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The man who arrived on the sidewalk outside number 9 Hazel Drive looked perfectly ordinary. His lean face was handsome, his short brown hair was dusted lightly with silver strands, and he carried a small leather satchel. He might have been a neighbor, returned early from work to take his children to the park, though he wasn’t. Everything about him appeared normal except that he wore a thick striped jumper. It was, Poppy Dursley thought as she peeked out her upstairs window, like the man had come from another season. Or, more likely, she thought, he’d come from much further north in a car with air conditioning, and had only just parked it around the corner.
As the man walked along the fence line, he scanned the small tidy garden Poppy’s father spent so many hours tending once the heat of the day had faded. Turning up the walk, the man paused and made to step off the pavement toward something that had captured his attention. Stilling himself, however, he returned his gaze to the front door of number 9 and redirected his foot along the path.
When he reached the door and Poppy could no longer see him, she let the curtain fall back into place and bolted for the railing at the top of the stairs. At the ring of the bell, her father shifted up from his chair in the living room, buttoned shirt a little damp from sweat, and answered the door.
“Good morning,” the man said cheerfully. “You must be Dudley Dursley. I’m Professor Neville Longbottom. I represent a school which would like to invite your daughter Poppy to attend as a first year student. May I come in?”
Her mother Corinne emerged from her office to peer over the railing beside her daughter.
Her father's shoulders were tight. “Poppy already as a place in a school.”
The man nodded. “She’s very clever, I’m sure. And very special. The school I represent is for gifted children like her. I’d very much like to tell you about it, as another option for you and your family to consider.”
Corinne touched her fingers to her daughter’s shoulder and they proceeded down the stairs, her daughter following dutifully. “More options certainly wouldn’t hurt,” she said to her husband. And at this, Dudley opened the door fully.
A few minutes later, Poppy sat between her parents on their sofa, the tele turned off, the kindly professor sitting across from them, and four glasses of sweating lemonade on the table between them. Eying the man's smart trousers and the jumper he hadn't even pushed the sleeves up on, Poppy felt distinctly underdressed in her floral top and shorts. She tried not to fidget. But how wasn't the man sweating?
“Where is it that you teach, Professor?” Corinne asked as the stranger took a polite sip of his drink.
“I teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m sure the name sounds strange.” Strange? Poppy felt her eyes bug nearly out of her head. Directing himself toward Poppy, Professor Longbottom set his glass back on the table. “Poppy, have you ever found yourself able to do something strange or impossible when you were afraid or stressed?”
Poppy ducked her head and glanced hastily at each of her parents. Her mother looked curious, but her father was frozen still. His dear pointed nose and wide ears looked rather alarming when he wasn’t smiling.
When she didn’t answer, Professor Longbottom continued in a casual tone. “For example, one time when I was about your age, I fell out of a high window. I should have broken my leg or my arm, but instead I bounced all the way through the garden. My gran was so grateful, she wasn’t even upset that I’d squashed all her lavender.”
Poppy nodded slowly. “When we went hiking once, I ran ahead and startled a cow that wasn’t in a fence. It was so big. I scrunched up my eyes and stood really still. And, then, when nothing happened, I opened my eyes, and it was clear across the field, mooing and complaining.”
The man smiled. “I’ve heard stories like yours before.”
Poppy sagged, grinning her relief. Neville smiled back at her. “The truth is, Poppy, you aren’t strange at all. You’re a witch. You have magic. And every time something happened you couldn’t explain, your magic was trying to help or protect you. Hogwarts is a school where you can learn how to use your magic. Does that sound like something you’d like to do?”
Poppy’s heart leaped, then dread washed over her. “I—" she glanced at her father, who looked down at her with concern. Poppy’s heart was hammering. Carefully, she said, “I can already control it a little. Sometimes—sometimes I can water Dad’s plants just by touching them.”
The professor was still smiling. “Do you water the plants I saw in your front garden?”
She nodded.
“You’ve done a fine job with them. Does the effort make you tired?”
Poppy nodded. “Yes. Very.”
“At Hogwarts, you would learn how to do magic so that it didn’t make you tired. You would learn about all kind of magical creatures and plants, and how to perform spells and charms. You'd learn about astronomy, transfiguration, and how to brew potions.”
Nodding even more urgently, Poppy looked to her parents. “I can go, can’t I? I was going away to school anyway.” Seeing her father’s grave expression, she said, “Daddy, can I go? Please?”
Her father cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Professor Longbottom, do you by chance know someone in your world named Harry Potter.”
Poppy startled, pulling back, then looked to the professor, whose smile had only widened.
“Harry and I were in the same year at Hogwarts,” he answered. “I still consider him to be a good friend.”
