at me as intently as when I had first walked in. There was a long pause. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"After Minerva paid a visit to your family over the summer, she was determined to figure out who your grandfather was. She kept saying she had seen those eyes somewhere, but couldn't place on whom. She kept saying that you and your mother both looked so familiar, that she was convinced she knew who you inherited your looks from, but it was difficult for her to figure out." He paused. "I, on the other hand, figured it out quite easily." Dumbleore was smiling, looking rather pleased with himself.

"You?" I said, unable to work out how and when he had never seen me. "How?"

"Oh, Minerva talked about it and talked about it, trying to work out her thoughts," Dumbleore's smile was getting wider and wider. I found his expression frustrating, even rude. Him knowing was taunting me.

"Please!" I begged. "Please, tell me!"

"Did we not say no!" the portrait of Phineas was sounding more irritated than ever. "You children, always thinking it is okay to question your elders. Has it occured to you…"

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore's voice was calm, yet stern. Phineas stopped talking, though his expression even more irritated at having been interrupted.

Dumbledore looked at me with a kind and gentle expression. "Minerva sent an owl to your mum and grandmother. Your mother was eager, like you. Your grandmother was not." Dumbledore paused. I could feel my mouth drop open. "She was the one most severely affected. It is imperative that we respect her wishes."

"But…." It was no use. Dumbledore's expression told me that he did not intend to discuss the matter any further.

"Now Anthony," said Dumbledore gently. "I do not advise you to wrap your brain in this much longer. Curiosity is natural, as is the desire to know one's family. But it does no good to focus on just one star, when your own can shine so brightly itself."

"But…"

"Ah, ah, ah," said Dumbledore, tapping his finger to his lips. It was clear that our conversation was over. "Now do head out of this office, as the headmistress will be returning shortly. We don't want you ending up in another detention." He winked at me, turned around, and walked out of his frame.

I looked up at all the portraits, still glaring at me. Some looked encouraging, others sad for me, while others looked irritated. I left the office without saying a word, wondering if Dumbleore's wink meant that our secret meeting was safe from McGonagall.

Dear Mum,

I talked to a portrait of the prior headmaster of Hogwarts (you can talk to portraits here, I'm not sure how it works, but it's pretty cool!). He knows your dad too! But he won't tell because he said Grandma doesn't want to know... He said Professor McGonagall sent you both owls!

Mum, EVERYONE knows! The portrait of Professor Dumbledore said he figured it out easily. Why can everyone know but we can't? Why does Grandma want to keep this from us?

Anthony

I sent mum an owl early the next morning. She wanted to know too! She had to talk to grandma, had to convince her that this couldn't remain a secret any longer. Grandma had told me that when Mum was a teenager, she tried to find him but failed. Deep down, did she want to know? Or were answers just too much for her?

I went down to breakfast to find James already there. We had not gotten a chance to talk the previous night, not without Jon, Stewart, and David finding out what I had been up to, as we had finished the evening as planned, completing our homework and playing exploding snaps.

"So, did you do it? How did it go?" James whispered loudly the moment I sat down.

I told him everything that happened, expressing my disappointment at the lack of information I was able to receive. James frowned.

"Dumbledore is known to keep secrets," he said. "My dad said so too."

"Really?" I said, somewhat disappointed. "I really liked him. He seemed really nice."

"Oh yes, he is," said James. "My dad loved him. My little brother is named after him."

"What, really?" I said, wondering why anyone would possibly name their child after a headmaster.

James nodded, as though he did not find it at all peculiar. "My brother, Albus."

"Albus?" I said, trying to hold back a bit of a laugh.

James nodded again. "Dumbledore was a great man," he said cooly. "My parents talk about how great he was all the time."

I did not ask what made him so great or why his parents thought so highly of him to name their son after him. Were they simply fond of him as a teacher? Not having anything better to say, I said, "Your parents seem cool."

James beamed. "Oh, they are!" he said happily. "My dad saved the world, you know."

I smiled, thinking back to the conversation I had had with Jon, David, and Stewart in our dorm earlier in the year. "Yeah," I said politely. "I heard."

"You know," said James, apparently oblivious to the slight sarcasm in my previous statement. "They're coming to school on Halloween next week. Maybe you can meet them! Before the feast."

"Oh," I said, startled at this news. I did not know parents were allowed to come to Hogwarts. "Um, why are they coming here?"

"Halloween is a very important day for my dad," James sounded suddenly somber, as though this was a very serious matter. "So he, um, likes to be with some of his friends. He always visits Hagrid on Halloween. I think he wants to pay McGonagall a visit too."

"Oh," I said. "That's cool. Why is Halloween so important to him?" I thought back to my Halloween last year. I had spent the day with my friend, Will, and his mum who also loved Halloween. She always went all out, baking lots of treats, organizing parties, and handing out fabulous candy to trick-or-treaters. I imagined that James's parents were equally enthusiastic about the holiday.

But James's tone became even more serious. "Well, a lot of things," he said. "But most importantly.." he paused, as though not sure he should continue. I looked at him encouragingly. "Well, see, his parents died on Halloween."

I felt a hollow, sinking feeling in my stomach. I suddenly felt very sad. I was not expecting this news. "Oh! James, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," said James. He paused for a moment. "My dad always talks about how much he wishes he knew his parents. And I wish I knew them too! Just like you. It's hard not knowing your family." James looked down. I felt a deep connection to him, and for the first time, I felt like he truly understood my frustration about my grandfather.

"It really is," I said. "So um, did Dumbledore ever tell your father about his parents?"

James smiled. "Oh, yes!" he said. "He knew them well."

"I wish he'd tell me," I said, feeling let down once again.

"Me too," said James.

My detention with McGonagall that evening was rather uneventful. Like James had said, my job was simply to clean and organize the Transfiguration room. I nervously waited for McGonagall to say something about how I had intruded her office the precious night, as I was sure that at least one of the many portraits hanging in her office had ratted me out. But she said nothing. In fact, barely any words were spoken at all during my detention and though it was far from enjoyable, it was rather painless and I breathed a sigh of relief as I left at 7:00, grateful that James's horror stories about his dad's detentions were not true for me.

Over the next few days, chatter about the Halloween feast was a popular topic of conversation. It was rumored that a patch of hopping pumpkins were going to be giving a performance. Older students spoke fondly of past Halloweens at Hogwarts. It seemed like the acorbatic vampire show from two years ago was a highlight for many students during their time thus far at Hogwarts.

As eager as I was for the feast, I also very much looked forward to meeting James's parents. After all his stories, I was more curious than ever about who his dad was and what he looked like. The feast was not to start until 7:00, so James suggested I come and meet them at around 6. At 5, he was to be joining his parents over at Hagrid's hut for tea, an invitation that he extended to me, but advised that I did not accept, due to biscuits that would taste like rocks.

Halloween arrived, a cloudy and gray afternoon. But the students were in high spirits, all excited for the feast and the hopping pumpkins. After classes, most students made their way back to their common rooms to relax before the evening's festivities. Daivd and I were disappointed to find that wizards did not dress up in costumes on Halloween, an idea that James and Stewart laughed uncontrollably at, while Jon tried to explain that what we were suggesting was actually very common and quite cool with muggles. I went to my dorm and pulled out my most recent letter from mum, reading it for the hundredth time, as though if I did, the words would somehow change.

Dear Anthony,

Please, I beg you, do not fixate over this. Yes, your headmistress sent us letters and while I am curious, your grandmother is firm in that this information not be disclosed.

Anthony, neither you nor me understand the pain that his man has caused her. Yes, we only see the good. After all, without him, we wouldn't even exist! But she was terrified of him and she worked incredibly hard raising me by herself. I know that you are convinced that he was a wizard and she simply didn't understand that and he did nothing wrong. I believe that too. But she doesn't. She doesn't trust what McGonagall knows, or thinks she knows. She is not ready to process any new information.

Maybe someday she will, but that time is not now. Anthony, please respect her wishes. It is hard for me too, but it is the right thing to do.

Professor McGonagall sent me an owl with updates about you in school. She said you are doing well in classes, but have already landed yourself in detention twice! Please stop embarrassing me and keep your nose clean ;)

Love,

Mum

How could mum be giving up so easily? I read it again, hoping to find a loophole that allowed me to continue prying without upsetting her or grandma. This wasn't mischief, this was real, meaning the consequences of disrespecting my grandma would be far more profound and hurtful than a detention with McGonagall. I knew I had to let go, give up hope of finding any more, if I didn't intend to hurt those who I loved.

I folded the letter and tucked it back into my trunk. I thought of what James had told

me about his father not knowing his parents, how they died on Halloween. Hadn't he told me earlier that he was raised by his aunt and uncle and hated it there? At least I don't hate my home, I thought to myself, trying to be comforted. Both mum and I grew up in happy homes. But at least James knows his grandparents names!

At 5 minutes to 6, I began to make my way downstairs to the entrance hall where I was to meet James's parents. As I walked downstairs, I felt slightly nervous at what the mood of this meeting was to be. James had said his dad's parents had died on Halloween. Were they going to be in solemn and sad moods?

When I walked into the entrance hall, James and his parents were already there. It

was easy to see he got his red hair from his mum, who was standing beside him, smiling brightly as I walked in. His dad was facing the other way, but turned when he heard me coming. He too was smiling. Unlike James and his mum, he had dark, black hair, which was incredibly messy. Under his bangs showed a cool looking scar, one like I had never seen before. It was shaped like a lightning bolt.

"You must be Anthony!" said James's mum, holding out her hand. I walked up to her and shook it and she gave me a pat on my shoulder. "So nice to meet you!" she said brightly.

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Potter," I said, relieved to see that they were all in good spirits and smiling. I turned to James's father, who was holding out his hand.

"We've been looking forward to meeting you, James speaks so highly of you!" I held

out my hand to shake his, and as I did, I had to withhold a gasp. There were faint white markings on the back of Mr. Potter's hand. Undeniably, they spelled out the words, I must not tell lies. James hadn't been imagining.

I shook Mr. Potter's hand, expressing how nice it was to meet him too.

"We are so happy James has found himself good friends at Hogwarts," Mrs. Potter continued. "Friendship is so important!"

Mr. Potter laughed. "My best friend at Hogwarts," he said. "This woman's brother!" He gave his wife a playful push. James looked embarrassed.

