Bruno Schmidt walked toward his family’s chicken coop, a pail of chicken feed carelessly swinging in his hand. He took a deep breath, savoring the clear early morning air. A shout split the silent atmosphere.

“Bruno!”

Bruno sighed and kept walking, a little faster.

The call came once again, this time more insistently.
“Bruno! Bruno! Now!”

HE dropped his bucket where he stood and marched resignedly toward his house.
“Bru-“

Bruno opened the front door of his cottage with a loud creak. The screech cut off abruptly. He spotted his parents in the far corner, opposite the fireplace. They were involved in some sort if heated debate- or his mother was, anyway. His father was simply standing there and agreeing with everything his wife said by means of a series of emphatic nods. Bruno sat down on a three-legged brown stool and waited for his presence to be acknowledged, listening to the subject of the tirade.

It was the usual argument his mother used these days- she wanted to leave Karstbaum, their tiny village, but everything they had was here, and Bruno’s father didn’t want to move. He also didn’t like constant arguments from his wife. She had been very upset by what had happened to Bruno two years ago, and she had been trying since to convince her husband to move.

Today she was shouting that she wanted to go to England, to go to where Bruno could be safe, and if she couldn’t convince Otto, her husband, after all these years of pleading, she would drag him. The argument appeared to culminate with Mrs. Schmidt spinning around and catching sight of Bruno.

“There you are, Bruno!”

He nodded wearily.

“Bruno, don’t you want to move to England? You’d be so much safer there, and I want you to have a great education. I’ve heard about a school there that would give you a much better one than you could ever get here in Karstbaum.” Bruno’s mother, Brunhilda, pleaded. Bruno could tell she just wanted him to admit a desire to move to help sway his father. Otto’s family had lived here for generations.

Bruno moved his head noncommittally.
“What about Hans?” he asked his mother in his usual raspy voice. His tone was rather more deep and low than most eight-year-olds.

‘Oh, you can write, don’t worry about him,” said his mother dismissively. “The Berggs will be fine without us, you may be sure. I intend to write to Hilda myself, it would be a shame to lose touch with them. But we really must go! It’s not even a choice; I simply can’t stay here any longer!” She stopped and looked at Bruno, who had suddenly stood up.

“Can I go back outside? The chickens are hungry.”

Mrs. Schmidt sighed. “I suppose so, Bruno. I’ll get breakfast ready for us, then.”

Bruno quickly got up and without a word marched back to where he had left his bucket. He walked on slowly, swinging it once more. His mother kept trying to convince him- not that he minded so much, but did she have to do it so early in the morning? Besides, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to move. Was it better to go? Or to stay where he knew everyone- he liked his life now…

The loud squawkings of hungry chickens interrupted Bruno’s musings. He gave them their food, and ran off to the woods behind the chicken coop before anyone could stop him. He ran to a small clearing in the trees, and stood, looking around, when suddenly he heard a loud, “BOO!” right in his ear. He leapt forward, startled, and tripped over a branch. He landed hard on the ground.

“Bruno? Are you all right? A concerned Hans looked down at him. “I didn’t mean to”- He stopped, interrupting himself mid-sentence. “I think you hit your head on a rock or something, your forehead is all bleeding.”

Hans helped him up, apologizing the whole time, as they walked back to Bruno’s house. They finally arrived at the doorway. “Mrs. Schmidt?” Hans called anxiously. Brunhilda came bustling into the room, carting a big basket of laundry.
“What is it, Hans? I’m rather busy”-

Her laundry basket fell to the floor with a loud crash, which went completely unnoticed.
“Bruno!” she gasped, “what happened?”

Bruno stared up at the ceiling, feeling a little too unsteady for speech. Silence is probably a good idea right now, he decided. He could feel the wet blood on his face from his cut, and decided to let Hans do the talking. Hans realized that Bruno wasn’t up to explaining, and said, “He fell and banged his head on a rock after I startled him.”

“Thank you, Hans. I’ll treat him; you had better go home now.”

Hans nodded and left, with a lingering glance back at his friend.

“All right, Bruno, I think this injury of yours calls for the Book.” Brunhilda hurried over to the windows, which she carefully peered out of, to check that the coast was clear, and then shut them tightly. She tiptoed to a picture hanging on the wall and lifted out from behind it a wand and a dusty yellowed volume. There were faded green letters on the front, spelling out “The Booke of Moste Powerful and Useful Charmes and Cures.”

