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A large shadow fell over the quiet village in northern Wales as a Common Welsh Green dragon soared as calmly through the clouds above the village as an ordinary hawk. But for the Muggles living in Wales, spotting a Welsh Green now and then was ordinary. So was blatantly ignoring such a sighting.
The pedestrians barely glanced up at the large flying serpent before going back to their day’s work.
Martin Cover looked at the dragon as it flew away and eventually out of sight; he had always thought that dragons were a little too fast for their size.
“Of course, we do not see the dragon flying overhead.”
The sarcastic remark was made by his cousin, Owen, who stood beside him looking at the faraway hills where the dragon had disappeared.
Martin and Owen glanced at each other, then, and shared an amused smile. Martin had come to Wales to visit his Aunt Jenna, and spend the summers in the green scenery and pleasant weather, but dragon-watching had become his favourite past-time; there weren’t nearly as many dragons in the city ─ or any at all.
“What dragon?” Martin then asked with an overdramatic wide-eyed innocence. “That was definitely a rare species of winged lizards.”
Owen nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly, smirking, “obviously, there is no such thing as a dragon; that is ridiculous.”
Martin hummed in agreement, deliberately not noticing as an elf scurried out of an alley and ran down the street, staying out of sight of Muggle pedestrians; or so the poor elf thought.
They were, of course, just Muggles, and as such had no idea that magic was real, and that wizards and witches lived hidden among them. Or so the witches and wizards thought.
“So, no one is going to comment about the whale floating up the street?” Jasper Crow said as he and his colleagues followed the progression of the silver, glowing Humpback whale with their eyes as it glided along William Street.
“Well,” his fellow clerk and close friend, Rupert Dean, said in an annoyed tone, “since we’re too blind to notice the silver animals galloping to and fro from that abandoned warehouse and are too stupid to figure out by now that they use these sort-of-holograms to communicate, I’d say no; we are not going to comment.”
Rupert had always been affronted by the fact that they had to act stupid around magicals, and was often in a sour mood when there was magic around.
“You know how it is, Jasper,” another colleague, Robbie was saying in gentler tones, though this was probably the thousandth time he was saying this. “Pretend you don’t see.”
Jasper didn’t say anything. He had always found it hard to ignore magic as a child, and still had that problem.
The last of their group, Jack, watched silently as the whale’s humongous tail disappeared around the corner, taking its bright illumination with it, before saying in a distant voice, “Play your part as the oblivious Muggle, and let the magicals think their outsmarting us.” Eyes still on the spot where the ‘hologram’ had disappeared, Jack smiled with amusement. “Honestly, if nothing else, them thinking their actually hidden gives us something to laugh about.”
“Hey, I think we should get on with this Guys’ Night Out,” Robbie said after a brief pause, “drinks on me!”
“The pub down the corner?” inquired Rupert.
Jasper shuddered. “Let’s hope we don’t run into that hag ─ I mean ─ uh, weird old woman , again, while we’re there.”
With that they all walked off, pushing all thoughts of magic aside, though Jack, who was still staring off into space, had to be pulled along by the scruff of his collar.
The receptionist raised a pencilled eyebrow as she regarded the man in front of her passively. The man in question was wearing such old-fashioned clothes that she had been mildly surprised when he had not started spouting words like “ hath ”, “ ye ” or even “ Egad! ”
However, she supposed she had to give the wizard ─ for he was obviously a wizard ─ some credit for trying to dress like a Muggle. Though, it was quite possible that these were his formal garments; since Wizard-Kind tended to wear outfits from centuries ago, it was hard to tell when they thought they were dressing up as Muggles and when they were just walking around in their daywear.
“How may I help you, sir?” the receptionist asked, as if seeing people who looked like they had just come off stage after playing a scene of Hamlet was a day-to-day occurrence.
“I would like to have a word with Healer ─ I mean, Dotor Rees, please.”
The receptionist pretended not to have noticed the slip-of-tongue or the fact the wizard didn’t know how to say ‘Doctor’.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“Ah, I don’t, really…”
“I am afraid I cannot let you see the doctor if you don’t have an appointment.”
The receptionist then spotted the wizard’s hand, which had been worrying the hem of his sleeves, slip into his left sleeve. Realizing he was reaching for his wand, she said, “Interesting place to keep a pencil, sir.”
The wizard started and fumbled to hide the thin strip of wood which had, to some extent, become visible. “Well, yes, you never know when you might need a, a w-pencil, yes, when you might need a pencil,” the wizard stammered before smiling warmly at her.
The receptionist smiled back.
“Um, I think I’ll come back another day with an appointment, then.” The wizard was clearly in a hurry to leave now.
“That will be lovely, sir.”
As the wizard turned around and hurried towards the door, she caught the sight of a tag in the lower right corner of his gown:
Property of the Stellar Theatre
Old Era Costumes Co.