I laughed. "Well I don't have any siblings so James's is going to have to find someone else's sister to marry!" Mr. and Mrs. Potter laughed while James turned bright red.

"Ah yes," said Mr. Potter. "My other best friend, Hermione, does not have any siblings either. So she married her brother." Mr. Potter mentioned over to his wife again, laughing.

"Oh, yes," I said. "James has mentioned his Aunt Hermione."

"Has he now!" said Mrs. Potter. "Well, she certainly is a brilliant young woman. Minister for Magic, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, er, yes," I said, trying to remember if it was one of the many things James had told me which I hadn't believed. "I think James had mentioned that."

"So tell us about yourself!" said Mrs. Potter. "James says you're a swimmer? That is so fascinating!" By now, I was used to the enthusiasm wizards gave me about my sport. Mrs. Potter's reaction was no different.

I laughed. "It's actually a really common sport in the muggle world." I said.

"Yes, I know," said Mr. Potter. "I was raised by muggles. Went to muggle school before Hogwarts." There was a slight hint of bitterness in his voice. It was clear that these were not fond memories.

"My father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office at the Ministry," Mrs. Potter continued. "He loves muggles!"

"I don't understand why!" I exclaimed. "You guys can do magic! You do magic in your home! Muggles aren't nearly as exciting."

Mrs. Potter laughed. "I guess we all are fascinated by what we don't know," she said.

We talked a little while longer. Mr. and Mrs. Potter asked about my family and what my parents did "in the muggle world." As Mr. Potter was raised by muggles, he found it all very normal, but Mrs. Potter was overly impressed with some of the simplest things. James told them what I had said about the internet and Google, and they wanted to hear all about that, Mr. Potter saying that though his cousin had a computer that he never let him use, he did not know about the internet or Google. He also asked me if it was true that telephones now were basically computers, because when he lived "with the muggles," telephones were attached to the walls.

After chatting for about 20 minutes, James and I decided it was time to go upstairs to get ready for the feast. As we said our goodbyes, Mrs. Potter pulled me into a one armed hug and said, "Definitely come over during the winter holidays. We'd love to have you!"

"It will be your first time in a wizards' home!" Mr. Potter added.

"Oh, um, I'd love to," I said, thinking of how I could most politely say what I wanted to. "But, er, I'm very much looking forward to going home for the holidays. I miss my mum and dad like crazy, and my friends."

"Oh, it doesn't have to be for long," said Mrs. Potter gently. "Even just an evening for dinner would be lovely!"

"Oh, I don't think that would be practical," I said politely. "I live quite far. At least half a day's journey by train."

"Oh, just use floo powder," said Mrs. Potter, slightly surprised.

"Um, I'm sorry?" I said.

Mr. Potter laughed. "I had the same reaction when her family introduced me to it!" he said happily. "Floo Powder is great! It allows wizards to travel through fireplaces." I looked at James. I guess this is what he had meant when he said his dad snuck into an office to talk to someone through the fireplace.

"Oh!" I said, intrigued. "How does it work?"

"Well, you simply take some powder, throw it in the fireplace, step in, and say where you want to go."

"And, it just….um, takes you there?" I said, in awe.

The Potters nodded. "It is messy and gives you a suffocating feeling, but it gets the job done," said Mr. Potter.

"One of us can certainly come pick you up. And you can watch us do it first. You have a fireplace in your home."

I nodded. "So wait," I said, uncertainly. "This is not, um, a joke?"

The Potters laughed, a polite, understanding laugh. "Not at all," said Mr. Potter. "I understand your concerns though. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it either." He paused. "And we'll be sure to give you better instructions that her brother did to me my first time using it." He motioned towards his wife. "I ended up somewhere I wasn't supposed to be!"

"We can do side by side apparation as well," Mrs. Potter said thoughtfully. "But floo powder is much safer."

"Um, what's that?"

"Side by side apparation?" Mrs. Potter repeated. I nodded. "Oh, apparation is like, um, teleporting. You can try for your apparation license at 17. So you would just need to hold the hand of one of us and we'd apparate you to our place."

"Wow!" I said, amused. "I don't know if you're serious or not!"

"Oh, we are," laughed Mr. Potter. "I know it's all new for you, but it will be normal in no time." He paused, then continued. "But regardless of how convenient apparating and floo powder are, I honestly prefer good ole brooms."

"Oh, yeah!" I said. "You must be great at flying! Both of you! James has told me about your Quidditch." I looked over at James, who beamed brightly.

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Potter. "Quidditch is big in our family. I played for the Hollyhead Harpies. Currently I work as an editor for the sports pages of The Daily Prophet." I had seen copies of The Daily Prophet being delivered by owl to students who subscribed to them. It was a wizarding newspaper, complete with moving pictures.

"Wow, that sounds like a fun job!" I said. I looked over at James father. "And you made the Quiddtich team your first year?" I felt ridiculous even saying it. Though I was sure I had heard McGonagall confirm this, a part of me still thought James was making it up.

Mr. Potter laughed. "Yeah, I really don't know how that happened!" he said. "I got super lucky. My father was a good Quidditch player, or so I hear." Mr. Potter paused. Then he finished. "So I guess I get it from him."

There was a moment of silence. I wasn't sure if I should say anything about his father. Thankfully, Mrs. Potter broke the silence. "McGonagall informed us how the two of you thought you'd try out for the Quidditch team. How James convinced you to try flying for the first time during the tryouts."

I didn't know what to say. I looked at James who was bright red, even looking a bit scared. But James's parents didn't look mad. If anything, they were slightly amused.

"You'd do well to not always listen to James," said Mr. Potter winking at me.

"Oh yes!" I said happily, thinking of how dull my time at Hogwarts would be if I spent all my time with Jon and how he thought I should follow the rules. "I've noticed!" James gave a shy smile.

As the weeks passed, the weather became colder and classes became busier. End of term was approaching quickly and final exams were on everyone's minds as November turned into December.

James and I, along with the others, had watched several more Quidditch matches, all of which were far more interesting than the first. James was becoming more and more eager to make the team the following year and insisted that we spend at least one evening a week practicing. The lake was now too cold to swim in and I had yet to pay a visit to the pool in the prefect's bathroom, as the idea of running into Moaning Myrtle was making the idea very unappealing. James and I had also managed to stay out of any more detentions, despite a couple more late night adventures, and I intended to keep it that way.

I continued to write letters home to Mum and Dad at least once a week. It turned out that James's parents had already contacted them, officially inviting me to their home over the holidays. Mum wrote to me telling me that she didn't like the idea of stepping into the fireplace, but they assured her that it was perfectly safe and that they would be sure to go over the process very thoroughly with me. They also said they would come pick me up and were looking forward to meeting my mum and dad.

I expressed to my mum that I was somewhat nervous to see Will and my other friends, as we had agreed that it was still best to not tell them where I really was and what I was doing. But Mum assured me that she was still in touch with Will's parents and they did not think twice about our decision for me to go to "a fancy, athletic boarding school." She said to just make up impressive answers to any questions they may have and no one would know the difference. I even spent an evening writing out my fake accomplishments for the term so that I could get my stories straight when asked by muggles over break. As I wrote them, I realized I missed the pool immensely and was suddenly sad about having to let it go, only left with made up accomplishments. I would be visiting the pool every day during break, that was for sure.

But one thing that was absent from any letter was the mention of my grandfather. I was eager to honor my mum and grandma's wishes and tried to put him out of my mind. Grandma had sent me some letters to Hogwarts as well, always mentioning that she was proud of me, but never stating anything about where I got it all from. I often laid in bed trying to come up with new ways to find out more, but it seemed hopeless. McGonagall was adamant about staying hushed and mum was on her side. Given that I did not know his name, there was simply not much to work with.

About ten days before the start of the holidays, Professor Longbottom was going around making a list of students who intended to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. I expressed my shock that anyone wouldn't want to go back home, to which James said his dad used to love to stay, because he hated his "nasty aunt, uncle, and cousin."

Jon, David, and Stewart were spending almost all our free time studying for exams. James and I often joined them, but found that they moved at a much slower pace than we did, so eventually we began studying on our own. James was rather unfocused and distracted by the upcoming holidays.

"You're going to love it at my house!" he said for the hundredth time. "We can get mum and dad to give us flying lessons!"

"But it's too cold to fly!" I liked the idea of flying lessons from James's parents, who were clearly accomplished at Quidditch, but this was a valid concern.

"Quidditch is a year round sport," said James. "My dad once had to play in pouring rain. He fell off his broom."

"Oh no, was he okay?" I asked, concerned, and only slightly questioning the legitimacy of the story.

"Yeah," said James. "Dumbledore slowed down the fall so he landed lightly. His broomstick got destroyed though. And they lost the game." James was suddenly sounding very sad. The idea of losing a broomstick and a game seemed to be more troubling to him than falling off the said broom.

At last, the night before the first day of examinations came to a close and as I lay in bed, I found that my mind was swimming with thoughts. It started with thoughts for exams. For the first time in my life, I truly cared about doing well in school. In muggle school, I could do decently without working too hard and had no motivation to do much better than decent, as swimming was more important. But here, things were different. My expertise in swimming was not going to get me very far. But more importantly, I truly cared about being a good wizard and I cared about making my teachers proud. I smiled to myself, thinking about this time last year, entirely disinterested in classes, complaining to mum and dad at how boring they were. No one would have predicted that a year later, I would be taking exams so seriously, suddenly dedicated to being a good student. In addition, Mum wrote to me stating that several professors had sent her owls stating their admiration at how well I was doing in classes. They used phrases like, "he has a gift!" But I knew better than to ask her who she thought that gift was from.

The nerves about exams faded quickly as I lay in bed, thinking that in just one week, I would be back home. I couldn't wait to see Mum and Dad! I wanted to tell them everything about what I had learned, and though I was originally planning to show them some magic despite the rules against practicing magic away from school if you're under the age of 17, I no longer could, as apparently a "trace" is placed on all underage wizards, and if magic was to be performed in my home, the Ministry of Magic would be notified. Several teachers had gone over the consequences of practicing underaged magic, and James filled me in with an anecdote on how his father got expelled for doing underage magic, and had to attend a formal hearing at the Ministry in order for them to lift the expulsion so he could return to Hogwarts. Apparently he used magic to "save his life." I said nothing, but saved the story in the back of my mind so that I could ask verification to his father when I visited them over the holidays.