Brunhilda flipped reverently to the back of the book, mumbling to herself. She found the spell she was looking for in the index and turned to a page about halfway through the book. She sat there studying the page for quite some time, occasionally making twitching movements with her hands or mumbling something under her breath. Finally, she stood up.

“All right, Bruno. Here goes.”

She gently lifted the wand off the rough wooden tabletop and pointed it at Bruno. She was obviously very nervous, and at the same time a little bit excited. Her hands shaking, she performed the same jabbing movement she had been practicing earlier, and in a clear voice, said,
“Reparo Foreheadio!”
There was a flash of light from the wand, hitting Bruno straight in the forehead.

Bruno felt a curious sensation on the top of his head, which before had been starting to throb with pain. Now it felt better but- he reached up and felt it with his hand- oddly lumpy.

He heard his mother sigh. She wiped off his forehead with a damp rag.
“You know, Bruno,” she said, “sometimes I feel like there must be more to magic than this kind of spells. And I know it is important to make sure no one sees it being done, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder why. I don’t even know for sure who else in Karstbaum does magic! And I don’t dare to ask them, since I know you aren’t supposed to talk about it. But I wonder if they too were told by their mothers not to let anyone find out, ever. And if they have a book of spells too. You know, Bruno, I can’t have fixed you up right; you still have a mark. I think it’s going to be a scar. At least it’s fixed up a bit. Are you feeling any better, do you think?” Bruno nodded, still not quite sure if he was steady enough to speak.

She continued wiping his head. “That spell just doesn’t feel right somehow- it almost sounds the same as the one for fixing broken pots your father used on that broken vase last year. That can’t be how it should be- but what do I know of this stuff? I just feel something is strange- plain instinct, I guess. Someday I’ll have to teach you these spells, I suppose- though hopefully in England by then!”

Bruno sat up. “I feel much better now, thanks, you can stop cleaning me off. Can I have breakfast now?”

His mother laughed. “Glad to see you’re back to normal! Of course you can.”

Some time later, Bruno was scraping off the last dregs from his plate, a happy, contented smile on his face. Brunhilda had gone outside for a minute to tell Otto about Bruno’s injury and bring him some food. Bruno picked up his plate and put it in the sink. He was about to wash it when he heard a loud knock on the door. He wondered vaguely who it was as he ran to answer the door.

The door swung open with its usual creak, letting in a shaft of sunlight and revealing the tall, bronzed stranger standing in the entryway.

---

Author's Note: The spell is boring on purpose. I know, I know. I wanted it that way. The magic in Karstbaum is very skewed. The fact that the spell is like that shows how magic, when confined to indivduals who never went to school and who are unable to do magic beyond what is contained in one dusty old (innaccurate) book, becomes warped. This was in a review response and on my author page, but now I'm putting it here in case this bothered anyone. Please review!

Bruno stared up at the white-haired old stranger, who seemed a little bit impatient with his surroundings.

“H-h-hello,” Bruno stammered uncertainly.

It wasn’t that Bruno was shy- but strangers came to Karstbaum about twice a year for the trading season, so this was a shock.

The man glanced at him. “Is this the Schmidt home?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

“And are you, by any chance, Bruno Schmidt?” The man’s chilly manner thawed slightly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah!” The man beamed at Bruno and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just the boy I wanted to see. Are your parents home?”

“They’re outside now, sir.” Bruno felt even more nervous now. Why did this man want to see him? How did he even know his name? Bruno felt certain that he had never seen the man before.

“Well, why don’t you fetch your parents, lad?” the man said, looking around for a chair. He finally spotted Otto’s worn-out old armchair and sank down with a sigh. Bruno looked at him uncertainly but headed out the door to find his parents.

He met his mother coming down the path. He quickly told her that a stranger had arrived. She looked a little flustered, and sent Bruno back to the house while she told Otto the news. Soon they were all sitting around the kitchen table in the house. Brunhilda offered the stranger a drink. He asked for a cup of tea, which was soon brought.

“Now,” the stranger took a sip of the tea, cleared his throat, and then continued, “I’d like to talk to you all about a very important matter. My name is Newt Scamander.”

He paused to look at their faces but none of them showed any signs of recognition. “If the rumors are true,” he continued, “your son Bruno is a very remarkable boy. I have heard- from confidential sources of course- that young Bruno here has the rare distinction of being the last one known to have seen an Erkling and survived the encounter. Is this true?”

Brunhilda looked startled. “Yes, but- wait! How did you know about it? Are people talking about us among the Muggles?”

Scamander looked insulted. “I am a wizard, ma’am. What are you implying?”

Both Otto and Brunhilda gasped simultaneously.

