“I take it you’re ready to go?” Patrick nodded quickly. “We’re just waiting for your father, who should already be out here,” she said, looking toward their kitchen. “Charles! Come on, dear, you know there are going to be huge crowds. There always are at this time of year,” she yelled. She looked at her son softly. "Are you ready to go? Whatever you need we'll get it, just ask." Patrick nodded and his father came walking out of the kitchen clutching the current edition of The Warlock Examiner.
“This country has been going downhill since Filibuster stepped into office," Patrick’s father worked at the Agency of Magical Transportation in Virginia’s division of the Republic. He would frequently come home ranting and raving about all the changes made by the Republic of Magic and how his workload was constantly rising. He entered their parlor, setting his mug and newspaper down on the table in front of them.
“Don’t put that paper there!” Mrs. Thatcher said, disapprovingly. “At least have Merton place it with the rest of them.”
He kept every paper he ever bought in their broom closet. Their house-elf, thankfully, stacked them in three, nice and neat piles. Had it not been for Merton, there would have been several issues strewn on top of items at various places around the house.
Mr. Thatcher, grudgingly, picked it up himself and carried it over to the broom closet with the others. He opened the door, tossed the paper inside, and shut the door again.
“If anyone needs to pick up their slack, it’s those bums over in Pennsylvania. I voted for Elmer and for good reason, too. He knows what””
“Later, Charles," Mrs. Thatcher interrupted, wiping off a few stray crumbs from her husband's face, "you can talk about politics later. You know your father has very strong views when it comes to that." She checked her family over again before handing Mr. Thatcher the brown jar. He reached in, pulled out a fist full of grey powder, and threw it at the red flames, turning them a brilliant green. Mr. Thatcher stepped inside his enormous fireplace, and spoke very clearly, in the direction of his family, the words "Agnomon Square." At these words he was swept away in a rush of green flames, leaving behind a display of bright sparks.
Patrick's mother had reached for the jar to hand some of the grey powder to her son, but Patrick had already grabbed his share and threw a fistful into the fireplace before stepping amongst the fire. He, just like his father, stood in front of his mother and spoke the name of his destination, "Agnomon Square!" and was taken away, giggling with excitement, by the same emerald green flames.
No matter how many times he traveled by Floo Powder, his initial shock at being jolted down never went away. Patrick was sent spinning around and around, being hurled about like a cannonball soaring through the air. He tucked his arms and knees in closely, careful not to run into any of the objects spinning along with him. His eyes saw flashes of many other fireplaces as he tumbled around toward the Square, some recognizable as other stores and others leading to places he had never seen before. When he finally arrived, he fell flat on his bottom to the hearty laughs of his father.
“You keep at it,” his father chuckled. “It’s only a matter of time before you manage a perfect landing.”
Patrick’s father helped him up and they waited only a few seconds before his mother arrived through the same fireplace. She dropped crisply to her feet and took a moment to regain her composure as she dusted herself off. Mr. Thatcher bent down next to Patrick’s ear.
“Your mother makes it look easy,” he said. He straightened himself out and they made their way through the several other wizards who, too, had just arrived.
The irony in Agnomon Square was that it was not shaped like a square at all. Agnomon was in fact a large, two-story circular plaza, with a magnificent silver sundial situated in the center. It was surrounded by several stores, some larger than others, that were concentric from the shining, sterling centerpiece. Patrick stared down at the sundial, currently reading 7:13. He could see the reflections of numerous bustling shoppers on the second floor and looked up to see another level full of shops and several busy wizards. Some had stopped to chat and others were hustling from shop to shop, arms full of boxes and books, clearly trying to accomplish their back-to-school preparations in a hurry. After glancing around the square once more, Patrick turned to his mother; it was just as crowded as she suspected.
Patrick’s gaze bounced between the attire of the large group of wizards and witches noticing the differences in each one’s clothing. Patrick's eyes followed one thin and rigid wizard as he perused a book in Wickburner’s Bookstore. The sun was shining on the glass window and Patrick could barely make out the title, but he caught the name Help with Hexes: How to Hinder Those You Hate just as the man placed it back on the shelf. Patrick's attention was suddenly snatched by a short witch wearing very colorful, flower-print robes, who Patrick figured must have been Hawaiian, who walked into Fancour’s Wizarding Sports Shop. Her hair was long, black and flowing and a single purple orchid rested comfortably behind her left ear. Patrick watched her enter the shop until she was blocked by an elaborate display in the store's front window. The shop bore a collection of items from a popular Quodpot team, the Bloomfield Barons. A large, moving poster hung from the ceiling showing ten players attempting to hurl a ball into a medium-sized, black pot. The player wearing robes with “Jewkes” across the back came close to scoring before the ball he was holding exploded as he attempted to throw it in the pot.
