Chapter Text
Edevane Residence, United Kingdom.
July, 1991.
A woman, wearing what I can only describe as a rather tasteless medieval costume, appearing at my front door and sincerely informing my parents that I am a wizard was not in my plans for today.
As society has, unfortunately, progressed towards civility, my parents did not allow the woman to remain outside.
And I have decided, after careful consideration, that this is a case of child trafficking.
A very creative one, to be fair.
“Classes begin on the first of September…” —Oh, God. “You will be assigned a guide who will help you acquire the necessary school materials for your son’s education…”
… Diagon Alley is the most visited magical shopping district…
Oh, God.
“Yes, your son will be safe in our care. Hogwarts is the safest place in the entire wizarding world.”
Oh, God!
“It is the most prestigious school of magic, I assure you. He will become a great wizard.”
Yes. Of course. Cornelius, my cousin, must undoubtedly be in the middle of one of his recreational sessions with his university friends.
Keeping away from the inner garden on Wednesdays and Fridays had already become a household rule if one did not wish to end up on a ‘special trip’ or something of the sort.
The only problem with that explanation is that today is Monday, and Cornelius is staying over at his friends’ house.
“Adri, darling.”
Even if, at present, every logical explanation seems impossible, I am certain that this cannot be real.
Witches only exist in stories and in America.
All of this must be a scam tailored specifically for gullible people who have run out of ideas on how to reduce the number of zeros in their bank accounts.
“Adrián, sweetheart.”
Do my parents truly intend to send me to a school that has appeared out of nowhere simply because this woman, who looks like an escaped psychiatric patient, has told them I possess special abilities?
Who would send their only child into what is so obviously a child-abducting trap?!
“Hyacinth.”
Mother’s voice interrupted my mental protest. I knew, from her tone and the way she looked at me, that I would be in trouble later.
“Yes, Mummy?” I looked at her with my most innocent and naïve expression, hoping the punishment awaiting me in a few hours would not be too severe.
It was not working particularly well, if the crease between her brows was anything to go by.
“Professor McGonagall was asking whether you have any questions, darling.” Her face, though attempting to conceal it, held that tension that signalled trouble.
I turned to Professor McGonagall with a smile that was anything but genuine, radiating shyness.
“Oh, well. I do not wish to be rude, Professor McGonagall…” My gaze shifted from the woman’s face to the tea set on the table, as though I were dying of nerves. I hope the fidgeting of my hands is convincing. “But… how do I know I have magic? I mean, shouldn’t there already have been some sign? I’ve had a very normal life up until now… What if the school has made a mistake and I’m just another ordinary boy?”
My voice cracked at the end, and I buried my face in my hands with dramatic flair. My shoulders trembled slightly, as did the rest of my body, in a splendid imitation of Paco the Chihuahua.
It worked, as always.
Father immediately gathered me close. He soothed me with gentle pats on the back and soft words, all the while apologising profusely to Professor McGonagall for my ‘little outburst’.
Mother patted my head as though I were a puppy.
“Do not worry, Mr Edevane. There is no need for concern. Our school has its ways of ensuring that all magical children—and only magical children—attend. Your name appeared on the list, Mr Edevane. And the list never errs.”
What utter rubbish!
Did she say list? As in the sort of lists villains use to note down their future targets? A blacklist?!
My face, flushed and damp with crocodile tears, shot out from between my hands towards Father.
He had to understand the implication behind those words. He had to! There is no possible way he, of all people, would send me into a potential criminal organisation.
But Father looked so calm and detached. Yes, he was worried—the tension in his mouth made that clearer than any words could—but his concern seemed to stem more from having a magical son than from having a mad criminal sitting in his drawing room.
Did he not realise how strange all of this was?
Mother, my last resort, of course did not fail me.
“But it should have manifested in some way by now, should it not? I do not question your judgement, Professor McGonagall. It is only that… I am a concerned mother.”
Mother placed a hand over her chest. Her expression was one of pure distress and worry.
“I would not want my Adri to struggle at school because of something he cannot control. Will it affect him in any way that he has not shown signs of magic yet?”
I nodded fervently, clinging to the words of the only other person in the room with any sense.