“You don’t even know us for more than five minutes and you’re already saying that?” Brunhilda yelped.

At almost the exact same time, Otto shouted, “What are you doing, man? How can you talk about these matters here, with all the windows open to daylight? It’s an outrage!”

“Hold on,” said the old man in surprise. “What on earth are you folk talking about?”

Brunhilda glared at him. “If you actually are a-” she winced and went on in a whisper, “-wizard, then you know perfectly well exactly what we mean!”

The old man simply stared at them, lost for words.
“Hang on,” said Otto. “We have got to stop this nonsense. If you need to discuss anything like that with us, you should’ve given us advanced notice. Why have you come?”

Scamander shook his head and muttered to himself, “I knew I should’ve researched this crazy place first. Porpentina was completely right. Ah, well, too late for that now.”

He straightened his shoulders and looked Otto in the eye.

“About your boy, sir. That’s why I’ve come. He killed an Erkling, using your cauldron if I am not mistaken. I’m an author, you see. I want to interview your son about his experience for my book. No need to start yelling and running about,” he concluded, rather irked to see Brunhilda scrambling to close all the windows in the room as he spoke.

“I’ll pay you for your time, of course. It’s just a short interview; no big deal.” The man leaned back in the chair, awaiting their reply.

Otto and Brunhilda glanced at each other. “All right then,” Brunhilda said decisively. “Only if you agree to keep the windows completely shut and do it in the back room.”

Scamander had clearly decided to humor them in their little peculiarities. “Sounds just fine to me. I’m quite willing,” he announced in what was obviously meant to be a calm and reassuring voice. They all stood up and went through the doorway into the back room. Brunhilda quickly rushed over to the tiny window in the back and shut it firmly.

“I’ll put a spell on it for you if you’d like, ma’am,” Scamander offered, trying to be helpful. Brunhilda shook her head frantically.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. Now, is there somewhere Bruno and I can sit? And for you too, if you’d like to be present during the interview- though I must request that you don’t make a sound unless I ask you something directly.”

Otto and Brunhilda nodded their agreement and found enough chairs for everyone to sit on.

Scamander turned to Bruno. “No need to be nervous, lad,” he said jovially. “What I want you to do is simply to tell me, in your own words, everything you remember about the Erkling and what happened then. I won’t be able to include everything you say in my book, but I want a complete story so I can choose the facts I need to include. Are we clear?” Bruno nodded.

“Well, I remember it pretty well,” he began in his rasping voice. “I was only six, and I was outside playing by the edge of the woods. My parents were both far away from where I was sitting. I heard scratching noises coming up behind me and I ignored them at first. They kept coming closer and closer and I turned around and saw, right behind me, a small creature crouching that looked like an elf, with pointy ears and wrinkly skin."

"I reached out my hand curiously toward it, and it started giggling- it was a really, high, squeaky laugh. It made me want to follow it into the forest, but my mother had told me about Erklings and I realized I didn’t want it to eat me in the forest.”

He stopped and cleared his throat, noticing that everyone in the room was staring at him unusually hard. Bruno continued, “It started crawling closer, beckoning to me with its finger. I got really nervous and looked around for something to protect myself with. My father had broken his collapsible cauldron the day before, and it was lying out in the yard cooling down from being fixed. I hesitated because I was afraid he’d be mad if I broke it again, but the Erkling giggled again and I just panicked, grabbed the cauldron by the handle and brought it down with a thunk right on the Erkling’s head.” He smiled slightly.

“It just sort of made a fizzling noise, and shriveled up on the ground. I called for my parents and they came running. The cauldron did break, but not too badly, and my father was too glad I hadn’t been eaten to be angry at me. He also was proud that I had been smart and hadn’t followed it. We buried the Erkling out near the edge of the forest.”

There was a brief silence, and then Scamander burst out, “Bruno, do you have a talent for storytelling, or did someone put a spell on you to do that? It was a regular story- well, an unusual one, and you were very brave and very lucky, but your voice! No, not even your voice, just something about you- it was like you were casting a spell!”

Bruno, feeling a little embarrassed, muttered something about not knowing what Scamander was talking about. Otto shrugged.

“I haven’t heard Bruno tell a story in years, but he is very good. We never thought about it much.”

“It was amazing, really. Well, that’s all the information I’ll be needing, I think. I’ve got to run now, thanks for-”

Brunhilda interrupted him.

“Don’t go just yet. I want to ask you something.”

She stared defiantly at her husband, daring him to say a word, and asked, “If I’m guessing right from your accent…I heard a British accent a few times when I was younger, and you’re from England, correct?”

