Mid-afternoon

“Feliks,” he offered his hand to shake, “Professor Storm. Good to meet you. May we sit?”

“He’s a metamorph, we think,” Johann had warned him, “don’t let his appearance convince you he’s not Balfour’s…” Ignan was glad of the warning, for the boy rather more resembled the wizard who wasn’t his father at that moment. Since the first communication to summon him there, he’d tried to imagine what Balfour’s son could look like, crossed with that sharp, stark face on the front page of the newspaper earlier that year.

He had shaken Balfour Spectre’s hand with an understanding look as they greeted each other.
“Understand you took it better than I did,” he’d mentioned to the Scot. “or maybe the shock hasn’t quite set in?” It was days since the boy had apparently arrived, and he was here to establish if they could send him off to school in a fortnight. If they did, by Christmas, Feliks would have spent more time at Hogwarts than with his parents. A sad fact he might share with other students, if Ignan was pessimistic.

The permission to sit was also sought from the other two adults in the room, who he glanced to out of politeness as all four of them were seated. Ignan unbuttoned his blue suit jacket to do so, and adjusted his striped tie out of habit as he looked sharply to Feliks.
“I am the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” the oldest wizard of the three explained, looking directly to the youngest. “Have you ever heard of Hogwarts?”

It was raining. The great windows of the drawing room had been left slightly open, as it was a warm day in spite of the weather. Dark grey clouds loomed in the horizon and the estate seemed quite at peace with itself, splotches of golden autumn showing in the green. Feliks, who liked to sit in this room, was forced to ignore the view. Papa and Johann had told him that this was an important meeting. He had to concentrate.

The two said wizards were sharing a couch across from the fire, while Feliks sat in a leather armchair much too big for him. Professor Storm was on a matching one that was angled to face him. He had very white hair! White like snow. And an old, old face. Also like something from a fairy tale. But maybe the villain.

Feliks' hands were clasped together on his lap, his back straight. He wanted to do well.

            “Have you ever heard of Hogwarts?”

"Yes," he glanced at Johann and then Balfour before looking back at the professor. "I read about it in a book about the Triwizard Tournament. And my papa has a book in his study. Hogwarts, a History."

It was housed among lots of other books, like cowboy stories and thick tomes about monsters. He borrowed them - with his father's permission - and would read late into the night. Because he had his own room now!! And nobody to scold him (except the huskies) if he lit a candle to pore over his favourite passages in the dark.

"It is a wizarding school. " Feliks clarified, eager to prove he knew some things. "There are four houses."

“Correct,” Professor Storm replied. “I am sure your father has told you a little of it or more. It is not all that far from here,” he explained, “set in the hills, beside a great lake. Students live there all the terms to study different elements of magic, for five or as many as seven years. Several of your cousins study there already.” He glanced to Balfour, and back to Feliks, who appeared to be listening intently.

“I teach one of the subjects, Defence Against the Dark Arts, where one learns how to use magic and other means to defend against malicious magic. I am also Johann’s cousin, and I understand you have already met Professor Duerr, Johann’s mother, who teaches Arithmancy, the study of magic within numbers.” He imagined Camille was overjoyed to gain an unexpected grandchild - or near enough. It was the closest she might get given the circumstances.

“Magical children of your age around the British Isles are preparing to begin their studies.” He watched Feliks carefully, “and I am here to establish if you are eligible to join them.” He observed the two other wizards out of the corner of his eye, his blood relative twitched, nerves visible.

“I would like you to tell me about when you were younger. You lived amongst other children, is that correct?” Ignan asked, “Did you ever notice anything unusual happen?”

Cousins...! Feliks had been told, yes, that he had cousins. But he was always surprised to hear it: there were so many people he could call family. Some of them had come to visit since he arrived here, including his oma, who Professor Storm mentioned. She was like an angel, and the nicest witch Feliks had met in his life. He was comforted to know that she would be at Hogwarts. The idea of such a big school was daunting.

            "...and I am here to establish if you are eligible to join them."

This was it. The important thing. Feliks glanced at the sofa where his papa sat, one arm across the other wizard's shoulder. Balfour smiled at him reassuringly but Johann's smile looked worried. Feliks didn't want them to worry. He had already made them worry so much.

