Unable to muster the energy to get out of my hospital bed, tears began leaking from my eyes. As my eyes roamed the sterile room, I thought to myself; I must have the worst luck imaginable, what god did I piss off and why was he making it his life's mission to screw up my life as much as possible?
As I laid there, I began reviewing the many tragedies that had happened to me over the past 15 years, beginning with my parents dying in a car accident when I was 2, leaving me all alone in this world. If that wasn't bad enough, I developed leukemia at the tender age of 4. If regular kids have a hard time being adopted, they don't have anything on sick kids. No one wants to take a child who may be dead soon.
As time went on, I spent more time in the hospital than I did at the orphanage; it wasn't all bad; many of the doctors and nurses became my surrogate family. When I was seven, I overheard the doctor telling my caretaker that I had less than a year to live. However, I always had been a stubborn child, and I managed to eke out eight more years of life, but by the time I was 15, I gave up. I was exhausted; every day that I still lived seemed to be a fight. If it wasn't leukemia, it was the brain tumors, it seemed that this body was defective somehow.
I managed by losing myself in fantasy books, often imagining what I would do if I could only visit these magical worlds. The last book I read was The Order of the Phoenix, written by J.K Rowling, and I hoped to stay alive long enough to finish the series. Praying to every god out there, I pleaded for a do-over. When that didn't work, I started to get angry. It wasn't fair that this was my life; I wanted to live, to explore. Exhausted, I fell asleep. Later that night, my body shut down for good and I felt myself slip away.
In another world On September 2, 1977, at precisely 4 in the afternoon, deep within the heart of St. Mungo, the wizarding hospital. In the paternity ward, a young woman with golden hair gave birth to a son. Curiously, immediately after being born the babe was silent and refused to make a sound. After the healer gave the child to his mother all swaddled up, she asked what the child's name was. Once the young mother was finished naming her son, the healer left and a young man entered the room and asked to see the baby. The healer gave the swaddled baby to the young man, and he spun the child around all excitedly. In response, the babe began wailing and as he did so the glass in the nearby windows shattered.
Hundreds of miles away, high in a magical castle, in a room that has not seen many visitors, an enormous leather-bound book lay upon a pedestal next to a heavily feathered quill. Moments after the glass shattered in the maternity ward at St. Mungo's, the feather rose up and dipped itself into the inkwell. Afterward, the book opened, and the quill wrote the name, Alexander Nicola Fawley. When the quill was finished writing, the book snapped shut and the feather floated back down to the pedestal and the room was still once more.
Five years later.
Today marks five years since my rebirth, as traumatizing as it was to be reborn as a baby fully aware, I am happy to be alive. I still don't understand how this happened; I don't even remember dying and as more time goes on the more my previous life seems like a dream that I can barely remember. Which I suppose is a blessing. Still, if someone is going to be reincarnated, being reincarnated as a wizard in a world full of magic makes me believe I hit the jackpot. I had so much bad luck in my previous life that the universe decided to compensate me for it. However, this brings about a critical question, is J.K. Rowling a god of some sort? Did she somehow create this world, or did she have visions of this world and write what she saw? If she did write what she saw, how accurate was she? Did she embellish to write a good story, or did she record the events as they unfolded?
While pondering over these deep philosophical questions, a booming sound shook me from my thoughts, "ALEXANDER FAWLEY… DOWNSTAIRS, NOW!"
I jumped and felt a sinking feeling well up inside of my stomach, which only happens when a child hears their mother speak in that tone of voice. After exiting my room on the top floor of our three-story house, I started descending the steps at the end of the hallway.
While descending the stairs the paintings that hung on the wall started snickering and hooting that I was in trouble now. As I approached the ground floor an encouraging voice rang out from the final painting along the wall, "Courage, my boy."
I turned to the painting to see an encouraging smile coming from an old balding wizard. Cracking my knuckles, I responded with a confident grin, "No worries, I believe I know what this is about and I have mentally prepared myself for what's coming."