Scamander nodded.

“How are things in England now for wizards?” she asked eagerly.

“Well, they were pretty bad for a while now because of You-Know-Who-” Scamander began.

“Sorry, what?” Brunhilda interrupted. “I don’t know who.”

Scamander’s eyes bulged wide in surprise. “My dear Mrs. Schmidt! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! The Dark Lord! Surely you’ve heard of him!”

“We don’t know what’s happening outside of Karstbaum, I’m afraid, not for quite a while,” Brunhilda informed him.

“Well! Humph! Anyhow, things are much better there now in England. Hogwarts is growing, the Ministry is doing well, and people are rebuilding after all their losses. It’s spring for England now, things are renewing after a long harsh winter,” Scamander poetized.

“So, you would think this would be a good time to move to England?”

“Why, certainly! None better! I don’t see why not. Why, are you planning to?”

Brunhilda didn’t answer, but turned to her husband and stared fiercely at him. Otto groaned.

“I really must be going now, I’m on a schedule. Thank you so much for your hospitality and cooperation. Nice meeting you all. I’ll try to send you a free edition of my book, so if you do end up moving anywhere I’d appreciate if you’d send me your address, to spare me the trouble of tracking you down. Have a good day, then!” Scamander bid them all farewell and slipped an envelope into Otto’s hand, explaining it held the money he’d promised them.

The Schmidts watched him walk down the front path and disappear with a faint pop at the end of the path. Brunhilda winced at this display of magic. She turned to her husband.

“Otto, you heard what he said. Let’s go! It’s a perfect time for it. With the money he gave us, I’m sure we can afford it. It’s time- now! Stop putting me off with excuses!”

Otto sighed wearily. Bruno guessed what he was about to say. “All right. We’re going.” He had had enough of the constant nagging and had finally resigned himself to leaving his home.

Brunhilda clapped her hands and a wide grin spread across her face. “Oh, at last! We’re really going to go! Bruno, you can go to Hogwarts! England, here we come!”

Bang! A series of loud crashes echoed through the small house.

“Bruno! What did you drop this time? Nothing breakable, I hope.” Brunhilda staggered toward the foot of the stairs, weaving like a drunkard, her arms filled with an enormous stack of boxes. She put the pile down with a grunt and knelt to examine the box lying at the foot of the stairs.

“Oh, it’s all right.” Nothing was broken; the box was full of clothes instead of delicate china, like the last box had been. She sighed with relief and picked up half of the boxes she had been carrying before, and started following Bruno up the stairs.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drop anything,” Bruno said, slightly defensively.

They had arrived early that morning in their small town in England. Although everyone else considered it small, Bruno and his parents still felt it was huge compared to Karstbaum, even though they had spent a few weeks in London, trying to find a place to live. This quiet two-story cottage seemed perfect, with its whitewashed exterior and cozy rooms inside. The neighborhood, too, seemed perfect- a quiet English town, where they could stay fairly isolated from their Muggle neighbors, and maybe even find some wizards nearby. They had sent Newt Scamander their new address, as he’d asked, and tried to settle down into their new lives.

Unfortunately, there were no wizards very close by, but there were two families a couple of towns away. Neither family had children anywhere close to Bruno’s age, so Bruno spent most of his time wandering the woods near his house and writing letters to Hans. Otto was looking for a job, without much success. Brunhilda also was looking for a job, but wasn’t depressed about not finding any work the way her husband was. She floated around the house, humming tunes off-key and arranging flowers in vases on every available surface, or reading books to teach herself English.

Every day she’d drag Bruno inside for a two-hour lesson on English, until they both could express themselves fairly well, although with horrible accents. To fix this, Brunhilda commanded Bruno to hang out near the Muggle children, and listen to their accents without letting them see him. He begrudgingly did this a few times, but then gave up, uninterested in following them and listening to their boring conversation. Desperate to make sure that Bruno became fluent, Brunhilda asked the wizarding families to recommend someone who could teach the Schmidts.

Otto had kept himself aloof from these attempts until now, still suffering from homesickness and depression. His wife now forced him to join the language lessons, hoping to improve his mood and increase his chances of finding a job. The tutor they hired was a fat, grumpy old man with a short grey beard, who had no interest in them except for the fact that they paid him his paycheck. He did a good job though, and soon even Otto’s English was understandable.

