Summer, 1991

Jonathan Hardee was reading when someone knocked on the door. He placed a bookmark on the page, called "I'll get it," then got off the couch and went to the door. They weren't expecting anyone, as far as he knew, but Homerville was the kind of place where people could come by unannounced and no one minded. Well, except for people like Mr. Gardner, who hadn't had a kind word for anyone since as long as Jonathan could remember.

Maybe it was some of the boys who wanted to go exploring in the woods. That'd be fun. It was a little hot to go out alone. Friends made things a lot better.

On the other hand…Jonathan squished that thought. Best to listen to his dad. Don't think about it, he'd told him, or you'll go crazy.

Which was true. He certainly couldn't explain it. One minute he'd been at the dinner table, not really paying attention as his parents talked about grown-up stuff that he didn't care about, thinking how cool it would be if the forks and knives could move on their own. The next minute, they had started moving by themselves.

His parents had stopped talking when they noticed their silverware slowly moving through the air, and had looked over at him like he knew what was going on. Did they think he was some kind of Jedi or something?

Everything'd dropped after a few seconds, but his parents had grilled him about what exactly had happened. He'd told them everything that he knew about what had just happened, but that wasn't much.

His dad'd given him a look, once he stopped asking questions, that said that this was not a time for Jonathan to ask questions and told him to not say a word about this to anyone—not the other boys, not anyone. Jonathan knew that voice, and knew that it was important that he keep his mouth shut.

He'd heard his parents talking that night when they thought he was asleep. It wasn't an argument, and he couldn't hear much of what they said, but what he heard in their voices worried him. His parents didn't know what was happening, or what to do about it.

For an eleven year old, this was uncharted territory, in addition to the other uncharted territory called "sudden and unexplainable curiosity about, and attraction to, girls." He wondered if the two were linked somehow as he opened the door.

It wasn't anyone he'd ever seen before. The man was tall, lanky, sandy-haired, wore distinctly odd-looking clothes, and had a face that looked like it smiled a lot with a mustache that reminded him of pictures he'd seen of Bernard Montgomery.

"Hello," the man said warmly in an English accent as he extended a hand, which Jonathan took to shake, "my name is William Salisbury. You must be Jonathan."

"Yes, sir," Jonathan replied, then asked, as politely as he could, "How'd you know my name?"

"I asked the postman if anyone lived at this address," Salisbury replied.

That made sense. Rick Dodd knew everyone in town.

"Can I talk to your parents?"

"Sure. Hey Mom! Dad! There's someone at the door wants to talk to you."

"Might I come in?" Salisbury asked. "It's terribly hot out here."

"Sorry, sir, but my parents've told me t' not let anyone in 'less I know them or they've said so."

"Sensible," Salisbury asked, then looked behind Jonathan, and said, "Mrs Hardee, I believe?"

"I am Mrs. Hardee," Jonathan's mother said. "What brings you to our doorstep?"

"Is your husband coming? I'd rather not explain this more than once."

"Explain what?" a low voice said from behind Jonathan, and he turned to look back as Dad came out from his office.

"Why I'm here."

"Well, I'm here," his father replied. "So start talking."

"Could I come inside, please?"

His father nodded grudgingly. "Come on in and have a seat."

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Salisbury?" his mother asked as they moved towards the seats in the living room.

"Some water, please. How do you stand it at this time of year?" Salisbury said as he sank onto the couch.

"Practice," Jonathan's father said as Jonathan stepped towards his room. The grown-ups rarely wanted a kid around when they talked.

"Could you please ask your son to stay, Mr Hardee?" Salisbury asked. "This concerns him."

Despite the ninety degree weather, the room suddenly felt chilly.

"What do you want with my son?" his father growled.

Salisbury looked somewhat alarmed and raised his hands. "I mean him no harm, Mr Hardee. Tell me, has anything…unusual happened lately?"

Jonathan, who had frozen mid-step when he had been mentioned, watched as his father's hand moved towards his hip.

Salisbury looked even more alarmed, but his voice was level as he continued. "Mr Hardee, may I reach into my sleeve and take something out without you or your wife shooting me?"

"Yes."

Jonathan could feel his jaw drop. Yeah, his father was one of the deputies for the county, and he'd made some enemies, but this seemed like an overreaction. On the other hand, his father had never really explained how come the woman he'd married was Polish.