Professor McGonagall looked as though she would rather be anywhere else. She eyed the tea set with disdain and kept inhaling before speaking, almost as if gathering strength—or patience.
She did not appear particularly pleased with her task.
Why would they send someone like her in the first place?
Unless… she is a fraud pretending to be part of a school staff!
The woman cut off all speculation by pulling a stick from her… medieval dress? Well, never mind. She produced a little stick and, with a flick of it, transformed the tea set—porcelain!—into what appeared to be silver.
…
No.
That cannot be.
It cannot be!
This must be some sort of optical illusion or magic trick.
I blinked again and again, yet the image before me did not change.
This woman has just turned the tea set into silver with her little stick! Right in front of me! Oh, God. I cannot believe it. This entire spectacle about attending a magic school is real.
Which means that…
“Can I do that as well?” The question left me breathless, my eyes so wide they ached. That demonstration had left me embarrassingly agape.
Though more important than that: would I also have to start wearing medieval clothes? Because that significantly diminished the appeal. Medieval fashion is not my favourite.
The witch—because there is now no doubt that she is a witch—smiled at me with unmistakable smugness and self-satisfaction.
“Only if you attend the school of magic.”
Oh, there it was again. That boastful tone, brimming with false promises, so typical of a con artist.
Of course. Put on an impressive display of magic in front of an even more impressionable child to fill him with hope, ensuring his parents cannot bear to shatter their beloved little darling’s childish illusion.
I may have been somewhat mistaken earlier in assuming magic does not exist. But something about all of this still smells very wrong.
“…What you have just witnessed is another way in which magic manifests itself, Mrs Edevane. And I am certain your son has done something similar before.” No, impossible. If that were the case, I would hardly have kept it to myself. “Have there been any unexplained occurrences around…?”
Our gazes met, plunging everyone present into an awkward silence.
I do not know what she expected from me, nor why she looked at me as though I were trying to recall a mathematical formula in the middle of a most important examination; but I am quite certain that, whatever is happening, I am not helping her.
The poor woman looked increasingly distressed and confused, until she finally abandoned whatever it was she had been attempting.
She cleared her throat and continued, “As I was saying. Have there been any unexplained occurrences around young Mr Edevane?”
Oh, this cannot be happening.
My parents turned to one another uncertainly, unable to answer Professor McGonagall’s question.
I, however, did not take my eyes off the woman. Had that witch forgotten my name? Oh yes, she had.
How terribly unprofessional. Truly, no commitment whatsoever.
Professor McDonald’s and I had enough time to engage in a staring contest, and my parents—those adults who pride themselves on having lost their patience raising me—still had not the faintest idea whether their supposed experience of educating me had included paranormal events.
“In truth, I remember very little of my early childhood, Professor McGonagall. But I do recall that, once, when I was six—” a lie. I was nine. But I shall not admit it “—I threw a tremendous tantrum at my nanny and, quite accidentally, shattered my mother’s new crystalware.”
Yes, exactly as you see. I had to answer myself to spare us all the embarrassment.
Though that last part is also a lie. I remember very well wanting every single piece of that ostentatiously cut crystal destroyed. The reason? Mother ordered my trophy room to be removed to make space for her new winter-themed tea salon.
Do you understand that? They removed my hard-earned trophies simply to display a collection of glass!
“At the time, we believed it had been a fault in the furniture. Perhaps the wind, or even the pressure within the room. Now that you have mentioned unexplained occurrences, I cannot help but recall that incident.”
The woman nodded with approval and recognition before launching into yet another speech about magic and its early manifestations in children.
One to which I paid very close attention, hoping to resolve my doubts about the entire situation. However, with each new piece of information that reached me, I understood less.
It must be one of their strategies: use so much technical language that we cannot ask questions.
These people are true professionals.
From what little I gathered from Professor McGonagall, magic manifests explosively in magical children, providing signs of its presence to their parents. That was normal.
As was the fact that no one outside the community knows about magic. Discretion was something akin to a worldwide law for all magical beings.
As was the fact that, in the magical part of the United Kingdom, children begin their formal magical education at the age of eleven.
And they are removed from the world and confined for months in a boarding school whose location is unknown to non-magical people.
Which means my parents will never have the faintest idea where I am going.