After reaching the ground floor I strood purposely through the family room towards the dining room where I would do battle with the monster known as mother. Before I entered the dining hall I paused and took a deep breath to reassure myself of victory. As I entered the dining room, I stopped in the doorway to take a good look at what awaited me.
I saw mum sitting around the round dinner table, her long golden blond hair hanging over her shoulders. Next to her sat my father whose face was hidden by a magazine advertising flying brooms. As I entered the dining area, my mother's blue eyes immediately shot up and made contact with me.
She said in a surprisingly sweet voice, "Please sit down, Alex."
Not for the first time, I tried to compare mum's current soft-spoken voice to the booming one that called for me earlier. I had trouble reconciling the two manners in which she spoke. The latter was carefully spoken, with a slight French accent accompanying her words. The other was not spoken so much as screamed, and when her voice rose to that level her French accent came across more severely.
After I pulled out the heavy wooden chair and climbed into the seat I brushed my long dirty blond hair from my eyes and smiled as widely as I could to bring out my dimples. I knew that they were a weakness of hers.
"Yes, mum," I said with all the innocence of a five-year-old.
Mum's eyes narrowed informing me that my ploy to appear adorable, while usually effective, would not deter this upcoming battle. "Do you have anything you would like to tell me?" she asked me.
I thought to myself, ha, not falling for that trap. Rule #11, never admit to any crime without overwhelming evidence. As several responses occurred to me I selected one that I hoped would distract her.
I said in a bright voice, "It's my birthday; I'm five today."
Mum acknowledged my opening statement with a nod, I started a mental scoreboard. Alex -1 Mom -0. However, after I studied the slight smirk that appeared on her face I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
After what seemed like an unusually long silence mom set out a glass jar half-full with a label that identified the contents as mandrake leaves. She asked, "Are you sure?"
I acknowledge my mother's parry to my opening thrust. The current score flashed into my head, Alex -1 Mum -1.
While most children would inevitably crack at this point, rule #15 dashed across my thoughts. When confronted with vague evidence about your supposed crime, double down on your denial. Several avenues of attack appeared in my mind and after selecting the most appropriate one I countered, "Presents!" and reached across the table to grab the evidence.
Mum's eyes widened, clearly not expecting that particular response from me. Alex -2 Mum -1.
After mum held eye contact with me for a moment, she pulled out a small white crystal and set it on the table and murmured, "Reveilo." After speaking the spell, the dining room seemed to disappear, and a place I was all too aware that I was not allowed into without supervision appeared.
After a moment the wooden door slowly creaked open and I observed myself sneak into the room carrying an old tattered book. After shutting the door behind me a broad smile appeared on my face as I looked about the circular room. The room was lined with shelves that surrounded the place and stretched to the ceiling, full of ingredients.
In the center of the room was a table in the shape of a crescent moon with a sturdy cauldron sitting in the middle of it. I set the book down on the table and the book seemingly opened of its own accord.
The book opened to a page containing instructions on how to brew a pepperup potion. It was one of the easiest potions to create and was designed to cure someone of the flu and other common illnesses.
After memorizing the list, I went to the shelves to gather the ingredients needed for the potion. I climbed up on the first step of what looked like a double-sided rolling ladder. After speaking the first name of the component that I needed the ladder began rolling around the shelves until it reached a particular spot. The step I was standing on started rising and the steps on the back half of the ladder began to sink. After rising to a particular point, I found the ingredients that I was looking for. Grabbing all the ingredients, I made my way back to the table to begin brewing the potion.
Suddenly the scene disappeared, and I focused back on mum's face and noticed a shark-like smile had appeared on her face. I thought to myself. Alex -2 Mum -2.
"Anything you want to say?" Mum asked.
I couldn't help but compare those words to when a judge asks if the accused has any final words and is about to pronounce a prisoner's guilt along with a harsh sentence.
After thinking furiously for a moment I looked at my dad and thought, sorry dad, but rule #21 clearly states that when confronted with overwhelming evidence of your crime, the next step is to shift blame. As I looked into my mum's eyes that were shining with the knowledge that she had me and there was no escaping her justice.