I continue to lay in bed, nervous for the start of examinations and excited for the end of them, eager to return home, despite how amazing my first few months at Hogwarts had been. I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, but my thoughts kept shifting, from exams, to mum and dad, to the pool….. After about thirty minutes, I opened my eyes, still not having slept a wink. I sat up, wanting to do something, but unsure of what that may be. Steady sounds of breathing were coming from the beds around me, my roommates were all fast asleep. I got out of bed, and walked around the room once, then down the staircase into the common room. As expected, it was deserted, the fire was out. I plopped down on a stuffy armchair, staring into the stars. The words Dumbledore's portrait had spoken to me began to fill my mind. "It does no good to focus on just one star, when your own can shine so brightly itself." What had he meant by that? Was it simply a generic statement on how I needed to focus on myself, and not him? Or did he know something about me, possibly through him, that he wasn't telling me.

I got up. Sleep was not going to come to me, nor was any new information about my grandfather. The only thing that would help calm my thoughts was a pool. I climbed through the portrait hole and started making my way towards the prefect's bathroom, knowing fully well, but not quite caring, that this was not a good time to get caught.

I arrived at the entrance, facing the statue of Boris the Bewildered, to whom I gave the password. It didn't budge. I said it again. Still nothing. I let out an audible groan, realizing that the password must have been changed, especially since McGonagall knew that James and I were able to get in when we weren't supposed to. Feeling my spirits falling, I sadly turned around and began to walk away, disheartened that the pool was not going to be there for me when I really needed it.

I was almost back to Gryffindor tower when I felt a sudden wisp of cold air. After stopping for a moment, I carried on, but was stopped once again, this time, by a voice. I jumped.

"And what is a student doing out of bed?" It was a man's voice.

I felt my heart skip a beat. My spirits were too low to deal with another detention. I turned around and breathed a sigh of relief. The voice was coming from Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost.

"Couldn't sleep," I said matter of factly.

"Doesn't excuse you from being out of bed at night." I got the sense that Nick was trying to sound firm, but in actuality, hardly cared.

"Right," I said. "I was just heading back." I turned to walk away, but stopped in my tracks. It was worth a shot.

"Um, Nick?"

"Yes," said Nearly Headless Nick, sounding sleepy and disinterested.

I looked him square in his ghost eyes. "Did you know my grandfather?" I tried to sound casual.

"I've known every student who wandered these halls for the past 500 years," said Nick, apparently offended by my question. "So yes. I do."

"What was his name?" I asked, my tone as though we were chatting over sandwiches.

Nick looked at me. "Minerva warned me," he said slowly. "That you may come, asking questions." I felt my heart sink. Of course, McGonagall would see that no one in the castle shared the news with me. I was feeling angry.

"Were there more in the family?" I was beginning to sound as urgent as I felt. "Were they in Gryffindor?'

"After 500 years, I've seen quite a few from your family. Wizard genes don't go away, you know. I liked your grandfather," Nick said, still sounding bored and distant. "Good night, boy." And before I had anytime to reply, I felt the cold breeze of his ghostly body whoosh by me, and he was gone.

I woke up the next morning, nervous for my exams, but even more nervous that Nearly Headless Nick had told McGonagall about our encounter. Too much was going on, both with school and anticipation for the holidays, and serving detention seemed daunting. In addition, I had a dream the previous night, with images of the white scar I had seen on James's father's hand. What if McGonagall decided that cleaning locker rooms and classrooms was not enough for me and I too would be forced to write in my blood? What would Mum and Dad say if they saw the words, I must not sneak out at night etched to my hand?

The Great Hall was significantly quieter for breakfast today than most other days. Several students had brought books and notes with them, doing last minute reviews rather than talking to their friends. James had just barely woken when I had started walking down, so I joined David and Stewart for breakfast, who were quizzing each other for our upcoming Potions final.

I had barely sat down when an owl came whooshing by, dropping a tiny piece of parchment onto my plate of toast. Not expecting any mail, I took it eagerly. I opened it and felt a sense of dread fill me.

Mr. Brittany,

Please see me in my office tonight at 7pm. Password hasn't changed.

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

I knew I shouldn't be surprised. I had, after all, broken the same rules again, and had probably annoyed Nearly Headless Nick enough to where he didn't feel a need to side with me.

"Everything okay?" David asked, looking up at me, still holding my note.

"Yeah," I said. "McGonagall wants to see me in her office tonight."

"Uh oh," said Stewart. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," I lied.

"Maybe it's not a bad thing," said David. "Maybe you're getting an award! My parents always let their yoga students who are being recognized know ahead of time, in private, before they are announced."

"Oh, okay," I said, unconvinced. "Maybe."

It was difficult to focus on exams with the dreadful thoughts for what the evening may hold. Our first exam was Charms. The first portion was all essays, followed by a practical portion. I was to show Professor Flitwick a levitating charm, an unlocking charm, and a fire making spell. Overall, it went rather well. Professor Flitwick applauded my demonstrations and smiled happily as he said, "well done, well done! Very talented indeed!"

After Charms, the Gryffindor first years went to take their Potions finals along with the Ravenclaws. After many more essays, we were each to brew an antidote to common poisons. When I was done, my potion appeared to be decent enough and I was happy with how I had done. I submitted a vile for scoring and quickly left the room for lunch.

During lunch, I finally had a chance to talk to James and tell him about what I did last night and about the message I received in the morning. But James didn't seem concerned.

"Yeah, Nick is right," he said, scooping himself a spoonful of mashed potatoes. "Wizard genes don't go away. He's been here so long, there's bound to be more from your family."

"That's not the point," I said, frustrated at his lack of empathy.

"I'm sorry," said James, quickly changing his expression to one that was more gentle. "My dad didn't know anything about his parents until he got to Hogwarts. But he found out! I really think you will too. Just wait. You will."

"Not unless my grandma allows it," I said, sadly. "And even if she does, how will I ever know if it's true? She doesn't even think she knows his real name. Whatever McGonagall has to say is just her guess."

"But it's McGonagall!" said James. "And Dumbledore!"

"Well…."

"When are they ever wrong?" said James, clearly convinced that any information they relayed would be nothing but accurate.

"I don't know," I said, honestly having no clue to what they may have gotten wrong or right in the past. "But, really, we'd just be taking her word for it." It wasn't until saying this out loud that I realized that it was true. All this time, I was so eager for information, any information at all, that could link me to my magical roots. I had never stopped to consider that it couldn't possibly be confirmed, that McGonagall could never be sure.

After lunch, James and I headed to our last exam for the day, History of Magic. There were no practicals for this exam, just essay after essay. I recalled as much information as I could about the Werewolf Code of Conduct and the Gargoyle Strike of 1911. I thought I did particularly well on the Werewolf essay, as I clearly remembered everything James had told me about how the code had changed in the last 15 years, due to Teddy's father, who was a werewolf. The code of conduct changed in 1999, when Mr. Lupin was awarded the Order of Merlin, First class, after his death, helping to lift some of the bias and stigmas associated with werewolves, I wrote, while at the same time wondering how Teddy's father had died.

After our History of Magic exam, the hours leading up to 7pm seemed to slow down. I tried to eat some dinner and spend the remaining time studying for tomorrow's exams. After all, if I was given another detention, that would be at least two hours less of studying during the week.

At long last, at around 6:50, I dropped my book bag in my dormitory and began to make my way to McGonagall's office on the seventh floor, at this point, simply wanting to get whatever it was over with. I gave the password to the gargoyle guarding the door and stepped onto the moving, stone staircase, which led me to the oak door, with it's knocker shaped like a griffin. I knocked.

"Come in," came McGonagall's voice from inside.

I opened the door and walked in.

My heart skipped a beat. Sitting across from McGonagall's desk was Mum.

This couldn't be good. What had I done? Was snooping the halls at night enough for a parent/teacher conference? And where was Dad? Was he okay? Had Mum come to tell me bad news about him?

But Mum was smiling. "Anthony!" she jumped out of her chair and came to me, her arms open wide for a hug. "Oh, I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too, Mum! But what are you doing here?"

"Your professor called. She wants to talk to us. Boy, it was not easy getting in. I had to take some dark green potion that tasted like stone."

"Muggles cannot see Hogwarts," said McGonagall. "Your mum needed to take a potion for temporary lifting of anti-muggle charms."

"It was exciting, though!" Mum said happily. "My first magic potion! This place is so beautiful! I love the talking pictures and statues guarding the doorways!"

I nodded, absentmindedly. What could be so important that McGonagall needed Mum for, so much so that she lifted the anti-muggle charms for her? I looked at her, sure that my concern was visible.

"Oh, it's a simple potion," said McGonagall assuringly. "We keep some on hand at all times. Have a seat."

I sat down, rehearsing in my head my version of last night, how I was missing the pool so much that I had to go, running into Nick and chatting about past students at Hogwarts which led to him mentioning my grandfather. McGonagall wouldn't get too upset with that. After all, last time when I said we were only wandering because I missed the pool, she seemed to understand.

"You have had many questions this year, Mr. Brittany, and rightfully so. Where we come from is a natural desire to understand. You are still relatively new to the Wizarding World, it is expected that you want to know how you got here."

This was not what I was expecting to hear. I looked at Mum. She was silent, her face rather pale.

"As you know, I communicated with your Mum and Grandmother shortly after the first time you asked me if I knew your grandfather." She paused. The portrait above her head of Albus Dumbledore gave me a wink. She knew I had been here. Was I going to be punished?

"Your grandmother had many questions about how I knew, how I could possibly be sure. I told her that all the pieces that I knew seemed to fit, and if she had anymore to share, I would consider it as well. But she wanted nothing to do with it, she made that clear." McGonagall paused.

"But I talked her into it," Mum spoke softly. "I told her that if this is who her grandson was, he deserved to know where he got it from."

"And she agreed," said McGonagall. "It would have been lovely to have her join us, but she declined."

"Why?" I asked.

"I think it's too much for her," Mum said softly. "But she told me something." There was a long pause. There was a sense of longing in Mum's eyes. "She told me his name."