Cesario, Twelfth Night
The door closed and the receptionist let out a low chuckle. So, the wizard had been trying to fit in.
At that moment, the door to the check-up room opened and the woman, whom the receptionist had let in half an hour ago, walked out followed by Doctor Rees, who was giving last-minute instructions on medications.
When the woman was gone, the receptionist turned to Rees with a smile. “I think you should be careful, Doctor,” she said. “There was a wizard here, right now. He wanted to talk to you.”
Rees raised his eyebrows, then let out a laugh, and said, “He must be trying to get the swearing table lamp I bought last week.” He shook his head. “I might as well get rid of it, seeing as I don’t have use for a cursing lamp, and it is obviously endangering the Statute of Secrecy.”
“That would be wise, Doctor. It will raise suspicion if you appear unconcerned about a talking lamp and keep it.”
Two men diligently worked in the backyards of the two adjacent row-houses. Both of them knew each other well since they had worked as gardeners for the families living in said adjacent row-houses for years, and had had many conversations through the white wooden fence that separated their respective workplaces.
The older of the two, a man with salt-and-pepper hair, lifted his gaze up to the sky to spot an owl. The owl was also carrying an object wrapped in brown paper that was supposed to have been too big, and logically too heavy, for the bird to even lift off the ground.
The man shook his head and addressed his redheaded friend on the other side of the fence. “It’s like they’re not even trying to keep themselves a secret anymore.”
A chuckle was his only answer.
“If they are going to have their owls deliver such preposterous packages, the least they could do is make them invisible! The carelessness is aggravating!”
“Everyone can’t be as thorough as you, Dave, now can they?” the younger gardener finally replied.
Dave was silent as he carefully trimmed the hedge, one leaf at a time. But the silence didn’t last long for he muttered a minute later, “It’s like they expect us not to notice a thing. It’s humiliating!” Then raising his voice, he said, “You know, Anthony? If I could, I would go and tell the lot of then how to properly remain inconspicuous, right now!”
The redhead stopped weeding the flowerbeds and sat back on his heels. With an amused smile he looked towards the fence through which he caught just glimpses of his friend. “And wouldn’t that be a disaster,” he said, “They would probably all panic about the discovery of the Wizarding World and the ‘ imminent extinction of magic.’ Probably causing a mass ─ what was that word? ─ yes, obliviation, a mass-obliviation.”
Dave didn’t seem to have heard him. “Or maybe I should get them a dictionary, because they obviously don’t know what inconspicuous means!”
Anthony rolled his eyes and resumed the weeding, as Dave ranted on.
“They could camouflage the packages, or maybe even shrink them so they are too tiny to be seen ─ it would just look like another owl flying by! And better yet, why even use owls at all!? They have magic! I’m sure they have other means of transport. But they’re just too lazy to care!”
Dave paused for a moment to snip off a few more leaves, and then said, “If I were them, I would never use something as risky as owls for delivery. If survival depends on secrecy, then you do not leave out any possibility of discovery!”
“Yes, Dave, but sadly you are not a wizard, so ─”
“The key to a perfect shrub is in its roots and soil! If you are not careful with the foundations, the plant may grow, but will eventually shrivel and die!”
“You have told me that a thousand time already ─”
“If only Wizard-kind understood that. They have been so careless in the making of their world, the roots! Is it really a wonder that we discovered them when...?”
Anthony sighed and gave up in his attempt to stop his friend’s tirade.
“…Really, Anthony, I tell you that it’s only a matter of time before the shrub of the magical world shrivels up, with how careless they’re being.”
Eleven-year-old Rachel Flan stared at the witch who was sitting in an armchair, sipping tea. She still could not believe there was an actual witch in her house. Her father and mother were sitting on the sofa opposite the witch, their cups of tea untouched.
Rachel knew her parents were nervous. She was nervous herself; years of being told to ignore magic, ignore the most wondrous and impossible feats happening right in front of her eyes ─ and now she could acknowledge it, acknowledge the miracles around her. She would be the cause of those miracles and impossible feats ─ she was a witch. But she still had to pretend that she didn’t know, had to pretend to be an oblivious Muggleborn to whom this was unbelievable news.
This wasn’t news to Rachel, though. She had known since she was nine years old that she was a witch. Her parents had figured it out after she had passed like a ghost through a closed door in her hurry.
But she could still act surprised ─ magic was incredible, it would never cease to shock her ─ so she had nothing to be nervous about. Any incident involving magic could be explained by feigning ignorance ─ pixie-catching with friends, but they’d thought that the pixies were butterflies; chasing gnomes around the garden, but the gnome had been mistaken for a goffer; looking for the ghoul that was making noise in the attic, but they’d assumed that a raccoon had broken in (wizards wouldn’t care that raccoons are native to America, would they?) ─ So Rachel could do this, she could play her part!
