No one is there to witness the harsh, hoarse voice of a prophecy that spews from within a Seer’s mouth. No one knows who she is, but she goes by the name J.K. Rowling.
“When an unseen child is found,
As time brings a new year,
P rophecies collide and interfere,
Then shall the Dark Lord be sound.”
She heaves a shuddering gasp as multiple images flow through her mind. The one thing that stands out is a boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. And another whose eyes are a striking blue and goes by the name Thomas.
My parents are weird. Not oh-my-god-you’re-so-embarrassing weird, but weird as in unable-to-function-in-this-world weird. Seriously, it’s like they’re secretly aliens and are trying to figure out how to use a toaster, and that their mission is to find out as much as possible about their bratty teenage son (me).
Do you know how annoying that is? Oh, I’m not really a teenager. I’m actually 10 years old, for your information.
My birthday’s coming up in about two weeks too, but I’ve already bought books I like, being the impatient bookworm that I am. My name’s Thomas Hitchens, by the way, and I live in a two bedroom house. I’m an only child and nobody likes me.
Not kidding; not one person likes me. The whole neighborhood hates me.
I wonder if it’s part of my maybe-alien parents’ plot to take over my life. Maybe I shouldn’t be complaining because I’m sure I’m as weird as them. I don’t know how, but strange things seem to happen when the neighborhood kids mess around with me. I remember one time when I was running from a familiar gang of troublemakers and I somehow ended up on a roof. My mum had somehow noticed at the nick of time and called the fire department to rescue me with their gigantic ladders.
I’m in my room, reading a good fantasy book, when there’s a knock on my door, but before I could respond, it was opened.
“Tom?” It’s my mum.
“Hi, Mum…” I see the look on her face. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head a bit too roughly, jangling her glasses. “No, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”
Well, that’s weird. Mum never says ‘everything’s fine’. What’s got her all freaked out now? Did I do something inadvertently to those bullies again? (But how would I be able to? I’m always being chased when something happens to them! I’m always near them.)
But I let it drop. “Okay…”
Mum looked at me strangely. “I was just checking up on you.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
She nods awkwardly, and then closes the door. Her footsteps recede downstairs. I blink a couple of times, sort of freaked out. Mum is hardly ever worried. The only time she’s worried is when she’s trying to figure out a piece of household equipment.
I go back to reading.
Meanwhile, downstairs, the family fireplace glows green.
A face with blue, twinkling eyes stays within the logs, a worried expression plastered across it.
Thomas’s mum, Mary, and his dad, Daniel both kneel in front of the fireplace, grim expressions on their own faces.
“Why are you telling us now, Albus?” Daniel asked, slightly infuriated.
“Mr Hitchens--Daniel--I’m telling you now because your son is almost of age. It is very important he doesn’t know until his birthday.” Albus Dumbledore answers.
“But,” Mary interrupts, “he’ll have his letter before his birthday!” She paused. “We can just intercept it, right?”
“What else do you know of this Rowling person?” Daniel asked, trying to change the subject.
Albus sighs. “I have been made aware that there are books published under her name. I’m worried that your son might have them in his possession.”
Mary pales slightly at this bit of information, but trudges on. “He won’t make any connections, will he?”
“I’m sorry, but Thomas had already suspected that his family--and himself--is very different from the other kids he’s met. But, no I don’t think he’ll compare this to the books in his possession.”
Daniel sighed in relief. “Thank God.”
“But we make no promises.” The old wizard added.