Bruno was also depressed, although less noticeably than his father. There was simply nothing for him here; no friends, nothing to do, and the only change coming up was when he would go to the school his mother was always talking about now. He was almost looking forward to it, despite being so nervous it was almost a constant ache in his stomach, about going there and having to meet all of those wizard kids. They all knew much more than him, he had no doubt, and was afraid that he would never even get accepted in the first place. He probably wasn’t magical enough. Then his mother would be so disappointed in him for being a failure, and for not even getting into the school that had been their main reason for moving. His father would be even sadder about living here, and it would all be Bruno’s fault. Bruno tried not to think about school too much.

Exploring the woods was Bruno’s main activity, and he enjoyed it most of the time. Sometimes, though, for reasons he couldn’t put into words, he would kick out at tree trunks as he walked by them, or throw acorns when he saw an animal scampering by in the bushes. He always felt rather guilty afterwards, but he was so frustrated with everything. If his mother asked him a question he would snap back at her, which he had rarely done before. Sometimes he was so bored he wished he could do something dangerous, or simply find a way to sneak back home. He’d come back to reality soon, though. Bruno knew he couldn’t leave, or run away and live with Muggles, or anything else like that- he wouldn’t be able to get food, and it just wasn’t practical. He was just so bored and lonely…

Bruno wrote to Hans nearly every day, sometimes long letters, other times just a few lines. Getting a response was the high point of his day, and he would eagerly sit down to pen a reply.


Dear Hans,
How are things back home? The baby bird I rescued is doing much better. It’s still really boring here. I wish you could come, I’m really lonely. Everything here is pretty, and the food is much better, but it’s still really boring. Maybe convince your mother to move? All right, I know it’s hopeless. So in a few years you’ll come and visit, yes? I haven’t made any friends still, and Father really wants a job, but he still hasn’t found one. I think he misses home more than I do even though I don’t see how that’s possible to do. I can’t think of anything else to say, since nothing new ever seems to happen here. Please, please write back soon, before I go crazy waiting for your letter.
Your bored friend,
Bruno

*******************

Dear Bruno,
Sorry to hear how dull things are for you now. Have you named the bird? Are you letting it go free or keep it as a pet? You’re right about my mother not coming, and I don’t think I’ll be able to visit for quite a while, since I need to harvest all our crops or she won’t have food to eat. The trade fair this year was quite exciting, we made a good profit. I miss you, but I’m a lot busier now that I’m old enough to plow, so we won’t owe everyone a debt for helping my mother do it. I’m glad I’m big enough to do it myself, we’ll have more food this way. My hands are all blistered now, though. I hope you get into Hogwarts, make sure to tell me all about it when you do. I have to go, Mother needs me to weed the wheat fields.
Your hardworking friend,
Hans


Spring’s delicate blossoms faded away, and the bright green tones of summer filled the woods where Bruno wandered. Baby birds were growing bigger, and Bruno missed the woods in Karstbaum, where at least he could meet Hans, instead of having only squirrels for friends. Otto still had no job, and Bruno often heard his parents arguing in the house about whether it was worth it to have moved here. Bruno took to surreptitiously checking the mail every day when he came back to the house.

One day, Bruno was coming back from his usual haunts, holding a few daisies in his hand as a present for his mother. He saw an owl sitting on a tree, and it hooted at him quietly when it saw him looking. He imitated its hoot, and it blinked at him reproachfully as though scolding him for his impertinent mockery.

He watched it fly off, and then turned to the mailbox for his routine check. This time, there was a bill, a letter for his father- probably another rejection in his job hunt- and the third letter made Bruno’s heart leap up into his throat. He hardly dared to believe it at first. Then it came to him- this was probably a joke, or a mistake of some sort. But no- it clearly said his name in the front, there was no doubt about that. Maybe this was a rejection letter, though, like the ones his father got so often. He ripped it open with trembling fingers just to check.

He read the letter, the words blurring before his eyes. He felt like singing with joy and relief.

“Mother!” Bruno called, hurling himself through the front door at breakneck speed. “Mother, it’s here! The letter came!”

Brunhilda rushed towards him, swinging him up and around in a circle. “Oh, finally, Bruno, I am so proud, you have no idea!” Otto came in too, and hugged his son. He didn’t start dancing like his wife, but smiled at Bruno in a way that made Bruno even happier than he’d been before.

“You’ll find a job soon, Father, don’t worry,” Bruno said quietly, wanting to reassure him.

“This calls for a celebration!” Brunhilda said happily, not hearing Bruno’s words. “I’ll make something special for dinner, any requests?” She bustled off into the kitchen, happily planning the meal.

Bruno ran to his room for a pen and paper. He couldn’t wait to write to Hans, and hear what he had to say.