Patrick had been here quite often. His mother owned The Aviary, the Agnomon Square owl shop, and had always decided it would be best to bring her son along rather than to leave him in the, as she considered, absent-minded care of Grandpa Thatcher. Over time, Patrick had taken to playing with one owl frequently, the very same owl that was given to him on his ninth birthday.
He was well acquainted with the whole of the Square and was well known by many of the shopkeepers in the plaza. Patrick’s favorite store was Gallivant’s Gifts and Gags, which was perhaps the best place to find self-folding napkins, that would fold themselves into an array of patterns and designs, and a pair of shoes that would hurl the wearer into dancing anything from the foxtrot to the tango the second they were placed on the owner’s feet.
Patrick frequented The Quod Pot, and couldn’t resist arguing with owner, Silas Swinden. As a retired Keeper for the Elmira Eagles Quodpot Team, Mr. Swinden never gave in to Patrick’s attempts at convincing him that Quidditch was a more interesting sport. He did, however, admire Patrick’s zeal and usually offered to buy him a slice of cheesecake from Dilly and Dally’s Delicious Desserts.
Whenever Patrick passed Gladstone and Gibbs’ Robe Shop or Jotting’s Quills and Parchment he would wave to the workers inside. And it was almost unthinkable for Patrick to walk alongside The Bestial Bazaar without peering inside to see if Mr. Ollerton had received more Puffskeins or if his pack of Jarveys had learned any phrases that were appropriate to speak in public. Wherever Patrick went at the Square, he was sure to be known.
Patrick had, however, been given strict warnings not to follow and explore the steps leading beneath the Square found at various places around the shops. Patrick would sometimes look down at them wondering where they led, but all he could see was darkness, an abyss that seemed to swallow up the light the second it reached the shadowy depths. His mother warned that if he wanted to keep his owl he would stay away from there, so he never contested. Paul teased that it was where the hags and vampires lived, waiting to feed on wand-less wizards or witches who had accidentally dropped a Galleon or two down the long dark steps. Patrick, as gullible as he was, from then on held closely to every Knut he ever handled at Agnomon, careful not to let it slip away from him.
“Let’s just see what we’ve got here,” said, Mr. Thatcher as he removed an ivory piece of parchment from his cloak and unfolded it. He briefly skimmed the list and passed it over to his son. Patrick, who amongst the tumult had neglected this piece of paper yesterday, carefully read its contents:
of MAGIC
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (Navy-blue)
2. One pair of protective gloves (Dragon hide or similar)
3. One winter cloak (Navy-blue, silver fastenings)
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Essential Spell Book (Volume 1) by Tyler Hewden
A Historical Look at Magic by Andrew Plinius
Introduction to Transfiguration by Jeffrey Flexing
Common Charms and Enchantments by Otfried Joltt
Magical Properties of Plants by Wynona Pistil
Playing with Potions by Digory Mediment
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
Fending off Forces: A Journey in Self-Defense by Oscar Tutham
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (copper, standard size 2)
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS PLEASE NOTE THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.
“Come on Patrick," his parents called, "we have to go get your wand first!" Patrick tore his focus from the list and turned to follow his parents as they stepped over to one of the larger stores. A bell chimed as the Thatchers creaked open the door and walked into Wedgewood's Wand Shop. It was a very neat and tidy store filled with nothing more than armchairs an old wooden counter and many rows of shelves that stretched towards the back of the store. Sitting upon the shelves were hundreds of long boxes, carrying what was undeniably handcrafted wands.
Patrick and his mother and father stood behind another group of people who were waiting just a few feet in front of them, at the counter. They were very oddly dressed. All of them were wearing black clothes with many silver links and chains that were hanging, attached, to various areas. Their daughter, standing in between who Patrick believed were her parents, was sporting black nail polish and matching lipstick. When the middle-aged man at the counter returned holding a thin box, the family nodded appreciatively and walked quickly out the door. Patrick caught a glimpse of the girl's face as she passed, and he could tell that she was clearly embarrassed.