In fact, neither will I, as it appears the school can only be accessed by taking a train that departs solely at specific dates and times. No exceptions.
Are you beginning to see it as well? Just as I said before: a child-abducting organisation. But magical!
These people snatch special little darlings like me from their loving homes and cast them into a prison to condition them for unknown purposes.
They intend to brainwash us and turn us into hollow shells devoid of soul or personality.
And the worst part of all…
The final decision—the one that would change my life entirely, and which most certainly should not be left to naïve children—rested with me: to have magical superpowers and isolate myself from the rest of society, risking becoming the victim of a malevolent organisation, or to grow up deprived of that “marvellous world”.
“Adrián?”
Good Lord, as if I needed that! How many times have I done this already? If I carry on like this, they will send me back to the psychiatric ward, and I shall neither attend the supposed magic school nor fulfil my worldly obligations.
“My apologies, Mother. My mind must have wandered. Were you saying something?” I straightened in my seat in an attempt to preserve what little dignity and composure I had left in such a situation.
Professor McGonagall’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and she regarded me with surprising severity.
Fraud or not, she was undoubtedly a professor, and like any professor, she was not pleased that I had ignored her grand speech on magic.
Mother cleared her throat, noticing the tension, and spoke with the intention of concluding the visit. “Professor McGonagall must be going now, darling. But your father and I wished to know whether you had any remaining questions.”
Despite her wish to end the awkward moment, Mother focused entirely on me and encouraged me with a smile to speak now or forever hold my peace.
Perhaps the fact that I become an insufferable demon whenever I am not satisfied has something to do with that.
“Professor McGonagall…” The woman looked at me as though she could make me vanish with a single glance—and, indeed, perhaps that is possible. “I was wondering if, well, you mentioned that the school is a boarding school, did I not misunderstand?”
“No, Mr Edevane, you are quite correct. Hogwarts is, indeed, a boarding school.” Her voice was so monotonous that, for a moment, I feared Professor McGonagall might in fact be some sort of mechanical illusion programmed with predetermined responses, rather than merely a miserable person who despised her job.
“Oh, and… in that case, I wondered whether your school offers any alternative arrangements. Perhaps a mixed model in which my presence on the premises is not required at all times.”
The professor’s face hardened further—if such a thing were possible—and she rose from her seat, adopting a posture so rigid it was rather intimidating. Her hands were clasped before her as she spoke.
“No, Mr Edevane. Hogwarts is an institution that requires the full-time presence of its students. It would be dangerous for all involved to come and go from the premises at will. Not even we professors enjoy such freedom.”
The professors are confined to the castle all year? Not likely. There is no way. This woman must take me for a fool.
Professor McGonagall left my house shortly after thoroughly shredding me with a few well-chosen words.
My parents, for their part, did not lose their politeness for even a moment. Even when Professor McGonagall was less than courteous with them, neither of them dropped their smiles until the woman turned at the entrance of our house and disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared.
Honestly, what the he—
I did not wait a single second to make my feelings about that visit—and the uncomfortable truths we had been presented with—perfectly clear to everyone in the house.
The door closing was the only warning my parents had of the speech that was coming.
“There is no way I am attending that school. For heaven’s sake! What on earth made you accept that madwoman’s words as absolute truth? I mean, a school no one knew anything about until today? She sold us all that mystery as if it were for our own good. But God only knows what those people truly are…”
My hands moved about wildly, trying to make my parents understand how important what I was saying was.
Perhaps I was getting a tad carried away, if even the household staff—who had had the misfortune of being in the same room as us—had pressed themselves against the walls in an attempt to go unnoticed.
“Adrián, mind your tone and your language. Mrs McGonagall has given you no reason to insult her in such a manner.” Father cut off my protest sharply, using his tired adult voice.
I loathe that blasted tired adult voice.
“Dad, what? She’s given me—us—more than enough reason to doubt her judgement and her intentions. You always tell me I must be careful with—”
“Mind your tone, Adrián.” Father interrupted my passionate diatribe once more. But this time with a sing-song, almost playful tone. “Do not forget who you are speaking to.”
My face must be as red as my hair by this point. I do not even wish to imagine what expression I am wearing.
Mother’s poorly concealed smile gave me a clue. The crease between my brows, which will surely have premature consequences, unfortunately did as well.
