The owl arrived during breakfast and nearly lost a foot to the kitchen window.
It struck the glass with a dull thump, flapped backward in outrage, then recovered enough dignity to land on the sill and glare inside.
Adrian looked up from his toast.
His mother didn’t.
Edmund lowered his newspaper when the owl hit the window again.
Marisol glanced over.
“Can somebody let it in before it hurts itself?
Just keep it off the table this time.
I’m still finding feathers from the last one.”
Adrian was already getting up.
“I’ve got it.”
He crossed the kitchen while Edmund folded his newspaper and watched the owl settle on the sill.
The owl stopped pecking as he approached.
The owl was brown, damp from the morning mist, and clearly annoyed about hitting the window.
Adrian opened it and stepped back instead of reaching for the bird straight away.
He gave a soft click with his tongue, lowered his gaze slightly, and waited.
The owl settled after a moment, then stepped onto the sill.
Adrian held out his forearm.
It climbed on without much hesitation.
Edmund lowered his newspaper.
Marisol glanced over from the table.
“You could just take the letter, you know.”
Adrian made another quiet sound and waited until the owl shifted its weight before reaching for the envelope tied to its leg.
“It doesn’t know me.”
“It seems comfortable enough.”
“It is now.”
Marisol gave him a look but let it go.
The envelope was thick cream parchment with green writing across the front.
Mr.
Adrian S.
Clarke
Adrian stopped smiling for a second.
He’d known the letter was coming.
His father had gone to Hogwarts, and moving back to Britain when Adrian was seven had always carried the expectation that he would eventually go there too.
Knowing that didn’t make the envelope in his hands feel any less important.
He untied it carefully, and the owl remained perched on his arm while he opened the flap.
The Hogwarts crest sat at the top.
Adrian read the first few lines, then went back and read them again.
Marisol watched him over the rim of her coffee.
“Well?”
“I got in.”
Her face softened.
“Good.”
Adrian looked back down at the letter, grin returning.
Edmund folded his newspaper and set it aside.
“Let me see.”
Adrian handed the letter over, and Edmund read through it while Marisol leaned close enough to follow along.
“Books, robes, telescope, cauldron…” She took the parchment when Edmund reached the bottom and continued down the list.
“And you can bring an owl, a cat or a toad.”
Adrian glanced at the bird still perched on his arm.
Marisol noticed.
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Adrian looked back at the owl.
“Maybe.”
The bird shifted closer and pecked lightly at his sleeve.
He made a soft clicking sound, but it ignored him and pecked again.
Marisol pointed at his cuff.
“You’ve got toast on you.”
Adrian looked down and found a few crumbs caught in the fabric.
“Oh.”
The owl ate them before he could brush them away.
Edmund watched the whole exchange from behind the letter.
Adrian caught him looking.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His father went back to reading, though Adrian could tell he was still thinking about something.
That had been happening more often since they’d come to Britain.
Adrian sat down again while the owl remained comfortably on his arm.
“You keep doing that.”
Edmund lowered the parchment.
“Doing what?”
“Watching me.”
For a moment, Edmund said nothing.
Edmund folded the letter and set it on the table.
“Sometimes you do things I don’t understand, Adrian.
I’m your father, so of course I’m going to notice.”
Adrian looked down at the owl, which had started cleaning one wing as though none of this concerned it.
Marisol picked up her coffee again.
“Mostly the lightning.
The animals are strange too, but at least they usually behave themselves.”
Adrian knew exactly where that was going.
“Mrs Fenwick’s cat liked me.”
“It slept in your room for two nights.”
“It went home.”
“Eventually.”
Adrian left it there.
The cat had been perfectly capable of deciding where it wanted to sleep, and he’d never understood why everyone else had treated that as particularly unusual.
His father hadn’t laughed along with them.
Edmund had been watching him that way since Arizona, long before Hogwarts became something Adrian could actually imagine attending.
Adrian still remembered the storm.
He’d been four, standing near the back door while rain swept across the yard and thunder rolled over the desert.
His mother had been calling him inside when something moved through the clouds in the distance.
At first he’d thought it was a bird.
Then lightning flashed behind it.