“Hmm, odd group,” the man said, as the family left the shop. “Ah, Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher,” he greeted, happily.
“Hello, Walter,” Mr. Thatcher replied “What’s your father up to? Doesn't he usually run the counter?"
“Yes, he's away at a wand-making convention, meeting with all the top makers,” he beamed. Walter Wedgewood was the owner’s son and was rarely seen in the front of the store. He mostly sat in the back helping with paperwork or restocking wands that had failed to be matched with a customer. Patrick could hardly remember the last time Mr. Wedgewood had left his son in charge of the shop. Walter was clearly proud to be filling in for his father.
“What about Emeritus? How's the ol' hero holding up?"
“He's doing fine, especially for his age, but,” Mr. Thatcher shifted, seeming tired of their small talk, “from the oldest of the Thatchers to our youngest. We're getting Patrick, here, his first wand." Mr. Thatcher moved Patrick who had been looking out the nearby window at balloons that were gradually appearing on the other side of the glass, to the front of the counter. Patrick watched as a tiny, floating dot slowly swelled to a full-sized red balloon.
“Ah… I bet you are excited, Patrick. I'm sure your grandfather has told you stories of his daring exploits. I bet he’s even given you a few pointers on being a first-class wizard."
Patrick nodded, not paying attention. His eyes were browsing the numerous boxes on the numerous shelves behind Walter. He knew that among them, one of these had to be his, and he would not be ready to leave until he tried every one.
“Let's see...how about this one? Twelve and one-quarter inches, Hazelwood, strong and durable." He handed it over to Patrick. Patrick’s hands felt his hands warm up as his palm grasped the wand. He gave it a wave and out shot a marvelous display of gold sparks, to everyone’s amazement.
“Wow, I've never gotten it right on the first try. Heh, I must be getting better," Walter said with a soft chuckle. "I feel relieved that I don't have to go through all of these wands. I had to do that the other day with a little red-haired girl, almost had to close off the shop so we could find it." He took Patrick's new wand back, and placed it inside its box and handed it over to him. “There you go, 'Use it wisely,' dad would say."
Patrick held the box in his hand, clutching it as though he had received a long awaited toy for Christmas. He finally had his wand. The box weighed in his hands; he was beginning to feel more and more like a wizard.
“I wonder what is going on out here." Patrick's mother, who had walked over to look out the window, just as her son did before, motioned for her family to join over. The balloons that had been suddenly appearing earlier were now plentiful around the sundial and a huge banner hovered over the crowd, though the words were not visible from where they were currently standing.
“Looks like some sort of show," Mr. Thatcher suggested. He dropped several galleons on the counter, waved goodbye to Walter, and ushered his family out the door to see what the commotion was all about. They walked around the perimeter of the group of spectators until they were able to make out what the banner read:
Upon reading it, Mrs. Thatcher cautiously turned her head to look at her husband. He could not have been more displeased to see any name gleaming in red, white and blue, than he was now. His brow was furrowed and lips curled with disgust.
“He must be up to something. The Examiner didn't mention anything about an appearance at the Square.” Patrick could see his father’s face flush with irritation. It was the face he wore whenever Mrs. Thatcher informed him that her parents were coming to visit.
“Well, I’m not going to stand here and listen to whatever nonsense he’s going to spit out." He finished his sentence with a slight sound of loathing and focused his eyes toward Mortar and Pestle's Potion Emporium, which was currently holding a sale on glass vials. He tore off from them, the ivory list of supplies in hand and headed away from the center of the square.
Mrs. Thatcher seemed aggravated at her husband’s behavior, whispering under her breath, “So stubborn.”
Patrick, meanwhile, was shocked at his fortune. Everything he came across poured a little more excitement into him and being able to see the president was no exception. He tucked his new wand in his robe pocket and ran forward into the crowd. He had slid past a couple of gossiping witches before hearing his mother call after him to return, but he kept weaving and squeezing through until he reached the front of the spectators.