But Rachel could see her parents were having a hard time pretending.
The witch set down her teacup, and spoke, “So Mr and Mrs Flan, I understand that this is hard to take in, but this all completely true. Witches and wizards have remained in hiding” ─ Rachel almost snorted at that ─ “for centuries, for the sake of peace. But we reveal ourselves when necessary ─ like the Muggle prime minister and Queen knows. And also to the parents whose children have proven themselves to be part of our world, like your daughter here.”
She smiled at Rachel here, a smile as if they were sharing a secret. Rachel smiled back.
Her parents shared a look, then her father coughed and spoke.
“You can’t expect us to just send our daughter to some school we have never heard off, though. And how can we know that she will be safe ─”
“Hogwarts is renowned for being the safest place in magical Britain, Mr Flan; I assure you your daughter will be safe. And I know that letting her go to a strange place is daunting for you but believe me when I say that this is best for her ─”
“ We know what is best for our daughter, thank you,” Rachel’s father said coolly.
The witch faltered in her assurances, looking uncertain. Rachel’s mother squeezed her husband’s hand, as though in warning.
Rachel knew her father wasn’t really offended, though; they had to act believably wary of this supposedly new and strange world.
The witch seemed to have gathered her wits by then, for she said. “I was not implying any such thing, Mr Flan. My apologies if it seemed as such. I am aware you know and want what is best for your daughter.”
Her parents said nothing to that so the witch continued.
“Your daughter is gifted, and she needs to hone and harness that gift; learn what it means to be a witch, a member of the Wizarding community. Magic is a part of her, Mr and Mrs Flan, a very important part. It needs to be understood that she must embrace that part to live life at its fullest. We should not keep her away from it.”
“You give quite a convincing speech, Miss Genlich,” Mr Flan said. “Seems like you do this often, convincing Muggles , that is.”
“It is my job to introduce young Muggleborn witches and wizards to magic.”
“And how can we trust you? How do we know you will not take off with our daughter never to be heard of again?”
Miss Genlich looked flabbergasted. “Mr Flan, I understand your concern but ─”
“You think that we will just hand over our child to you? Like a lamb for slaughter! To do whatever you please with her!” Rachel’s father rose from the sofa and her mother tried to pull him back down, but to no avail. “Wizards and magic! They may be real or they may not! But you have no right to steal our children from us! NO RIGHT!”
Miss Genlich stared at him with wide, startled eyes. Rachel and her mother stared too. They had had to act like bewildered, cautious Muggles but Rachel thought that her father had taken it a little too far.
“Mr Flan ─” Miss Genlich spluttered. “I assure you ─ that I ─ that we ─ we mean your daughter no harm ─ if, if you are concerned for her safety ─ you can have her home-schooled right here!”
Apparently, her father too registered that he had gone too far, for he abruptly sat down with a somewhat contrite expression.
“No, no,” he said, “Rachel will go to Hogwarts; I want her to have the best experience and education and I am sure that the school provides the perfect environment for learning and the best teachers as well better than any tutor we’ll get, am I right?”
The witch opened her mouth to say something but closed it, then opened it again and closed it once more, before finally deciding to say nothing at all and nodded, looking stumped at the sudden change of tone.
Mr Flan smiled brightly as if nothing had happened at all. Mrs Flan looked torn between looking relieved that a disaster had been prevented or exasperated that a disaster had been on the verge of happening at all.
Miss Genlich flicked her eyes towards Rachel, looking puzzled and uncomfortable, and Rachel a secretive smile in return, puzzling the witch even more.
The witch will just think that Muggles are weird.
Things could have gone worse.
Three members of the restaurant staff sat at the round plastic table outside on the sidewalk. After a long day of cooking and serving, they were all ready to enjoy a few hours of gossiping and goofing off.
“Hey, did you hear? England’s made it to the finals!” one of the waiters interrupted their conversation about the romantic proposal they had witnessed that day in the restaurant.
The other two stopped talking and looked at the waiter with confusion.
“What do you mean?” the chef said. “England was disqualified in the last match.”
The waiter chuckled. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about cricket, Peter; I was talking about the Quidditch World Cup. England’s made it to the finals.”
The other waiter raised his eyebrow. “And where pray tell did you hear that?”
“Overheard two of the customers at lunch, going on and on about how this was the first time in fifty years that we reached the finals, and that with the Seeker we have, we’ll have a winning chance.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Of course, you would be able to overhear a whispered conversation about Quidditch during the din of the afternoon rush, Chuck, but not hear me screaming from the kitchen that the order was ready.”
“Sports maniac,” the other waiter agreed, with a smile.
“It wasn’t much of a whispered conversation,” the third of their trio protested. “And it’s a game played on broomsticks, Spence, what’s not to love?” He then immediately let go of his indignation to further the conversation about the coming finals.
