Anticipations

31st July 1991

Harry looked down at the reddish wooden wand in his hand. Today had been the best birthday—no, scratch that—the best day of his life. He was a wizard!

Now seated on the thin mattress back at his room, he still couldn't believe all that had happened the past week. He knew he couldn't describe the sheer joy and the multitude of feelings that welled in his heart to anyone; he just wouldn't know where to start.

Magic was real and Harry was a wizard, just like his parents had been. In another month, he would be headed to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to learn magic. According to his new (and rather large) friend Hagrid, this was the finest school of magic there was. But more importantly, he would be going away from the Dursleys, if only for ten months out of twelve.

It had all begun on Wednesday morning when a letter arrived in the mail for him. Harry had never before received a single piece of correspondence in his life, not even from the library. So, he had been surprised to find someone writing a letter to him.

Uncle Vernon had been of the same opinion, dismissing it as some mistake as he snatched the barely opened envelope from his nephew. Only, it wasn't, since it had been clearly addressed to Mr. H Potter, Smallest Bedroom, 4, Privet Drive. That specifically meant Harry.

Uncle Vernon had then recognised the sender and driven both Harry and Dudley out of the kitchen. Aunt Petunia had looked scared, as if being haunted by some ghost she had left buried in the past, while Uncle Vernon had been mad about the fact that someone was apparently spying on the Dursley household. What had followed next was utter madness.

More and more letters arrived for Harry every day. Uncle Vernon boarded up the mail slot, and they still arrived. He closed up the windows and filled the door cracks. But the letters arrived all the same.

When the letters came down the chimney and blew out the electric fireplace, Uncle Vernon had snapped and forced them all on a wild road trip. They drove around for over two days, trying to escape the mysterious party that seemed hellbent on contacting Harry. But the letters had still followed, so they ended up in the middle of nowhere, at Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea.

At least that was what the last letter had been addressed to, when it was personally delivered last night by the largest person Harry had ever met, Hagrid. He had explained all about magic and his parents, and had given Harry a birthday cake; the first birthday cake that he could remember having.

In the morning they had gone to Diagon Alley, to shop for all the weird stuff that was on his school supply list. And it had been truly magical. The Alley was a wondrous place, and Harry wished he had another set of eyes to have experienced everything fully. The trip had been the most fun he had had, in like, forever.

Thanks to his parents, Harry now had a small fortune in Gringotts, the wizarding bank. He was actually thankful that Hagrid had been there with him on the trip, or he would have ended up buying expensive and possibly useless stuff with all the money he now had. He remembered the solid gold cauldron and winced. That would have been really embarrassing for him, turning up to class with a gold cauldron while everyone else used pewter.

He still wished that he could have bought the book on curses and counter-curses, but Hagrid had stopped him, saying he was too inexperienced with magic to try any of it. Plus, he learned that he couldn't actually do any magic outside of his school till he was older. So, it wouldn't be of any help against Dudley.

The thoughts of his new wand took him back to the conversation he had had with Ollivander. The old man had made Harry uneasy, and not just by his general behaviour. He had told Harry that his wand— holly and phoenix feather, eleven-and-a-half inches—shared a core with the wand of the man who was responsible for his parents' death.

Voldemort. Harry recalled how terrified Hagrid had been, even when saying the name of the dark lord. He had told Harry the truth of the night his parent died; truth that the Dursleys had denied him all his life.

His parents had been no deadbeat drunks. No, they had been heroes; brave heroes who had fought dark wizards alongside Albus Dumbledore, who according to Hagrid was the greatest wizard since Merlin. The Dark Lord Voldemort, or as he was more commonly known, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been their enemy in the war that ended ten years ago.

Ten years ago, on the night of that Halloween, Voldemort had come to the Potters house and killed Harry's parents. He had then tried killing Harry. But for some reason, he failed.

Somehow, a one-year-old Harry managed to destroy the greatest dark wizard who lived; or at least that was what the wizarding world believed since Voldemort had not been seen since. All of this led to the magical world nicknaming Harry to be The-Boy-Who-Lived, and he was hailed as a hero throughout.