Standing just before a wide platform, were several more young wizards, around Patrick's age, that were bunched up as close as they could to the stage. Spread across on top, in front of red curtains, were several wizards who all were wearing the same black robes and had positioned themselves on every end of the floor. Patrick stood amongst the others until a wizard dressed in very nice green robes and holding a small piece of parchment, stepped from behind the drapery and stood before the viewers. The noisy crowd began to quiet down at his sudden appearance as he pointed his wand at his throat and said, "Sonorus." He adjusted the small spectacles that he wore on his slender, unfriendly face and looked down at his parchment. In a huge, booming voice that rang throughout the Square he spoke.
“I am most proud to present, the executive in-chief of the United States Republic of Magic, President Franklin Filibuster!" His delivery lacked the enthusiasm one would usually expect from an introduction, and from an introduction of one of the most influential figures of the Wizarding World, no less. It was dry and listless, bordering on monotone, as if he had read from this parchment a hundred times before. His tone was of no concern to the wizard-laden audience. As he announced the name, bursts of jeers and applause erupted from the surrounding mass of wizards. Patrick looked up onto the stage as the President emerged along with another group of black robed wizards following behind him. President Filibuster looked very noble walking out waving to the large crowd. His brown hair crept out from under his navy-blue hat, and his handsome face beamed down at the young wizards Patrick was standing among.
The president, just like the man before him, pointed his wand at his throat and said, "Sonorus." The words that followed were spoken in the same booming voice.
“My fellow wizards and witches, thank you for such a warm welcome,” he said, ignoring the jeers. “I know most of you are surprised to see me here unannounced," Patrick knew that that his father was definitely one of those people. "As this is the start of the first school year since my election, I wanted to get a chance to meet some of Wentwater's new students," his eyes scanned the group of first years below him as he spoke. "Why don't we have a couple of you join me?" All those gathered at the front of the stage began to jump up and down waving their hands in the air to grab the president's attention.
“Why don't we have....you," and the president pointed to a boy on the far right of the stage. The boy he selected was a tall black boy with long, braided, dark brown hair that had been tied behind him, falling down his back. He walked slowly up to the side and stood next to one of the robed wizards. The president skimmed the crowd again for another child. Patrick was having a bit of trouble getting himself noticed. He was being thrown around by the other boys and girls next to him, craning his arm to raise his hand barely as high as the others.
“Hey now, that's no way to treat a future classmate," the president had clearly seen Patrick being thrashed about. "How about you join me up here, too." Those around Patrick felt cheated and leered at him as he climbed happily up the stairs with the robed security wizard and the other boy. The crowd looked much larger from where he was now standing. He tried looking for his mother, but she was as good as invisible in a crowd this size.
“Come here, come here," the president called. "Why don't you introduce yourselves? You first," he said to Patrick.
“My name's Patrick Thatcher, and I...I can't wait to go to Wentwater," he said, but only loud enough for the first few rows of people to hear.
“Do you hear that? Patrick Thatcher?" the president's voice rang, "like Emeritus Thatcher?" Patrick nodded. "Well, with a relative like him, of course you're to be excited!" He placed his hand on Patrick’s blond-hair, ruffled it up a bit and moved from Patrick over to the second boy standing next to him, "and who might you be?"
“I'm William Quinn." Patrick's eyes grew wide and he stared, fixated at him. He had come face to face with the same person whose letter he received only a morning ago. Patrick still could not see his mother, but he was sure that she was wearing the same expression as he was.
“And what are you looking forward to at Wentwater?" asked the president, who continued to look at William, oblivious to Patrick’s shock.
“Becoming captain of the Quidditch team," he responded confidently, as if he already held the position.
“Hmm...Quodpot I'd say, but Quidditch is just as good a sport." The President walked around guiding Patrick and William along with him to the corners of the stage where a couple of photographers snapped several pictures. The flash from their cameras was blinding, making it near impossible for Patrick to see the fingers on his own two hands.
"I think this is just as good a time as any to make my announcement." Several members of the crowd turned to each other, seemingly in speculation of what his announcement could be regarding. "We at the Republic of Magic gladly invest our resources into our future wizards and witches. As such, I'm proud to announce that Wentwater Conservatory will be welcoming a new member to its very knowledgeable staff.” Patrick, who had been gazing out over the crowd, listening only mildly before, began to focus his attention on the remainder of the President’s words. “With the approval of Mr. Montgomery, himself, our very own Dominick Sumpton will be taking over the post of Transfiguration for this year. We know he’ll contribute a great deal to the new and existing batch of students.”