Salisbury reached up his left sleeve and pulled out a thin stick of wood that looked about a foot long and carefully pointed it away from anyone in the room. "Wingardium leviosa," he said, and Jonathan's eyes went wide as the clock lifted itself from the mantel and rose in the air.

"Impossible," Jonathan's father whispered.

Salisbury shook his head as he lowered the clock back to the mantel. "Very possible, Mr Hardee. I don't work for any government you've ever dealt with, or even heard of. I am a wizard, and I work for the Ministry of Magic. Approximately thirty-six hours ago, the American section detected a burst of wild magic emanating from this address. I was sent here to investigate, and to issue an invitation."

"An invitation?" Jonathan's father asked warily.

"Yes, for your son to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland."

"Why should he do such a thing?" Jonathan's mother asked bluntly.

"For his own safety, as well as that of everyone around him," Salisbury stated. "Wild magic is dangerous, Mrs Hardee. Regular magic has its own risks, but wild magic is worse. It is utterly unpredictable, and is well-nigh uncontrollable. Magical talent appears wild around the age of ten or eleven. If left untrained, it is untappable except in times of concentration, and such are very hit-or-miss, or extreme stress. Those incidents tend to be…traumatic."

"I see," Jonathan's father said. "And the risks of training him to use his magic?"

"As long as he doesn't do something extremely foolish, he should do well." Jonathan was beginning to get annoyed at being talked about like he wasn't even there.

Jonathan's father looked sidelong at his mother, who had come out of the kitchen, then back at Salisbury. "We need some time to think it over."

"Of course," Salisbury said. "I've a room at the local motel. I'll be here for a day or so. Good day to all of you. Also," he said as he got up to leave, "I forgot to mention that there will be some other Americans there as well. He won't be alone."

"Thank you," Dad said. "But we still need some time."

"I will take my leave, then," Salisbury said, and walked out the door.

Dad cursed when the door shut. "Andrew!" Mom scolded.

Dad's expression softened when he turned his face towards him. "Well, son," he said. "Who'd've thought it? You, a wizard of all things!" He sat back and chuckled to himself.

"Um, Dad?"

"Yes, Jonathan?"

"Why was he talking about you shooting him?"

Dad's face darkened. "I'll tell you when you're older, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"No matter. We need to talk about this." He turned to Mom. "What d'you think?"

She bit her lip and worried it for a moment before she spoke. "I do not know. I do not wish him to harm himself or others, but I do not wish to lose him like…"

Jonathan winced. He was supposed to be an older brother, but a car that had gone out of control had both killed his unborn sibling and made sure Mom couldn't ever have another.

"Also," she continued, "can we afford such a school? Surely it would be most expensive."

Dad shook his head. "Likely. But he's right. I don't want to get a call sayin' that Jonathan's gone and killed the Paxton boy by throwin' somethin' at 'im with his mind. That'll mean…" his voice trailed off, and Mom nodded.

Dad then turned to him and asked, "What d'you think about this, son?"

Jonathan was still slightly dazed, but managed to pull together a coherent sentence. "It sounds kinda cool, Dad. I'd like to go."

Dad nodded. "You'll be a good man, son. Well, in that case, I'll go talk to the man."

Jonathan felt like he'd just made a choice that he couldn't take back.

He guessed he had. Then it hit him. He was going toScotlandfor school. Nobody else was going to be able to saythat.

Well, okay, he wouldn't be able to say anything about it either, but still.

Two weeks after that meeting, Jonathan gaped at the skyscrapers around him. It wasn't that he'd never seen skyscrapers before, of course—he'd been to Atlantatwice,after all—but the ones there weren't nearly so close-packed as they were here, or so many, or 'd only seen these in pictures, and for an eleven year old boy from Homerville, Georgia, population 2,819, this was an awesome sight.

Of course, there was also how they'd gotten here. Mr. Salisbury had been very pleased to hear that he was going to Hogwarts—which seemed like a weird name for a school—and had given his parents a list of what he would need to bring from home. It had mostly been clothing and money, and they had expressed some surprise. The Englishman had told them that the supplies he needed could only be bought in someplace called "Diagon Alley," which was in !

He'd read about London, of course, seen pictures of Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, but it was going to be a very different thing to actually be there.

But anyway, Mr. Salisbury had given them the list and told him to be ready today at 2:00, because they would meet the other Americans going to Hogwarts around that time. Then his parents had started talking with Mr. Salisbury about how they were going to explain this, and Jonathan had noticed that both of them seemed to know a lot about how to explain someone mysteriously vanishing.