They were not taking me seriously.
“Darling, Professor McGonagall was not lying to us. I thought you had been paying attention when… she turned our tea set into metal.” Mother did not waste the opportunity to take the floor the moment she could.
And yet, this entire revelation about having a wizard living under her roof and an entire unknown world of fantasy waiting somewhere did not seem to matter to her very much.
Nor did it seem to surprise her, for that matter.
I let my shoulders slump, feeling more alone in all of this by the second.
“It is silver, actually, my dear.” Father, a natural meddler, could not resist chiming in. That earned him a silent warning from Mother. “My apologies.”
Seeing him humbled did not comfort me in the slightest.
“That is beside the point. It is still a perfectly good tea set wasted. What truly matters here is: why are you so opposed to Professor McGonagall, darling? She proved to you that magic is real. Why do you doubt it?”
She still had to ask?
“It’s because all of this seems like utter rubbish to me, Mum. What on earth is wrong with you?! —The collective gasp came not only from Mother and Father, but from everyone in the room. —I mean, you do not seem surprised or frightened at all. You’ve taken this whole magic business remarkably well. Why?!”
The silence in the room made me nervous. I am well aware that I have put myself in an unfavourable position. And, fearing what might happen if either Mother or Father spoke, I carried on without losing momentum.
The pot was most certainly boiling over.
“Why did you accept that woman’s words so quickly?! Asking her about details of the school and even the blasted uniforms as if you were actually considering sending me there. As if you were already planning out my entire life!…”
My voice had risen to a level I am not accustomed to using. And, knowing a punishment awaited me if I did not do something, I decided to push things a little further.
Anything to avoid being confined.
“This is because you want to get rid of me, isn’t it?”
I turned my back on them dramatically and forced the first tears to fall. I made sure everyone noticed my crying by sniffling and wiping the dampness from my face with feigned embarrassment and roughness.
Mother and Father’s silence confirmed my performance was convincing. I could feel them attempting to approach me, only to stop at the last moment. They did not know what to do or how to react.
And that was my cue.
“You want me out of your lives so badly that you’ll send me to this strange place that came out of nowhere. Or worse! Perhaps you planned all of this from the very beginning!” I faced them again, this time wielding my best portrayal of a shattered child. “That’s it, isn’t it? You hate me and want to be rid of me!”
I broke down into “silent” sobs after that. If sniffling and hiccupping can be called silent, of course.
I did not need to look at them to know that, at least Father, was panicking at the sudden turn of events.
“Oh, Adri, darling. Where do you get such ideas? Your mother and I love you. We would never do such a thing.” Father was the first to react, immediately taking me hostage in a tight, suffocating embrace.
Internally, I bristled like a cat when Father, in a shameless act, stroked my hair and pressed kisses to my head. All my work this morning, all my suffering overnight, was ruined the moment he ruffled the carefully styled strands.
I suppose this is the price I must pay.
“Everyone says so. The magazines, the blasted telly. Even the family says it.” My crying worsened spectacularly, the transition seamless. “They all whisper behind my back about how little you love me.”
That was not a lie. But did I believe it? Did I even care? Truthfully, not anymore.
But if this is the path I must take to avoid being sent into the trap of a criminal organisation, I shall take it. I shall pull that thread until it snaps.
“Darling, those are vile lies. We love you.” Father truly sounded affected, and for a moment, I felt a touch guilty. “Is someone at school bothering you again? Perhaps one of your classmates from your activities? You know they are all jealous of you. You should not listen to them.”
I tensed in his arms. A real sting appeared in my eyes.
“Family, did you say?” Mother misses nothing.
Honestly, of everything I said, that is what she focused on?
I pretended not to hear her and buried my face in Father’s chest, clinging to him as my sobs grew increasingly pitiful.
Father looked as though he had accidentally hurt a puppy. He kept running his hands through my hair in an attempt at comfort that was only making me more agitated.
I hate—truly hate—having my hair touched.
I do not know exactly where Mother is, but she cannot be far if I can hear the whispers she is sharing with Father. Needless to say, they are both worried.