This had all been a little difficult for Harry to believe at first, but after he was mobbed by a large group of his admirers the moment he entered the Leaky Cauldron, he was grudgingly accepted it.

Living as he had with the Dursleys, Harry had certainly never felt like a hero, let alone some powerful saviour.

The thought of the Dursleys reminded him of the fact that they had known about his being a wizard; they had known. Oh, how they had repeatedly reminded him of the burden he was, the freak child born to deadbeat parents. They had denied him the memory of his parents, and insulted it every day of the ten years that he had spent here.

Harry shook himself free of further thoughts. Today had been a good day, and he didn't want to spoil it at all. He turned and looked at the magnificent snowy owl that was currently sleeping in its cage.

It had been Harry's first real birthday present, and he had almost broken down in tears when Hagrid handed it over to him. All that was now left was for Harry to give his new pet a name. He decided to go through his books; maybe he would find a suitable magical name somewhere.

Almost involuntarily, his eyes darted to the makeshift calendar that was stuck to the wall. It was a piece of paper that marked the number of days that were left for him to leave for Hogwarts.

Counting down the days before he left the Dursleys behind, Harry found himself anticipating the arrival of September first.

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3rd August 1991

"You sure of this John?" Edwin asked his long-time friend. "About this school? It's legit?"

"Yes." John smiled and nodded. "Mark's going to be fine. This school—I can feel that this is the right thing for him."

Addressing the lines of worry etched on Edwin's dark forehead, he continued, "Besides I told you about the professor, right? She's the real deal."

Edwin sank back into the chair, his mind unable to grasp the root of his discomfort. It had been five years since he retired from active duty, and he had grown protective of Mark since.

"I trust your judgement. It's—It's just that —"

"You're going to miss him?" John finished his statement for him. "Yeah, me too."

Edwin wondered how Mark had managed to soften two tough sods like John and him. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for that kid. Trying to look at the bright side, he turned back to John.

"But hey! He'll be learning to do magic, right? I still can't believe it, you know," he trailed off.

When Mark had demonstrated that trick with the coin, he had seriously thought the kid was some sort of a superhero.

"To be honest, it freaked me out for a second," John confided in him, "But only a second." Chuckling darkly, he added, "Can you imagine the stuff that'll be possible if you have those abilities, out there in the field?"

"That's what bothers me a little, John. These people, living in secret like this," Edwin said. All of this had been swirling around in the back of his mind ever since John told him about the hidden magical world.

As a soldier, his first instinct was to distrust anyone who hid themselves and operated in secret. He could understand the logic behind it, but his heart was threatening to point the other way.

"Mark's one of them now, you know," John said softly, breaking the silence that had followed.

Edwin thought about Mark being a wizard, dressed in long robes and a pointy hat. He chuckled. That was so not like the kid.

"I know that kid. He'll somehow find a way to put a leg on both the worlds."

John nodded thoughtfully before his face lit up as he remembered something.

"You should've seen the stuff they had in the alley," he said, "Did Mark show you what we got?"

"Yes," Edwin answered. "Dragonhide gloves. Still can't fathom that actual dragons exist, let alone that I held something that was made from its hide."

"It's crazy," John said, a look of childlike amusement on his face. Edwin looked at his friend and smiled inwardly.

Even though John didn't realise it, Mark's fascination with building and tinkering with stuff actually came from his father. Edwin still recalled the many times John had rigged up some contraption while they were on the field; the creative streak ran through both father and son.

He was brought back from his musings when John asked him a question.

"Have you decided what you're getting him? As a going away present?"

Edwin laughed out loud. Trust John to find any excuse to buy something for his son. In a way, it was a running contest between the two of them; who could get Mark the most thoughtful gifts.

"You pamper him, John," he spoke once his laugh had subsided. John gave him a pointed look in reply.

"You didn't answer my question"

Edwin was about to reply back how he had an ace up his sleeve, or rather, his boot today when the sound of the door interrupted him.

"Hey Dad, I'm home."

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Mark closed the door with one hand, his other trying to hold on to the guitar case. He hoped his dad had made some preparations for dinner already; he was famished.

"I talked with Mr Cayley, and informed him that I won't be coming in from Septem—Oh hi Edwin."

