I raised my wand and pointed it at my reflection in the mirror.
The mirror was small, slightly warped, and hung on the inside of the wardrobe door. It made my face look narrower than it was. I stood in front of it with my feet apart, my right hand hovering near my pocket like I was about to draw a pistol in one of those old westerns.
Then I moved.
The wand came up fast.
“You talking to me?” I asked my reflection.
I lowered the wand, tucked it back near my pocket, and tried again. Faster this time.
“You talking to me?”
I laughed.
I tried a few different angles, flicking the wand out from my sleeve, from my pocket, and from where I had tucked it into my waistband for half a second before deciding that stabbing myself with my own wand would be a pathetic way to die. I narrowed my eyes at the mirror and tried to look dangerous.
“You talking to me?”
On the last draw, the wand grew warm in my hand.
I had just enough time to frown before a red streak shot from the tip and hit the wardrobe.
There was a sharp crack.
A small chunk of wood burst away from the side panel and bounced across the floor.
“Oh, bollocks!”
I threw the wand towards the bed on instinct. It landed on the blanket and rolled once before stopping.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” I said aloud.
From downstairs, Mrs Hargrave shouted, “What was that?”
I stared at the broken bit of wardrobe.
“Chair fell!” I called back.
There was a pause.
“Be more careful, boy!”
“Okay!”
I waited, listening for footsteps. None came.
Slowly, I looked at the wand lying on the bed.
“All right,” I said. “Don’t imitate a Yank film with your wand. That’s the first good lesson.”
I picked up the splintered piece of wood and shoved it under the bed, then pushed the wardrobe door almost closed so the damage was harder to notice.
After that, I looked out the window, hoping not to see any Ministry workers coming to check for underage use of magic. They should have come the moment it happened, but no one did. I guessed it was nothing.
I sat down on the bed.
Over the last few weeks, I had gone to London a couple of times to visit Diagon Alley. I was just there to sightsee, nothing else. It wasn’t as if I had money to splurge. I had, like, eighteen Galleons left in my account.
I explored the entire place. I mean, how could I not? I was in a magical world, and I wanted to know everything about it. Quidditch caught my attention very quickly. I remembered making fun of it when I read the books and saw it in the movies, but now I really wanted to try it out. The current top model was called the Aeromancer 1500, which apparently cost 1,000 Galleons.
What the fuck? That was like 25,000 pounds.
There were also custom-made brooms worth even more. One thing was clear: I was certainly going to give this sport a go at Hogwarts. I mean, I did have all those dreams about being a football star before.
I looked at the table beside me. There was a notebook and a quill. The last few days had taught me that writing with a quill was less romantic than fantasy made it look. It was scratchy, messy, and required far more patience than a ballpoint pen.
Still, I had been practising.
The pages were covered in uneven notes and ink blots as I tried to make a list of things.
I had been writing down everything I remembered from the Harry Potter series.
It was a sensible thing to do. I had knowledge of the future, and I could use it to my advantage. The thing was, as I wrote, I realised there was a problem.
My knowledge was not as deep as I had assumed. In my head, the broad strokes were clear. But the deeper details slipped away whenever I tried to remember them.
For days, I had been trying to remember the Room of Requirement. The one that appeared with whatever you needed. It could have been a great personal hideout for all my years at the school and there were like thousand other uses for it as well.
I could not, for the life of me, remember exactly where it was or how to access it.
Somewhere near a tapestry?
Walk past it a few times?
It would come to me one day, or I would just have to look for it and somehow find it.
Thankfully, I remembered the major events.
In two years, the Philosopher’s Stone would be at Hogwarts.
That was an opportunity. A dangerous one, yes, but still an opportunity. I did not care for immortality, but the gold-making properties? Those I cared for.
The year after that came the basilisk. That one was avoidable. The diary was the key, and Ginny Weasley would be the victim if nothing changed. I could just steal it somehow and send it to Dumbledore or something. He could figure out what it was.
Then Sirius Black.
That was the one I kept returning to. If I could expose Peter Pettigrew early, Sirius might get out of prison. Harry could get away from the Dursleys and be raised by his godfather. That was good. Noble, even.
Also, Sirius was the head of the Black family.
The Blacks had money.
A lot of money.
If I helped clear his name, surely some sort of reward would be reasonable. Of course, that was not the main reason I would do this. Harry deserved better than his current living conditions.
But still.
Some reward would not hurt. I was a poor orphan, okay? I only had about eighteen Galleons in my vault, so no one could fault me for thinking like this.
I sighed and looked at the next item on the list. The Triwizard Tournament, and by the end of that, Voldemort returned.
After that, everything worsened.
The war.
Which led me to the Horcruxes.
Thank God.
No, wait.
