2: The Muggle-Born
The sun rose on the morning of July 15th, 1991, and Christopher Wilde sat staring out his bedroom window. The quiet suburb of Hillman's Dale was just as uneventful as it had ever been. Christopher's home sat at the apex of a cul-de-sac, giving him a good view of Deli Place, the pleasant ("Boring," as he had said several times before) street within the gated community. It was a long street, stretching unusually past seven groups of houses before reaching another road. Mr. Tachmanks was smiling merrily as he took the trash out to the garbage cans on the curb, most likely humming a tune as he did so. Chris scowled and ran his hand through his black hair, which was hanging low over his left eye at the moment.
His birthday was today, his thirteenth, in fact, and all hope of an extraordinary life had left him. He had resolved that there was something strange about the world around him, and he had always hoped that he was a part of it. If something hadn't happened by now, he figured it never would. Christopher had become depressed in the week preceding this one, beginning exactly when he had received his middle school's registration notice. His father had put off filling it out for some reason, but Chris suspected it was to make him feel better. Either that or he had been to busy and forgot about it.
There was a knock at the door. Christopher jumped at the sudden noise, turning to face the door. With a slow creak, it opened to reveal Christopher's father, Jason Wilde, who bore two wrapped packages and a smile. His brown hair was specked with a few gray ones, and his square face was wide with joy. His deep hazel eyes were swimming with pride. His eye color was a source of mystery in the family, as his eyes were hazel, as were his wife's, yet his son's were an odd, reddish color. Chris sighed as the man entered the room and laid the two parcels on his son's bed, patting the boy on the back as he sat down beside them.
"Happy birthday, Chris," said Jason. He grinned and nodded at the presents beside him, "Come on, now. Open them!" Christopher frowned and looked at his father's eager face.
"You didn't have to, Dad…" he muttered solemnly. Ever since his mother had died, money had been tight. It was all his father could do to keep the nice house they lived in, and just a little more to keep them fed. As a result, Chris didn't have many material possessions, and thus he didn't feel a need for anything that wasn't essential.
"Oh, don't worry about that, son," Jason said, smiling merrily, "I thought you could use something nice on your thirteenth birthday." Chris noticed a strange tone in his father's voice, like he knew something that Christopher didn't.
"Alright." Chris moved over to the packages and turned the top one on its side, looking for a seam. It was like any other present he had seen before: long, thin, and rectangular. Once he had torn it open, he found a strange surprise. A note affixed on the front of it. His father obviously wouldn't put a note on something he had given him.
"Oh, that one's from a friend of mine from work. He said you'd find it useful… I'm not quite sure what it is. What does the note say?" Christopher's father watched his son eagerly as he tore the note off and looked at it closely.
Dear Christopher Wilde,
I believe that, when school comes around, this will be most useful to you. I'm not sure anyone else at your school will have one. Use it wisely.
Sincerely,
Eddiger Hall
Christopher tore the box open and looked at its contents. A small, wooden box was in it, engraved with a silver bird that was fading with age. The other half of the box was filled with tissue paper that Christopher quickly searched for other objects. It was devoid of anything, so he turned back to the box that his father was now admiring. The two of them took a deep breath and tried to open the box, only it remained shut. Chris put all of his strength into prying the lid of the box off, but he had no more luck than he had the first time he tried. With a resigned sigh, he tossed the box onto his bedside table, turning to his father's gift.
The package was the same, rectangular shape, and when Chris pulled the wrapping paper off, it was another plain white box made of cardboard. Christopher smiled and took the top of it off, gazing at the contents of it. A few books lay organized at the top, and beneath them was a photograph of his entire family, from him, his father, and his mother, to his various aunts and uncles and their children. It was a large picture and took up the entire bottom half of the box. A sad pulse erupted in Christopher's heart when he saw his mother smiling up at him, holding a smaller, younger version of himself in her arms, and his father with his arm around her, gazing proudly at whoever decided to peek at the photograph.
"Dad…" Chris muttered, trying to keep his voice as normal as possible. It was difficult to manage with the lump in his throat that had appeared the moment he saw his mother.
"I know, but I thought you would appreciate it…" His father looked at the chair beside the window distractedly. "You know, one thing I never understood about you, Chris, is that if you think this suburb is so boring, why do you always watch it so closely?" Christopher froze for a moment, attempting to choose the right words to respond with.
"Well, honestly, I kind of hoped that something interesting would happen one day…" said Chris, moving over to the window to peer out. "Like that…" His eyes were wide with disbelief, and just as he said those words, a large screech owl zoomed toward the house, colliding with the closed window. Chris opened the window so that the owl could enter on its second attempt.