Mark was slightly surprised to find the old man seated on his sofa when he remembered his dad telling him that he was joining them for dinner tonight. Mark slid the strap of the guitar case off his shoulder and leaned it against the wall, before trying to resume what he had been saying.

"Where was I—oh yes—I told him I won't be coming in from September. He was alright with it."

"That's good. You will be taking your Sunburst with you right?" his dad asked.

"And your Washburn. Won't be plugging it in, though." Seeing the confused look on Edwin's face, he explained. "Professor McGonagall warned me that electronics go haywire in a highly magical environment. Don't want to burn the internals."

"It's a shame. I was hoping that you'd be able to take the Strat with you," his dad added. Mark nodded in reply as he slumped beside Edwin on the sofa

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it though. What if I rig up some sort of shielding for it? A protective bubble or a Faraday cage of sort," Mark said, more to himself than the others.

"Seems like you're all set to go to Hogwarts then," Edwin remarked. Mark turned to face him and let out a deep sigh.

"I'm still having second thoughts. Did dad tell you everything? Should I go to this school?" He tried controlling the doubts and growing anxiety that threatened to spill out. Finally, he looked him in the eye and voiced out the elephant in the room. "I don't want to leave dad alone for his treatments."

Edwin returned his stare for a few moments, as if forming his thoughts. Finally, he spoke.

"Well, he did tell me a lot—"

"And? What do you think?" Mark interrupted. He saw Edwin look at his dad, and they had a silent conversation of sorts.

"I think you should go," he finished. "Looks like this is something that you really like and enjoy, and I'm sure that it will be good for you in the long run. After all, you're a wizard now," he chuckled.

"As for your dad, let me worry about him. We old geezers now how to take care of ourselves," Edwin reassured Mark. "We often did you know, like back in —"

Mark found himself leaning closer before he realised that Edwin was having him on.

"Oh, come on," he said, frustrated. "Every time. You do that every time."

"And yet you still fall for it," his dad said. He was right; Edwin had tried this many times before, dangling away some offhanded remarks about the various classified missions he had been on, and Mark's curiosity always made him take the bait.

"Since we've now decided that you will be going to your new school," Edwin interrupted the conversation, "I have a parting gift for my protégé."

Mark watched as Edwin slipped his hand down his boot and unhook something. He picked it and flipped it mid-air before holding it out for Mark to take. It was a combat boot knife, complete with a sheath and elastic strap.

"From what I can tell, this magical world may not be that safe. So, I want you to have this." Mark reached out to grab the knife, but Edwin held it back. Looking directly into Mark's eyes, he spoke in the most serious tone Mark had ever heard him use.

"It's a dangerous weapon, to be used only in emergencies." Mark swallowed the small lump in his throat, understanding the gravity of the situation. Edwin continued, "No showing off or fooling around okay?"

Mark nodded in agreement and took the knife in an almost reverential manner. He promised himself to treat it with the utmost respect and seriousness. He glanced at his father, who smiled in encouragement and gave his son a small nod. Mark took a deep breath and strapped the knife to his own ankle. It fit perfectly.

His father decided to break the silence, trying to return the mood back to normal.

"Remember champ, we both want you to do your best and enjoy at Hogwarts. And do try and make friends, alright?" he added in exasperation.

Mark winced inwardly. His reluctance to pursue friendships was one of the few points of disagreement between father and son. Mark was already introverted by nature, and added to his ability, he had always avoided socialization in the past. But maybe that would change when he got to Hogwarts; after all, there were bound to be other kids like him.

Marks stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts.

"Why don't you go and get freshened up before dinner," his dad said. "We're having curry rice tonight."

"Grandmum's curry?" Mark asked, and got an affirmative nod in response. His face lit up and he hurried to his room to get changed. His Grandmum's curry was one of his all-time favourites, an old Indian recipe that she had passed on to her son-in-law. It was another of those things that brought him closer to his mother.

As he unbuttoned his shirt, Mark found his mouth already watering, anticipating the taste of perfectly marinated fish.

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23rd August 1991

"Stupid Git!"

Ginny let out a short scream of frustration and stomped on the ground. Usually, she wouldn't have acted out like this, but she was really mad at her git of a brother today and there was no one around here.