"What!" I shrieked! "What is it?" All of a sudden my heart was pounding. This was it.

But Mum looked down. "Doesn't really matter," she said sadly. "She doesn't think it was real, and I have to agree. It was….unusual."

"Oh, several wizards have unusual names around here, I'm sure it's real," said McGonagall confidently. "He wasn't the type to hide himself."

"What was it," I asked again, impatiently.

McGonagall took a deep breath. "It is time you know. Both of you. How difficult it must be to not know your own father." She looked at Mum, who was getting tears in her eyes. All the portraits in the office were silent, starting intently from McGonagall, to Mum, to me. Albus Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes were fixated on my mother.

"I have made hundreds of house calls over the years, explaining to muggle families with magical children about the gift their child possesses and about our school. Usually, the families are eager to know who in their family may have been a witch or wizard. But unlike your situation, they have names to compare, a family history they are aware of. Sometimes, we trace the magic to even five, six, even seven generations back. Often, they went to Hogwarts. If they lived internationally, it is much more difficult, but definitely doable. Your case is somewhat unusual, only two generations ago. It is somewhat unlikely, though definitely not unheard of, that you did not possess the magical gene when your father did." McGonagall was looking at my mum.

"I arrived at your home during that summer day fully expecting questions about which of your ancestors may have had magic. But your story was intriguing. It was obvious that your unknown father was a wizard and I was immediately convinced that he went to Hogwarts, given your location. I had seen your features before. I couldn't pinpoint which ones or on who, but I had seen them.

"Then I saw Anthony. There was something familiar about him too. It was his eyes." McGonagall paused and looked at me. "I knew I had seen those eyes before, but with the hundreds of students I have taught over the years, I did not know on whom.

"I left your home that evening determined to figure out who your father was." McGonagall paused. "And I must apologize, if this was overstepping my boundaries." She looked up at Mum, who softly muttered, "Oh, not at all."

McGonagall continued. "I came back here and pulled out album after album of past Hogwarts students. Pictures from end of the year feasts, Quidditch teams…. And at last, it came to me. Unmistakably, I knew whose eyes they were."

My heart was beating uncontrollably. I felt like I had just sprinted the fastest race of my life, but there was still more to go. But Mum was looking quite calm, though very pale, sitting extremely still. It was impossible to know what was going through her mind.

"Who was it?" I muttered in awe, finding it difficult to speak.

McGonagall looked at me, looking somewhat annoyed that I had interrupted her.

"But the rest of the story didn't fit," she continued. "The location, the dates. And….it just didn't seem right. The student in question just didn't seem the type."

McGonagall paused. I wanted to ask again, who he was, but said nothing. Mum spoke, "What do you mean?" She sounded disappointed. I was getting a bad feeling in my stomach. McGonagall had told me, many weeks ago, that she was sure of who he was. Was she going to say she got it wrong?

"You know about the rise of the Dark Lord and the two wizarding wars of the 20th century?" It took me a moment to realize that this question was directed at me. I shook my head, wondering what she was talking about and why she was bringing it up at this particular moment.

"Well, you will be learning all about it in History of Magic next term," said said impatiently. "But to give you, and your mother, an idea, the Dark Lord wanted to rid the world of muggles, including muggle born wizards." There was a pause. Mum looked horrified, clearly taken aback, but for some reason, I felt like I had heard this somewhere before. McGonagall continued. "He was a dangerous and powerful leader, gaining followers to help him carry out his dreadful deeds." McGonagall paused. I looked at Mum, her expression matching how I felt. Why was McGonagall telling us this?

"The wizard in question was one of his followers. It seemed highly unlikely that he would have a child with a muggle." McGonagall paused again. I was still looking at Mum, her expression changed to one of disgust.

"I didn't know him well. Last I had heard of him, he had disappeared. The rumor was that at some point he no longer wanted to serve the Dark Lord and was killed due to his change of allegiance."

"Killed?" I asked, much more loudly than I intended to. I didn't like where this story was heading. I had pictured fun and happy stories about my grandfather, not someone who wanted to kill muggles and then got killed himself for changing his mind. My mind shifted over to some of James's stories. It seemed many people in his anecdotes died too. Was he telling the truth? Was the Wizarding World, in fact, such a dangerous place? I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.

"These were dark times indeed," said McGonagall gravely. "Disappearances were common, as were killings.

"But I looked into it further. I knew those eyes were his. But it couldn't be. You were born in…." McGonagall paused, looking at Mum.

"1981," Mum replied.

"Yes," said McGonagall. "I had asked you. So it couldn't be him. He had died, or rather disappeared, in 1979.

"But I thought it was worth looking into further. I have a….er, former student, who currently works for the Ministry. He had unraveled the story of his fate, many years ago. I reached out to him for confirmation. Was it possible that he hadn't actually died? Had he simply run away due to his change of heart. Did he run away so he could be with muggles, like your mother?

"But I was assured that he was dead. My student said it was confirmed, 100%. There was no way he could be your father."

McGonagall looked at me, then at Mum. Mum's face was quite expressionless.

"I tried hard to not focus on the eyes, which I had been so sure were his. I pulled more albums from the shelves in the library to see who else I could find. I must have spent hours, but it was too difficult for me to get the eyes out of mind.

"It was Albus here…" McGonagall motioned to the portrait of Dumbledore over her head, "who had apparently figured it out days ago." There was a soft laugh that came from his frame. He looked at my Mum and winked.

"I told her to think obvious!" he exclaimed proudly.

"So I did. And I realized that it was as obvious as could possibly be."

My heart was racing. I tried to tell myself to not get too hopeful, for fear of being let down. I looked at Mum, who continued to show no emotions.

"It wasn't him. It was his brother! It all fit. South of London, born in 1981, charming, handsome, life of the party, and incredibly muggle loving! I pictured your face," McGonagall looked at Mum. "Those cheekbones, dimples, dark hair and eyes, tall and slim build…. There was no denying it. I had no doubt he was your father!"

I felt a new wave of energy, almost like hope, fill my heart. I smiled, feeling happier and more hopeful than I had all evening. But Mum was still not looking convinced. Finally, she spoke: "So, his brother wanted to kill muggles, then changed his mind, died, and then he met my mum?" It sounded ridiculous when Mum put it this way. I felt a slight jolt in my stomach. Maybe McGonagall had gotten it wrong? But she seemed so sure...

"They were hardly brothers," said McGonagall. "As different as could be. Your father actually left his family when he was sixteen. They were pure blood supremacists, he was a muggle lover. This is why it took me so long to tie him to his brother, the one who shares Anthony's eyes. They were so different, never associated as being part of the same family."

There was a long pause. Finally Mum said, in a tone that she was trying to make sound polite, "I see." I said nothing. "I appreciate it," said Mum, clearly choosing her words carefully. "But I still don't see how you can be so sure."

McGonagall looked directly at my Mum, her eyes soft and gentle, as though filled with hope and happiness. "Is the name Sirius Black familiar to you?" she asked in barely a whisper.

There was a long pause. The portraits around the office were staring intently at my mum. Her jaw had dropped open, her eyes were wide. She let out a soft, yet intense gasp. "Oh my goodness," she muttered, hardly able to articulate her words. "That's what..that's the name...my Mum…it was real..."

McGonagall was smiling and I was beaming too. Upon hearing his name, a warmth like never before filled my entire body. Though I was sure I had never heard his name, it felt somehow very familiar.

After a few long moments, Mum seemed to compose herself. She wiped a tear from her eyes and looked up. "Tell us about him," she said, eagerness and hope in her voice. "Please, tell us everything you know." I smiled and nodded.

McGonagall took a deep breath. "The Black family was an aristocratic one. One of the oldest pure-blood wizarding families, dating back to the middle ages. They were wealthy, prestigious, and known for their obsession in keeping the family pure.

"When Sirius came along to Hogwarts, the staff knew who he was. We all expected him to be sorted into Slytherin, like the rest of the family." I gave a snort, causing Mum to look up, questioningly. But McGonagall ignored me. "Imagine the surprise we all had when the hat placed him in Gryffindor!" McGonagall was smiling proudly and the portrait of Dumbledore beamed as well. "What took me by the most surprise was his attitude to this news. I half expected him to object, insist that as a Black he was to be in Slytherin. But Sirius was smiling, he enthusiastically ran to the Gryffindor table and began high fiving his fellow housemates." I smiled, picturing the sorting ceremony and my happy grandfather running to the same table I had, so many years before.

McGonagall continued. "I had known Sirius for less than 48 hours and two things became obvious. One, that he was incredibly brilliant. Two, that he had absolutely no regard for any rules. In fact, I believe he managed to get himself in detention even sooner than you did." McGonagall was looking at me, a look of fond amusement on her face.

"Sirius befriended a fellow Gryffindor named James."

"My best friend's name is James too!" I blurted out, excited by this thing we shared in common. Mum smiled. McGonagall looked irritated that I interrupted her again. "Sorry," I said softly.

"James and Sirius were inseparable. Hardly ever saw one of them without the other. And they may just have been the biggest pair of trouble makers Hogwarts has ever seen! The number of evenings and Saturdays I had to give up to have them serve detention…" McGonagall stopped talking, as though reminiscing about those moments, so many years prior. She did not look angry. "But they were brilliant! Top of their class, incredibly talented."

Mum was smiling. I could tell she was enjoying this story, celebrating the news that her father was in every way how she pictured him and wanted to be.

"A short while later, Sirius's brother came along. He was vastly unlike Sirius and very much like the rest of the Black family. He was in Slytherin, believed in pure blood mania, treated muggle borns like second class citizens. No one associated the two of them as brothers. In fact, there were very rare occasions when they even spoke." I looked at Mum. I could tell she didn't like this news. Family had always been a large part of her life, and mine. I knew that secretly she had been hoping that she'd have aunts and uncles she didn't know about and was disappointed at how her uncle had turned out to be.

"As their time at Hogwarts was coming to a close, the rise of the Dark Lord was a severe threat to the entire Wizarding World. He was gaining followers and it was Albus Dumbledore," McGonagall paused, motioning towards the beaming portrait directly behind her, "who organized a secret society, called the Order of the Phoenix, to work to stop the Dark Lord from gaining power. Both James and Sirius were highly active and prominent members.

