It was early morning on a typical rainy day at the orphanage. A thunderstorm raged outside the windows, and it seemed as if a solid veil of water hung over the world, making everything wet and grey.
Björn Magnusson opened his eyes and grimaced at the snoring of the children sleeping in the room. Then he stretched and finally woke up from the smell of sweat and dirty socks floating in the stale air. He cautiously looked around and, finding no one watching him, opened the window on the opposite wall with telekinesis and let the fresh wind and the smell of rain into the room.
The pupils of the Ridheim orphanage began to wake up reluctantly, and Jack Pickverri, who was sleeping right next to that very window, was the first to jump up.
"What the hell!" the boy cried, feeling raindrops hitting his face. "Which bastard opened this damn window?"
His cries woke the other boys, who began to complain about being woken up so early, while Bjorn, who had wisely closed his eyes, pretended that he had just woken up too.
"What are you yelling about, idiot?"" The largest boy in the room, with the simple surname Smith, woke up.
In general, many children in the orphanage were given the most common surnames, so there were Smiths, Johnsons, Browns and Taylors in every room.
"Someone opened the window and it's raining on me," Piquery puffed, trying in vain to close the heavy shutters. Finally, several children from neighbouring beds joined him, and together they closed the unruly window. It immediately became quiet, and all that could be heard was the angry hissing of Jack, who was forced to change his bed, turning the wet mattress over to the other side.
No one felt sorry for Pickwick. On the contrary, most of the children in the room were delighted by his misfortune. The boy enthusiastically reported all the pranks of the other pupils to the orphanage administration and, naturally, was not popular among Ridham's students.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to simply beat up the little snitch and thus silence him, because the orphanage administration kept a close eye on its charges and, if necessary, never skimped on the cane.
Bjorn exchanged glances with his neighbours and smiled contemptuously as he sat down on his bed.
"Jack! Maybe you lied about the rain?" Bjorn shouted cheerfully. "Maybe you couldn't hold down yesterday's compote?"
The room shook, and Pickwinkle grinned maliciously:
"It's easy for you to laugh, Williams. Just wait until I find out one of your dirty little secrets, I'll tell the teachers. I wouldn't be surprised if it was you who told the neighbours to play a nasty trick on me!
The bunkmates, who had just been helping Pickwinkle close the window, burst into protesting cries and indignantly sent him away.
The angry cries of the local tattletale, interspersed with the friendly laughter of the other children, were interrupted by a teacher who peeked in the door.
"Stop laughing!" the woman said coldly. "Run to your exercises."
The boys began to get dressed quickly. The order in the orphanage was no worse than in the army, and violators were not spared the cane. After exercise, the children were sent to breakfast, and then they had lessons and work in workshops, where they learned various trades.
The large hall with long tables, where several dozen children ate, was filled with a hum. There was the usual noise: the clatter of spoons on plates and smacking of lips. There was the sound of a plate being broken, and immediately the cooks' curses could be heard. The children tried to eat quickly so they wouldn't be late for class.
Magnusson, having finished his meal, dragged his tray to the table with dirty dishes, where the dining hall attendants stood, and went to his room to get his textbooks for class. In the corridor, he was intercepted by a teacher who ordered him:
"Follow me, Mr. Williams.
Björn looked questioningly at the woman.
"To the headmaster," the teacher commanded dryly.
The slightly agitated boy followed her, listening to the measured click of her heels.
At the door to the local headmaster's office, the teacher opened the door and, poking her head inside, reported:
"Sir Davis, I've brought him.
"Let him in," came the shrill voice of the headmaster, and the teacher stepped aside and pushed Bjorn inside.
Magnusson entered the office, and the teacher closed the door behind him. None of the children talked about the visits to the headmaster, where, according to rumours, some of the pupils were summoned. However, their eyes flashed with fear and a sense of helplessness. Despite being only ten years old, Björn was a very intelligent boy, and he did not expect anything good from this sudden invitation.
Headmaster Davis sat on a black leather sofa with his legs crossed, drinking whisky. His bloated face, which reminded Bjorn of a sick bulldog, was repulsive.
"Come closer, my boy," Davis ordered in his nasty high-pitched voice. "Help yourself," he waved his hand towards the desk, where the boy noticed a vase of sweets and a teapot.