On its left leg it bore a letter with an official looking wax seal, which it held out to Chris as soon as it perched on the windowsill. His father didn't seem surprised by this little event at all, but Christopher didn't notice with all of the excitement. He untied the small string that held the letter to the owl's leg and patted the bird's head as he took the envelope. The owl cooed happily and flew out into the blue sky again. Chris thought it strange that not a single one of his neighbors was outside, not even the college-age daughter of Mr. Benedacci, who always sunbathed in the front yard at around this time.
"What does it say?" asked Christopher's father. His tone of voice was rather casual, as though he was leading Chris toward a present that he had hidden.
"It says, well it's addressing is really direct… it says 'Mr. Christopher Wilde, Deli Place, Hillman's Dale, CA'…" Chris pulled the lip of the envelope open and pulled out the slip of paper inside, spilling several others onto the floor, which his father quickly collected.
"Well, this letter says, let me see… it says:
Dear Christopher Wilde,
You have been selected to attend the Ascullis School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have been automatically enrolled, and we happily await your attendance come August. Lists of required school supplies, books, and uniform are enclosed within the envelope. Have a nice day!
Sincerely
Phillip Malgius, Ascullis Headmaster
"So… I've been… accepted… into this… school…?" Chris asked aloud, staring at the letter in disbelief. He scanned it several more times, then read I thoroughly once more and collapsed onto his bed. This had to have been some elaborate prank. Magic wasn't real… it couldn't be… if it was, surely people would know about it, and surely things around the world would be much more easily solved… of course there wasn't magic. Someone just had a lot of time over vacation and decided to train an owl and think up a story. Yeah, that was it. Someone was messing with him.
"Here, Chris, read this," said his father, handing him one of the slips of paper that had fallen from the envelope.
Dear Christopher Wilde,
It has come to our attention that you are of Muggle parentage (that is to say, non-magical). We assure you that this is no hoax, and we would greatly appreciate your attendance. A representative of our school will arrive at your home sometime soon to demonstrate what you would learn should you attend, and he will assist you in obtaining your supplies, as well as informing you of how to get to Ascullis. Thank you for your time,
Phillip Malgius
So, somebody would be here soon to demonstrate what he would be learning. That would mean that somebody would arrive in his home to show him magic. Real magic. He suspected that it was more than making flowers appear from your sleeves. Chris remained silent for several moments before seizing the other papers that had come out of the envelope.
List of Required Books for First Term Students:
Standard Book of Spells, Vol. 1-3 by Miranda Goshawk
Magic Creatures of the Wizarding World: American Edition by Harold Weltz
Hedgehogs to Hedge clippers: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Wanda Hollum
An Introduction to Charms by Helen Bevelle
Defenses Against Darkness by Arnold Verandez
Bubbling Brews: Grade One Potions by Gerard Fialco
Magical Plants of the Calm Nature by Marianne Kowaltz
List of Required Supplies and UniformOne Pewter Cauldron, Standard
One Wand
Several Pairs of Robes, Pref. Madam Timinny's
One Set of Potion Vials…
Chris lost interest in the lists and turned to his father with a hopeful look on his face. Jason Wilde smiled happily and stood up, stepping over to the window to watch for the representative who was to arrive soon. Christopher grinned and went to do his chores in the meantime.
Half an hour later, Chris was sitting on the wooden porch in front of his house, watching the quiet cul-de-sac eagerly. His neighbors were still suspiciously absent from their yards, yet it didn't strike Christopher Wilde as strange anymore. In fact, the only thing he was paying attention to was the horizon. While he stared down the empty street, a figure sat down beside him to watch with him. This figure was tall, thin, and wearing a pair of jeans buckled with a brown leather belt, a black shirt with a band's name on the chest, and thin-rimmed glasses. His brown hair was done back in a ponytail and he gave off an air of intense enthusiasm.
"What are you looking for?" he asked, brushing a lone strand of hair from his face.
"Well… you!" Chris said, standing up abruptly. The other person chuckled as he stood up, holding out a hand to greet Christopher formally.
"Hello, Chris! I'm Professor David Melbourne, but you can call me Dave. Or Professor Dave, or Professor Melbourne if you want. I'll answer either way," Professor Melbourne said, grinning as he shook the hand of the young teenager.
"I… well, you know my name, I suppose… oh, come in!" said Chris, ushering the man into the house. Professor Melbourne looked around the small living room and, seeing a lack of chairs, pulled out a long, thin wand made of wood. He gave a small little flick and conjured a beanbag chair out of nowhere, throwing himself down comfortably into it.
