A collaborative effort with jdwest91 and Niros The Mad Warlock.

Prologue Part 2: Ambrose

It was dinner time at 39 Orchard Road, Dagenham London, and soup was on the menu. Homemade vegetable soup. However good the soup was, the eleven year old named Ambrose had something else on his mind. The brown haired boy had nearly inhaled his soup and had asked to excused at least three times so far to no success.

"Are you full?" Karen Ward, his mother, asked before having another spoonful of soup. Ambrose sat across from his mother, a short chubby woman with a long braid of hair, and he squirmed in his seat.

"Yes, Mom" he answered, glancing down at his empty bowl, "all full."

"You won't be hungry later?" she asked. Ambrose could see the grin behind her neutral expression. She knew he was excited, and she enjoyed teasing her son. So, she kept him at the table for as long as she could. "I don't want you roaming around later on looking for food."

"No Mom, I wo-"

"I'm off to work, honey," Ambrose's father, John, announced as he walked to the table as he buttoned up the shirt of his petrol station uniform. John towered over the table, and the muscles he had gotten from working so many jobs made him appear to be a very scary man. The truth was, he was far from what he appeared. Ambrose's father bent down to kiss his wife.

"Be good, son," he said as he ruffled Ambrose's shaggy hair before leaving for his evening job. He wouldn't be home until much later that night after Ambrose had fallen asleep.

"Mom," Ambrose started after his father was gone, "May I go now?"

"Did you finish your chores?" his mother asked quickly.

"Yes. All done," he replied while rolling his eyes before adding, "And I already asked Mrs. Smith if she needed anything done," before she could ask. Mrs. Smith was their elderly neighbor. She always gave Ambrose a few coins for doing yard work.

"Very well. Enjoy your comic book," his mother said very slowly, just to tease the boy a little more.

"Thanks, I love you, bye!" The moment he finished speaking, his foot was already on the bottom stair, and he climbed with the haste and enthusiasm that came from being an eleven year old boy being kept from his prize until now.

Ambrose leapt into his bed and snatched the comic book that was laying there waiting for him. He squealed in delight, holding the book cover high in the air. It featured his favorite superhero in his latest conquest against the forces of evil. It was so hard for him to follow the series since he couldn't afford the comics himself. Thankfully, however, his mother had a coworker whose son also loved this particular superhero and was able to buy each new edition. When that boy was done, the book exchanged hands until it ended up in Ambrose's and he was able to see what happens to his hero this time!

A frown formed on Ambrose's lips after he opened the cover. His frown deepened after he turned page after page. Each page was ruined with pen or marker scribbles. Some were torn up in a way that they wouldn't fall out of the closed book. Others had splotches of what Ambrose hoped was spit. A few even had some nasty language written on them. The message was loud and clear: the original owner was tired of Ambrose "stealing" his comics, and he had resorted to vandalism as a deterrent. Ambrose let out a heavy sigh and tossed the book to the floor. Part of him was relieved neither mother had bothered to check inside the book. He didn't want to cause any trouble, and if the other kid wanted to keep his comics, that was his choice. Tomorrow, he'll just have to tell his mother that this was the finale or something and that he didn't need anymore comics.

Ambrose disliked being poor, but there wasn't much he could do to help his parents except to continue his stupid schooling and make the most of it. The boy hated going to school almost as much as he hated being poor. It just felt so useless to him, but his parents insisted that if he stuck with it, he'd get into better schools later and eventually get a great, well-paying job. It was all he had to go on right now.

His thoughts were interrupted as a friend decided now would be a good time to join Ambrose in his room. A cat, to be exact, with a coat as black as the night and green eyes that shone brightly against her fur. She leapt through the window, pausing to stare at the closed bedroom door. Satisfied it wouldn't be opened anytime soon, she approached the discarded comic and considered it for a moment. It didn't hold her attention for long before she hopped up onto the bed and sat next to Ambrose. Ambrose didn't react to her presence soon enough for her liking. She eventually gave a soft 'meow' and placed her tiny paw on his arm.

"Hey, Mera," Ambrose greeted the cat by cupping her cheek in his palm and scratching behind her ear. She, of course, loved the attention and purred accordingly. "I'm sorry. We had soup today. I couldn't steal you any leftovers." If Mera could understand that she wasn't getting any food from him tonight, she didn't care. She was content with getting affection at that moment.

Truth was, Mera wasn't actually Ambrose's cat. She was a young stray and barely a kitten when he had found her a year and a half ago on the way home from school. When he found her, she was so messed-up looking, dirty, and mangy that she didn't even look like a real cat. She almost looked like a chimera: a creature made up from the parts of other creatures. He ended up naming her after the creature but favored Mera for short. Ambrose took her home that day, washed her up, and nursed her back to health. He fed her any scraps of food from dinner or leftovers he could sneak away from the table for her. Ambrose even bought her a green collar and a small tag with her name on it using money he saved from doing yard work for the neighbor. When Mera was strong enough she left. To Ambrose's surprise, she came back the next day and every day after that. She always came back eventually.

Ambrose patted Mera on the head and crawled off his bed, propping his back against it. He picked up the comic again and stared at it for a few moments debating if he should try to read it or not. This could be his last comic for a very VERY long time and getting one more taste might be nice. On the other hand, the comic he had read last week had been unmarred by vandalism, and his time with his favorite hero was still pure. Did he really want to ruin that memory now? He really wished he could read this last book without it being ruined.

With another heavy sigh, he flipped open the cover again and gasped.

The first page!

The first page was CLEAN!

The ink was gone!

Once again, he thumbed through page after page. The ink, the rips, the nasty language, and even the spit was gone! How could this have happened? Was he just imagining it before? Was he dreaming now? No, a pinch to his arm assured him he wasn't dreaming, but here it was! The book was repaired and one hundred percent legible. He almost didn't care how or why.