Apparently the government was involved in this somehow, which meant that the truant officer wouldn't be coming after his parents, but living in a town like Homerville meant everybody knew everybody's business, which meant he and his parents would have to have some answers prepared for the inevitable questions when it became evident that he wasn't going into the sixth grade this year.

Well, his parents would, since he wasn't going to be there. They'd promised to explain to him what they were telling everyone before he got back at the beginning of summer—apparently they were supposed to stay over Christmas, which was alittlesad since it was the first one that he'd spend away from his family but then again from what little Mr. Salisbury had said Hogwarts sounded really cool. It might not be so bad.

His parents had driven him to the Savannah airport, which was where Mr. Salisbury had told them to meet him. He didn't have much with him—just the one suitcase—and athousand dollars!He'd neverseenso much money in one place. Dad had given him a twenty and told him to try and make that last until they got to Hogwarts, if he possibly could.

He wasn't sure if he could, but he'd do his best. His family wasn't poor, but they definitely weren't rich. Nobody in Homerville was.

He'd never been to an airport before, and as he walked in, suitcase in hand, with his father and mother next to him, he'd looked around him, trying to take it all in. Dad had seemed less impressed, but then again Dad'd been other places. He hadn't.

They'd met Mr. Salisbury next to the ticket counter. He and Dad had gone off to have a long talk while Mom had fussed over him and gave him plenty of last-minute advice that he was already half-forgetting.

Finally, they'd come back, Mom had hugged and kissed him goodbye, and Dad had put his hands on his shoulders. "Good luck, son," he'd said. "Learn everything you can."

"Yes sir," he'd said.

Dad had then looked at Mr. Salisbury, nodded stiffly, taken Mom's arm in his, and walked away.

She'd looked back as he waved goodbye. Dad hadn't.

Mr. Salisbury hadn't spoken until they walked out the door. "Well then, Jonathan. Ready to go?"

"Yes sir," he'd said, breaking off from staring after his parents to look at the man.

"Excellent. Follow me, please," the Englishman had said, and walked off, striding towards…the bathroom?

That was weird, but Jonathan walked after him. Once they were in there, Salisbury had looked around, then pulled a matchbox out of his pocket and looked at his watch. "Excellent. Only a minute. Now listen carefully, Jonathan. This device is called a Portkey, and it takes you from one place to another. It's going to be a bit uncomfortable, but it's much faster than an airplane. Now, grab my hand."

Somewhat confused, he'd done so, and had soon found out that "a bit uncomfortable" apparently meant "felt like he was going to puke all over everything when he got to where he was going."

As he'd desperately tried to hold in his lunch, Mr. Salisbury had handed him something and told him to drink it. Once he had, he'd felt much better.

As the nausea subsided, he took a moment to look around. They were inside a large, bare room, and he wondered for a moment where the others were.

"Are you going to be all right, Mr Hardee?"

"Yes sir," he replied, not quite lying.

"Good lad. I'll be right back—I need to collect your fellows. Don't leave this room."

"I won't, sir," he answered, as he wasn't entirely sure that moving was a good idea just then.

His stomach had just finished settling when Mr. Salisbury showed up again, this time with a girl, who looked like she was about to puke. Mr. Salisbury didn't look affected at all. He gave her the potion, and once she was fine looked over at him. "Mr Hardee, meet Miss Tiller. Afraid I have to get the third and final one of you now," he said just before vanishing again.

Jonathan looked at the girl for a moment as she looked back at him. She was about his height, kind of skinny, and had brown hair tied back in a ponytail. He wasn't entirely sure how to properly introduce himself, so he stuck out his hand.

"I'm Jonathan. What's your name?"

"Rebecca. Please, call me Becky."

Jonathan grinned. "Surprised your last name isn't Thatcher."

She shot him an annoyed look. "Where are you from?"

"Homerville, Georgia."

"Where's that?"

"Near Florida, two hours east of Savannah. How 'bout you?"

"Cape Girardeau, Missouri."

"Where's that?" Jonathan asked, noticing that he was repeating her question.

"Two hours south of St. Louis."

Just as he was about to ask how she'd ended up here, Mr. Salisbury came back, this time with another boy. After going through the same routine with him, the Englishman introduced him as Mr Slocum, then said, "Now, we must be off! There's a lot of things we need to do and not much time to do them in. Come along. First thing we need to do is get your money exchanged. Gringotts won't accept dollars, they'll only take pounds."

Jonathan blinked. "Sir, where are we?"