“Uncle Harry went to Hogwarts!” she exclaimed. “Papa, why didn’t you tell me Uncle Harry is like me?”
Dudley looked down at Poppy. "We weren't sure, love." He looked over her head at Corinne, then back to Neville. “Harry and I are first cousins. We grew up in the same house, though it wasn’t a happy home for him I’m afraid.” He cleared his throat. “I was expecting Hogwarts to send a letter, if Poppy was magical. That’s what happened with Harry.”
Professor Longbottom nodded. “We try to offer in-person support to people who may not know they have magic. Harry’s situation was unique, and not handled very well from what I’ve heard.”
Poppy watched her father swallow, face tight. Her mother’s hand reached behind her to rub her father’s shoulder.
“Hogwarts letters are still an important right of passage for magical children,” said the professor, producing a crisp envelope from his satchel. He held it out to Poppy with both hands. “As such, this is for you.”
Poppy mirrored him and took the thick parchment with both of her hands. Turning it over, she opening the wax seal carefully, her parents peering over her shoulder.
After reading the start to the letter aloud, Poppy shuffled that page aside and yelped with delight. “Look, Mummy! Spellbooks. Robes. A wand, even! I’ll have a real magic wand.”
Withdrawing a length of polished wood from the back pocket of his satchel, the professor held it flat in both his palms for their inspection. “You said you can water plants sometimes. A wand like this one helps me to channel and control my magic. With this, I can—" he waved it and took an empty tumbler from the air, “summon a glass. Then, I can fill it with water.” Very clearly, he said, “Aguamenti,” and they watched water pour from the tip of the wand into the glass. Once full, he tapped his wand to stop the flow and set the glass on the table for Poppy and her parents to inspect.
Dudley shifted beside his daughter. Poppy and Corinne each touched their fingers to the new glass, and Corinne to the water within.
“There’s so much of it,” said Poppy. “With a wand, I'll be able to do that too?”
Before the professor could answer, her father cut in. “It’s really safe now? In your world?”
The professor’s eyes lit with surprise, then relaxed into sympathy. “The dangers of our childhoods have long passed, Mr. Dursley. I assure you.”
Dudley nodded once, brusque. “Harry only told me a little about the war. When he had my parents and I go into hiding. And when he stopped by to tell us it was safe to return to England.”
Poppy leaned on her father’s leg. Quietly, she asked, “Does that mean I can go, Dad? I want to learn magic. I really do. And Uncle Harry knows. Maybe Aunt Ginny too.”
“Your cousin James will be a second year student next year,” Professor Longbottom added.
The girl turned her huge, pleading eyes to her father, sensing that he was the main holdout. “I wouldn’t even be alone,” she said. “That’s more than I would have at Woldingham.”
Not knowing anyone at her new school had been a source of anxiety for Poppy all summer. She made friends slowly and felt uneasy in new places. And though she'd never really connected with any of her cousins at their yearly visits, they had something in common now. And they'd all been kind enough to her, listening to her when she talked and not leaving her out when they played in the back garden.
James seemed to be good at everything—surely he was already very good at magic too. And he seemed like a good big brother. He would say hello to her, at least.
Dudley looked over his daughter’s head at his wife. “What do you think, Cori?” he asked quietly.
She answered immediately. “I think we should speak to Harry and Ginny. But I don’t want to deny Poppy access to magic, if that’s truly what she has.”
“We can do a simple test now, if you like,” offered the professor gently.
When Corinne nodded, he held his wand out to her. “If you would take the end, please, Mrs. Dursley.”
Gingerly, she wrapped her fingers around the wand. “Wave it in the air once, please.”
She did so. Nothing happened.
“And now you, Mr. Dursley.”
Her father took it much more comfortably, as he’d seen Harry do on a couple of largely frightening occasions. He waved it in the air once, then swished it with intention. Nothing happened. The professor smiled.
“Now you, Poppy,” he said.
She took the wand with her left hand and, as she moved it through the air, gold and purple sparks began to pour out of the tip.
Professor Longbottom grinned. “Now try the same spell I used. Say, aguamenti.” He pronounced the word very deliberately, and Poppy wanted to get it right.
“Aguamenti.”
Water sputtered out of the wand's tip, splashing them all.
Poppy startled. Corinne and Dudley both yelped. Professor Longbottom laughed, putting them all at ease. Poppy hadn't done it as nicely as the professor, but she'd done it.
“Very good, Poppy,” the professor said with enthusiasm, taking the wand back from her and waving it to dry them and the table.