Bruno was coughing so hard his eyes were watering. His trip through the fireplaces hadn’t been very smooth, to say the least. His father’s bulky form staggered out of the fireplace right behind him, his face and hair sprinkled with black fireplace ash. His mother, who had arrived first, dusted them both off until not a trace was visible. They made their way together through the Leaky Cauldron to where the bartender was sitting.

“Excuse me, sir, do you mind showing us how to get into Diagon Alley?” Bruno’s mother asked in the high-pitched voice she used when she was nervous, or excited, and trying not to show it.

The bartender grinned at them. “Your little lad heading to Hogwarts, eh? Call me Tom. I’ll show you the way directly.”
Tom led them through the pub and into a small courtyard with a brick wall and some trash cans. He showed them which bricks to tap, and they entered Diagon Alley for the first time.

Bruno was gazing around eagerly at the space that had opened up to him, full of fascinating stores and wizards and witches going about their shopping. He didn’t fail to notice the conversation his parents were holding in hushed whispers behind his back.

“It’s all right, Otto,” Brunhilda was whispering in a rough hiss. “This is a magic place. I don’t know why you-”she broke off for a second and coughed raspily, “Really and truly, Otto, we can do magic here, and everyone else here is a wizard too. Honestly!”

Otto mumbled something Bruno didn’t quite catch.
Brunhilda hissed back angrily, “It’s safe, Otto, don’t you understand? Bruno has a chance here, to learn real magic and get everything he wants. So don’t let me hear you say that again.”

Bruno tuned out Otto’s reply, which was even quieter, and focused his full attention on the marvels surrounding him. People were hurrying everywhere, dressed in robes and wizard hats, with bulging shopping bags full of things that Bruno hoped he could soon buy for himself. There was an Apothecary, with a lady in front hawking dragon’s blood for sale in a booming voice, and a family with a lot of noisy children walking by, one of the tinier ones escaping the rest and dashing off toward an ice-cream shop until his mother called him back, threatening him with dire punishment if he ever did that again.

Bruno’s attention left the family as a man from a vending stand leaned down and stared him in the face. The man’s breath smelled like he had eaten a good deal too many mints, masking far more unpleasant smells, and his teeth looked sickeningly yellowish.

“Here, little boy, you want some Fizzing Whizzbees? Bertie Botts’ Beans? How about some Ice Mice? Or a cauldron cake?”

He waved a small, colorful package of something that looked like jelly beans in Bruno’s face.

Bruno took a step back, wondering what he was talking about. He guessed it was some type of food, and looked pleadingly at his parents.

“No, Bruno, we’ve got to go to Gringotts first.”

“What’s that? How much farther is it?” Bruno’s attention was caught by a sign over his mother’s left shoulder, with a man standing under it with skin so pale it was hard to believe it was real, and dressed entirely in black, swirling robes. He was holding a shopping bag that had something in it that was emitting bursts of blood-red smoke…

“…we’ll exchange our money there, so we can buy everything on your supply list, and it’s only at the end of this street, I think I see a sign down there,” Brunhilda said.

Bruno grinned and said, “Okay, sounds great.”

“You’ll love seeing them, won’t you, Bruno?” Brunhilda said happily.

“See who?”

“The goblins that run the bank, Bruno, do you listen to anything I say?”

“I do too listen. I heard you; we’ll exchange our money at the end of the street. Then I’ll see goblins at the bank- er, what bank again?”

“Oh, Bruno, you are so- never mind,” she said with a sigh. Leaning towards Bruno’s ear, Brunhilda said slowly and clearly in a loud voice, “Gringotts, the wizarding bank, run by goblins, where we are going now.”

Otto let out one of his rare chuckles. “Paying good attention now, aren’t you, son?”

They arrived at Gringotts and headed to one of the counters.

“I’d like to create an account and get some wizarding money,” Brunhilda said stiffly to the goblin teller at the counter.

“Under what name?” The goblin sounded rather bored.

“Otto Schmidt,” Otto rumbled.

“Foreign, are you?” the goblin asked, staring up at the Schmidts with a strange look in his eyes, a mix between curiosity and scorn.

“Yes, but never mind, we live in England now,” Brunhilda hastily took out their savings and handed them to the teller. He shook his head.

“No, you go down in the cart. Here’s a key, your number is 248. Rumbleguts! Take these people to their new vault, and help them take out some money.”

