The fierce gale blazed behind thin sheets of glass, through which a young girl stared into the white sky. Earlier in the morning a beautiful grey owl had briefly perched on her window-sill purposefully - the more odd as they were at the peak of a snowstorm - before swooping out of sight. Dagny Taggart stood at her bedroom window, which wasn't high enough on the wall to provide a good view of the sky, and so she just stared into the horizon; nothing ever happened here, she would dream of a world far away where things happened. Saturday mornings were always the height of boredom. She was tall for a ten-year-old, and her habit of standing up, even in the presence of adequate seating, led her to be mocked by her short, elder brother James. Sisters were supposed to love their brothers, beneath all the rivalry and annoyance and friction. Dagny didn't.

James sat outside of Dagny's bedroom door, reading a news rag, waiting for Dagny to emerge. He wanted desperately for Dagny to see his new suit and tie, for her to envy it, the present he got for failing his most recent maths test. James never got presents for good grades, so he stopped putting in the effort. Dagny never got presents, and she didn't care because always found a way to get the presents she wanted; they were all books, and she'd never cared for smart clothes, not at this age. James thought Dagny was stupid.

"Dag! Open up! I want to show you something," when he'd gotten bored of waiting.

"What is it Jim?" asked Dagny, leaving the window. The bright of the snow had burned into her retinas, and she blinked hard. She opened the door.

James puffed out his chest, trying to match Dagny's height. "D'you like it, Sis? It's my new suit because every person deserves to feel good about himself. I learnt that from the newspaper that father has delivered. You should read the newspaper, Dag."

"The sleeves are too short. It's a nice material, I suppose. But your arms look ridiculous," Dagny said, not too attentively. "I didn't mean it like that Jim, I'm sorry," as James frowned. "Listen, um, I don't know anything about suits." This wasn't true; her friend Francisco D'Anconia had once shown her how to tailor a jacket, with calculations and everything. But she saw no reason to let James know it.

James rid his face of the frown and smirked. "When you're older you might be able to get one, I'm sure of it. You will understand what it's like to feel grown-up and clever, too." He congratulated himself on that sentence, although he wasn't certain why. The corner of something poked him in the ribs, through the suit which actually wasn't at all comfortable. "Oh, and another thing. There was mail for you this morning -"

Dagny immediately frowned; why hadn't Jim given this to her earlier? And it must have been yesterday's as there was no visit from the postman today. A whole day! She wondered what the little rat had been doing with the letter in the meanwhile, and if she saw that it'd been opened...

James reached into his left pocket and brought it out, "- and it has queer green ink and it must be from someone dreadfully stupid because green ink on yellow paper isn't at all proper." Dagny snatched it out of his hand before he could catch a firm grasp on it. "Hey! That's rude, I was just giving it to you."

Dagny asked why he'd waited a whole day to hand it over. "It only got here this morning! It was on the floor when I woke up and so I decided to do my loving sister the courtesy of -"

"James, -" she rarely used his name, because she didn't consider it to be worth pronouncing the longer vowel sound, "- no-one's come to the door this morning." And then she merely sighed and dismissed him, because this was a letter and she had to read it. It could be important, especially at this time of year and right before starting her new school. Before she could break the wax seal, however, she found herself staring at the emerald green address:

Miss D. Taggart,

The Room With the Smallest Window,

Second Floor,

Taggart House,

Albany,

NY

This was, of course, odd. Dagny thought she was the only one who knew that her window was the smallest. From the front of the house it looked identical to the bathroom window on the opposite side. But Dagny found out that it was an optical trick, last Summer when she and Francisco had spent a whole weekend doing measurements from the courtyards, using tripods and clever arithmetic that she had stayed up all night in order to understand. The description was the first odd thing.

The second was the fact that an address would be so specific; the third that it had no stamp. It must have been hand-delivered; but in this weather they could be certain no pedestrian would pass the house with a mere letter and depart unannounced. Faintly considering that it was a silly trick by her brother, while doubting he was competent enough to fabricate such an attractive letter, she bit her lip and broke the seal.

A large letter 'H' in a shield decorated with four unusual animals in quadrants sat atop the page; this matched the scarlet seal. In the same green ink and with calligraphy that made you want not to attend to anything else:

Dear Miss Taggart,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on the first of September. We await your owl by the end of July.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

Deputy Headmaster

Dagny stood, mildly confused, while she glanced at the second sheet of paper - no: parchment - in her other hand, containing a list of books she hadn't heard of, and objects she had never seen in any shop. This would make a surreal trick, she thought. Jim hadn't the imagination to dream it. And she reread the academy: 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'? That was... preposterous, just irrational. To admit the supernatural was to deny the natural, which was to deny oneself. Something Dagny would never do, although she never thought it in those words.

It was certain that Dagny had never applied to this school herself. So why had this person - Dumbledore, that was a strange name - sent this letter? She found that she had walked slowly to her door, and her hand was already at the handle. She followed her thoughts downstairs, to the room adjacent to the kitchen.

James' eyes flashed greedily at the letter in her hand. "What was it, that letter... Dag?" he asked. Dagny focused her eyes across the breakfast table to James, and carefully folded the letter, placing it in the pocket of her gown.

