The Fowl Heart Chapter 2: The School Letter

This is the second chapter in my Harry Potter fan story. Appropriate for all ages, and yes, very nerdy.

*many years later*

It was almost impossible for Xander to focus on the lecture unfolding in front of him.  The philosophy professor seemed to be droning on monotonously as if there was no passion left in him, which had become quite common.  The only evidence of emotion he showed was during the first week of the semester when he angrily told off three students for raising their hands and distracting him from his next train of thought.  He had promptly proclaimed with an air of indignation that the next student to ask a question and waste his time with “obtuse observations of the naiveadolescent” would be thrown out of his class permanently.  As Philosophy was a required prerequisite for graduating and Professor Lashinsky was the only teacher for the subject, every student quickly realized this would be a very boring class.

    The past week had not been a good one for Xander nor the other students at Dalton School.  Dalton was the third best preparatory school in New York, employing the finest educators and tutors around, and holding a reputation for molding students into future Presidents and CEOs.  While the curriculum and work load was challenging to say the least, the students found comfort in engaging hobbies and competitive sports, and everyone loved their Headmaster.  However, while he was trusted and beloved by all, Headmaster Thorne had resigned for personal reasons announcing ambiguously to the student body that he had to devote more time to extended family in the United Kingdom.  He was a kind man and his replacement seemed to be his exact opposite spawned from a horrific mirror dimension only Stephen King could imagine.  

Short, austere, and cruel, Headmistress Patricia Skinner had taken the appointment and ecstatic endorsement from the school governors as a sign of new beginnings and swiftly conducted one on one interviews with students to discuss their education, and to seemingly criticize them of all their faults since conception.  Xander was no exception during his interview earlier that morning.  Headmistress Skinner was quick to analyze Xander’s file and state her disappointment that he had attended Dalton for eleven years, and would graduate in one year as an extraordinarily dull student.  No achievements or awards in sports, music, theater, journalism, literature or history.  Skinner mirthlessly laughed when she said she couldn’t even call him a science nerd.

“Ah, but you did describe me as extraordinary,” said Xander with a sly smile, pointing his index finger at the Headmistress and shaking his sandy blonde hair out his eyes in mocking confidence.

“Hacky sack and magic tricks are nothing to boast about as they will not help you get into an Ivy League school,” said Skinner.

“They’re not tricks,” said Xander, feeling offended.  He never cared for the mundane sports offered by the school, but instead devoted his free time to practicing sleight of hand, illusion of levitation, and seeing how long he could play with a hacky sack without it touching the ground.  His record was 37 minutes.

“And they’re not magic, of which there is no such thing,” countered Skinner.  

Xander rolled his eyes at this statement.  If she only knew, he thought.  Skinner continued, “They are a cry for attention that only a toddler would beg for.  They are childish and have no place in this school, especially during lunch period which should be devoted to extra studying-” 

“I thought lunchtime was devoted to lunch?” interrupted Xander, now feeling insulted and irritated.  “And besides, there are over a thousand kids that go to this school, how could you know what I do during my free time, and why would you care?  No one else does.”  He was starting to feel like his life was intruded upon by some sinister force bent on shifting his free will to its own.

“Childish though your cry may have been,” said Skinner, standing up from behind her desk and walking around to open the office door, “suffice it to say, I have heard you and have come to redirect you back onto the path of excellence I personally know you started long ago.”  Skinner stood matter-of-factly at the open door.  “It is my understanding that your mother and sibling will be visiting during the winter holidays next week.”

“Yeah,” said Xander, as both a confirmation and a question to where this conversation was heading – or perhaps closing.

“While I do not know anything of the other Summerby son, your mother is a former Dalton student and I am certain she will have something inspiring and instructional to say to you after you give her this letter,” said Skinner, handing a wax-sealed Dalton envelope to Xander, and ushering him out the door.