I responded, "It was Dad's idea." As the word left my mouth and resonated throughout the room my father violently spat out the coffee he was drinking and lowered his magazine.
"WHAT! HENRY EXPLAIN," Mum shrieked and turned her wrathful eyes upon her brown-haired husband, who was currently suffering from a bad case of bed head.
After meeting his wife's angry gaze he turned his dark eyes towards me, with the burning unspoken question appearing in his eyes, why would you do that to me, haven't I been a good dad? After meeting dad's reproachful eyes I felt a flash of guilt but consoled myself with the common knowledge that when meeting an angry momma bear you don't have to outrun her, you only have to beat the person next to you.
Waving his arms about, trying to convince mum not to rush to judgment, "I said no such thing Camille," Dad quickly defended.
Knowing that mum needed a final push, I sealed dad's fate with the final nail in the coffin. With the most innocent voice I could manage, I asked, "But Dad, didn't you say that the pepperup potion was so easy to make that a five-year-old could brew it?"
After hearing those words, mum's eyes narrowed like laser beams and she remarked, "Interesting."
"Now Camille, it was just an expression," Dad stuttered.
Satisfied that mum had found herself a new target, I thought to myself Alex -3 Mum -2 Dad -0.
I quietly snuck out of the dining room but before I could make the final getaway, I gave the condemned a last glance to remember his brave sacrifice.
As I met Dad's gaze, I noticed a sly smile appear on his face, and I couldn't help but think DANGER WILL ROBINSON… DANGER.
"It's true dear, I did say that," Dad said to Mum, "I told Alex that a five-year-old could brew that potion. However at the time of the alleged brewing he was not five, as he just turned five today."
As mum heard these words, she murmured, "That's true."
I couldn't help but think, well played dad, Alex -3 Mom -2 Dad -1.
I blanched at mum's expression after seeing her face once it turned towards me, and I thought, Rule #35 in the event you ever notice that mum makes that face, RUN! I raced through the living room trying to make a getaway.
Mum shouted, "OH NO YOU DON'T." and whipped out a wand and flicked it towards the heavy drapes covering the windows.
As I ran the drapes came alive and began reaching out towards me. When they were unable to reach me, they started magically extendeding and were able to catch me. After wrapping me up so that I couldn't escape, the drapes lifted me into the air and presented me as if a gift on a silver platter before my mother.
"Does the condemned have any final words?" mum said with a shark-like smile on her face.
Rule #99 popped into my head, if punishment is unavoidable, respond by being too adorable to punish harshly.
"But mommy, you were sick and I knew that the pepperup potion makes people feel better. I just wanted you to feel better," I said in a small voice.
Mum's expression softened, and she responded, "The potion that your father gave me the other day was the one you brewed."
I slowly nodded and thought Alex-4 Mum -3 Dad -1.
Mum's heart melted a little inside, but she steeled herself and said, "Alex, potions are incredibly dangerous. If brewed incorrectly you could hurt yourself. How do you think that would have made me feel?"
After hearing these words, my eyes shifted down guiltily, unable to meet my mother's gaze. She continued, "As for your punishment, we will get to that tomorrow. Now, today is your birthday, go upstairs and get dressed for the day. Your aunt and uncle will be arriving soon, along with your grandparents."
After being released by the drapes and set down, I trudged up the stairs towards my room. All of the paintings on the wall made clear that they agreed with my mother that what I had done was indeed foolish. After getting to my room, I threw myself on my four-poster bed.
I tallied up the points, and I thoughtfully considered that what ended up being the best defense to the situation ended up being the truth. I honestly did want my mom to feel better, so I made the potion. The fact I also really wanted to make a magic potion was killing two birds with one stone.
After Alex had trudged up the stairs, Camille turned to Henry and said, "Can you believe your son did that?"
Henry replied with a cheeky grin, "Why is it when Alex does something naughty. All of a sudden, Alex is 'my child', but whenever he does something impressive, he is 'your child'?"