Just like the President’s arrival, his speech was met with mixed remarks. While some applauded his announcement, a fair share shouted their disapproval. The president, keeping a pleased face, smiled and waved over the group of wizards. He stayed a bit longer, shaking hands with the students below, taking more pictures, and handing out buttons until he was quickly ushered off the stage, through the same red curtains from which he appeared.
Still standing on the stage not far away from Patrick, was William, whose hand was placed up to his forehead, apparently looking for his parents. Patrick went over several thoughts in his head as he walked slowly towards him trying to piece together all of the things he wanted to know about the boy whose letter he had received.
That was still one of the main mysteries that had not been resolved. Why is it that he had received a letter addressed to William of all people, especially, if William’s letter had already arrived several months prior?
Patrick did not know if William would have all the answers, but he opened his mouth and was just inches away from William before being abruptly interrupted by one of the wizards robed in black.
“Here you go, young man.” The wizard reached out his hand and offered Patrick a small button. On it was a picture of President Filibuster standing very proud in front of a waving American flag. As Patrick took notice that the president looked thinner and his face more handsome, the button changed to show a thin and younger man with golden-blonde hair, presumably the vice-president. Underneath him was labeled “Perlston Honeybell” who was also positioned in front of the same rippling banner.
“Um…thanks,” Patrick answered softly. He quickly grabbed the button and swirled around to find that William had already left the stage. After a hasty look in the crowd, Patrick could see William making his way from the where he was just standing seconds before.
“Patrick!” He shifted his body in the direction of the voice. He was not surprised to see his mother sitting near the sundial, her arms folded across her chest. Standing next to her was his father, hands stacked full of boxes. Patrick rushed over to them stuffing the button inside his robe pockets. “Well, didn’t you have fun today?” his mother commented toward her son and his amused smile.
“D’ you think we can head home now?” Mr. Thatcher said, trying to juggle the numerous packages to the ground.
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Thatcher replied, holding back a laugh, “your father didn’t much care to listen to what President Filibuster wanted to say, so he volunteered to pick up the rest of your school things.”
“I wonder what my teachers will be like,” Patrick said to his mother as they walked toward the fireplaces at the entrance to Agnomon Square. Mr. Thatcher, deciding that he would rather maintain the functionality of his arms, was conducting the tower of merchandise from behind with his wand.
“I’m sure all of your teachers will be great.” Patrick listened to these words before being whisked away, back to his house. He tumbled out of his fireplace upon his arrival, with his parents bringing up the rear. Merton came shuffling through the living room, duster in tow, cleaning up the mess the three Thatchers had made. Trailing him, was Patrick’s grandfather, who looked quite happy to see the family return home.
“Patrick this arrived for you, while you were gone.” Patrick reached out his hand to take an ivory white envelope from his grandfather. He carefully examined the envelop this time and was overjoyed to see the scarlet-inked words on the front.
31 Mather Street
Arbridge, Virginia
He opened the envelope and found the same Wentwater letters he received before, with one important difference. It was his name on them this time. He could not have been more delighted to finally have what he and his family had waited close to eleven years to receive. He hugged his grandfather tightly around the waist, just before doing the same to his mother and father and running up to his room. Merton grabbed the bundle of supplies from Mr. Thatcher and scurried up the stairs behind Patrick, their footsteps together hitting like large hammers against the wood of the floor.
Patrick threw open the door of his room, searched his drawers for a couple of pins, and posted his letters up along his wall. They hung there directly over his bed. He placed them up in such a hurry that he did not hesitate to move his ticket from the first Warblers match he ever attended, against the Altamont Airfleet, which was now poking out of one side of his letter. His calendar was now, also, hidden and had almost been completely covered except for a bit of the lower half which had the date August 20th circled three times in red ink.
“Is Patrick needing anything else, sir?” offered Merton setting down Patrick’s things.
“No, Merton, I’m okay.” He watched the house-elf straighten a few more things before stepping out of his room leaving the door slightly ajar. Patrick once more took comfort in his bed listening to the heated discussion of his father and grandfather. He imagined they were talking about what had transpired at the Square today. Surely with all the pictures being taken an article must have surfaced in the Examiner’s evening edition. He listened to their shouting while concentrating on the fact that in a few weeks time he would be attending, in his opinion, the greatest Wizarding school in the world.