She faced him, and told him that she had been accepted to a school, caring to add no finer detail. All of James' applications to private schools the previous year had been unsuccessful, at which point he denounced private education as immoral. He looked back across the table, knowing better than to comment, and asked the name of the school.

"Where on Earth is 'Hogwarts'? What a silly name! It must be at least five hundred years old, full with boring old traditions and old books. Is that it, Dag? Do you leave for boarding this Summer?" he said, with a mock sadness.

"Don't be a prat, Jim. You know I didn't apply to any 'Hogwarts'. No, I have no idea where it is. Whoever sent this, assuming that it has a location, had not the competence to supply a return address. It could be in France for all I know. They want me to send them an owl."

Jim looked suspicious. "Then how did they know of you? An owl, Dag?"

She shook her head. "I will not think any more of it." I can't, she thought. But she kept the letter in her pocket and turned to leave. She was ready to forget about the whole business of the letter, if she could. Before her right foot could touch the first step of the staircase, a single knock at the door punctuated her motion. At the same instant, the winds outside died into a vacuum of silence.

She froze into place. After a full second of silence, she lowered her foot to the ground, from where she had held it above the stair, and turned around.

"Mother?" James half-wondered aloud, half-called to Dagny.

"No car back," she uttered dismissively. Before the visitor could lose enough patience to strike the door a second time, and in this of all weather, Dagny moved again. Striding toward the door in spite of a dozen wordless inhibitions, with a sharp sense of purpose, she took a breath and opened it.

A tall, thin young man in a well-made suit and a heavy overcoat stood on the doorstep. His hair was neat and there was not a flake of snow upon his body. Conscious of her own appearance, she pulled her own black gown across her pyjamas and stood up just a bit straighter. He appeared in no rush to enter the house. Dagny noticed that the air directly around him was perfectly still, although the whole sky was still a white haze, suggesting the snow that was still streaming ferociously before the high brick perimeter of the estate. Noting not fully but somewhere in her mind the absence of cold air pouring through the wide-open door, as it surely should be, she made no rush to permit him entrance, as he seemed comfortable. She expected him to speak, and he did:

"Young Miss Taggart, is it?" his voice was a warm tenor, which was to the ear what mulled wine was to the mouth. "My name is Martin Ferris. I am from a school here in the United States for certain, ah, gifted children." He looked in the direction that James was sitting, as if seeing through the wall. "Perhaps, I should come in?"

Dagny's mind considered this quickly. This was, at least, an interesting Saturday. She really ought not let anyone she didn't know into the house; mother and father were both away from the house for who-could-know how long it would become, due to the frankly unseasonable snow. Francisco and his father were to arrive tomorrow night, although for similar reasons Dagny doubted they would make it. The family cook who was more of an Aunt, Arabella Figg, had left this morning for her - early - Summer vacation. It was therefore just Dagny and James in the house. But she made a decision.

"Do," Dagny allowed curtly. She moved away and Martin Ferris stepped over the threshold, the violent gale and snow returning to the space he left behind him, as if it had waited for his departure. That was impossible, of course. As he closed the door behind him, and removed his coat, Dagny looked at James, who turned away from them both and buried his head in his newspaper, making sure the paper's name was visible. Neither Dagny nor Martin noticed this as she led him through to the living room.

It had not yet occurred to Dagny upon that day to light the fireplace; she considered doing so but didn't want to turn her back on the stranger. Instead, she asked as they both sat opposite each other: "What is the name of the school you run?" She dimly wondered whether or not she should expect to hear the name 'Hogwarts'.

The man replied, "I'm the admissions officer for the United States Academy of Paranormal Sciences. We are funded by the government to promote the research of supernatural science. We have intelligence that you have the qualifications to attend our school. As a United States citizen this is completely free." The man paused, and smiled.

"Excuse me," intoned Dagny, "but I don't believe I have any interest in attending an academy of paranormal sciences, whatever they are, at all. Nor one that I have qualified for without knowing my qualifications."

Martin replied politely, "We are run under the United States government, and obtain our grant by gravity of a series of, shall we say, useful photographs. However, paranormal science is not what we do. Our students and our teachers all have the ability to perform magic by the fortune of being witches and wizards. Miss Taggart, - may I call you Dagny? - Dagny, it my duty to tell you, here and now, that you are a witch." The man sat back in his chair and rested his poise.

She didn't know what to say. It would seem ridiculous if it didn't seem to make a distant sort of sense. The sort of sense she would dispel in two seconds once she'd snapped out of this queer mood. Magic doesn't exist, magic is a ridiculous idea, and this is just one huge ridiculous trick, or a person's delusion, a person with too much time, but this is not sense. None of what she had heard was sensible, except that the government should fund an academy of 'paranormal science', which she thought seemed perfectly congruent. The letter; and now this man, sitting there with a gay smile. Hogwarts and the Academy.

Dagny had a mind to throw the man into the street, reclining as he was there, having announced that I'm a witch and now he's just sitting as if I'm to just believe it. Instead, she asked, "Is your school related to -" she paused only slightly to recall the full title, "- the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" The smile left the man's eyes, but not his mouth, which retained an unnatural curve.