The shape was far too large, its wings spreading across the storm before the clouds swallowed it again.
Adrian had stood there staring.
The next flash came with a sharp pain in his hands, and blue-white sparks crawled between his fingers.
His mother had pulled him inside almost immediately.
Edmund had spent the rest of the evening trying to work out what had happened.
They never saw the Thunderbird again.
The owl on Adrian’s arm shifted suddenly and looked toward the window.
A whistle sounded somewhere outside, and a moment later the bird took off, clearing the sill with two beats of its wings.
Marisol closed the window after it and began gathering the breakfast dishes.
Edmund picked up Adrian’s supply list.
“We’ll have to sort out Diagon Alley soon.
I’ve got work most of next week, though, and your mum’s covering extra shifts.”
“I could go with Cedric.”
Edmund looked over the parchment.
“You’re both eleven.”
“He’s been there before, and his parents would probably—”
“I’ve already asked someone.”
Adrian stopped.
Marisol carried two plates to the sink.
“He called in a favor.”
That was more interesting.
Adrian turned back to his father.
“Who?”
“Someone I went to school with.”
Edmund’s tone didn’t suggest particularly fond memories, and Adrian had learned not to push too quickly when Hogwarts came up.
His father’s stories about school had always been uneven.
Some were funny enough, but others ended abruptly or changed direction before Adrian could ask much about them.
“Were you friends?”
“Not really.
We knew each other, and we helped each other out a few times when we were younger.
I haven’t spoken to him properly in years.”
That sounded more believable than the mysterious old friend Adrian had been imagining.
Marisol rinsed a plate.
“He agreed, which is the important part.”
Adrian looked between them.
“And you’re both avoiding his name.”
Edmund sighed and set the supply list down.
“Severus Snape.”
Adrian waited for the name to mean something.
It didn’t.
“All right.
Who’s that?”
“He teaches Potions at Hogwarts.
We were in Slytherin together, years ago.”
Adrian glanced at him.
“Were you friends?”
“Not really.
We knew each other, and there were times when it was useful to have someone watching your back.
That was about it.”
Marisol had started rinsing the breakfast dishes.
“Your father asked him for a favor, and he agreed.
I wouldn’t worry too much about the rest until you’ve actually met the man.”
Adrian looked back at Edmund.
“What’s he like?”
“Very clever, very private, and not especially patient.
He knows Diagon Alley better than you do, though, and he won’t let anyone take advantage of you because you’re a first-year.
Pay attention to what he tells you, stay where he can see you, and don’t wander off because you’ve spotted something interesting in a shop window.”
Adrian frowned.
“I don’t do that.”
Marisol glanced over her shoulder.
He corrected himself.
“I don’t do it often.”
“That’s better.”
Edmund handed the letter back to him.
“Just behave yourself.
Severus isn’t someone I’d choose for a pleasant afternoon out, but I trust him to get you there and back in one piece.”
Before Adrian could ask anything else, someone knocked at the front door.
He knew the rhythm.
“Cedric.”
He was already moving before his mother could tell him not to run in the hall.
Cedric Diggory stood outside with his bicycle beside him and a Hogwarts envelope in one hand.
His hair had been flattened badly on one side by the wind, and he was grinning before Adrian had even opened the door properly.
“You got yours, then?”
Adrian held up his own letter.
Cedric’s grin widened.
“I knew you would.
Dad said yours ought to come today as well.”
“Apparently somebody finally decided I was respectable enough for formal education.”
Cedric laughed and leaned his bicycle against the wall.
“Bit late for that, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought.”
Cedric stepped inside when Marisol called him in.
“Morning, Mrs.
Clarke.”
“Morning, Cedric.
Have you eaten?”
He hesitated.
“Sort of.”
Marisol was already getting another plate.
Adrian returned to the table while Cedric pulled out the chair beside him.
Their Hogwarts letters soon ended up next to each other, both supply lists spread open between the toast and marmalade.
“Mum and Dad are taking me to Diagon Alley next Saturday,” Cedric said.
“Dad’s already talking about broomsticks, even though Mum keeps reminding him we’re not allowed our own in first year.”