“We may not be able to openly celebrate our victory,” Chuck was excitedly saying, “but it will be an achievement, nonetheless, even if we have to pretend we don’t know about it. The Chasers are a menace this year, guys. I tell you, this match is gonna be one hell of a showdown; Australia been going strong as well, but their Chasers are trash.”
“Don’t they have a formidable pair of beaters?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, but there only so much they can do against our Chasers and Pelting almost never misses the snitch. Mark my words, you two, this year we will be Quid ─”
It was at that moment that a loud crack was heard in the alley adjacent to the restaurant, and a moment later a man immerged from the alley. Though the man was wearing normal muggle clothes, the three staff members immediately knew what the crack meant.
“Quid-uh ─ I mean, CRICKET!” Chuck suddenly shouted, stopping his heated debate about the famous magical sport. “Amazing game, isn’t it? Cricket, I mean?”
“Oh, yeah,” the other waiter, Spence, agreed in an unusually loud voice, “can’t wait for the finals, can you?”
“No,” Peter said, loud as well, “I hope England takes the cup.”
They all smiled as the wizard, who had just apparated in the alley, passed by. He gave the three of them strange looks ─ probably due to their sudden odd behaviour ─ and continued down the sidewalk, going around the corner at the end of the street.
As soon as the wizard was out of sight, the three of them let out sighs of relief.
“That was close,” Chuck said. Then before the other two had a chance to reply, he continued. “So, as I was saying, this year the Quidditch Cup is ours, I have it on good authority that the Captain has a few tricks up his sleeve that …”
Peter and Spence just shared amused looks and listened as their friend ranted on about the snippets of news he had heard about Quidditch so far.
Mrs Start watched her daughter as she stared at something across the street. She followed her gaze to spot a large beast ─ half eagle, half horse ─ standing on the pavement by a man who looked no older than forty. She was startled that she hadn’t noticed the creature before.
But the animal was also translucent, so she supposed she could cut herself some slack.
“Mom, that’s a hippogriff, isn’t it?” Her daughter always had had a fascination of magical creatures and was always on the lookout for something mystic. It was a tendency that worried Mrs Start; of course, she didn’t want her nine-year-old daughter interrogating witches and wizards about their familiars ─ she might end up obliviated! “But it’s transparent. Does that mean it’s a ghost hippogriff, Mom?”
Mrs Start didn’t correct her on the fact that the hippogriff was translucent not transparent and explain what either term meant she doubted her daughter would pay attention right now.
The little girl was looking up at her with wide wonder-filled eyes at the thought of seeing a spirit of a hippogriff ─ she wondered if that was healthy, being awestruck by the dead. But Mrs Start knew that this was no ghost. It was merely an invisibility spell ─ she couldn’t for the life of her remember the real name of that spell, just that it started with a D ─ wearing off, making it look as if the bushes behind the creature were also painted on its feathers.
As the girl and women crossed the street and came closer to the man with the hippogriff, Mrs Start bent down to whisper in her daughter’s ear. “Now, sweetheart, remember: you have to ignore the hippogriff. Pretend you don’t know anything about magic, okay. Pretend that it’s all a fairy-tale.”
It was a lecture that she often gave to her daughter. It was a lecture that had been given to her by her mother as well, and to her mother by her grandmother, and so on. This lecture was one that children ─ non-magical children ─ all over the world heard from their parents as much as the stranger-danger lecture. But perhaps asking her daughter to think of magic as a fairy-tale in front of magicals wasn’t a good idea because for her daughter, fairy-tale was as much fact as the morning paper.
After her daughter nodded, Mrs Start grabbed her hand and walked towards the man who was probably the hippogriff’s owner.
Mrs Start passed the man without casting a glance at the hippogriff. But apparently expecting the same from her daughter was a bit much, even after the being told to do just that.
The young girl didn’t take her wide eyes off the hippogriff as she walked by, then pausing slightly, she said to the wizard, “That’s a beautiful horse, sir.”
As the wizard spluttered, before now unaware of his pet’s semi-visibility, Mrs Start froze. Then she registered what her daughter had said and laughed.
“Yes, it is very beautiful,” she decided to go along with her daughter.
The wizard, on the other hand, seemed horrified. “Y-yes, yes, he is, thank-thank you,” he stammered, trying to lead the hippogriff away by an invisible rope ─ obviously the charm worked better on an object than a living being.
After the wizard had disappeared down an alley, the younger Start looked to her mother.
“Did I do well?” she asked.
Mrs Start smiled down at her daughter. She was proud to say that the young girl was learning the way of handling the Statute fast; when to ignore the magic and when to acknowledge it but by giving a mundane explanation for it.
“Yes,” Mrs Start said. She noticed the wizard exit the alley from her peripheral vision, this time with no hippogriff in sight, but paid him no heed. “You did very well.”