"James married a fellow Gryffindor, Lily, a lovely woman, muggle born. Together they had a son, Harry, and they named Sirius Harry's godfather." McGonagall paused, looking up at Mum and me. Mum had the trace of a smile on her face, as though the news that her father had a godson was comforting for her.

"But things got difficult very fast," said McGonagall. "A prophecy was made that James and Lily's son, Harry, though at the time just a baby, would be the one to eventually defeat the Dark Lord. Their family was forced to go into hiding." McGonagall paused, and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice had changed. It was much lower, more somber, and it sounded like it was difficult for her to find the right words. I held my breath. "They were betrayed to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord found and killed them, but was somehow unable to kill baby Harry. They had been betrayed by a friend." McGonagall closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I didn't know where this was heading, but it seemed to cause her a lot of pain. I looked at Mum, who was looking curious as well. "The friend who betrayed them was more cunning than we could have ever imagined. He framed Sirius, planted false evidence that he was the one to betray his friends to the Dark Lord." McGonagall's eyes were still closed. She took another deep breath. "Sirius was captured and imprisoned, paying for a crime he did not commit, paying for a crime that had lost him his best friend."

I looked at Mum, her eyes wide in fear. Neither of us were expecting this sudden turn of events. McGonagall's eyes were still closed. From above her, I heard a sniffle come from Dumbledore's frame. He wiped a tear from his eyes, under his half moon spectacles.

After what seemed an eternity, Mum spoke. "What happened then?" Her voice was shaking.

McGonagall opened her eyes. "After twelve years in Azkaban, a horrible wizarding prison, Sirius managed to do the impossible. He knew his traitor was out there, he knew his godson was alive and in danger. He used his brains, his wit, his nerve, and his brilliance to somehow break out and escape." Mum gave a small smile. McGonagall continued. "Sirius was reunited with his godson and confronted his old friend who had betrayed him. But the traitor escaped yet again, forcing Sirius to run and live in hiding."

Mcgonagall paused, as though unsure of what she was about to say next. She looked at Mum. "The Minister of Magic had informed the muggle Prime Minister that there was a dangerous killer on the loose. I believe his escape was in muggle news." McGonagall was gazing at my mum, as though she was supposed to understand something. "I wondered if your mother may have heard this news, thus contributing to her fear of him? I could imagine how frightening that may be for her."

Mum was looking thoughtful. "I don't know…." she thought out loud. "What year was this?"

"1993," McGonagall said thoughtfully.

Mum was silent for a few moments. Finally, she shook her head. "I believe when my mum tried to find him, when I was a teenager, it was at least 1995 or '96. I doubt she would have done that if she believed he was a criminal." She shook her head again. "And she isn't one to watch the news much anyway. I doubt she had heard."

McGonagall gave a small smile, looking relieved. "Glad to hear," she said. "I can imagine how such dark news would add to her fears, and it was entirely untrue. I am happy she was spared the unnecessary burden."

Mum nooded. "Absolutely," she muttered softly. McGonagall took a deep breath and continued with her story.

"By now, Sirius's parents and brother were dead, and he, being the last Black still alive, inherited his family's grand house in London. He hated it there, but it was a safe place for him to hide and powerful magical enchantments were placed upon it to ensure its safety. He offered it to be used as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, which was back in action, as the Dark Lord had emerged again and was a threat to the wizarding community. Sirius was frustrated, hated that he had to live in hiding and couldn't contribute more to the Order."

"Where is he now? Is the Dark Lord still a threat?" Mum was sounding impatient. I knew she wanted to see him, was eager to find out where she could find him and how she could get there.

McGonagall closed her eyes again. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. "In the spring of 1996, the Dark Lord captured his godson, Harry, and some of his friends in the Ministry of Magic. The Order sent several members to go and protect the children. Sirius insisted he go along. He refused to stay in hiding if his godson was in danger. He didn't care if he was caught and thrown back in prison if it meant his godson would be safe."

There was another long pause. Mum closed her eyes as well. She didn't look like she was ready to hear what was about to come. I imagined my grandfather being thrown back in prison, trying to save his godson, when he didn't even know he had a daughter. I felt sick, wondering what I had ever found so appealing about this awful, unjust world I had just become a part of.

"Sirius did not survive the battle. He was killed by his own cousin, who was a loyal supporter of the Dark Lord."

Mum let out a loud gasp. "No…." she said softly. "No, please…."

McGonagall wiped a tear off her face. "It was cruel," she said. "Cruel his life was cut short. He had so much potential, a world of opportunities ahead of him. It wasn't until after his death that the Ministry accepted that he had been innocent all along. But it was too late. He was taken from us too soon." McGonagall paused again, more tears coming down her face. "His godson saw him die. He did not take it well. Had a terrible meltdown in this very office. Albus tried his hardest to console him."

"One of the most painful days of my career," the portrait of Albus spoke softly.

I didn't know how to react. I felt like something had been promised to me, but suddenly taken away. I looked at my mother, who was crying. McGonagall got up and walked towards her, gently putting her hand on Mum's shoulder.

The moments continued to crawl by. Mum was not the only one crying. McGonagall occasionally wiped tears from her face, as did the portrait of Albus Dumbldore and several other portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses on the wall. But I did not. I felt too numb to cry, too confused at everything that had just happened. The Wizarding World I had experienced over the last few months had always seemed like such a happy and safe place. How was it fair that my grandfather was thrown in prison when he didn't do anything wrong? How was it that his godson got captured by the Dark Lord? And why did the Dark Lord want to kill all the muggle borns?

At last, though still teary, Mum began to compose herself. "I'm sorry," she said softly, whimpering. "Sorry, to be like this. I just thought...I really thought….." Her voice trailed off. She paused for a moment, as though it was difficult for her to say what she was feeling. "I thought I would be meeting him today," she said in a quiet voice.

McGonagall spoke, gently and affectionately. "He would have loved you!" she said. "You would have loved him! He was wonderful. There was nothing he wouldn't do for those he cared about."

Mum smiled. "Tell me more about him," she said, the slightest hint of a smile on her face.

McGonagall closed her eyes, clearly picturing fond memories. "Brilliant," she said again. "Hard working and courageous. Charismatic and fun-loving. And insanely good looking."

"Just like my mum described him," Mum said, with a definite trace of a smile.

I wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what. Finally, for the sake of participating in the conversation, I said, "You had told me he was good at Transfiguration?"

McGonagall looked at me and smiled. "Oh yes," she said happily. "In fact, in his fifth year, he figured out how to become an animagus."

Mum looked up, confused. "I'm sorry?" she said.

McGonagall was looking at me. It took me a moment to remember what this meant. "He could turn into an animal?" I asked, astounded.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was now beaming proudly as well.

McGonagall nodded.

"Turn into an animal?" Mum was clearly still confused. "LIke you had in our home? What animal?"

"He was able to transform into a big black dog," McGonagall said happily.

"But why?" asked Mum. "Why did he want to be able to turn into a dog?"

This sounded like a ridiculous question to me. "That's so cool!" I exclaimed, more impressed than I had been all evening.

McGonagall took a deep breath. "Sirius and James befriended another fellow Gryffindor named Remus. Remus was a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Mum interrupted. "Those things that turn into monsters at night? They exist?"

"Oh yes," said McGonagall. "Highly discriminated against…"

"Until Teddy Lupin's father was awarded Order of Merlin, First Class!" I exclaimed proudly, recollecting what I had written on my History of Magic exam, just a few hours prior.

"Very good," McGonagall said, nodding, a sly smile across her face. "Life was tough for Remus. He would be secluded during every full moon in order to keep others safe, where he would wail and bite himself as he lived in the body of a monster. Sirius and James thought it would be, er, exciting to be able to transform with him during the full moon to keep him company."

Mum was smiling. She gave a soft laugh.

"Don't you have to register to be an animagus?" I asked, wanting to sound intelligent in front of both McGonagall and my mum.

"Yes," said McGonagall. "But as I said, Sirius and James had no regard for the rules. They did it illegally, helping another, er…. friend accomplish the task as well. How a couple of teenagers managed to figure out one of the most advanced and dangerous acts of magic, one that can go horribly wrong if not executed correctly, is still beyond me." McGonagall was trying to sound firm, but she was beaming.

"Seems like an awful lot to go through," Mum said thoughtfully.

"Oh, it was literally the most insane measure they could have taken to help their friend. Almost as impossible as breaking out of Azkaban. But there was nothing Sirius wouldn't do for those he cared about. Nothing would stop him from trying to help his friend. It seemed as though James and Sirius lived under the motto, the riskier, the better." McGonagall paused and exchanged a quick, happy glance with the portrait of Dumbledore, who was also smiling proudly. "But I must admit," she continued, "my students figuring out such advanced magic successfully, without getting caught, and without any help is one of my proudest accomplishments as a teacher."

Mum was smiling. I felt a sense of pride wash through my body, proud to be sitting across the teacher my grandfather had made so happy. Proud to be sitting by my mum who had such an amazing father. And most of all, proud to be a wizard who knew where he got it all from.

"What happened to his friend, Remus?" Mum asked hopefully.

McGongall's happy expression changed suddenly. She took a deep breath. "Remus died in the final battle against the Dark Lord," she said softly. The mood in the room changed drastically. Too many people were dying in this story. "But he died a hero, as you said." It took me a moment to realize McGonagall was talking to me. I looked back at her, confused. "I believe you have met his son," she said with a smile. "His son, Teddy."

It took me a moment to process what she had just said. "Teddy?" I asked in awe. "Teddy Lupin? The head boy?"

McGonagall smiled and nodded.

"Wait," I said. "Teddy's dad was my granddad's friend?" The familiar warmth I had felt so many times today at happy news was filling my body again. "And my granddad illegally learned to turn into a dog to help him?"

"Oh yes," said McGongall happily.

I looked up to see that Mum was looking slightly more comforted. Finally she spoke. "But why did so many people die?"

"It was a time of war. The Dark Lord was strong and powerful, and Sirius and his friends were passionate and instrumental in fighting him. There were dangers involved, many lost their lives."

"Is he still powerful?" Mum asked. I was glad she did, as I was feeling frightened, as though I did not know what hidden horrors surrounded me.