He turned his attention back to the professor, drawing breath while he thought about how to answer.

"I lived with squibs." Feliks nodded and licked his lips. "It is very... normal? Every day, same routine. They teach us how to live like muggles. But sometimes the -" he paused, hands sliding down to his sides, where he gripped the edge of the seat. "- the light, it becomes too bright?"

How to explain? "One time. I woke up and they gave me clothes, they said from my mama." Feliks didn't look at either his papa or Johann, fixed his gaze on the older man. "And everything became very very bright. Nobody could see."

In his periphery vision, Ignan could see Balfour was more at ease in the situation than Johann. Spectre always had a air of confidence whenever they’d met. It was the sort that could be perceived as cocky or arrogant, but the pair seemed to have struck a balance to make it palatable. The young man kept glancing to them both, but once posed with a proper question, paid Ignan proper attention.

He listened patiently as the young man described what he remembered. Feliks was trying to find the words to describe what happened, but at first thought the older wizard wasn’t sure what was meant. He’d heard a number of accounts of juvenile magic, and they were often different, from bouncing off things to ending up on roofs to unexplained burns on bullies. Ignan had once set something alight in temper as a child, and his father had forgotten his rage to celebrate.

“By ‘everything',” the Professor began after a short pause, “do you mean objects?” He gestured with both hands as if holding something, “or you? And how did you feel when it happened?”

He wished, for the first time, that one of the Sisters from his old home would appear. Even if only just to explain to Professor Storm what had happened. Feliks pushed himself back in the armchair so that only his feet were dangling off the edge, and he listened to the following questions with a careful expression.

"Objects, yes. Like... lamps, candles, mirrors. They became very bright because-" he faltered slightly, folding his arms and hunching forward, "- they say because I was weak."

It was frowned upon in the Cottage, being emotional. That was why Feliks had been so surprised when his papa had all but cried when their blood was tested in the kitchen. Balfour had not seemed ashamed or scared.

"I felt.... sad." Feliks explained and breathed out in a huff, not quite meeting the old man in the eye. "Angry. It was not a nice feeling. The light stopped. Afterwards."

Professor Storm was satisfied in the first extent that what Feliks described was quite probably a magical reaction to strong emotions. Given the account of broken crockery Johann had given in the day Feliks arrived, it was likely the young man took after his father in some sense. It wasn’t a sign of weakness, rather one of power, but one didn’t tell a youngster that. It went to their head.

“This sounds most plausible, Feliks,” the Deputy Headmaster addressed the young wizard. “If I may, I would like to do one last thing to verify your account.” He glanced to the two wizards on the sofa between them, acknowledging their presence and anticipating their consent. “This may give you a slight headache, but it will pass, but I would like to see what you describe.” He lifted his hands from his lap and held them flat, cautioning the young man, “by see I don’t mean for you to demonstrate, but I will use a little magic. I just need you to think quite clearly about that moment. To close your eyes and recall it in your mind as bright as day.”

He gave a nod to Feliks to do so, and looked to Balfour and Johann, lifting his wand. “It will be for a moment, I will be quite gentle.” At their consent, he flicked his wand expertly towards Feliks and let his own eyelids fall as he softly stepped into the boy’s mind.

            "...by see I don’t mean for you to demonstrate, but I will use a little magic. I just need you to think quite clearly about that moment. To close your eyes and recall it in your mind as bright as day." Professor Storm instructed.

Papa looked over and smiled, nodding.  "Don't worry. We're right here." That was enough to reassure Feliks. The young wizard closed his eyes and sat straighter. Easy. All he had to do was remember that incident. It had not been so long ago and it would be simple for him to picture exactly what happened. This was important. He could do it. At first there was nothing but the blackness behind his eyelids... the crackling of the fireplace... breathing....unsteady rhythm of his blood thumping in his ears....the breeze outside...


He forced all these sounds away until there was only silence. And then he imagined the room where they all had slept in the Cottage. A long, bare room with high windows at the end and fourteen single beds lining two walls across from each other. The beds were neatly made. Feliks was sat on his, closest to the window, with a lump of folded clothing on his lap.

Next to him on the bed was a pair of fine shoes. Two old witches in wool dresses stood before him, speaking, but he was staring at the shoes.