Yes… thank Merlin. I was a wizard now, so I might as well start using this.
Thank Merlin I remembered what they were.
Tom Riddle’s diary.
The ring.
Slytherin’s locket.
Hufflepuff’s cup.
Ravenclaw’s diadem.
Nagini.
I paused when I looked at that one.
Wasn’t Nagini made into one after he came back?
Yes. Yes, she was.
And then, tragically, Harry Potter himself.
I leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Maybe I could send Dumbledore an anonymous letter.
Dear Professor, congratulations, your old student split his soul into bits and hid them in priceless artifacts.
I snorted.
No.
That old bastard would find me somehow.
I decided not to dwell on it too much for now.
My attention turned to the pile of textbooks on the table. I had skimmed through them all. To my disappointment, first years did not learn much in the way of impressive magic. A few charms. Some Transfiguration basics. Some Potions. Lots of History. It was mostly theory. Around sixty-five percent of it was just theory.
I supposed I could understand why it was like that. They were only just starting to learn, after all.
Still, it was disappointing.
I turned the wand between my fingers.
I could learn more on my own if I wanted and nothing was really stopping me from doing it. I guess I could figure it out when I reached Hogwarts.
The book I read the most out of everything I had bought was A History of Magic, along with another book called The Hidden World: A Primer on Magical Nations and Communities.
A History of Magic had been fascinating. It basically told the story of magic users from humanity’s earliest times. I had always been interested in history, so it was fun to read. The book even explained what had happened to the Indus Valley Civilization, which was one of the most mysterious of the ancient cradle civilizations. Apparently, one of the earliest dark wizards had caused a climate catastrophe, which basically destroyed the entire civilization in only a few months.
Another thing that caught my attention was magical governments all over the world. The magical nations did not match Muggle ones neatly. Sometimes they overlapped. Sometimes they ignored Muggle borders entirely.
The British Ministry of Magic covered more than just England. It governed magical England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland together.
Western Europe looked more familiar at first. France had its own ministry. Spain and Portugal had separate administrations, though the book hinted at a lot of shared Iberian magical law. The Netherlands and Belgium, however, were under one ministry.
Then the map became much stranger. Central Europe was dominated by something called the German Magical Confederation, a powerful bloc made up of several small German states, Prussian, Austrian, and Swiss magical territories. Italy did not have a unified magical ministry at all. It had magical city-states, ten of them. Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples, Milan, and others. Greece was similar, though smaller, with three major magical city-states.
Further east were the ministries of Poland, Serbia, Romania, and Hungary. Beyond them, vast stretches were marked as being under the Principalities of Magical Russia.
Down south in Africa, the book described many smaller magical communities, some ancient and some more recent, banded together into regional confederations. African magical traditions were older than most European ones, and the book admitted, rather grudgingly, that wandless magic was more common and more sophisticated there.
In the west, the Americas had the lowest magical population, at least according to the book. North America had large magical territories but relatively few magical people spread across them, with four different magical governments, one of them being MACUSA which mostly controlled the east coast.
Asia was where the book became most interesting. The major magical powers in the east were the three kingdoms of China, the Ministry of Japan, and many Southeast Asian governments. The book did not explain much about them.
But the strongest power in the region, according to the book, was the Indian Ministry of Magic. I found it interesting how the Muggle and magical parts of India had turned out so differently. One had sadly become poor due to many conflicts and colonization, while the other magical side remained rich and powerful, as most of the subcontinent had been for much of its long and storied past. Before the Statute of Secrecy, the subcontinent had apparently been a vast patchwork of thousands of magical communities. The book only mentioned that, just before the Statute came into effect, they had united into one ministry. It was not a smooth transition, and it was not without conflict, but it had succeeded well enough that the result became one of the richest and most powerful magical nations in the world.
All magical nations had such complex histories, as well as their own forms of magic. The magical world was big, and I wanted to see it all someday.
Only one more week until I left for Hogwarts.
==========
“All right,” Mrs Hargrave said, glancing around King’s Cross with a frown. “Which platform is your train on?”
I tightened my grip on the trolley handle. My trunk sat on it beneath Poe’s cage, along with two other bags.
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs Hargrave,” I said. “I can go from here. I’m sure Mr Hargrave’s eager to get back on the road.”
Mrs Hargrave looked at me as if I had suggested walking to Scotland.
“No, no. We’ll see you off.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “You got me here. That’s enough.”
It was more than I had expected, honestly. I had been surprised when the Hargraves offered to drive me all the way to London. Then I found out Mr Hargrave wanted to visit his mother in Luton afterwards, and the whole thing made more sense. Two birds with one stone. Still, they had brought me, and that counted for something.
Mr Hargrave shifted beside her, already impatient. “You heard the boy. If we leave now, we can be at Mother’s by lunch.”