Rumbleguts, a short goblin whose Gringotts uniform seemed a bit crumpled, led them to a small cart, and soon they were hurtling through dark corridors, along a bumpy track that made Bruno regret his big breakfast. He caught a glimpse of a strangely glimmering lake and a burst of orange light down one passageway, but soon had to close his eyes and focus on trying not to be sick. When the cart finally stopped, the Schmidts staggered out and Rumbleguts leapt nimbly over the side.

“Here’s your vault- I’ll set it up for you to use.”

His long fingers took their key, opened the vault, and did something inside the door that involved some twiddling of his fingers and a lot of talking to himself. A minute later, Rumbleguts slammed the door of the vault shut with a clang and turned back to them, handing Otto the key.

“Open it, then, go on,” he urged. Otto stepped forward nervously and turned the key. The vault door swung open with a creak.

“Put in the money- go on,” he added when Otto hesitated.

“Er, it’s Muggle money,” Brunhilda said uncertainly.

“Not a problem,” the goblin said, “I’ve got change on me, in my bag.”

Bruno, getting bored, wandered off towards the vault while his parents changed their money, leaving some Muggle money and changing the rest into Sickles and Galleons and Knuts. He stared at the vault, fascinated, wondering how exactly it worked. Finally, his musings were interrupted by Rumbleguts pushing past him and depositing the pile of money into the vault. His mother reached in and scooped some out for shopping, putting it inside her bag.

A long, rattling cart ride later, they reached the marble lobby and came out into the sunlight, Brunhilda talking about what she wanted to do next. Otto still looked a bit green, but he soon recovered as they walked down the street to find the things on Bruno’s school supply list. They decided to try the apothecary first.

While rummaging through the potions supplies, Bruno looked up and saw in the street a dark-haired, sullen looking man and a black-haired girl with red blotches around her eyes, looking as though she had been crying. The two strode into the Apothecary and walked up to the front desk.

The woman working at the register looked up.

“Hello, how may I help you?” she said in her usual bored voice, though she seemed to be looking rather carefully at the man. Bruno saw a strange look cross her face, and she ducked her head down to look at something on the counter.

“I’d like the supplies I ordered last week that weren’t here. They were supposed to be laid aside for me. Don’t tell me they’re still not here,” he said, his eyes glancing through the store condescendingly. He glanced at Bruno for a second, and then looked away again, as though considering him beneath his notice.

The woman rummaged under the desk and emerged, her neat blonde hair rumpled and her Apothecary badge askew.
“I think this is what you ordered. Rather rare, bloodrose, so that must be why it took so long.” Bruno noticed the man’s eyes sweeping through the store again at these words, and though he gave a small twitch- of annoyance? - he did not interrupt.

“I do hope that you were not inconvenienced, and will shop here again soon,” the woman continued, in what were obviously her orders to say in these situations, judging by her perfunctory tone. The man took the package impatiently.
“Come, Astra,” he ordered, and the girl stumbled after him as he swept out of the shop. Bruno returned to the shelves of dried roots he was examining, wondering who the two had been and what the package was for.

A few minutes later, as Bruno bent over a barrel of newt’s eyes resting on the floor, he heard a sudden sound behind him. He looked up and saw it was the black-haired girl, standing next to him. Her father wasn’t in the store, or Bruno didn’t see him, at least. His parents were across the room, looking at what they had gathered so far and checking the items off on the list. He was tempted to call to them, but the girl spoke.

“I’m Astra Tager. Who are you, and why were you staring at me and my father just now?”

Bruno looked at her blankly, shy about speaking to a witch when he had still met so few magical people, but decided to answer. “I don’t know, why not? Not much else going on in here, is there?”

He gestured around the quiet room, where the customers were browsing the supplies and the woman at the counter was fixing her makeup. Astra’s eyes narrowed.

“I’d advise you not to do it again. My father won’t think- well, just don’t, all right? It’s for your own good.” Astra’s solemn expression suddenly looked a bit nervous, and she abruptly swung around and marched away, out of the store. Bruno stared after her for a minute, and then walked over to his parents. He decided a split second after opening his mouth to speak that he didn’t want to tell them about the encounter. This might have been awkward, if they had noticed his mouth abruptly shutting, but luckily for Bruno, Brunhilda was looking at the things he had collected.

“Oh, good, you found the sassafras. I couldn’t find it anywhere. And here’s about everything else, so I guess we’re done in here. Let’s go pay and then we can go to buy you a cauldron, all right?”

The cauldron was big and dark and bulky, rather sinister-looking in Bruno’s opinion. They bought gloves and robes in Madam Malkin’s store, and headed toward the bookstore. Loaded down with packages, Bruno overbalanced when something small and fast-moving crashed into his ankles. He hit the ground with a thud, dropping all his packages on the ground. A small, red haired, freckly boy peered down at him. Bruno blinked hard. Now there were two of them- he must be seeing double, which was strange, since he hadn’t fallen that hard.