Poppy squealed, hugging her father’s arm, then turned in her seat to hug her mother. “It felt perfect,” she said. “Like doing a cartwheel did when I was little.” And she’d done cartwheels with such glee. Everywhere she went as a young child, she found a way to work in at least one cartwheel. The way her body and legs split the air, the sureness of her hands and balance, all gave her the exhilaration that the wand had given her as she had performed her first spell.
“Term starts on September 2,” said Professor Longbottom. “You can catch the train to Hogwarts on September 1 from King’s Cross Station. The information is in your letter, including how to find the right platform.”
"Nine and three-quarters." It was Dudley who'd spoken, and he looked as startled as the rest of them.
"That's right," the professor answered, sounding impressed.
"I remember," Dudley explained gruffly. He looked down at his daughter, touched her hair. "From when your uncle Harry received his letter."
Picking up the parchment again, Poppy leaned against her father and scanned the page rapidly.
Corinne spoke then. “Where is Hogwarts, Professor?”
“In Scotland,” he said. “I live just outside Hogwarts grounds in the magical village of Hogsmeade with my family. Of course, many professors live in the castle itself.”
“A castle,” Corinne repeated, looking down at her daughter. “That ought to be fun.”
“Do you know where Harry lives?” Dudley asked suddenly. “We usually only see him at Christmas, and they always come here. I’m not sure how to get in contact with him.” He glanced his wife and daughter, then added, "We don't have an owl, you see."
“I do,” said the professor. “I’m sure he’d be open to a summer visit. I’ll have him send you his address. And there will be ways, without an owl, that you'll be able to communicate with Poppy. Should you decide to send her to Hogwarts, of course.”
The parents looked at one another, then Dudley said, "Barring any problems Harry and Ginny make us aware of, I do think Poppy should go."
To Poppy, he said, “Hogwarts was home to your uncle in a way your grandparents' house never could be. You'll always have a home here, but Hogwarts could be good for you like it was for Harry. I want you to have that, love."
Poppy squealed and hugged her father around his middle.
"This is usually the point where I offer to take you shopping for your school equipment,” said Professor Longbottom, looking very pleased. Poppy's green eyes locked with his and she sat forward, ready to go. “But perhaps you all should talk with Harry and Ginny first. You might prefer to go together. However, I’ll leave my card. If you all would like me to take you to Diagon Alley for Poppy's supplies, or if you have any more questions, simply toss it in the fire." He demonstrated, the thick card zipping across the room, past the fireplace's grate, where it consumed itself with green fire. "I’ll get the message and stop by for another visit.”
Poppy nodded, watching warily as the professor lay a duplicate card on the table.
“Do you have any other questions for now?” They shook their heads.
Professor Longbottom stood and reached out to shake the adults’ hands. “It’s been a pleasure meeting each of you. I’m sure Harry will be in contact this afternoon.”
As he shook Poppy’s hand, she asked, “Will you be one of my teachers at Hogwarts?”
Professor Longbottom smiled. “Herbology is a required course and I’m its only professor. I’m also the head of one of the four houses at Hogwarts. One way or another, you’ll be seeing me very soon.”
Poppy’s grin returned.
“Ah, one more thing,” he said, holding a finger in the air. “I know it isn’t quite your birthday yet, but I brought you a gift all the same.” From his satchel, the professor withdrew a pair of books, each wrapped in a length of red ribbon. Extending them to her, he said, “Happy Birthday.”
Poppy thanked him immediately, then held the books side by side in front of her and read the titles aloud. “Hogwarts, a History, and A Muggleborn’s Guide to the Wizarding World.”
“That one’s written by a friend of mine,” said Neville, tapping the second book’s thick brown cover. “We call people without magic Muggles, which makes you muggleborn. That book was written by a muggleborn witch for students just like you, getting ready to go to Hogwarts for the first time.”
Grinning, Poppy held them both close to her chest. "Thank you, Professor. I'll read them straight away."
He winked. "This isn't an assignment, but I hope you will."
Taking his leave once more, the professor walked to the front door, escorted by all three Dursleys, and thanked them for their time and hospitality.
Just over the threshold, he turned back. “Mr. Dursley, do you mind if I—" he trailed off, pointing to the splendid rhododendron at the side of the garden. "Herbology, you know." And chuckled at himself a little self-consciously.
“Of—of course,” Dudley said. The professor thanked him and walked swiftly across the small crop of grass. Dudley Dursley dithered at the doorstep, unsure whether he ought to follow. His nearly eleven-year old daughter was holding his hand and leaning against his side, and he didn't want her to let go. His conundrum resolved in a moment when, after examining the bush, Professor Longbottom straightened. Waving back at them in the doorway and winking at Poppy, he turned on the spot, disappearing with the loud pop.