Bjorn shook his head warily and remained where he was.
"That's what they told me, that you're still wild, my boy," Davis stretched his thick lips into a rubbery smile. His eyes carefully scanned the boy's body, making Bjorn feel sick.
"What am I doing here, sir?" Magnusson couldn't stand the sticky gaze of the orphanage director.
"I... want," Davis continued, drawing out his words, "to offer you a choice. One of my relatives was well acquainted with Annie Macpherson and supported her in everything she did. You probably don't know who this worthy woman was, but the ideas she promoted in society are still relevant today. You have a small choice, my boy, and it's simple. You can refuse this offer, and then... Tomorrow, along with other troubled teenagers, I will sell you to Australia. It's called labour migration of homeless children, my boy. Perhaps there, on the plantations among the local crocodiles and kangaroos, you will find happiness... Or perhaps death!" Davis's small bulldog eyes flashed dangerously. Not noticing the fear on the boy's face, the headmaster continued:
"The second option is that you accept my kindness and care, which I will surround you with. Believe me, you won't regret it.
The headmaster demonstratively ran his tongue slowly over his thick lips and stared lustfully at Bjorn, waiting for his reaction.
However, Principal Davis could not have foreseen what happened next.
"Tippli!" Magnuson called imperiously, and a wrinkled, eared creature about a metre tall appeared in the office out of thin air. It was almost naked, hideously disproportionate, and had huge bulging eyes. The creature was dressed in a kind of grey cloak that barely covered its body.
"Yes, little master," squeaked the ugly creature, bowing to the boy. It bowed so low that its large leathery ears slapped softly against the parquet floor of the office.
"Kill this man!" The boy pointed his finger at the headmaster, who was frozen in surprise. "Just make sure the others think he had a heart attack."
The ugly creature immediately turned its cold, bulging eyes to the shocked Mr. Davis, who opened his mouth silently, unable to believe the devilry that was taking place. And then the creature simply snapped its fingers.
Davis felt like he couldn't breathe and tried to jump up from the sofa, but immediately collapsed back down. His face turned red, his hands scratched his chest, and a thin stream of saliva flowed from his rapidly turning blue lips. After a few convulsive twitches, the headmaster's fat body froze forever.
"Thanks, Tipley," the boy patted the dog on the head and walked to the door. Trying to open it, he realised it was locked. After knocking several times, Bjorn got no response, turned around and walked over to the table. He really wanted to try the sweets, so young Magnusson poured himself a mug of tea. Then he got bored and curiously explored the entire office. Finding nothing worthy of an eleven-year-old boy's attention, Magnusson climbed back into the chair away from the director's corpse and dozed off.
Another dream, where fierce warriors fought with swords and shouted some kind of spells. And even though Björn didn't understand everything he saw, the boy felt that something was changing inside him every time he had these dreams.
He was awakened by the creaking of the door, and the head teacher poked her head inside. The first thing she saw was the boy rubbing his sleepy eyes, curled up in a ball on a chair by the window. Then her gaze fell on the dead body of Director Davis, and the woman let out a piercing scream.
The police and medics were called. Bjorn was questioned several times, and the director's body was carefully examined.
"It's clear," shrugged a thin man in a white coat. "Heart rupture or heart attack, scientifically speaking. Your headmaster overworked himself, ladies and gentlemen. Now, how many children are running around here? Keep an eye on them all.
The police placed the body on a stretcher and then, groaning and swearing, went outside. The teacher watched Bjorn with irritation, but he looked as usual. According to Williams, the boy she was watching with growing fear, the headmaster had offered him some tea and a chat, and then Mr. Davis had suddenly taken ill. The boy had tried to get out of the room to call for help, but couldn't and just waited for someone to open the door.
"Talk to the boy," the policeman asked her as he left. "An event like this can have a negative effect on your pupil's mental state." The woman nodded frantically as she saw the law enforcement officers to their car.
After receiving his cold meal, Björn quickly ate everything and went to his room. The other children, who had heard about the incident, greeted him with wary silence.
"And so it will be with everyone," Bjorn said in an exaggeratedly frightening voice. "And you, Pickwick, if you say anything else to the teachers, you'll be next. Got it?"
