❝ At the end of our lives, we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made or how many great things we have done. We will be judged by 'I was hungry and you gave me to eat', 'I was naked and you clothed me', 'I was homeless and you took me in.' ❞ -Mother Theresa

Maybe it was around five thirty when I left my house because it felt like an hour ago, the sky was agleam with the setting sun. Now the gigantic orb of light was nowhere to be seen and a silver moon hung from a starless blanket of sky. The night was so dry that I could feel sweat beading along my forehead. My shoes scuffed the asphalt of the path as I walked in shuffling steps, my feet aching like I'd ran a marathon.

I needed to stop and have some rest, but where could I go? Where did I even plan to go when I stupidly left the house? Actually I knew where I planned to go: Diagon Alley. But how could I possibly reach that place from Thousand Oakes?

Now it was too late to go back and just thinking of mom's lecture that awaited me if I returned was enough to make me not consider it twice. I should have made a plan before I got up and decided to escape like that. I should have thought about it long before I decided to pack my things and run in an unknown direction. I should have . . . Oh, there were many things I should have done.

By all means, I was lost. Far from my neighborhood, in the middle of the night, stuck in a deserted area with no houses around and no movement in the streets. There were no payphones around, although I had money with me.

But even if there were, who would I call?

Obviously not mom. And of course not 911, because they'd immediately return me home. Maybe mom had already gone to the police department and showed them a picture of me. Maybe now they were searching for me everywhere. So I was stuck in the middle of a bumpy country road with nowhere to go, alone and lost, with no food to eat or water to drink and defenseless against any sort of danger that I might face.

I couldn't let myself cry. Not that any tears had welled in my eyes and were begging to be let out. They were as dry as the air of this night. There was no danger of tears.

All of a sudden, I thought I saw movement to my right. But perhaps my dizziness, the heat and the exhaustion of the trip were just making me see things. However, I had nothing to protect myself with but my useless hands that were numb from dragging that unbelievably heavy suitcase around for hours. So I could be kidnapped or attacked or killed at any second.

I turned my head toward where I thought I spotted someone, expecting to find a stray dog or some drunk middle-aged man or a criminal dressed in black holding a gun.

Instead, I came face to face with a young boy, who appeared no older or younger than me.

I took a good look at his shabby appearance-vintage clothes, dirty shoes, frowzy hair falling over his forehead. In the dim light of a nearby lamppost, I was able to trace the features of his pallid face. His unkempt hair was dark brown and straight, his cheeks sunken and there was a dimple on his chin.

"Hello there."

"Who are you?" I asked warily.

"Michael," the boy said. Only then did I notice he had a British accent. "My name's Michael June. I, uh . . . I noticed you from the window as I was having dinner. What are you doing out here all alone?"

"Well, I-" It was so simple to put into words but so hard to admit. I heaved out a sigh of defeat and muttered, "I ran away from home."

"You what?" Michael's eyes widened. He flashed me a sympathetic look. "I-I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"L-Look, this place is deserted. Since I'm assuming you have nowhere else to go . . . and it's getting really late, you can-you can come over at my house, if you want. It isn't very far from here. See?"

He pointed a trembling finger at what looked like a cottage, its dimly lit window glistening like a firefly in the engulfing darkness of the starless sky.

"It isn't very spacious, to be honest," Michael said, scratching the back of his neck. Despite the dark, I was certain I saw his cheeks flush. "We're moving soon, though-dad's been looking at this house in London for a while, which is closer to my school."

"Your school's in London?" I asked, surprised.

"Uhh, not exactly. But it is in the UK." He seemed uncomfortable, so he changed subject. "Anyway, it's just me, my dad and Sibi at home. So there's plenty of room for you. Well, er. . . n-not exactly plenty, as you can tell, but you'll have a place to sleep." He let out a bashful laugh. "So, uh, what do you say?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I mean, what other choice do I have? Spend the night out here with no guarantee that I'll wake up in one piece whatsoever? No, thank you."