Mrs Hargrave pressed her lips together, then looked back at me. “You’ve got everything?”
“Yes.”
“Ticket?”
“Yes.”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
Mrs Hargrave gave me a stiff little nod.
“Well. Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye, Mrs Hargrave. Mr Hargrave.”
Mr Hargrave cleared his throat. “Don’t get into trouble.”
“I won’t.”
He gave me a look that suggested he doubted that. Then he scratched his cheek and added, “You coming back for Christmas?”
“I’ll write,” I said.
That seemed to satisfy him.
He muttered something about what sort of nutter school did not allow telephones, then turned away. Mrs Hargrave followed after one last glance at me, and within moments they had disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there for a second, trolley in hand, watching them go.
Then I turned towards platforms nine and ten.
It was half past ten, so the train would not leave for another half hour. Plenty of time. That did not stop my stomach from tightening as I pushed my luggage forward through the station. People moved around me: commuters, families, tourists.
I found the barrier easily enough.
Platform Nine on one side.
Platform Ten on the other.
A solid brick wall between them.
I stopped in front of it and took a breath.
I knew how this worked. Run at the wall and do not stop. Simple.
Simple, except the wall looked very much like a wall.
Poe shifted in his cage.
“Easy for you,” I muttered. “You’re in there.”
Right.
I backed up a few steps, gripped the trolley, and fixed my eyes on the barrier. I took one more breath.
Then I ran.
For one horrible second, every sensible part of my brain screamed that I was about to smash my face into brick.
Then the wall vanished around me.
The noise changed first. The echoing bustle of King’s Cross gave way to the sound of steam, owls, and laughter. I stumbled out onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The Hogwarts Express stood before me.
For a moment, I could only stare with my mouth slightly open in awe.
Students crowded the platform with their parents. Some children were already in their uniform. Others still wore normal clothes. Older students greeted one another loudly after a summer apart. First years stood close to their families, trying and failing to look calm.
A smile spread across my face before I could stop it.
Poe hooted from his cage, watching me with bright black eyes.
“You know what, Poe?” I said quietly. “We’re going to have a lot of fun these next seven years.”
Poe gave a pleased little chirrup, as if he agreed.
I pushed my trolley through the crowd, taking it all in.
As I paused near the edge of the crowd, wondering what to do next, I noticed someone looking at me. An older student stood a little way off with a group of Gryffindors. He had blond hair and a rough look about him. Our eyes met for a moment.
I looked away.
Then, because I could not help myself, I looked back.
He was still looking at me.
Creepy fucker.
I shifted my trolley and began to move, only to catch sight of a girl with short hair glaring at me from near one of the carriage doors.
I moved away, only to find another student, around the same age as the other two, looking at me for some reason. This one was blonde and very pretty. She looked straight at me and waved.
I glanced behind me.
No one.
I looked back at her.
She was still waving.
I lifted my hand awkwardly and waved back.
That was it.
I was getting out of here.
Every sign pointed to me being jumped. I pushed my trolley towards the train and found an open door.
Getting the luggage inside was awkward without any help. A passing older girl helped shove my trunk up the steps without saying much, then wandered off before I could do more than thank her. I dragged it along the corridor and moved towards the part of the train where most of the first years seemed to be settling.
Eventually, I found an empty compartment.
Small miracle.
I pushed the door open, got my trunk inside, and wrestled it into place. Poe’s cage went beside the window. He gave the compartment a slow inspection, then seemed to approve.
I dropped into the seat with a sigh of relief.
“What the fuck was that?” I muttered.
Those older years had definitely been looking at me. Or maybe I was being paranoid. It could have been some sort of prank older students played on first years. Pick one, stare dramatically, see if they panic. If so, congratulations, they had succeeded.
I leaned back and rubbed a hand over my face.
The compartment door opened.
A boy stood there with his own luggage, looking slightly out of breath. He had a handsome, open face and neat brown hair.
“Sorry,” he said. “Is anyone else sitting here?”
“No, no, just me,” I said.
He smiled in relief and dragged his trunk in, though it immediately became clear he was having trouble lifting it onto the rack.
“You need some help with that?”
“Yes, please,” he said, a bit embarrassed.
I stood, took one side of the trunk, and together we managed to shove it into place. It landed on the rack with a heavy thump.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem.”
We sat down across from each other.
For a moment, the two of us listened to the noise from the platform outside.
Then the boy straightened slightly.
“I’m Cedric. Cedric Diggory,” he said.
Oh, man. What were the chances?
I offered him a smile.
“Adrian Adler,” I said, introducing myself. “Nice to meet you, Cedric.”
.
.
1 Galleon is now 25 Pounds.
Hogwarts Next.