Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Thomas Bourne-Riche had never known hardship like his hero, Harry Potter had. Thomas was the son of two successful muggle parents, his father a rich inventor and his mother a famous norwegian model. Thomas had inherited his mother's blonde hair and blue eyes and his father's quick brain and goofy smile. Now, at fifteen years of age, he had grown into a somewhat lanky but handsome young man with a ready smile and quite a few friends in both the muggle world as well as the magical one. But he much preferred the magical world, truth be told.
A little over four years ago, a couple of weeks after his eleventh birthday, Thomas had received a very mysterious letter from a 'Minerva McGonagall', telling him he'd been accepted at 'Hogwarts'. Thinking this was a rather elaborate and eccentric joke, Thomas' parents had nevertheless called the department of education, only to be told that yes, the school was real enough, but that further questions were to be directed at the school itself. One thing led to another, and soon they had been on their first shopping trip to Diagon Alley. There were quite a few closed shops there, and the Gringott bank had apparently sustained some damage from an escaping... dragon?
They had done it all and loved it: Taking pictures that moved, purchased a wand, bought an owl. The owl was a small barn owl Thomas had named 'Huldra', a name from his mother's native country. His parents had seen him off at platform nine-and-three-quarters and Thomas had been off to his greatest experience yet. He'd been sorted into Gryffindor, to his immense pride and joy.
The school looked like a castle that had been under siege and severely bombarded, which, it turned out it had been. The first year muggle born wizards and witches listened wide-eyed as they were told of the battle of Hogwarts and the many deaths that had occured only a few months earlier. Thomas immediately wanted to know more, pestering the older students to tell him tales of the battle and the boy who lived. The only one willing to talk about the events was Luna Lovegood, but her answers were infuriatingly vague.
As the years passed, the students that had taken part in or knew something about the battle graduated, and Thomas was left to the tender mercies of books written by sensationalist journalists. (Rita Skeeter first among them.) As the immediacy of the battle faded, myths started developing. Peeves went around scaring first-years with tales of Voldemort and how his ghost roamed the castle, along with all that had fallen during the battle.
In short, the last four years had been a whirlwind of new impressions and new knowledge that both fascinated and scared Thomas. Mythological creatures were real. Magic was real. All the disturbances and freak storms a few years back had been caused by giants and wizards and whatnot fighting among themselves. The new knowledge had galvanized Thomas. He wanted to know more. He NEEDED to know more if he wanted to protect himself and his family. And so he applied himself, getting above average marks in Defense against the dark arts and potions.
He'd tried out for quidditch and had earned a position as an alternate beater. He'd played in two matches, but his performance wasn't spectacular in any way. He applied himself in a new discipline at school, muggle sports. They had started teaching self defense classes without wands, much to the consternation of the ones raised in the wizard world. But they had seen the wisdom of it when one of the teachers outlined one single scenario: "You're underage in the muggle world, and you're assaulted. Or you've just been disarmed by expelliarmus. What do you do?"
It was the evening of the first day back at Hogwarts, and Thomas sat among his mates, waiting for the speeches and the feast to start. As he'd done four years ago, a gaggle of nervous first-years timidly walked in the double doors and up towards the head tables to get sorted. Among them was a strikingly beautiful girl. You could hear a pin drop as everyone watched her stride up behind the first-years. The boys (and some of the girls) watched her, gobsmacked by her beauty. Most of the girls shot daggers with their eyes. Thomas sat close enough to touch her as she passed by, her scent teasing his nostrils and awakening a reaction in his body that made sitting still uncomfortable.
The hat broke the spell by starting to sing, and then the sorting was underway. Thomas couldn't help but notice that the beautiful girl was waiting among the first-years. What was going on?
A little over four years ago, a couple of weeks after his eleventh birthday, Thomas had received a very mysterious letter from a 'Minerva McGonagall', telling him he'd been accepted at 'Hogwarts'. Thinking this was a rather elaborate and eccentric joke, Thomas' parents had nevertheless called the department of education, only to be told that yes, the school was real enough, but that further questions were to be directed at the school itself. One thing led to another, and soon they had been on their first shopping trip to Diagon Alley. There were quite a few closed shops there, and the Gringott bank had apparently sustained some damage from an escaping... dragon?
They had done it all and loved it: Taking pictures that moved, purchased a wand, bought an owl. The owl was a small barn owl Thomas had named 'Huldra', a name from his mother's native country. His parents had seen him off at platform nine-and-three-quarters and Thomas had been off to his greatest experience yet. He'd been sorted into Gryffindor, to his immense pride and joy.
The school looked like a castle that had been under siege and severely bombarded, which, it turned out it had been. The first year muggle born wizards and witches listened wide-eyed as they were told of the battle of Hogwarts and the many deaths that had occured only a few months earlier. Thomas immediately wanted to know more, pestering the older students to tell him tales of the battle and the boy who lived. The only one willing to talk about the events was Luna Lovegood, but her answers were infuriatingly vague.
As the years passed, the students that had taken part in or knew something about the battle graduated, and Thomas was left to the tender mercies of books written by sensationalist journalists. (Rita Skeeter first among them.) As the immediacy of the battle faded, myths started developing. Peeves went around scaring first-years with tales of Voldemort and how his ghost roamed the castle, along with all that had fallen during the battle.
In short, the last four years had been a whirlwind of new impressions and new knowledge that both fascinated and scared Thomas. Mythological creatures were real. Magic was real. All the disturbances and freak storms a few years back had been caused by giants and wizards and whatnot fighting among themselves. The new knowledge had galvanized Thomas. He wanted to know more. He NEEDED to know more if he wanted to protect himself and his family. And so he applied himself, getting above average marks in Defense against the dark arts and potions.
He'd tried out for quidditch and had earned a position as an alternate beater. He'd played in two matches, but his performance wasn't spectacular in any way. He applied himself in a new discipline at school, muggle sports. They had started teaching self defense classes without wands, much to the consternation of the ones raised in the wizard world. But they had seen the wisdom of it when one of the teachers outlined one single scenario: "You're underage in the muggle world, and you're assaulted. Or you've just been disarmed by expelliarmus. What do you do?"
It was the evening of the first day back at Hogwarts, and Thomas sat among his mates, waiting for the speeches and the feast to start. As he'd done four years ago, a gaggle of nervous first-years timidly walked in the double doors and up towards the head tables to get sorted. Among them was a strikingly beautiful girl. You could hear a pin drop as everyone watched her stride up behind the first-years. The boys (and some of the girls) watched her, gobsmacked by her beauty. Most of the girls shot daggers with their eyes. Thomas sat close enough to touch her as she passed by, her scent teasing his nostrils and awakening a reaction in his body that made sitting still uncomfortable.
The hat broke the spell by starting to sing, and then the sorting was underway. Thomas couldn't help but notice that the beautiful girl was waiting among the first-years. What was going on?