"Oh no!" said McGonagall proudly. "If he were, Anthony wouldn't even be allowed at Hogwarts, being a muggle born. No, no, the Dark Lord was defeated. Sirius, James, Remus, and all the others who lost their lives did not die in vain." Mum gave a small smile, but my mind was racing. All of this was sounding vaguely familiar. I had heard something about it, but could not pinpoint what or where.

There was a long pause. Mum was clearly soaking up the information. After a few moments, her smile began to wash away slightly.

"You said his family was proud to be pure blood. How did they take all of this? Would they be okay with their son having a child with a muggle? If they knew?" Mum said the word muggle strangely, as though not sure if she was insulting herself with it.

There was a brief pause. McGonagall seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "Sirius's parents never accepted his fascination with muggles, and in turn, did not accept him. But he was not one to be pushed around, as he was rebellious and proud, confident in what he believed in. While he was at school, things were getting worse and worse for him at home. As his head of house, I was obligated to send home reports on his behavior at school. Given he was no stranger to mischief, the reports were quite frequent. I would get back the nastiest replies from his mum, how he was no son of hers, an embarrassment to her family. She would send him howlers in the mail…"

"What are howlers?"

I knew the answer to this. I had seen one, a few weeks prior. "It's a letter that screams!" I blurted out.

"And her screams were horrible, yelling at her son for the Great Hall to hear at how he disgraced her family."

"That's awful," Mum said sadly.

"I also sent home countless positive reports. How Sirius had earned top marks again, how Sirius was the first in his class to master a new spell or charm. But she didn't care.

"Sirius never seemed phased by it. Sometimes, I feel he enjoyed annoying his family. And he had found his chosen family in James. He loved James as a brother and spent much of his holidays at his house. James's parents loved Sirius, always welcomed him.

"Then, towards the end of his fifth year, there was a particularly horrible incident. Sirius had been, er, caught with a lovely muggle born girl during a Hogsmeade visit." McGonagall looked at me, slightly embarrassed.

"What were they doing?" Mum asked, puzzled.

"Well…" McGonagall looked at her and didn't say a word. Mum seemed to understand. I was thoroughly confused, but remained silent.

"According to my job rules, I had to inform his parents. I knew nothing good would come of it, but I did so anyway.

"The next morning, the Great Hall received the most terrible howler any of us have ever heard. His Mum's yelling was violent, saying horrible things to her son and even worse about muggles and muggle borns. It was the first time and only time I've seen a howler being destroyed midair. Headmaster Dumbledore could not let something like it continue in a hall full of students. He skillfully hit it with a curse to destroy it mid sentence, causing the Great Hall to suddenly go deafeningly silent, some students looking fearful, some muggle borns almost crying.

"For the first time, Sirius showed how affected he was by the way he was treated by his family. His demeanor had changed over the next few days, his liveliness was lost and he looked unhappy. I called him into my office one evening and expressed my concern about the inappropriateness of what his mum had done. He kept saying he was fine, that he was grateful for James and his other friends and it did not matter how his family treated him. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help him. He said to not let him go back home."

McGonagall paused and took a deep breath. Mum was looking at her with a thoughtful gaze. She continued. "Sirius was always strong and resilient. I can count the number of times I've seen him cry on one hand. This was the first time." There was another long pause. "He cried and begged me not to let him go back home over the upcoming holidays. He kept saying his parents hated him and it was awful there. It broke my heart to see him this way, but there was nothing I could do. They were his parents, he was a minor."

"But they were abusing him!" Mum blurted out, suddenly sounding very angry and defensive. "He shouldn't be allowed to go to an abusive home!"

McGonagall looked at her sadly. "This was the 1970s," she said calmly. "Abuse was defined very differently than it is now. Sirius was not being physically harmed or being put in any danger.

"But I did bring up my concerns to Headmaster Dumbledore. We knew there was nothing we could do. The Black family was highly regarded and respected, and it was no secret that their oldest son was not one to uphold the family traditions or keep his nose clean at school. No one would believe us if we said that his parents were the ones in the wrong. But Professor Dumbledore wrote a letter to James's parents addressing our concerns. He told them that Sirius was very unhappy at home and to please look after him. He told them that if they were to hear of anything that we could assist with, to please let us know right away.

"The first few weeks of the holidays, Dumbledore received a few owls from James's father saying he had been visiting frequently and seemed fine, that nothing was any different than normal. But about three weeks later, Dumbldore received another letter." McGonagall picked up an old piece of parchment from her desk. "You may like to read it?" she asked Mum and me. "Dumbleodre kept it because, well, it's quite something!"

She handed the letter to Mum who took it eagerly and unfolded it. I moved closer to

her so I could read as well.

Dear Albus,

I would like you to know that Sirius will be staying with us from now on. He came in through our fireplace last night clearly distressed, shaking and crying, and asked if he could stay the night. He did not go into many details, but we all know what hell he has to live through with those awful parents of his. After James was able to calm him down, Sirius thanked us for letting him stay and said he would leave the next day once he felt a little better. Euphemia and I assured him that he would not be going back, that there was no way we were going to let him stay with those awful people and that he would be staying with us. I wrote to his parents and let them know, and assured them that if they had any issues with this arrangement, they would have me to answer to and I am not the slightest bit intimidated by their status or their wealth. After all, any brother of James's is a son of ours.

The Blacks are terrible people, treating others as lesser individuals simply because they have wealth and pure blood. Sirius is a wonderful, brilliant, and all around amazing young man. His parents chose not to love him, simply because he is different than them. One day, he is going to be accomplishing great things. If there is ever a world in which wizards and muggles live in harmony, Sirius would have undoubtedly played an instrumental part in ensuring it. He is certainly destined to be a great wizard, will be highly successful, and will do a lot of good in the world. Euphemia and I are proud to call him our son.

All the best to you and please keep in touch.

Fleamont

Mum seemed to read the letter at least three times. The first time she had a look of wonder on her face. Then she started smiling. McGonagall, and seemingly all the portraits on her wall, were watching her. Finally, she looked up. "Wow," was all she said.

"It's a pity," McGonagall said. "Fleamont was right, we all expected great things from Sirius. He cared so much about doing good for the world. He fought so passionately for muggle rights. He always put others before he put himself."

"Where are James's parents now?" Mum asked tentatively, as though knowing what the answer was going to be. "Were they also killed in the…?"

But McGonagall interrupted her. "Killed in the war, no," she said solemnly. "But they both died of Dragon Pox within days of each other."

"Dragon pox?" Mum and I said at the same time.

McGonagall looked at us. "A nasty disease," she said. "Sirius spoke at their funeral." She paused and wiped more tears from her face. "Said it was due to them that he knew what it was like to have parents who loved him. He and James comforted each other that sad day like true brothers."

So many thoughts were going through my head. I wanted to know more, but I was not sure I could handle any more news of people dying. The Wizarding World that I loved so much seemed frightening, like it wasn't safe. The smiles of everyone around me at Hogwarts weren't the whole truth, so many people were unhappy and struggling.

Mum spoke. "But I don't understand. If they were so close, my father and his friend, James, why did people believe he would betray him? Why didn't anyone stand up for him?"

McGonagall closed her eyes. "In my heart of hearts, I wanted to believe he would never do such a thing. Albus too. But the evidence was overwhelming. The traitor was incredibly convincing and planted false evidence that could not be denied." She paused, clearly trying to mask the pain this was causing her. I looked up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was wiping another tear from under his half moon spectacles. McGonagall continued. "Maybe one day I will tell you the details of what he did, but you do not need to hear them now." Mum nodded. I felt a sense of relief sweep over me. I was in no mood to hear what foul things were done to my grandfather. "He wasn't even given a trial. It was so unfair. Years later, after he escaped, I expressed to him my most sincere apologies for not knowing the truth. Albus did too. We told him that in our hearts, we couldn't imagine how he would ever betray his friend, his brother. We knew nothing we could say would undo what had happened. But he understood. He was fully aware of how crafy his former friend was in framing him, how convincing he had made it seem. He held a huge grudge to the Ministry official who threw him in jail without a trial, and the Ministry in general, but did not extend those hard feelings to those of us who were forced to believe what was in front of us. He was still most hurt about the loss of his friends, blaming himself for not protecting them better, pining for just one more day he could spend with James."

There was a long silence. I closed my eyes and imagined what it would be like if something happened to my friend, James. Would Jon, or David, or Stewart ever frame me to make it seem like I did it? Would McGonagall believe it? I quickly opened my eyes and put the thoughts out of my mind, telling myself, though only feebly, that it would never happen.

Finally, Mum spoke. "What did he do after school? Did he work?"

"He and James both chose to devote their time to the Order of the Phoenix," said McGonagall with a distinct air of pride in her voice. "They were huge assets to the Order," she added, looking slightly taken aback by my mum's lack of reaction.

There was another long pause. It was clear Mum was having difficulty processing all this information. McGonagall was staring down to her lap, respectfully avoiding eye contact so Mum could feel alone in her thoughts. However, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore was eyeing her with a happy sense of pride.

I found my own thoughts flashing before me as I sat in the silent room. In the last hour, I had learned by grandfather's name for the first time, heard how bright and mischievous he was, learned that he was wrongly thrown in prison, and found out that he had died. Everything had happened too fast. I realized that what Mum had said about thinking she was going to meet him was true for me too. The fleeting, warming sensation I had felt when I first heard his name was a feeling of comfort, comfort that there was someone in my family who was just like me. But that comfort was destroyed by devastating and horrifying stories of unjustness. Stories of having to run away from home due to unloving parents, wrongly being accused and thrown in prison without a trial, dying in what seemed like a horrible war. McGonagall said that he died trying to protect his godson, but she had also said that if we had lost the war, I wouldn't be allowed to attend Hogwarts. He must have felt strongly about this, willing to fight for those like me.

Finally, Mum looked up. She had a look of confusion, but at the same time, longing. She looked like she was desperate for something, but had started to lose hope.

"Oh, I almost forgot," McGonagall said, clearly not having forgotten anything, but simply waiting for an appropriate moment. She opened a drawer in her desk. "I have a picture." Mum's eyes lit up and I was sure I was smiling too. "This was taken of us during his graduation ceremony. I'm sorry, it's the only one I have. The rest were all given to his godson."