Camille flipped her hair around and said, "Hmph… After over ten years of marriage, sometimes it's like you don't even know me at all."
Henry grumbled under his breath, "There is no knowing crazy."
Right as Camille was getting ready to respond, a small elf-like creature with large green eyes and drooping ears suddenly appeared with a resounding crack. It was wearing a white toga, stamped with the Fawley family crest, a hawk surrounded by stars.
In a high pitch tone, the elf squeaked, "Master Henry's mother has arrived and is waiting in the foyer."
Henry responded, "Thank you, Lola, for letting us know."
The elf disappeared with a crack, and Camille complained to Henry, "Your mother wasn't supposed to be here until noon."
"I know," Henry responded, "But she was probably eager to see Alex on his birthday. Lately, she has been hinting that she would like to spend more time with him and begin teaching him a basic education. Ever since the death eaters killed my father in the war, she has been getting kind of lonely in her house, and it doesn't help that my brother rarely visits, being so busy with his ship."
"I know, I know, I will cut her some slack, but if she thinks that she will need to spend a lot of time teaching Alex, then she has underestimated his intelligence. He already knows how to read and write, as well as his numbers. He picks up things so quickly it's almost unnatural," Camille responded.
Henry replied, "Even if she doesn't have to teach him very much, it will be good for Alex to spend some more time with her."
Upstairs in his room, Alex had no idea that his parents were deciding how he would be spending the next few months.
Sometime later, I descended the stairs into the living room, where I found grandma sitting with my parents drinking tea. It was hard for me to keep my eyes off of grandmother's enormous burgundy hat. Woven into the cap, was a hawk that seemed to be glaring at me.
Don't you look at me like that you big dumb bird, I didn't weave you into that monstrosity.
After I greeted grandma, my parents waved for me to sit next to them while they discussed recent events.
Just as the boredom got to be too much to bear, a loud thump could be heard coming from the solid black cabinet that was over 9 feet tall. After a moment, the tall cabinet suddenly opened and the salty smell of the ocean filled the room. A tall raven-haired man stepped inside wearing a long black duster. Following closely behind him, was an Egyptian woman with long-flowing dark hair, wearing a black sleeveless dress with a twin golden snake armband adorning her arms.
"Are we too late for the party?" The man spoke in a booming voice.
Camille rose with a smile on her face and said, "John, Nefret, I'm so glad you could make it, and where is little Omar?"
Nefret responded while shaking her head. "Omar couldn't come, my father took him on a trip to South America, and he hasn't returned home yet."
"Now, where is the little wizard? I recently learned about a fascinating custom in the states. It has to do with hexing the birthday boy," John interrupted and made a show of looking around the room.
I jumped up with a smile on my face and dashed out of the room while shouting, "You'll never catch me alive, you old pirate!"
John looked at his brother with an incredulous look, "Did he just call me old?"
John pulled out his wand and gave chase while shouting, "This will not stand, calling a dashing young pirate wizard, an old man!"
As I ran out of the living room and past the dining room into the kitchen, Uncle John caught up with me, so I dove for the stairs leading to the basement.
"Oh no, you don't, you little brat!" Uncle John shouted.
He flicked his wand at me and all of a sudden I was floating in midair. With a satisfied look on his face, he returned to the family room with me floating behind him.
After being brought back to the family room, I shot a pleading look at Dad for him to intervene. The gleam in his eye told me in no uncertain terms that this was payback for trying to throw him under the bus earlier and he would not be intervening.
As I floated helplessly before the rest of my family, Uncle John mused, "Now what spell would be most appropriate for the birthday boy?"
Dad weighed in with a malicious gleam in his eyes, "There is always the tickling charm, and I know for a fact that Alex is extremely ticklish."
I glared at my father with death in my eyes and promised retribution for this harsh betrayal. Sensing Uncle John getting ready to make his move, I made a last-ditch effort by pleading for mercy with Mum.
With a smile appearing on her face, she whispered with a grin, "Well, it is a foreign tradition, and you know I love learning about other cultures."