Jack turned pale with fear and nodded quickly. He then gave Bjorn a wide berth until he found out from someone that the headmaster had died of a heart attack and not because the terrible Williams had killed him. The children laughed at the cowardly snitch for a long time afterwards.
"Look, Jack," Smith laughed at him, "if you tell the teachers on anyone, Bjorn will scare you so much, you'll be scared to death!"
Spring flew by quickly, and a new man took over the headmaster's office. When another teacher invited Magnusson to meet the new head of the orphanage, the boy followed her resignedly. If people kept dying like flies after his visits to the headmaster, it would definitely arouse the interest of the police.
"I wish I could learn how to make the headmaster forget that he called for me," Björn dreamed as he followed the teacher down the corridor.
Entering the same office, he saw the new director with a monocle in his eye sitting at his desk, and in the chair where Bjorn had slept last time sat a stern-looking woman of about thirty-five.
"Well, then," said the new headmaster, rising from his desk. "I'll leave you alone with Mr. Williams, Mrs. McGonagall. I'll go and see if everything is all right with our cooks.
He flashed his monocle and walked out the door. Bjorn looked warily at the strange woman, who, beneath her ordinary dress and elegant hat, seemed to be a completely different person. A dark robe and a tall, pointed hat with wide brims looked much better on her. The boy blinked several times, but this only made the new appearance of the unknown woman clearer.
"Do you see me differently, Bjorn?" the woman smiled a little shyly.
The boy nodded mesmerised, then shook his head, causing another fleeting grimace from the strange guest.
"My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am a professor of Transfiguration and, as of this year, the Head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You may address me as 'Mrs McGonagall' or 'Professor,'" the woman looked intently at the boy and continued. "I have come here to give you an invitation to our school.
She rose from her chair with a cat-like movement and, taking a step forward, handed Bjorn an envelope made of yellow parchment, sealed with purple wax. The seal pressed into it resembled some kind of animals arranged around the letter "X." "Surrey County, Richmond, Ridham Boarding School, Room Number Four, Bed by the Far Wall. To Mr. Bjorn Williams," was written on the envelope.
The boy broke the crusty seal and took out several sheets of yellowed parchment.
The first sheet read:
"Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Dear Mr. Williams!
We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of required books and items.
Classes begin on the first of September. We look forward to receiving your owl no later than the thirty-first of July.
Yours sincerely, APWB Dumbledore.
The second page contained a whole list of strange items and books, and at the end, the following sentence was highlighted:
"Students may also bring an owl, a cat or a toad. Parents are reminded that first-year students are not allowed to have their own broomsticks!"
Bjorn stared at McGonagall in bewilderment and asked:
"Brooms? Toads and owls? Excuse me, Professor, but what on earth is this?"
The boy's face looked so astonished that Minerva couldn't help but giggle.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Williams," McGonagall tried to compose herself. "I understand that this all seems like a silly prank. But think about it, would I have come all the way from Scotland just to play a joke on one of the students at the orphanage?"
Bjorn just shook his head.
"Just accept it, Mr. Williams," the woman continued. "The world of magic exists, and you are undoubtedly a part of it. So tomorrow I will come back for you, and we will go shopping for the school according to this list," she nodded at the parchment clutched in Bjorn's hand.
"All right, Mrs. McGonagall," Magnusson scratched his nose. "I think it's better to see once than hear a hundred times. Once I see the magical world with my own eyes, then I'll believe in magic for good.
Minerva smiled fleetingly again and suddenly transformed into a small striped cat, which jumped onto the headmaster's desk with an air of importance and walked across it, carefully stepping over the piles of papers. Then she jumped down easily and in mid-flight turned back into a young woman in a dark robe and a tall pointed hat.
"How do you like that, Mr. Williams?" asked Björna McGonagall, not without a hint of smugness.
"Cool!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes shining as he looked at the slightly flushed woman. "Now that's what I call magic! Will I be able to do that soon?"
"If you study hard, you might be able to," McGonagall nodded. "But you'll have to work very hard, Mr. Williams. Animagi are the highest form of transfiguration. And transfiguration, believe me, is a very difficult magical discipline.
"Great!" The boy even jumped up and down with excitement. "See you tomorrow, Professor McGonagall!"
"Goodbye, Mr. Williams.