"Why, London, of course!"

Now that was cool. He'd gone all the way across the Atlantic in less than a minute? That might make actually feeling like he was about to puke worth it.

On their way to where they could get through getting their dollars exchanged for pounds Jonathan managed to find out that the second boy's name was Henry, that he was from Helena, Montana, and that his first magic had been similar to Jonathan's. Becky had also had a similar experience.

The normal bank was a lot like the ones back at home, just a lot bigger and fancier and everyone talked like Mr. Salisbury did.

Gringotts was not as exciting as he'd hoped it would be. Sure, yeah, the goblins—actual goblins!—were pretty neat, but they were really grouchy. He also thought that the way they counted their money was stupid. 29 knuts to a sickle and 17 sickles to a galleon? Why couldn't they just do it in fives and tens and hundreds like normal people? And why didn't they have paper money?

Those questions, however, quickly fled when they stepped into Diagon Alley. From the outside, he would have sworn looking at it that there was nothing there, but when they entered it was a full street, full of stores and people and stuff, and he looked around in more wonder than when he'd first seen London. There were all kinds of things going on that he didn't know what they were but he was sure he was going to find out about.

"It feels like a dream," Henry whispered.

"I know what you mean," Becky whispered back.

Jonathan didn't say anything, but just kept looking around while doing his best to follow Mr. Salisbury. He wanted to take it all in, seeing as it seemed like all sorts of things were being sold that he'd never seen before, and the people weren't like anyone he'd ever seen before either.

The school supply list he got was definitely interesting, as any list that involved cauldrons and a pet—sorry, a familiar, which in his case was an owl named Wita—would be. Even so, as Mr. Salisbury ran them from one store to another trying to get everything it felt a lot like going with Mom to the Wal-Mart back home for back-to-school shopping.

He felt a brief pang at that thought. They'd never do that again. Maybe someday he could take Mom and Dad here? He'd have to ask. Later though.

Getting the books, potions supplies, and clothes was easy, although they all had to be shown how to put on the robes and such. Apparently they had to wear the things while they were at Hogwarts, which was a little annoying—school uniforms seemed like more of a pain in the neck than anything else, and he was sure he was going to trip over them a lot.

Even so, it was nothingtooout of the ordinary.

Then it was time to acquire a wand, and that was an interesting experience from the moment they stepped inside, when the old man behind the counter immediately greeted them with some enthusiasm.

"Ah, Richard, these must be the...what is the name of their country, Americans? Pleased to meet you, delighted. The name's Ollivander. Come along, we need to find each of you your wand. Wand chooses the wizard, you know."

No, Jonathan hadn't known that. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Then again, this was magic stuff. Maybe it did work that way.

Mr. Ollivander reminded him of Old Man Williams. Pleasant fellow, but a bit...odd. Even so, he knew his business, so much was obvious.

"Right then, ladies first, Miss…"

"Tiller, sir."

"Right then. Hmmm." He looked at her for a moment. "I wonder…" He stepped out from behind the counter and reached for a box near the middle of the shelf. "Rowan wood, unicorn hair, 10 inches. Try it," he said as he pulled the box out and handed it to her gently.

"How?" she asked as she pulled the wand out.

"Give it a quick flick. If it's meant for you, something'll happen."

She did. The tip of the wand glowed. "Excellent, excellent," Mr. Ollivander said happily. "First try. That's a good wand there, Miss Tiller. You'll always know what it can do, and anyone who attacks you will find it hard going."

"How much does it cost, sir?"

"We'll get to that soon enough, young lady. Now, you sir," he said, pointing to Henry.

It took a couple of tries to get Henry one that suited him, but the wandmaker was quite pleased. "Larch wood with dragon heartstring, eleven inches. You'll have no reason to be frightened, should the time come, young sir. Now, you, Mr…"

"Hardee, sir."

"Hardee, yes." Mr. Ollivander looked at him for a long moment, and Jonathan looked back at him, dead in the eyes. You met a man's gaze, and you didn't look away, Dad had told him once.

"Hmmmm. Perhaps…yes…" he reached up to the top shelf. "Hawthorn wood, dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches."

As Jonathan reached into the box, took hold of the wand, and drew it out, he felt a sudden warmth flow through his body, from his right hand upwards, and almost like he'd just met an old friend again after a long time away. It glowed gently, and Mr. Ollivander nodded.