"So, what would you like to know?" he asked, looking up at Christopher with a beaming smile. Chris' father leaned against the counter in the kitchen, which was not separated from the living room. Chris thought for a moment and began with a few easy questions.
"What kind of things am I going to learn?" he asked. Professor Melbourne thought for a moment before answering this question.
"Well, that's a little too general of a question, but I think I can answer it all the same. You'll be taking many subjects while at Ascullis, and they are Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures. There are also little clubs that you can join if you so desire, but they won't teach you anything. So, what else do you want to know?" Professor Melbourne asked simply.
"What do you teach?" Chris asked.
"Oh, I teach Charms. It's one of the best subjects there, in my opinion, because it's so much fun! Especially when I teach it. All of my students really enjoy the class, so I'm sure you'll have fun. What else?" said Dave.
"Where do I get supplies? How much will everything cost?" asked Christopher, feeling a little remorse at his lack of money. Would it prevent him from being able to go to this school?
"Oh, don't worry about the money… we don't expect Muggle-born students to have any wizard money. So, we have this little fund where we give you a little bank account and you can withdraw only so much at a time, so that you don't go and blow it. But don't worry about getting your supplies this year; I've taken the liberty of doing all of that for you. I do, however, feel a little bad that you don't get to see Broxeford… I think it'll be easier for you to navigate in your second year, though," Dave Melbourne said, conjuring a set of books and several other objects that were on Christopher's lists. The sets of robes all flew over to him and cut the excess length from themselves, somehow knowing his preference of 'slightly long' sleeves.
"Will I learn how to make objects do that?" Christopher asked, watching as one pair of robes leapt off of his body, being replaced by another seconds afterward.
"Eventually. Not this year though. It's actually really complicated magic. I only make it look easy because I'm very adept at it, and that is why I teach." Melbourne swept his wand and all of the objects began to pack themselves into a large trunk that he had just conjured.
"Well, all right. What will I learn this year?" Chris asked, hoping to see something incredible.
"Uh, nothing too extravagant. We try not to overload first years. I mean, you are older than the British first years, so you can handle more… well, I'll show you some. You'll learn how to do this-" He made stack of magazines fly around the room "-and you'll learn how to do this-" He made the color of the carpet change to pink for a few minutes, then turned it back to a dull tan color. Chris smiled contently and looked at the teacher.
"So, how long do I go?" Chris asked what he believed to be an obvious question.
"Well, you have five years of school, I think… They're talking about expanding it… and each year is a full school term of your Muggle schools, you know, until Summer Vacation, and then you're back for another year. That just continues until you come of age, which is your last year." Melbourne made a mug appear out of thin air, and as he spoke it began to fill itself with coffee.
"Okay. Well, what are some of the restrictions of magic?"
"Restrictions. There are quite a few, you know. First of all, we can't use magic in front of Muggles, save for those who know about magic like your dad here. However, outside of school, underage wizards can't use magic at all," Christopher frowned sadly, sighing with disappointment, "unless you're in a dangerous and/or life threatening situation. But, once you turn seventeen, you're free as a bird… aside from the No-Muggles law." Melbourne took a long, pointed sip of his coffee.
"Okay… are there any sports at Ascullis?"
"Yes, there are! There's Quidditch, which is pretty much the only sport we have, but it's a damn good one! Everybody, and I mean everybody, follows Quidditch. It's really intense, and the games can last forever. They aren't even timed. Well, you'll learn more about it when you get there, so I'll leave some surprises for then." Melbourne smiled and took another sip of coffee, making the mug refill with a tap of his wand.
"Well, how do I get there?" Christopher asked finally. The teacher stalled this question.
"Oh, before I answer that, I almost forgot something. Here we go," Professor Melbourne waved his wand yet again, but this time a large cage floated into the room through an open window. Within the cage, Chris saw what had to be one of the largest, blackest owls he had ever seen. In truth, it looked more like a black falcon than an owl, but the important features were still somewhat owl-like.
"This is your messenger owl… I haven't named him, so give him one. But don't voice anything until you decide, because it responds to the first name you give." Melbourne held out the cage to Chris, who received it and stared into the eyes of the great bird within it. It stared back silently, obviously waiting for something to happen. Christopher had to think for a few minutes, but he finally came up with a name he thought suitable for the large bird.
"I'll have to call you… Thade." Chris nodded, content with the name, and the owl chirped happily, eager to serve its new owner. Its eyes now darted around the room silently.
"Now, what was it you had asked me before?" Melbourne asked, tossing Christopher a small satchel full of heavy coins, which he assumed was the leftover money from his shopping. He pocketed it immediately and looked at the teacher.
"How do I get to Ascullis?" he asked.
"Oh, that's easy… by train, of course."