"Dagny, Hogwarts is an old Wizarding school in Britain. It used to be quite acclaimed. It sends letters to British children who bear magic, stating that they can attend. Hogwarts is, however, a private school. It does not offer the kind of broad education you find at our state academy. Our education, unlike Hogwarts, is fully regulated, and although magic is not known to the wider society, we operate strictly in accordance with our government's values of safety, control and fairness. And so, why do you speak of Hogwarts?"

"They sent me a letter, this morning." Dagny offered.

"That should be quite impossible," he chuckled, with the same smile which appeared quite threatening now. "Only British children receive the Hogwarts owl. Oh yes, they deliver by owl. Quite impersonal. At our Academy every child receives a visit in person in order to allay any fears and soothe any misgivings, as we are sensitive to the sensibilities of every child. But now, perhaps, I offer to you some proof of my magic?"

Dagny remembered that it could still be a trick; she hadn't seen anything properly unbelievable so far today, just unusual and improbable things. "Go ahead," she said.

The man took a few seconds to stand up. When he found the correct pocket containing a shiny wooden stick, he withdrew it and held it at the height of his chest, in front of his body. He turned to the fireplace. He flicked his hand vertically five times, once, twice, thrice... on the fourth he took a breath; on the fifth he announced an incantation: "Incendio".

A thin white spark shot out of the wand at the hearth. It struck a large log of wood in the fireplace, which immediately was enrobed in bright yellow flames. The man smiled delicately and turned to Dagny. "That was a simple spell to cast fire. We do not teach this spell to younger students, you would find your wand unable to cast it, but it serves as a good enough illustration of our abilities." He flicked his wand back at the fire, and the flames disappeared.

Dagny felt dimly unsurprised, which was itself more surprising, but only slightly. This man... he can do things that are not natural. But, can I? Mr. Ferris appeared to have anticipated this, his eyes twinkled, and he spoke: "May I present to you, Dagny, your wand. We provide each of our students with a safe, regulation wand. It's yours, Dagny". He reached into another pocket and withdrew another stick. It looked identical to the man's, the same shiny wood, except it was noticeably shorter. She reached and accepted it.

Her skin touched the polished mahogany. And nothing happened.

Martin frowned. "Usually when we deliver our wands to their witches there is some sign that the two have connected, an indication that the child accepts their place at our school. Your place at our Academy is compulsory, I am afraid, Miss Taggart." So it was back to 'Miss Taggart'. "I can only suggest that you are in defiance against your abilities as a witch. Don't be shy. Our records indicate that you are as deserving of magic as I am. Show it." He smiled again.

Dagny did not like this man. Every word of his felt like subtle violence. This school was compulsory, was it, it is not amongst my magical abilities to secede? Well, she thought angrily, I do not permit compulsion.

And a loud cracking noise came from the regulation wand, and it deformed beneath her grasp, losing its polished finish in an instant, glowing bright and white. Martin screamed for her to drop it, but scared and confused, Dagny could merely retain her grip, and it snapped in half in a final burst of an iridescent light that whipped out at the room like lightning.

Regulation wands were not supposed to do that.

When the spectacle had finished, and Dagny was holding two dead pieces of wood, James entered the room having heard the loud noise. He stared wide-eyed, wordlessly and the two of them. Martin merely pointed his wand at James, whispered hoarsely, and James left the room again, absently. And he looked back at Dagny, who was gently swaying, her eyes on her hand. She looked up into his eyes without emotion. "Mr Ferris?"

He stared back into Dagny's cold gaze. Then, he burst out laughing, not happily, but as if he had been the subject of a hilarious practical joke. "Why Dagny! Ha ha! What an odd way to... illustrate... your agreement with our terms. Y-you'll need another wand I suppose. Or p-perhaps that will not be n-necessary. Gee, this has n-never happened before! You got a letter from Hogwarts, you said? If y-you have a s-sch-scholarship elsewhere, y...you may be exempt from a compulsory United States education. Uh, if that's even possible that Hogwarts sent you a letter."

"I have no means to send an owl to Hogwarts," Dagny said.

"What? Oh yes, of course." He reached into yet another pocket and brought out a small egg. His hand stopped trembling with his fingers around the pale egg. "This will hatch in, say t-twelve hours. Take it, it's yours, we'll call it compensation for the wand incident. You tell the owl who needs the letter and it takes it, clever birds, clever owls." He handed it to Dagny cautiously. When it didn't blow up in her hand, he began to leave the house.

"I'll be off now Dagny. Awfully nice to meet you. Perhaps we'll see each other again. Good luck with your life, and your egg. If there's anything I can do." He opened the door for himself gestured his wand to the outside, which made the weather halt temporarily.

Dagny followed him to the door. "Is there something wrong with my magic?" she asked.

Martin put on his overcoat. He chuckled just once more, more faintly and with a tone of seriousness this time, stepping back into the snow. He sighed, "Who is John Galt?" And he disappeared, and the weather resumed his place once again.