“Darling, listen to me, please.” I finally realised where Mother had gone when one of her hands landed on my arm and the other lifted my face from its hiding place. “Your father and I love you more than you can imagine. No matter what, you will always be our precious baby. We only want you to have the very best options.”
My head hung low, and silent tears continued to fall as I listened to her. My performance paused for a few minutes.
“If it were up to us, we would never let you go far from us. But it is something we must do for your own good as your parents.” She brought her hands to my face to wipe away my tears. “To be honest, I still can hardly believe any of this. Good heavens, Adri, you are a wizard! Believe me, nothing in life prepared me for my baby to have magic. And that is precisely why your father and I believe you must attend that school.”
She knelt down to my height and held me by the shoulders.
“You have magic, Adrián. Something whose potential we cannot even begin to imagine. The opportunities, the advantages it offers you are incomparable. There is so much of yourself for you to explore—what sort of parents would we be if we did not allow you to try?”
“We cannot give you what they offer. We cannot help you harness all that power within you. But we can stand by you every step of the way.” Father’s voice was soft, yet firm, accompanied by an affectionate smile.
Had they rehearsed this?
Both Father and Mother stood when my crying came to a complete halt. And do not blame me—it is not that I broke character or anything of the sort. I am simply stunned.
Though I must admit, I entirely lost the role when, to my utter surprise, Father lifted me into his arms as though I were a small child.
Good Lord! I am eleven years old! He cannot simply do that!
“Dad, this is unnecessary…” I attempted to protest and wriggle free, yet somehow ended up clinging to him like a koala.
The colour of my face is undoubtedly competing with my hair at this point.
“You need not worry about ending up somewhere dreadful or being deceived. Remember, one of them will come in a few weeks to take us to purchase your school supplies, and we shall have the opportunity to learn more about them before making a final decision.” Father was entirely ignoring my embarrassment and discomfort. His tone was exceedingly pleased and cheerful, almost as though my fluster amused him.
His attempt to soothe my fears was appreciated, but ineffective, as both of them were unaware of the true reason I do not wish to attend that boarding school.
Father set me down just as Mother spoke again.
“You need not worry about anything, darling. Your father and I will handle all the tedious and dull matters.”
There it was. At last. That beautiful sound that brought me immense relief.
They know they cannot break their promises. It is a sacred family rule that must be respected. Otherwise, one is condemned to eternal exile: the wing of the house reserved for Pepe and Paco.
Believe me, you do not know suffering until you have trespassed upon the territory of a pug and a chihuahua at three in the morning.
Now, analysing my situation, I must admit I see no other course of action but to tell the truth. It is my most viable option—especially now that Mother has already committed herself to handling the difficult part alongside Father.
“It’s just… I don’t want to go.”
Well, perhaps I was a touch too honest.
Mother’s expression was pure surprise and confusion, as though she had misheard me. Father, for his part, looked scandalised.
I had to avert my gaze. Neither of them understood.
“I mean—yes, wow, I have magic! But… what about everything else? I have tennis, music, the student committee…” I listed, growing more agitated. “The championships are just around the corner. Events for the rest of the year and beyond. I have a school schedule to fulfil. I am certain the committee will make me president this year!”
The worst part is what I do not even wish to admit to myself: this is about fame. About my blasted ego. I have a public image here. If I leave for months, I shall return to find others in my place.
My hands trembled—cold and clammy—announcing something old, yet familiar. I brought them to my face, my hair, my trousers—anywhere to disguise the erratic movement.
I tried to breathe and calm myself.
The last thing I wanted was to shout at my parents and end up punished for life—especially when I urgently need them to solve this dreadful problem.
Because yes, damn it—what child would not want to attend a magic school? Good Lord, I have magic! Do you know how brilliant that is? I could do incredible things! I might even be able to fly like in the films.
But I cannot leave what I love.
I truly cannot.
“You… do not wish to go because of your activities and school?” Father looked genuinely troubled. “To a magical school.” He emphasised it as though there were something there I had yet to grasp.
It was a very simplified way of putting it. A very poor one.
“I… yes. That is why, Dad. I will not be able to practise or play any of the things I enjoy if I go to a boarding school.”
Father stared at me, unable to believe what I was saying.
“A magical boarding school where you will learn magic and magical things,” he added again in the same tone.