“Fred! George!” A red-haired woman skidded into view, breathing hard. “What have you done now? Oh, I’m sorry!” she said, spotting Bruno. “Always into mischief, these two. Are you all right?” Bruno realized the two were twins, and smiled in relief.

Brunhilda helped Bruno up, and the two of them started chatting as Bruno collected his packages. He went to get some that were a bit farther away, and a minute later he came back to get the last few bags, right near his mother’s feet.

“So, your mother tells me you’re on your way to Hogwarts this year?” the woman, who had introduced herself to Brunhilda as Mrs. Weasley, beamed at him.

Straightening up, Bruno nodded.

“Well, I have a son Bill also starting there. Speaking of- where is he?” she demanded to one of the twins.

The boy just giggled. Mrs. Weasley sighed.

“I have no end of trouble dealing with my twins, you know, and all the mischief they’re always up to,” she confided. “Some of the others are a bit calmer- or maybe they just seem that way in comparison. Oh, here you are! Bill, Charlie, Percy, this is the Schmidts.”

The boys, who had just walked over, looked at them. The tallest was holding a little baby, which he handed to his mother. Another little boy came over to Mrs. Weasley and clung to her nervously.

“Bill, this is Bruno, he’s the same age as you!” Mrs. Weasley said enthusiastically. “You’ll be going to Hogwarts together soon, isn’t that exciting?”

The oldest boy who had been holding the baby exchanged stares with Bruno. Bruno saw a tall, thin, red-haired boy with sharp brown eyes, wearing patched-up robes and gazing at him with a look of misgiving.

“Er, hello, then,” the tall boy said uncomfortably, under his mother’s glare. “Who are you?”

“I’m Bruno.” Bruno felt embarrassed, with all these red-haired people staring so intently at him. He felt defensive and crossed his arms. Bill did the same.

“That’s lovely, Bruno, maybe you and Bill can be friends now!” Brunhilda said happily. Bruno, still staring at Bill, felt that one thing the two could definitely agree on was that this was an unlikely idea.

Brunhilda decided to stay and chat with Mrs. Weasley for a minute while Otto and Bruno went shopping in the bookstore. She started playing with the baby, who was apparently the only girl in the family, while the twins wrestled in a corner and the other boys played some sort of tag around some trees, except for the littlest one who fell asleep on Mrs. Weasely’s shoulder. Bill was sent by Mrs. Weasley to buy his books with the Schmidts.

Bruno gazed up in awe at the huge bookshelves, thinking about all the English words inside. Reading was still harder for him than speaking, but his mother’s insistence on making him practice constantly had made it easier. Bruno decided he wanted to practice even harder, so he could find out the secrets hidden in these books, and then he could use whatever magic he wanted to go and have adventures. Bill walked with him to an aisle, and raised his hand to get a book off a high shelf. His elbow accidentally knocked Bruno in the face.

“Hey, watch it!” Bruno protested, rubbing his face.

“Watch it yourself!” Bill said grumpily.

“I didn’t do anything, you did!”

“Trying to blame it all on me, so I’ll get in trouble? You’re a nice sweet little baby, going and crying to your mum over a little thing like that,” Bill said in a mock-baby voice.

“I didn’t call my mum! Why are you accusing me of being a tattletale? Oh, and you have way too many babies at your house if you’re starting to sound like them,” Bruno said heatedly.

Bill’s ears turned red and his face darkened, but all he said was, “You’re getting all angry, you’d better calm down before your mummy comes running.”

Bruno growled, and Bill jumped a little.

“Hey, cool it, will you?” Bill said furiously. Luckily, Otto came around the next shelf just then.

“You boys find your books yet?” he asked. Both boys scurried back to look at the shelf, hunting for titles like The Standard Book of Spells and Magical Theory , and wondering if Otto had seen them fighting. They finally paid and left the store- none too soon for Bruno, who felt like he couldn’t stand another second in Bill’s glowering company, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

The Schmidts and Weasleys parted ways and each returned home. Bruno went up to his room and thought about Astra, and Bill. He was starting to get nervous about whether he would find any friends in Hogwarts, if all wizarding children were like this. It had been easier in Karstbaum, where he knew everybody and fit in with everyone else. He took a piece of paper out of his drawer and drew a calendar of the days until September first. Whether this was in anticipation of school, or whether he was trying to hold on to the last few days before school began, he didn’t know.