            "Feliks? Feliks are you listening?" Sister Larisa scolded, in Russian.

Feliks shook his head and wiped at his eyes, which were red with tears. The Sisters continued to scold but he kept on wiping his eyes, trying to stop himself from crying. The window behind him began to glow. So did the metal railings of the bed frames, the little oil lamps at each bedside table. A framed mirror that had been propped up against the wall. They grew brighter and brighter while the witches scolded louder and louder--


Feliks forced his eyes open, shaking his head and pulling his legs up on to the armchair. "May I stop, please?" his voice was hoarse with the urge to cry. He was in Spectre manor; a place that felt so safe it almost hurt to remember the Cottage. The boy looked at all three of the wizards.

"I don't want to remember anymore."

In the armchair across from the youngster drawing in on himself, the older, wiser wizard tucked away his wand. He did not offer any words of comfort. That was the job of the boy’s father, he supposed, if necessary. Instead, the Professor reached for the neatly completed paperwork on the coffee table between them, and returned it to his lap to inspect, ignoring Feliks and the mild headache brewing from stepping into the mind of another.

“You don’t have to,” Johann spoke, leaning forwards between them all. “He just wanted to see your memory. It’s called legilimency.” He shot a glance at his older relative and back to Feliks, gesturing with a hand. “Have some tea. The feelings will pass.” He offered a reassuring smile.

Professor Storm turned a page on the paperwork, frowning, and began to ink onto the second page with a long white quill. The account of the neatly made beds, the shoes, and the glowing metalwork was concisely detailed onto Felik’s record. He signed beneath it with a scratch and filed it away.

“You will need to acquire a wand,” he informed the young man, “correct robes, and your books.” He shuffled other sheafs of parchment in his hands and signed another, this he sent across the distance between them with a gesture of his hand. Felik’s Hogwarts letter and equipment list.

Dear Mr Spectre,

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

Term begins on 1 September.

Yours sincerely,

Ignan Storm
Deputy Headmaster

He extended the train ticket to Balfour Spectre for safekeeping. The atmosphere in the room shifted with the gestures, from worry and nerves to excitement and anticipation. It was as if he’d handed over a ticket to the Quidditch World Cup, rather than a school admission.

“All is in order,” Ignan informed the two older wizards, not sharing in their glee, “despite the irregularity.” He gave Feliks a somewhat knowing look, the memory fresh in his own mind now. Given Balfour had attended Hogwarts, there was no need for Ignan to explain the process of admission further than this, something he was grateful for. It became rather tiresome with the Muggle born families, quite probably because he was a less than reassuring temperament to willingly entrust your children over to.

“I will see you on the 1st of September,” the Professor addressed Feliks, getting to his feet. He did not offer his hand again to shake, but gave a respectful nod of his head in acknowledgement. No need to linger, though he did anticipate the older wizards might have questions of him before he left.

            "I don't want to remember anymore."

It was all he could do, to stop himself from immediately getting up and going to comfort poor Feliks. Johann was quicker to act in a sensible way while Ignan recovered from their Legilimency session. Balfour rose from the sofa and approached the armchair from the side, where he leaned on the armrest next to his son. Still not got used to thinking those words: his son. And yet here they were settling matters to do with school, like any set of parents.

He was struck by an overwhelming instinct to swoop the poor boy up in his arms for a comforting hug; an instinct that applied as much to his cousins when they were feeling sad, be it at six or sixteen. But Balfour decided to spare Feliks for now, even if only to save face in front of what would be his future Defences professor. All he did was ruffle his dark hair with sympathetic affection.

"Thank you, Ignan." The Scotsman accepted the train ticket with a boyish grin. "It was very kind of you to come all the way here."

Feliks appeared to have lost interest in the adults - his attention focused solely on the papers handed to him. Balfour was already wondering what house he'd be sorted into; whether his old Slytherin scarves and jumpers might be handed down a generation, or continue to collect dust inside the old school trunk in his study. There was quite an adventure ahead of the young wizard.  "Feliks?" he nudged Feliks' shoulder, causing him to look up and remember himself.

            "Thank you, Professor Storm." A small, shy smile lit up the countenance that had just a moment ago been on the verge of tears.