McGonagall handed Mum an old photograph. In it were two smiling, waving people. One was McGonagall, clearly much younger. And standing beside her was my grandfather. I smiled and looked up to see my mum's face glowing. She was waving back at the photograph with tears in her eyes.

Her father looked quite a bit like her. I noticed everything McGonagall had mentioned about the cheekbones, the hair, and slim and tall body type. "Wow!" I said happily. "You look just like him!"

Mum was smiling and crying at the same time. She took the picture and held it close to her heart, then held it out again and stared at it some more. I reached over to touch it, pretending to high five my grandfather's hand that was waving back at me. Mum let out a slight giggle, then held the picture to her lips and gave her father a small kiss.

Finally, she looked up at McGonagall. "May I keep this?" she asked shyly.

"Of course, my dear!" said McGonagall.

Mum placed the picture down on McGonagall's desk, right in front of her, where she continued to stare at it. "He sure was good looking," she laughed, muttering softly.

"Just like you," said McGonagall kindly.

I was still staring at the picture. I noticed his eyes. Sure enough, they were not like mine or my mum's.

"Professor?" I said. "You said my eyes are like his brothers?"

McGongall nodded.

"Um, what was he like?" As soon as I asked, I wished I hadn't. According to what I knew, he wanted to kill all the muggles. I wasn't sure I was ready for more terrifying news about the war that had taken so many lives.

McGonagall paused for a moment. "I didn't know him well," she said. "He was not in my house, I only knew of him what he did in my classes. He too was good at transfiguration. Good in everything, in fact. Very bright, much like Sirius. Talented Quidditch player, unfortunately, scraping many wins for Slytherin." McGonagall gave the smallest hint of a wink, as though admitting that she was playing favorites for Gryffindor.

All of a sudden, I felt a powerful surge in my stomach. I realized something. "I've seen him before!" I exclaimed. "I've seen his picture!" The face of the Slytherin seeker I had seen while going through pictures in the library with James was jumping out at me. I had mentioned to James that his eyes were like mine. It had to be him, I knew it!

McGonagall was smiling at me. "Yes, you have," she said. "Madam Pince informed me that you and James had come to the library hoping to find some information and that you had stopped at the picture of Regulus Black."

I felt a new, unusual feeling sweep through my body at the sound of my great-uncle's name. Was it warm, or was it fearful? He seemed like a complex person, I wasn't sure if I would like him or not.

"Why didn't she tell me?" I asked, but McGonagall was silent, and I knew she was not going to reply. She had told me many times why she chose to remain hushed on the matter.

"So, Madam Pince knew?" I said. "She knew who my grandfather was?"

"Oh course she knew! Everyone at Hogwarts knew who he was. He was quite noticeable, with all the mischief on one hand and top marks on the other."

All of a sudden, a new voice spoke, causing all three of us sitting around McGonagall's desk to jump. The voice was coming from high up. "My great, great grandsons." it said, sounding bored.

I looked up. I had heard this portrait's voice before. It was the one that said I should be punished for trespassing the headmistress's office. I read the name. Phineas Nigellus Black. Black! I was related to him!

Mum looked up too. "What?" she asked, confused.

"Ah, yes," said McGonagall. "Phineas Nigellus was Sirius's great great grandfather. I guess that makes you his great, great, great granddaughter." There was a lack of enthusiasm in McGonagall's voice. I could tell she didn't think this news was anything to be proud of.

But Mum was beaming. She stood up and walked towards the portrait. "Nice to meet you!" she said happily.

"You too," Phineas replied, dully. Mum looked taken aback at the rudeness.

"Don't feel bad, my dear," McGonagall said kindly. "Phineas was the most unpopular headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Why he took on the job when he hates children…."

"Always poking their noses around in grown up business..." Phineas continued.

"That will be fine, Phineas," said McGonagall, firmly. "Thank you."

Mum looked disappointed, but did not say anything. She sat down and an uncomfortable silence filled the room. I broke the silence. "Did Sirius play Quidditch?" I asked hopefully, trying to recall the pictures I had seen of the Gryffindor Quidditch teams.

McGonagall shook her head. "No, he didn't," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I asked him many times to try out for the team. He would practice with James and was very good. But he said he had too much fun doing the commentary and wasn't going to give that up just to play." McGonagall smiled, looking like she wanted to laugh. "I do have to say his commentary was quite entertaining. We always had high turnouts to matches when Sirius, as you muggles would say, had the mic!"

There was a pause. I was picturing my grandfather standing in the Quidditch pitch, his voice magically amplified like Teddy's had been, making the whole school laugh at his jokes. I smiled. McGonagall looked back at mum. "Did you want to see the picture of his brother? We can bring that album from the library, so you can see it too," she said politely.

Mum shook her head. "No," she said thoughtfully. "No, that's okay. You said he joined the Dark Lord right? He wanted to kill people like me?" Mum's voice was hateful. I felt a strong sense of dislike as well.

McGonagall sighed. "He did," she said thoughtfully. "But there was more to it than I initially knew."

Mum didn't say anything, clearly wondering whether or not she wanted to know. I wasn't going to let her withhold more information. I had his eyes, I needed to know. "What's that?" I asked, my voice sounding far more wondrous than I had intended.

"Well, initially all we knew was that he had joined the Death Eaters. He was only 16, still in school. It was horrible, horrible that the Dark Lord would even allow for a child to serve him.

"When he was 18, he suddenly disappeared. According to Sirius and what he found

out, he had gotten cold feet, no longer wanted to serve, and tried to run away. The Dark Lord would never allow that, so he killed him.

"But many years later, my former student cracked the case of what really happened. He hadn't tried to run away at all. He had actually schemed a plan to try to help destroy him and had died in the process."

I looked at Mum, then at McGonagall, then back at mum. McGonagall looked like she wanted to say more, but wasn't sure what. Mum looked confused, much the way I felt.

"Why did he do that?" Mum asked.

McGonagall paused and took a deep breath. "Well," she said. "I can't be sure, but I truly believe Sirius had an influence over him." Mum and I looked at each other, but McGonagall continued.

"The reason why his disappearance was even something known to me was because of the Order of the Phoenix. We had to know our enemies, we kept up with the news of the Death Eaters. When we found out that a Death Eater had disappeared, of course there was an investigation to find out who. When I found out who it was, I pulled Sirius aside before our next Order meeting and told him personally, recognizing that he may be sensitive to the news. I asked him if he wanted to be the one to investigate what happened, or if he rather the task be given to someone else. He immediately said he wanted to be the one to do it. He was much more upset than I had expected him to be, as I knew they no longer recognized each other as their brother.

"Sirius spoke to me two days later telling me what he found out, that Regulus had been expressing dislike for the Dark Lord for quite some time and that it was believed by his family that he was killed for his disloyalty. Sirius was clearly distraught, expressed that if his brother had reached out to him he would have helped protect him. He said he knew he should be happy that we were one death eater down, but that Regulus was never evil and he only did what he did to please his parents.

"I did not know them before their days at Hogwarts, by which time both brothers had parted ways. But Sirius told me that when they were younger, they had quite a good relationship, and while their mum always told Regulus not to listen to his "idiot brother," young Regulus had a certain fondness for him.

"And so many years later, he changed his views so drastically, so much so that he died in the process. I can't be sure, but I believe Sirius's influence was always there with him. He had grown up as his parents' favorite, believing everything they taught him about pure blood supremacy. At Hogwarts, he surrounded himself with the same. But deep down, he was much like his brother: brave, loyal, and willing to fight for what he believed was right." McGonagall paused and took another deep breath. "It's a pity Sirius didn't live to know that he died a hero. I imagine he'd be so proud."

I thought of the face of the sQuidditch player I had seen in the album a few weeks prior. When the picture was taken, did he believe all muggle borns should be killed?

Another long silence followed. The information I had heard was slowly beginning to process with me and the truth that I was never going to meet my grandfather was starting to become more real, leaving an empty, sinking feeling in my stomach.

Mum looked up, opening her mouth to say something, then closing it again. McGonagall seemed to have noticed. She looked at her encouragingly. Mum tried again, but no words came out.

"I know this is a lot for you," McGonagall said gently. "Is there, er, something you want to ask? Please, don't be shy."

Mum opened her mouth again, and suddenly, tears began pouring down her face. No one said anything as she took a few deep breaths and composed herself. Finally, she was able to speak.

"Do you suppose ...with all his fascination with muggles and a family that didn't accept it…." Mum's voice trailed off, as though she hoped the question would end up asking itself. McGonagall didn't seem to understand. "Do you suppose my mum was nothing but…" there was a long pause while Mum searched for the correct words. Finally, she spoke. "A forbidden novelty?" There was distinct hurt in her voice. I thought of what she had just asked and realized I was wondering the same. McGonagall made it very clear that Sirius loved his godson. But what would he have thought about a half muggle daughter? Did he truly believe muggles were as good as wizards, or would he have thought of her, and me, as lesser?

"Oh, my dear," said McGonagall, clearly not expecting this question. "Not at all! Maybe when he was a teenager, like the time he was caught in Hogsmeade, but when he knew your mother, he was a grown adult. Yes, he was known to be reckless and had certainly been rebellious, but in his heart, he truly loved muggles and believed in their rights."

I looked at Mum. She didn't look convinced, but McGonagall wasn't done. "Sirius and James could have been anything they wanted when they left Hogwarts. They could easily have landed high paying and highly respected jobs, with their brains, their marks, and charisma. But they both chose to work for, or I should say, volunteer for, the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius had made a decent inheritance from an uncle who supported him and his views and chose to live a modest life where he could do good in the world, rather than go out and make money.

"Both Sirius and James were in no danger from the Dark Lord, as they were protected by their pure blood status. They had nothing to gain by serving the Order, and everything to lose. Sirius had performed several highly dangerous and daring tasks for the Order, literally risking his life, more than once. And he performed them selflessly and of course, brilliantly.

"It was fascinating, that from such a young age, despite being taught nothing but radical, pure blood supremacy, he knew from the start that blood status did not determine a person's worth. He came to Hogwarts, thrilled to be placed in Gryffindor, away from the family norm of Slytherin, which at the time, had an incredibly dark reputation and drew several students who came from radical, pure blood families, like his brother. He made friends with other accepting and progressively thinking individuals, including a werewolf that had been discriminated against his whole life. He gave up a life of luxury and prestige to do the right thing. He gave up a successful career to help muggles and muggle borns be seen as equals in the eyes of wizards."