Uncle John pointed his wand at me with a Cheshire cat grin and chanted, "Rictusempra."
A silver burst of light erupted from his wand and hit me. Unable to move in the air, I laughed uncontrollably as the spell tickled my entire body. After several minutes of this, with tears streaming down my face, and kicking the air uncontrollably. A well of energy swelled up inside of me and burst out as I screamed, "Enough!"
Abruptly, the tickling spell ended, as well as whatever spell was keeping me suspended in the air, and I collapsed to the ground with a thud. After catching my breath, I dusted myself off with as much dignity I could manage. I glanced around the room and went to the only remaining safe-haven in the place, grandma.
I climbed into her lap, and her arms wrapped protectively around me, I glanced at my speechless family and stuck my tongue out.
Uncle John smiled and admiringly said, "That was an impressive display of underage magic, I sense another strong Fawley wizard in the making."
Mother preened at my uncle's praise, attributing my burst of magic as her own accomplishment.
"That's nothing, why just the other day my son brewed a potion without any help from anyone." she bragged.
"I do believe that Alex is our son," Henry interjected, trying to remind Camille to share my deeds with him as well.
"Hmph," Camille tossed her hair with a quick turn and challenged, "Oh, and who is the master potioneer in this house? The second he begins enchanting objects and blowing stuff up is when you can take responsibility."
My father visibly deflated at her words, conceding the battle.
I watched the unfolding drama, and a smile tugged at my lips, while I thought, who needs a tv when one's family is this entertaining?
After my mom stopped teasing dad, Nefret spoke out in carefully worded English, "When will Alex begin school?"
I perked up and chimed in with an unmistakable eagerness in my voice, "Hopefully soon."
My dad shook his head and replied, "Not for a while, Hogwarts doesn't allow students to attend until they are 11. He should be going in 1989; had he been born three days earlier, he would be able to start in 88."
After I heard that it would be almost seven years rather than six until I could attend Hogwarts, I glared at Mum to let her know that I blamed her.
Mum saw my expression and laughed, "Don't look at me like that; you were supposed to be born on the 25th of August. It was you who decided to take your sweet time, so you only have yourself to blame."
After seeing my indignant expression, Uncle John stood up and said, "Don't worry, little guy, time will pass faster than you think. I might have brought a little something to keep your mind off school."
I watched Uncle John with eager eyes as he opened his leather duster and made a show of sticking his arm into the inside pocket; a laugh escaped me when I saw how his arm magically sank up to his shoulder while he was digging around in his small pocket.
"I know I put it around here somewhere," he stated, "Ah, here it is," and pulled out what looked like a black rock half the size of a football.
Uncle John tossed the rock towards me and said, "Think fast."
The first thing I noticed after I caught the rock was the heat rising from it. I studied the rock a little closer and saw strange geometric patterns randomly placed on the rock.
"What does the rock do?" I asked.
Aunt Nefret interjected, "It's not a rock; it's a Lamassu egg." She handed me a book and said, "I think you will find this useful."
I glanced at the cover and saw the title Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Underneath the title were many different images of magical creatures that randomly moved around the book as they pleased.
Mum asked in a worried tone, "Is it safe?"
Uncle John responded, "Of course, a Lamassu will bond with the first thing it sees and consider it a family. It only becomes dangerous if something threatens its family."
After hearing Uncle John's reply, Dad narrowed his eyes, and pointedly asked, "Is it legal?"
Uncle John innocently pointed his hand towards himself and protested, "Of course, I would never break any of the increasingly stringent and unnecessary laws the ministry has been foisting on the wizarding world?"
I heard my father respond in a tone that would accept no-nonsense, "John."
Uncle John pulled out a document and waved it like a white flag and said, "Ok I give, here is the necessary immigration form approving the Lamassu entry into the country. It wasn't easy, but Amos Diggory is an old friend, and he works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Beasts."
I smiled and asked, "Does this mean I get to keep it?"