She kicked a small pebble into the distance before collapsing grumpily underneath the crooked apple tree. Ginny often came here when she wanted to be alone, sitting quietly to enjoy the soft sounds of the orchard around her. This was her favourite tree in the whole orchard mainly for two reasons.

Firstly, it was the oldest tree on the property, having survived five generations of Weasleys before her. And Ginny had a fondness for old and broken things. Secondly, it was sufficiently isolated from the house, so none of her idiot brothers could come to disturb her here.

She wondered whether other girls had similar problems with their brothers, but she guessed they didn't. After all, Ginny Weasley was the only sister to her six older brothers, the seventh child of Arthur and Molly Weasley.

The youngest amongst her brothers was responsible for her current mood. He had pissed her off just a few minutes ago, claiming she was 'too little to play with the boys.' All because he had received his Hogwarts letter last month.

If she was being honest, Ginny had been holding on to some futile hope that she too would get her letter this year, despite her still being only ten. Perhaps the school deciding to invite her a year early because she was so good. Or perhaps by some mistake of whoever wrote the letters. Anything to be not left alone with her mother at home all day while her dad went to work.

Her dad. Ginny loved him dearly and considered him the best dad she could've ever asked for. Aside from being the kindest and bravest man she knew, Arthur Weasley worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry of Magic in London. More specifically, he worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, a job that she knew he enjoyed very much.

He was an inquisitive man by nature, and was fascinated by Muggles and their life. He often spent his spare time studying and tinkering with all the weird muggle stuff he brought in from work, the shed in the garden being his workshop.

This was one of the few points of contestation between him and his wife Molly in their otherwise happy marriage. She thought this whole behaviour was too childish and immature for someone his age, and often brought it up in their conversations.

Arthur had tried to get his children involved in his experiments over the years, but only his eldest, Bill, and his youngest, Ginny, had shown any real interest in their father's passions. Bill, who was also Ginny's favourite brother, had graduated from Hogwarts three years ago and was now working as a curse breaker in Gringotts in Egypt.

Ginny remembered the complaints her mother had put forth when Bill had announced his decision. She hadn't understood why her son, who had earned twelve OWLs and had been the Head-Boy at Hogwarts, would choose such a dangerous and poorly-paying job.

Even more arguments had broken out when Ginny's second oldest brother Charlie had also followed in Bill's footsteps, choosing to risk his life in an obscure career in dragon-handling over a glamorous one in Quidditch.

Her mother's hopes now seemed to be resting on Ginny's third oldest brother Percy, the perfect son. He'd nearly been insufferable all summer, pompously prancing around with his shiny new Prefect badge, a symbol of his obedient and studious nature. That had drawn the wrath of his younger twin siblings Fred and George, who had pranked him mercilessly, with occasional help from Ginny as well.

Ron, the subject of her current anger, was Ginny's youngest brother. Being so close in their ages, they had often been forced to play together, when they were little. Even though Ron had recurrently complained about having to 'play with a girl', he had always stood by her, defending her occasionally from Fred and George's more meaner pranks.

But that had changed when he realised that he would be going to Hogwarts this year, free to leave his annoying little sister behind to make new and cooler friends.

Now, in a weeks' time, Ginny would be left alone at home. Her mother would no doubt keep her occupied with the cooking and cleaning and knitting and all the other activities she thought were appropriate for a young girl to partake in. If she was lucky, Ginny might get to spend a few hours playing with her friend Luna Lovegood, who lived just over the hill from the Burrow, which was the Weasley's home.

There would be very little chance to sneak up to Bill's room and read the books kept there in his library. Heaven forbid if her mother ever found out about Ginny 'borrowing' her brothers' brooms from the shed to practice flying. No, Ginny's mother insisted that she behave more ladylike, expecting her to one day become a dutiful witch married to a respectable wizard.

As these thoughts swirled around her head, Ginny found her eyes misting. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she steeled herself to wait one more year. Another year, and she would be on her way to Hogwarts, free to choose her destiny just like her brothers did.

As the sun slowly waned, Ginny found her anger and sorrow dwindle itself, her heart eagerly anticipating the day she would turn eleven.

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