“My dad arranged for somebody to take me.”
“Who?”
“Professor Snape.”
Cedric stopped looking at the list.
“You know him?”
“Only what Dad’s said.
He teaches Potions.”
Adrian glanced toward Edmund, who had returned to his newspaper.
“He went to school with my dad.”
Cedric nodded.
“That explains it, then.”
“Apparently.”
They carried on comparing the lists.
A robin landed on the sill a few minutes later and gave a short, sharp call.
Adrian looked over and answered with a softer sound.
The robin turned towards him.
Cedric had seen this often enough that he barely reacted anymore.
“Dad still says you shouldn’t encourage them around nesting season.”
“I’m not encouraging it.”
“You’re making noises at it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Cedric watched as Adrian shifted slightly in his chair and gave another quiet note.
The robin stayed for a moment before hopping down into the hedge.
“What did you tell it?”
“Mostly that I’m not interested in its territory.”
Cedric nodded as though that explained everything.
After four years of friendship, it usually did.
He picked up his Hogwarts letter again.
“Do you reckon we’ll end up in the same House?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dad thinks I’ll get Hufflepuff.
He was one.”
“My dad was Slytherin, so I’m not sure how much that helps.”
Cedric considered him for a moment.
“I can’t really see you in Slytherin.”
“Why not?”
“You’d spend too much time arguing over what the rules actually mean.”
Adrian shrugged.
“I can do that from any House.”
Cedric laughed.
Marisol set a plate in front of him.
“Mrs.
Clarke, I’m all right.”
“You had one piece of toast.”
“I wasn’t that hungry.”
“You are now.”
Cedric looked at Adrian for help.
Adrian took another bite of his own breakfast.
“You’re on your own.”
By the time Edmund left for work, both Hogwarts letters were still on the table and Cedric had started explaining everything his father had told him about the Sorting.
Adrian remained unconvinced by the theory that the Hat might simply decide it liked someone.
Then again, it was a talking hat.
He supposed there were limits to how much dignity the situation deserved.
Three days later, Severus Snape came to collect him.
Adrian was finishing tying his shoes when the knock came.
Edmund had been quieter than usual that morning.
He’d spent most of breakfast behind the newspaper, though Adrian had noticed he wasn’t turning the pages very often.
Marisol noticed as well, but she left him alone.
Edmund opened the door.
A tall man in black stood outside, pale and unsmiling, his dark hair hanging around his face.
Neither man spoke immediately.
Edmund gave a small nod.
“Severus.”
“Edmund.”
There was nothing openly unfriendly in it, but there wasn’t much warmth either.
Adrian had expected that from what his father had told him.
Edmund stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Snape entered and looked towards Adrian.
The examination was brief, though Adrian had the distinct impression that very little had escaped it.
“This is Adrian.”
“So I gathered.”
Adrian stood and finished pulling on his coat.
“Morning, Professor.”
Snape’s eyes dropped to one of his still-loose laces.
Adrian followed his gaze.
“Right.”
He bent and tied it properly.
Marisol came through from the kitchen carrying Adrian’s folded supply list.
“He’s got everything he needs, as far as I know.”
Snape took the parchment and looked over it once.
“I’ll see that he returns with the necessary supplies.”
“Thank you.”
It was said simply.
Marisol didn’t know Snape well enough for anything more.
Adrian took the list back when Snape offered it.
Edmund looked at his son.
“Stay with Professor Snape, don’t wander off, and keep your money somewhere sensible.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying it anyway.”
Adrian slipped the purse inside his coat.
Outside, a sparrow landed on the garden wall.
It gave a quick chirp.
Adrian turned his head and answered without thinking, one short sound followed by a small movement of his fingers.
The sparrow hopped closer.
Snape’s attention shifted from the bird to Adrian.
Adrian didn’t notice until he looked back.
Professor Snape was staring at him.
“What?”
Snape’s expression didn’t change.
“Nothing.”
Adrian waited, but Snape had already turned towards the road.
“Come along, Mr.
Clarke.”
Adrian looked back once at his parents, waved, then followed.
The sparrow stayed on the wall until they reached the end of the lane.