I saw my parents look at each other and have a silent conversation with their eyes. With resignation in her voice, my mother responded, "Yes, but it's your responsibility to take care of it; we won't be doing a thing."
With a broad smile on my face, I hurriedly assured them, "Don't worry; you won't have to do a single thing."
I silently watched the egg, expecting it to hatch at any moment, after a few moments, I shot Uncle John a look and questioned, "Is it broken?"
He replied, "They only can only hatch on a night with no moonlight."
It was times like these that made me miss having all the information of the internet at my fingertips. How did people handle random questions that they needed an answer too before the internet?
I felt a pat on my head as Grandma said, "Lucky you, I do believe that there will be a new moon tonight."
"Why don't you go put that up into your room for safekeeping?" my father said.
I got up and rushed upstairs, after entering my room, I set the egg carefully on my pillow, and after making sure that the egg was secure and not in danger of rolling off the bed. I returned downstairs to find several more presents awaiting me.
I looked at my parents for permission, after receiving the nod, I tore into the presents in a manner that is only cute in a child. Deciding to work from smaller to larger, I grabbed the smallest gift. After I tore the wrapping, I saw a little blue leather journal with my name etched in the top of the cover.
As I looked up, Dad explained, "It's enchanted to hide its contents, so no one can read what you write."
I ran over and hugged him and whispered loudly, "Thanks, Dad; this will be handy to keep secrets from a certain nosy nelly," I pointedly didn't look in my mother's direction.
"Hmph, I would never do anything so deceitful." Mum replied indignantly.
"Go on, open mine next," Mum quickly changed the conversation and pointed her wand at a book-sized present and flicked it towards me.
The red-wrapped present launched itself at me, I quickly reached up and caught it before it could take my head off, the gift seemed to shake in my hand as if it couldn't wait for me to unwrap it.
I threw a disgruntled look towards my mom for nearly taking my head off and tore the wrapping off. I found a book with the title The Fundamentals of Potion Making, "It's a handwritten book," Mum explained in a fond voice, "I was able to get someone special to write it, Nicholas Flamel."
After hearing that the author was Nicholas Flamel, I looked at Mum, unable to articulate how much it meant to me. I reverently held the book. Within these pages was information written by one of the most famous wizards in the world. Flamel was over six hundred years old, and the only publicly acknowledged immortal wizard of our time due to the creation of the Philosopher's Stone.
A loud whistle shook me from my thoughts. Uncle John exclaimed: "How did you get him to write that book for Alex?"
Mum replied with a huff, "I've been telling people that we are related, but no one ever seems to believe me." Everyone laughed at her disgruntled expression
I set the book down and reached for the last remaining present; it was a long rectangular box. Grandma spoke as I removed the lid and found a long broomstick inside, "It's a Fawley family tradition to get a broomstick for your 5th birthday."
I only vaguely remember a few of the different models from the harry potter books; I asked eagerly, "Is it a nimbus?"
"NO!" Dad and Uncle John's voice angrily rang out at the same time.
"You didn't tell him," Uncle John accused Dad with a betrayed look.
Dad harshly retorted, "He is only five, he doesn't need to know."
I interjected, "Know what?"
Uncle John and Dad seemed to have a wordless argument, before Uncle John threw up his hands and shouted, "Fine, keep him ignorant."
After a few awkward moments of silence, Grandma broke the ice, "No, honey, it's a bluebottle." She turned to Mum to reassure her, "It's the safest broomstick available. It's nowhere near as fast as a racing broom, and has dozens of spells to ensure safety."
I jumped up and hugged Grandma, "Thank you so much." I turned and ran to dad and pleaded with big eyes, "Can we please, please, please go outside and fly."
He replied with a smirk, "I don't know, more guests should be coming for your party in a few hours."
I mustered up all the adorableness I could manage and pleaded with puppy dog eyes. "Please, I'll be good; it won't take very long, please."
"Fine," he relented, "Grab your broomstick, and we can go outside and have your first lesson."
I jumped up and ran outside, eager for my first lesson. Unfortunately, I've learned things rarely go as well as you plan.