Bjorn walked thoughtfully through the corridors of the orphanage. He hardly had to pretend to this woman that he was unfamiliar with magic. Her ability to transform into a cat had really impressed him.
Hiding near the boiler room in an inconspicuous corner, he summoned the house elf again.
"Tippli, did you get a good sense of that sorceress?"
"Yes, Mr. Bjorn," the elf waved his ears. "She's not as strong as your mother, but she's also very bright.
"Could my mother turn into a cat?" Bjorn looked questioningly at the house spirit.
"When she wanted to, she could turn into a snow leopard, and Mr. Magnusson could take the form of a white bear. All the men in your family could turn into bears, little master.
"Well, yes, who would know better than you," Bjorn nodded thoughtfully. "You've been serving our family for ages.
The house spirit slapped his leathery ears importantly and bowed deeply.
"Yes, sir. And I am very proud of it.
"Thank you, Tippli," said Bjorn, pressing the brownie to his chest and stroking his head, unconsciously releasing magic, which made the brownie close his eyes in delight.
"All right, I'll go to my room before anyone comes looking for me," the boy let go of the eared creature and stood up.
The house elf immediately disappeared, and Bjorn went to his room. He had to iron his formal orphanage uniform so he wouldn't look like a ragamuffin in front of McGonagall tomorrow.
The next morning after breakfast, a teacher came for Bjorn.
"Mr. Williams, take your coat and follow me. You are expected," the woman turned abruptly and clicked her heels down the corridor, and Bjorn, grabbing his uniform jacket, rushed to catch up with her.
Descending the steps of the orphanage, the teacher and the boy stopped next to McGonagall, who was waiting for them. The witch nodded gratefully to the orphanage worker, who, without a word, went back inside.
"Hello, Mr. Williams. Are you ready?
"Of course I'm ready, Professor McGonagall. How are we going to get to the magical world?"
"We share the same world," Minerva smiled. "Wizards just make sure that Muggles don't pay attention to us. Muggles, or Muggle-heads, as we call ordinary people, explained Minerva in response to Bjorn's questioning look. "You'll learn more about that at school. But in short, our relationship with Muggles is governed by an international law called the Statute of Secrecy. The main points of the Statute are that Muggles must not know about the existence of wizards. Too many tragedies happened in the past, before the Statute was adopted. And now you're going to learn one of the ways wizards can travel quickly," Minerva smiled faintly, taking Bjorn firmly by the forearm.
"Don't struggle and don't be afraid.
She spun slightly, and Magnuson felt something grab him around his navel and instantly pull him into a narrow tube, then spit him out. So hard that the boy felt an indescribable sensation of flying. A few seconds later, the situation repeated itself in reverse. Something threw the boy out of this space, and he found himself in a doorway, supported by Minerva McGonagall's hand. The contents of his stomach threatened to come up, but Bjorn bravely endured the urge.
"You're doing well, Mr. Williams," McGonagall patted him approvingly on the shoulder. "Muggle-borns usually leave their entire breakfast here the first time they travel this way.
She took him by the arm and pulled him impatiently after her.
"Let's hurry, Mr. Williams, I have a lot to do.
They went out into the street and crossed the road to a bar, past which ordinary people were walking without noticing anything.
"The Leaky Cauldron," Minerva said proudly, pushing open the shabby door. "It's a gateway to the truly magical part of London.
Passing between the tables straight to the bar, she nodded cheerfully to the bartender and walked to the back door. Bjorn, following behind her, could barely see anything around him.
The bar was filled with a group of strangely dressed people who didn't look like ordinary Londoners. Pointed hats, robes of all colours and styles, incomprehensible conversations. The words sounded like English, but their meaning escaped the boy.
"And I say that flobberworm slime won't work in a potion for sciatica!" argued an old man, probably a wizard.
"But I say that the slime is needed to stabilise the mixture when you take the cauldron off the fire, you old fool!" argued the second.
Such conversations, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, showed Bjorn that if he wasn't already in a magical world, he was very close to it.
Going out into the backyard, Minerva approached a red brick wall and slowly, clearly suggesting that Bjorn remember the sequence, tapped some bricks with her wand that did not stand out from the rest of the masonry.