"A curious thing. I just sold a hawthorn wand to a young man earlier, and he could not have been more different from you, Mr Hardee. A paradoxical wood, hawthorn, especially when paired with dragon heartstring. Whatever you do, you'll learn how quickly. Now, payment."

They paid—a sum rather less than Jonathan would have expected for something that had bits taken from creatures he'd always assumed were mythological and probably weren't that common.

He wasn't going to complain, though—he'd already gone through half of the money Dad had sent with him, though it looked like the shopping was done. Also, this was a lot of stuff to haul around.

He really hoped they didn't have to pay for meals at Hogwarts.

They said their thank-yous and goodbyes to Mr. Ollivander, and stepped back out into the street. "Right, you three," Mr. Salisbury said abruptly, "We're ahead of schedule, fortunately—I rather thought finding you wands would be a bit more difficult. Should have had more faith in Ollivander, I suppose. Well, it's dinnertime for all of us, I think."

Jonathan realized with a little bit of shock that the sun was going down. It sure didn't feel like late afternoon to him.

"Let's go find someplace to eat. Don't worry, the Ministry's paying. Oh, and, ah, don't try and use your wands. You need to learn a bit first."

That made sense, but it was a little disappointing.

The next morning, once they'd all gotten out of bed and had breakfast—and it had been a little weird, who on earth ate beans on toast for any meal, much less breakfast—Jonathan was ready for whatever happened next. He'd already flipped through most of the books they'd been told to buy, and it all looked pretty cool. He hoped they'd be going to Hogwarts soon.

Said hopes were dashed.

"Well, it turns out that we're terribly ahead of schedule," Mr. Salisbury informed them once the table was cleared. "The train for Hogwarts doesn't leave 'til tomorrow—apparently the Ministry thought you'd have much more trouble than you did. But, that leaves us more time to get you three, ah…acclimated. So, I'm going to take you by the Ministry of Magic, then we'll have lunch and walk around Diagon Alley a bit without you running all over the place."

That sounded interesting.

As it turned out, about the only thing that was really interesting about the Ministry of Magic was that it was, well, magical. In just about every other way it reminded him of when Mom needed to go to the DMV and dragged him along with her.

Still, the magical parts were pretty cool, but he was glad to leave.

Diagon Alley, however, was much more interesting, especially now that Mr. Salisbury wasn't running them from one place to another and was just showing them about and he could really look around and not have to keep up with his stuff.

People just had their stuff lying around, even things that he would have kept under tight wraps, or things that looked like he would, anyway. Then again, maybe these were common things for wizards to have. Scrolls, books that looked like they were older than Jiadek, weird plants he'd never seen before, potions of various kinds…yes, he'd seen it all yesterday, but now he could take the time to really look at it.

And it was really starting to hit him that he was not in Georgia anymore.

Judging from how Henry and Becky reacted to all this, they were figuring that out themselves.

When they stopped by the bookstore, he made for their history section. If he was going to live in this world, he needed to understand it, and quickly. No telling what trouble he might land in if he didn't.

He'd left with three books, one for kids, two for adults. He figured the kid's book would give him the basics, then the adult books would give him the other stuff. They hadn't cost much, either—ten sickles apiece, which was about five bucks.

At any rate, he'd have some reading material for the train ride. That would also be kind of cool—he'd never been on a train before, and it would be a magical one!

He was also trying to figure out Mr. Salisbury. The man seemed to be constantly worrying about stuff. It didn't seem like anyone wanted to harm them, though they had gotten some odd looks here and there when the words they used weren't quite right and Mr. Salisbury had had to translate. Jonathan wasn't sure how much of that was because they were in Britain—Dad had told him that Brits didn't use all the same words for everything, like how they called elevators "lifts" and fries "chips"—and how much was because wizards had different words, like "Muggle."

That was an…interesting word. It meant "person without magic," or so was the definition. However, he'd kept his ears open as much as possible, and the way certain people used it made him think of how folks like old Mr. Gardner talked about black people. And even from the ones who didn't use it that way, there was a definite note of condescension.

He wasn't sure what he thought about that.

The rest of the day passed by quickly, and soon he was back in his rooms, ready for whatever would happen tomorrow.

A/N: The opinions of an eleven-year-old boy about how the world ought to be should not be taken as those of the author verbatim. The opinions of an eleven-year-old boy who has been there for all of two hours thinks about how the wizarding world works should also not be taken as those of the author verbatim.

Jiadek is an anglicization of Dziadek, which is Polish for "grandfather." This will be plot-relevant later.