He rolled his eyes to this statement, too.  His mother Harriett Summerby had only attended Dalton until she was eleven – at which time she was invited to a school that Xander could only describe to his friends as the greatest magical experience possible.  At this point He had attended Dalton years longer than she ever did.  He did not think his mother would waste her time pretending that the uninteresting life inevitably ahead for Xander was something he should eagerly embrace. It did not help his envy that his twin brother, Gavin, had been invited to attend that same magical school when he turned eleven, while Xander had not.  

He could still clearly picture in his memory the vivid green writing on the envelope that arrived two hours before the mailman himself, addressed to Gavin.  Xander waited and hoped for his own invitation to arrive, but it never did.  He soon had to come to the heartbreaking conclusion that he simply was not special enough, not talented enough – and certainly not magical enough – for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.

CRACK!

Xander awoke with a start, inadvertently both jumping and falling out of his chair, harshly welcomed back into the world of wakefulness with finger-pointing, laughing and jeering from other students, and a large mass looming over him.  

Professor Lashinsky stood over Xander looking livid, the yard stick in his hands brandished like a straight-edged club.  So that’s what the sound was, thought Xander, having originally assumed it was from someone Apparating, magically appearing out of thin air, now feeling even more disappointed that it was just his teacher.

“THERE WILL BE NO SLEEPING IN MY CLASS!” bellowed Lashinsky.  “I will not be insulted like some-”

RING!

The bell to signify the end of the school day and – fortunately for Xander – the beginning of Winter break saved the philosophy class from having to listen to the rest of Lashinsky’s tirade.  Haphazardly throwing his books in his bag, Xander scrambled through the jubilant crowd of liberated high school students and sprinted to his bus stop.  Although there was no one to go home to just yet, his father having passed away two years previously, his mother had hinted on the phone earlier that she and Gavin might be arriving to their small Manhattan flat later that evening instead of the next morning.

Although the Summerby family was from Northern England, since Gavin had room and board at Hogwarts and Xander did not at Dalton, it was decided to be easier to maintain a home closest to Xander for convenience since he could not magically transport himself.  It certainly did not bother Xander.  He loved hearing the final ring of the bell at the end of each day, knowing that within the hour he’d be home.

If he were to tell his mother honestly how he felt about the school, he would tell her how miserable he was.  He despised Dalton, and only attended because - until 2 years ago - it was the best school that was closest to where his father, Gregory Summerby, worked.

While his father had always been gone from home as a muggle district attorney before dying of a heart attack, his mother had worked in the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a re-filer – she was to re-file all non-essential reports in case the information they held ever actually became relevant.  It was not her dream job.  However, recently she started working for the Ministry of Magic’s Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.  She was allowed and expected to be out of the office often these days on patrol and following leads, which allowed her to Apparate home in the afternoon more often than ever before.

Officially, Xander could not tell anyone this information because – well, how do you explain that your mother has a daily commute across the Atlantic to work for a Government of Witches and Wizards in the UK, but teleports home to New York City every night?  Besides, taking in the time difference and the long hours, he barely saw his mom once a week on average, not that he had a lot of free time anyway with his schoolwork.

Xander entered the small two bedroom flat to find it dark and empty.  He put his books down, and had just barely started making tea when there was a light tapping on the door.

“Hello, sir,” happily greeted the small round man in a plumber’s jumpsuit through the apartment door.  “I am here to speak with Mrs. Summerby, is she in?”  The man was staring through the peephole of the door, as Xander was not gullible enough to open it without knowing the person on the other end, what with the Dark Lord’s return and the Dementors no longer guarding Azkaban.  The small plumber’s mustache seemed to be twitching uncertainly between a smirk and embarrassment.

“She’s not, but you can try again later tonight, she should be in then,” said Xander.  That is when Xander realized there was something odd and disconcerting about the man.

After hearing this, the squat middle-aged plumber did not return a smile, but rather turned without saying a word and walked down the hall way.  Xander was left at the door wondering if this was someone’s weird idea of a joke.  The plumber just kept walking, all the way down the hall, entering the service elevator.  Before Xander could contemplate it much longer, there was a distinctive crack in the living room, and when he turned around, he was surprised to find not just his mother, but his twin brother Gavin holding onto her forearm!