The wall suddenly shook, and then the bricks began to fly out of the centre in different directions, forming an arch through which a street appeared, the likes of which he had only seen in old engravings. All the houses were crooked and irregular in shape, and the pavement was paved with ordinary cobblestones, common on any coast.
"Welcome to Crooked Alley," Minerva McGonagall said with undisguised pride and was the first to pass through the arch. "Come on, Mr. Williams, the magical world awaits!"
The enchanted boy immediately followed her, looking around with wide eyes.
"So, first we'll visit Gringotts Bank," she nodded ahead, where a building stood at the crossroads, just as crooked as all the others, only white. "Then I will give you a purse with money allocated by the Hogwarts Board of Trustees for the education of Muggle-borns. After that, you will need to buy everything on the list from the appropriate shops. I know you orphanage kids are very independent, and I'm warning you right now, Mr. Williams, that you should only spend galleons on the items on the list. There are quite a few of them. If you want to save money, I advise you to look for some textbooks and clothes in second-hand shops. The quality will not be much worse, and you will spend significantly less. But I advise you to start with the purchase of a magic wand. It is both a magician's identity card and their main tool. A wand means a lot to people like us. You must always keep it with you, so I also recommend that you spend some money on a holster and care products.
After this conversation, they approached the bank and climbed the steps. On either side of the entrance stood two small creatures. They vaguely resembled his house spirit, only slightly taller, denser, armoured and carrying halberds. Bjorn stared wide-eyed at the strange creatures, and McGonagall explained:
"These are goblins. They work in the bank, ensuring the circulation of galleons in our society. Do not smile back at them, they will perceive such behaviour as aggression and disrespect. They are very proud and malicious creatures," she finished so quietly that Bjorn could barely hear her.
The huge hall, which was almost impossible to imagine from the outside, contained dozens of desks behind which goblins sat and went about their business. What united them was that everything was connected with money. One short fellow was transferring gold coins from a pile into a purse. Another weighed beautiful shiny stones, moved his lips, clearly counting something, and carefully placed the jewels in a bag. Another goblin enthusiastically clicked his knuckles on disproportionately huge abacuses.
It was clear that the bank was bustling with activity. Near the wall were counters where goblins exchanged or handed out money, and a small queue of various wizards had formed there.
They joined the end of the queue, and a few minutes later, during which Minerva pondered something and Bjorn turned his head in all directions, they were standing in front of a goblin.
The young bank clerk asked in a matter-of-fact tone:
"What do the wizards wish?"
"Mr. Williams, a new Muggle-born student at Hogwarts. He is enrolling this year," McGonagall began in short, dry sentences. "Please issue the appropriate amount of galleons from the Board of Trustees' account to purchase the items listed on the standard list. I also request that you transfer the necessary amount for Mr. Williams' first year of tuition to the Hogwarts treasury."
The clerk immediately went downstairs and ran up to the old goblin, who was just coming out of a side corridor. He rattled off something quickly in Gobleduck, and the old hook-nosed banker headed towards Minerva and Bjorn, while the young one returned to his place.
The goblin asked them to step aside and looked closely at the boy, chewing his lips thoughtfully.
"I will personally take care of this matter, gentlemen wizards. And you, Mr. Williams," the goblin paused briefly before the boy's surname, "I suggest you come with me.
Minerva raised an eyebrow in surprise, and the goblin hastened to reassure her:
"A will has been left for a child with the surname Williams at the bank, which must be read when the time comes for him to enrol at Hogwarts. It is possible that your ward is not a Muggle-born after all. We will test the boy's blood to determine whether he belongs to one of England's magical families and send you an owl with the results. The Board of Trustees covers the costs of education only for Muggle-borns. Half-bloods must pay for their education themselves. Or rather, the magical family to which they belong pays for them.
Minerva shuddered at the unpleasant memories and said,
"All right, Mr. Williams, then I bid you farewell. Here, take your train ticket," she said, handing Bjorn the receipt. "There are wizards on duty at the station. They will tell you how to get to the right platform." With that, McGonagall turned on her heel and strode quickly towards the exit.
"Bad memories," the goblin grinned knowingly. "Not all clans and magical families treat their half-breeds well. Follow me, Mr. Williams."
He quickly climbed down from behind the counter and scurried deeper into the bank. Surprised, Bjorn stuffed the train ticket into his pocket and followed the goblin.
***
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