McGonagall paused, allowing Mum and me to process what she had told us. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and she looked directly at my mother. "When your mum replied to my owl, she stated disappointment in herself for being naive enough to be so easily swayed by someone. I assured her that whatever it was that she saw in Sirius was genuine. He never pretended to be someone he wasn't. The kindness and passion she saw in him was real. I wanted to tell her that if she had given him a chance, had told him about his daughter, that he would have loved both of you unconditionally and been a terrific father." McGonagall cleared her throat. "But of course, it is not in my place to judge her decision. I hope you don't mind me saying it, because I do firmly believe it."

McGonagall looked at mum, then at me, smiling. "Until just a few months ago, it was believed that the Black family line, which had survived for centuries, had ended with Sirius. It was often said how Sirius wouldn't be sad to have ended it, as he didn't care to preserve his family name." McGonagall was smiling even bigger now. "I imagine he'd be thrilled to know that it hasn't ended, and is being carried out by a muggle and a half blood!"

There was conviction in McGonagall's voice that convinced me that she was truly proud of her former student and what he had done. Mum smiled a tentative smile, one that faded quickly. "I just really wish I could meet him," she said, the sadness in her voice cutting through me. I thought of my own father, imagining what my life would be like if I had never met him. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the thought, suddenly understanding what pain my mother was in at this moment.

"You would love him," McGonagall said, touching my mum on the arm. "And he would love you." She looked at me. "You too, my dear," she said. "He'd be so proud of you." McGonagall looked at me. I smiled. By the sounds of it, I was a lot like him.

"Isn't there anyone?" Mum asked desperately. "Cousins? Aunts or Uncles? I mean, not the cousin who killed him, but….anyone?"

"His favorite cousin, Andromeda, survives," said McGonagall. "She married a muggleborn, Ted Tonks, and was disowned by the family because of it."

"Oh!" said Mum, sounding hopeful. "Perhaps I can, um, reach out to her?"

"Oh I'm sure she'd be thrilled," said McGonagall, sounding somewhat enthusiastic. It was as though she knew something that she wasn't saying.

"Andromeda lost her husband, her daughter, and her son-in-law in the war. Her grandson was only an infant." McGongall didn't look as sad as she had earlier.

"That's horrible!" said Mum. "How many people died in this war!"

But McGongall seemed to ignore her. "Andromeda raised her grandson by herself." McGonagall looked at me. "As we established, you know Teddy Lupin?"

"Er, yes," I said, confused as to why she was asking me this. "Oh!" Suddenly, I understood.

"Teddy Lupin is her grandson! Her daughter married the werewolf!"

McGonagall smiled and nodded. Mum looked excited. "I would love to speak to her…"

But McGonagall interrupted her. She seemed incredibly eager to share what she was about to say. "Sirius liked Andromeda, but he never considered that Blacks to be his family. James was his brother, James's son was like his own."

"But James died," said Mum softly. I felt my heart skip a beat. I didn't like the sound of it, as James shared a name with my best friend. I closed my eyes and thought for a second how horrible it would be to lose him. My thoughts again shifted to being accused of killing him, having to spend 12 years in prison. I felt a sense of anger, quickly turning into emptiness and sadness. I picked up my hand from my lap and subconsciously reached it out, as though hoping I could touch my grandfather, just once, letting him know that I was there, that I loved him, and was proud of him and for the strength he had after all he went through.

"Yes," said McGongall. "James and Lily died, murdered by the Dark Lord himself." Surprisingly, McGonagall didn't look so sad anymore. She was almost smiling, as though something good was about to happen.

"And I take it their son died too," said Mum, almost sarcastically. I knew it was no use to ask. Everyone had died in this story.

But McGonagall was beaming. I looked at Mum. "Oh no," she said happily. "Their son survived. The boy who lived! At the age of 17, he defeated the Dark Lord, as was prophesied. The war ended, the Ministry of Magic was restored! Wizards and muggles lived in harmony again!"

"That's great!" said Mum.

"Good for him!" I said happily.

McGonagall was looking at Mum, as though hoping she'd realize something.

"So, um, that was his godson's doing?" said Mum. "His godson survived?"

McGonagall nodded, still smiling.

"So, in a way, I have a sibling!" Mum said, her mood suddenly much brighter than it had been all evening.

"Absolutely," said McGonagall. "Sirius's godson was an orphan. He too was raised in an abusive home and didn't know he had a godfather. Sirius was his beacon of hope, the closest thing he ever had to a parent. Your father was his father."

"Do you, um, think he'd be willing to meet me?" Mum asked eagerly. She was smiling, but had a somewhat reserved tone. It was obvious she was afraid to hope for too much in fear of being let down.

"Oh, I know he would," said McGonagall. "In fact, I dare say he'd be happier to meet you than you him."

"That's great!" said Mum. "I'd, um, love to get in touch with him."

But McGonagall was looking at me. She was smiling a genuine smile, one that assured me that whatever she was about to say would be happy, good news.

"Oh, I believe you already have," said McGonagall, her eyes twinkling, much like those of the portrait behind her. "And I believe our Anthony has already met him."

I looked at her, confused, then at Mum. Mum didn't seem to understand either.

"And you made arrangements for Anthony to visit the family over the holidays."

I felt my heart sink. Only moments ago I had been so hopeful, but McGonagall seemed to have gotten something wrong, some misunderstanding.

"Um, no," I said, trying to sound polite and hide my disappointment. "I'm just going to visit James over the holidays. His parents invited me."

I expected McGonagall's smile to fade, for her to apologize for getting my hopes up, but she was still smiling, only this time, more broadly than I had ever seen her smile before.

"Wait…." said Mum softly. She seemed to be thinking hard, realizing something, but not being sure of what she realized.

McGonagall looked at her encouragingly. "Anthony's friend James. Is that...is he…." her voice trailed off.

McGonagall nodded. "Harry Potter named his firstborn son after his late father," she said quietly.

His late father, I thought to myself. Then it came to me….James.

"So my friend," I said in disbelief. "My friend James is….?"

McGonagall nodded, clearly thrilled at being able to share this news, as though she had wanted to for a long time. I saw Mum beam. I thought of all the ridiculous stories James had told me about his father, but this one seemed to top them all. It couldn't be, but then…

All of a sudden, my thoughts trailed back to the evening in the common room with Jon, David, and Stewart. I recalled what Jon and Stewart had said about how James's father had saved the world. We had laughed then, but McGonagall had said it herself. "The boy who lived! At the age of 17, he defeated the Dark Lord, as was prophesied. The war ended, the Ministry of Magic was restored!"

McGonagall was still looking at me. "Did your friend ever tell you his middle name?" she asked. I thought hard. "He said it starts with an S," I recalled. Then it came to me. "He said it was his father's godfather's name!"

"Sirius?" shrieked Mum, just as surprised at the news as I was.

McGonagall was looking happier than ever. "Oh yes!" she said. "James Sirius Potter. Named after two of the most gifted, most mischievous, biggest troublemakers, and bravest warriors Hogwarts ever saw!"

I looked behind McGonagall at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. He winked at me, smiling brightly.

"So, my best friend is named after my godfather?" I asked, still unable to believe that it was true.

McGonagall got up from her desk. She walked around to stand between Mum and me and placed one hand on each of our shoulders.

"Oh yes," she said, her voice filled with pride and joy. "And if you had told me at the time that their grandson's would end up together at Hogwarts, mischief and all, I would have retired years ago!" McGongagall wiped one more tear off her face, but this time, it was a tear of joy. She then squeezed our shoulders affectionately, then walked out of her office, turning around to wink at Mum and I before closing the door behind her.

Notes from the author

I am a HUGE fan of the Harry Potter series! And my favorite characters are the Marauders :). When I say Marauders, I mean James, Sirius, and Remus. In fact, Peter is my least favorite character of the series. That's why I chose to not mention his name in my story and not give too much attention to him. I am also a huge fan of Regulus and believe he doesn't get the attention or credit that he deserves. I wish J.K. Rowling would tell us more about him because I find his character intriguing. I firmly believe what McGonagall said in my story, that Sirius had a large influence on him and why he eventually decided to change his ways. Ravenclaw house is mentioned a few times in my story, as I am a proud Eagle!

I have done lots of research on the series, I know it well. But I have never read a fanfiction. In fact, I really only care about canon material and what comes directly from J.K. Rowling, or what J.K. Rowling most likely meant to be interpreted. I do occasionally read head canons though, and this story was based off a head canon I couldn't get out of my mind. I firmly believe that if Sirius hadn't suffered the terrible fate that he did, he would have married a muggle. JKR has stated on Pottermore that before he went to Azkaban, Sirius was too "busy being a rebel to get married." I loved the idea that he had a muggle child and that his grandson would be united with James Sirius Potter. I kept imagining the scenario and the story began to develop in my mind. I had intended to write a short 8-10 page story, but more and more ideas came to me as I wrote, and it ended up being close to 100 pages.

In general, I didn't like choosing names for the characters, or passwords, which is why I almost never specified passwords. But some of the names in my story were significant to me. Jon, David, Stewart, and Ann are all names of prominent teachers in my life. Jon was originally spelled, John, like my teacher, but I changed it to Jon to pay tribute to Jon Steiger, who played Scorpius Malfoy in the San Francisco production of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, which I was fortunate enough to see during the time I was working on this story. I had seen Cursed Child before, with the original cast in NYC, but I overall preferred the SF production, and Jon's brilliant performance of Scorpius was one of the main reasons why. I also have a good friend named David, who is a yoga instructor, which is why I chose to make David's character's parents the owners of a yoga studio, an activity which I too am passionate about. I chose the name Evan for Evanna Lynch, who I believe was the best casting choice in the Harry Potter film series. (I wanted a more generic name than Evanna, which is why I used Evan.) Anthony's name is not significant to me. I chose it because it is simple and a nice name, and also because it was neutral to me. His last name, Brittany, is the name of the apartment complex I lived in while writing the story.

My intention with this story is not to create a great mystery or a wild adventure, but simply, to make you smile. I hope you enjoyed it!