Ambrose read the comic as slowly as he could. He savored every single moment of it-and the ending! It was amazing! One read-through wasn't enough and neither was two. Ambrose didn't stop until he read the book four times. He still considered it his last comic. Before he could start a fifth flip through the pages, he nodded off suddenly, inexplicably tired.

"Ambrose… Ambrose, baby. Wake up." Mrs. Ward shook her son. Ambrose jumped, a little startled. He didn't even remember falling asleep. "You shouldn't sleep like that, you'll hurt your back," his mother lectured. There was a moment of panic as he looked around his room for Mera but relaxed when he didn't see her. Ambrose yawned.

"What time is it?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's a little after eight, baby and… what did you do to your comic book?" his mother picked up the comic and quickly scanned it, gasping as she reached the foul language in the back.

"It was like that when I got it," Ambrose defended himself before his mother could lecture him on something he didn't do. "Don't worry about next week, mom. I don't need another comic." Mrs. Ward stared at the comic thoughtfully before tossing it in the trash.

"Come on, baby," Ambrose's mother helped him to his feet, "We have a visitor with a letter for you. Something about a school for gifted children. Come on. Up, up. Best to make a good impression." Karen ushered her son out of his room and down the stairs. Ambrose could tell she was very excited about the prospect of him going to a special school. Better schooling meant better education, and that meant better job opportunities, right?

Ambrose didn't notice the stranger sitting on the couch until he was at the bottom step. He couldn't see the guest's face, but Ambrose could see he was a tall, thin man wearing a rather fancy maroon suit. His long, silvery-blond hair was combed straight back and held together by an elastic tie just under his neck line. His posture was so rigid and straight that Ambrose would bet the man had a ruler taped to his spine. The man turned and smiled as Ambrose and his mother approached. The man stood just as they were within arms reach and extended his hand to the boy.

"Hello, I'm Ambrose Ward," Ambrose said with gathered courage and took the man's hand in greeting as he felt his mother hands on his shoulders. "It's nice to meet you." The man smiled shaking Ambrose's hand.

"Please, you two sit and talk," Mrs. Ward started, "Oops. I mean, um… Would you like some tea Professor Atramor?" The man smiled and shook his head to decline before retaking his seat on the couch and placing an open notepad and pen in his own lap. "Ok. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." Which was a rather silly thing of her to say, Ambrose thought, because being in the kitchen meant she was just 'over there'. There wasn't anything separating the kitchen from the living room.

'Professor Atramor' gestured to the ragged blue chair that was to his right. Ambrose slowly slid into the chair, suddenly very aware of his posture and took the effort to make sure it was close to perfect. Ambrose sat there waiting for the man to speak, but he did not. Instead, he handed Ambrose a piece of paper with a few lines of the curviest handwriting Ambrose had ever seen, along with a sealed envelope. The paper read:

Good evening, Mr. Ward.

Please forgive my reliance on pen and paper. I am mute and cannot speak on my own. They usually have someone else do this, but they are sick it seems. Summer bug. And I was the only one available to fill in on such short notice.

I am Professor Atramor. I teach at a school for special youngsters, you see. It's called Hogwarts, and very few children from the general public get accepted. This is what brings me here today.

Now, please keep in mind that you should have gotten this letter over a month ago. As I said, the one responsible for your area is ill and the stubborn blockhead didn't want to admit it until it was too late. Because of this mistake, you have been given additional time to accept, should you and your family wish. It's a big choice, I understand...

Please, open your letter.

"Ok," Ambrose said a little nervously. He broke the red wax seal and removed the contents. The first thing he noticed was 'seal' of the school "Hogwarts," and below that, it read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

Of WITCHCRAFT And WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

Dear Mr. Ward,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of all necessary books and equipment.

We await your owl by no later than July 31st. Term starts September 1st.

Sincerely

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Ambrose was a little lost for words. Magic? This didn't seem real. How could this POSSIBLY be real? He had his hopes held high of going to a REAL school that actually felt WORTH something, but instead those hopes were smashed by a letter to a school for MAGIC!

"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked in a low whisper. "Hogwarts school of WIZARDRY?! Magic, really? You expect me to believe that?"

"D-Did you say Hogwarts?" Mrs. Ward had stopped what she was doing and took a step into the living room, clutching a dish towel.

"Is this a scam or something?" Ambrose asked, trying to understand what was going on. "Magic isn't real!" he growled. If anything, he wasn't angry for himself but for his mother. He knew she was hoping for something special to happen for her son more than anyone else. Atramor scribbled onto his notepad. Ambrose caught a glimpse of "This is no joke. Magic is very real." There was more but Ambrose was too upset to care. "Get out, you con artist!"

'Professor' Atramor sighed and wrote one last thing in large letters. He tore the page out and tossed it to Ambrose's feet. The man stood, took a few steps away, and faced Ambrose with determination. Atramor reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin black stick. With a grin and a quick thrust of his thumb, the stick twirled around his index and then middle finger until the thicker base landed in his palm. Ambrose glanced down at the paper to see "No other choice".

Atramor held onto the stick and flicked his wrist once. Ambrose jumped from his seat, and his mother let out a gasp. The chair he had been sitting in, and had sat in for most of his life, was different. The ragged blue chair that was easily double his age was now RED and in pristine condition. He stared in shock and then back to the man as Atramor, once again, retook his seat on the couch. Atramor gestured to the piece of paper Ambrose was standing on. When the boy moved his foot, he saw the previous writing was completely gone. Instead, there were three large words taking up the whole page, shining with a rainbow of colors and written in an other worldly ink. The words were "Magic is REAL".

This Chapter was written by Niros The Mad Warlock
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