I murmured an affirmation and lowered my gaze. It sounded strange, I know. But those were my priorities—what mattered most to me in the world, even if they could not see it that way.
Father and I fell into a back-and-forth of glances after that—his filled with disbelief, mine with a certain degree of embarrassment.
“Well, do not worry, darling. As I said, your father and I will take care of that.” Mother broke the tense silence with a light, optimistic tone. “I very much doubt you will be able to continue participating in your school activities, and I am sorry for that. But we can take care of everything else.”
My stomach did something unpleasant when she spoke of my academic withdrawal aloud. She did not say it as a possibility. She said it as something inevitable.
Had I not just explained my fears to her? Had she not told me mere minutes ago that all this magic business was merely an option and not a certainty?
I had no choice but to distract myself by fidgeting with my feet.
Mother walked towards the drawing-room telephone, gesturing for one of the staff to approach.
“It will be difficult to contact your school’s headmaster—after all, we were given no postal address. However, we shall handle that once the assigned guide contacts us.”
One of the maids approached, and they exchanged a few words before the woman hurried off to carry out whatever Mother had requested.
Father still looked somewhat confused.
“Well, my dear, you should not make such promises so lightly. We do not know for certain whether—”
Father’s tentative speech was cut short by one of Mother’s deadly looks.
“Our darling wishes to attend his boarding school while also continuing his extracurricular activities, Florian. I am certain that you, his father, are more than capable of fulfilling that small request. Or am I mistaken?”
Poor Father. I would not wish to be in his place at this moment.
…
Oh, right… that was my fault.
I lowered my gaze in embarrassment.
Harold could not have chosen a better moment to enter the room.
Ah, so that is what Mother had requested.
“Mrs Edevane. Sir.” Harold paused at the entrance to greet my parents before approaching Mother.
I am not entirely sure what they were discussing, but Mother was flipping through one of her planners while Harold noted something down in his own.
Father, beside me, let out a tired sigh and turned to ruffle my hair with a force that, despite his affectionate smile, seemed rather suspicious.
“Go upstairs, change, and rest. You’ve had a busy day. But I want you to think about the inappropriate way you spoke to your mother and me today. Yes? I do not want it to happen again, Adrián.”
My cheeks flushed to the point I thought they might burst.
At least I was not punished.
I nodded at Father and set off towards my soothing bath and comfortable bed.
But he stopped me.
“Adrián.”
I turned back, giving him my full attention. I have no desire whatsoever to anger or irritate him. That punishment I narrowly escaped was still lurking about.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Do not forget that tonight we are dining out with André’s parents. You must be ready on time. Your mother hates tardiness.”
“Of course, sir. I shall be ready.” I gave him a smile, prepared to continue on my way, when he added in a playful tone:
“And do not blow up your room. It would be rather more difficult to explain than your mother’s crystalware.”
I climbed the rest of the way with my head bowed, embarrassed at having accidentally confessed a misdeed today.
I hope Mother’s memory is not quite as sharp as Father’s.
My personal oasis welcomed me as always—though cleaner than I had left it this morning.
I resisted the urge to throw myself onto my bed and sleep until I awoke from this nightmare. Instead, I sank into the bath. Today, not even the aromatic salts and my favourite bubbles helped.
My rubber duck watched me from its place as though mocking me.
I was about to grab it and hurl it across the bathroom when an idea stopped me.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. I brought back the memory of that afternoon when I had accidentally caused my mother’s crystalware to shatter. And I tried to replicate the event in the bathroom.
Specifically upon my dreadful rubber duck. Did the wretched thing think itself terribly special for being as white as a swan? Let us see if it continues mocking me once I turn it a proper yellow.
I tried to make something happen. Anything. I focused with all my might, putting real effort into it. I even raised my hand as though that might make a difference.
But when I opened my eyes, the wretched duck was just as white as ever.
And still mocking me.
Annoyed, I grabbed it tightly—making it squeak—and hurled it against the wall.
The splash made a dreadful mess on the floor, but I did not care.
I simply sank beneath the scented water to drown in my misery.
Because I had to admit that, if there is anything more pathetic than being a failure, it is being a failure with powers and not knowing how to use them.
Blast Hogwarts and its child-stealing magical lot.