A smile stretched across his scrawny face. The heck are you doing with your life, I asked myself for possibly the tenth time that day as I followed Michael to his house. Mom's advice against talking to strangers had flown out of the window just like that.

"By the way, where am I?" I asked. "I've been walking for hours without a map . . . or a plan for that matter."

"This is Brookview Avenue."

"Er, that doesn't sound familiar. Sorry, how far is it from Springhaven Avenue?" Michael looked lost. "Newbury Park?"

"Newbury Park?!" He gaped. "Have you-have you honestly walked that far? Whoa . . . That's probably like three or four hours away on foot. You're in Westlake Village here."

My eyes goggled. Okay, maybe I'd underestimated myself a little. No wonder why my weary feet were barely carrying me forward.

Michael opened the creaking door of his cottage. As I stepped in, my eyes took in the sight of the dim hallway with low and narrow walls, a complete contrast to the wide and brightly lit one of my house.

"I'll get this," Michael offered, taking my suitcase from my hands.

At first I hesitated, judging whether or not it was safe to give him my only possessions. But carrying it around had exhausted me so much that I wanted nothing but it to be taken from me, so with a nod of gratitude, I let him go ahead. He put my suitcase somewhere in a dark cupboard-with a bit difficulty because his twig-like figure struggled with the weightiness of it, but he didn't let me help when I offered him a hand. Then he motioned for me to follow him inside his house.

We entered a circular dining room with a low ceiling, illuminated only by candlelight.

The lack of electricity caught my eye and made a lump form at the back of my throat. I looked at Michael, wanting to say both "thank you" and "I'm sorry." The last thing someone in his financial condition needed was another mouth to feed and person to shelter, and yet he'd still offered to take me in, although my response hadn't been the most grateful.

Two people sat at the circular dining table. The first, a man in his late forties, balding, with a messy black beard and a wide forehead, who I presumed was either his actual father, or father figure. The other one was a girl, who appeared to be around the same age as me and Michael. She was undeniably pretty, with golden brown hair down to her lower back and big hazel eyes framed by thick lashes.

"Take a seat," Michael offered, pulling out an empty chair for me. Trying to ignore the man's stare, I sat down next to him without a word.

After a few moments of tensed silence-during which the patterns of the tablecloth embedded themselves on my brain, due to how long I was staring at them-Michael finally spoke up.

"Dad, this is a girl I found on the street," he said. "She said she-she ran away from home."

I shot him a glare that made him flinch. Was it absolutely necessary for him to phrase it like that? It sounded like he'd come across a stray kitten.

Great. Now his dad's attention was fully on me.

I could feel him eyeing me carefully, but I refused to remove my gaze from the tablecloth and meet his.

"I'll just stay the night," I mumbled. "Be gone by morning. I just . . . lost my way. My only aim was to get as far from my home as I could, so I ended up here. I didn't plan things beforehand. Yeah, very stupid of me, I know."

His father was silent for a minute or two. After gulping down a mouthful of food, he finally said,

"Running away from home. What a bravery! You have the heart of a true Gryff-indor."

I was barely able to catch the end of the last sentence because he was abruptly interrupted by Michael and the girl's loud coughs who were pretending to be choking. But they weren't loud enough to prevent me from hearing.

I removed my gaze from the plain tablecloth in an instant and finally met the man's black eyes, which widened in shock at the words that he'd let slip out.

My mouth fell open. "Excuse me, did-did you say Gryffindor?"

They were wizards.

Well, that kind of explained everything. All the pieces were now falling together: them being British, the lack of electricity in their house, the school Michael had mentioned in the UK, the strange position of his house-in a remote area, away from muggle eyes.

"Are you wizards?" I asked needlessly, a sliver of excitement warming up my insides. "You should have told me that from the beginning! I'm a witch too. Got my acceptance letter into Hogwarts a few weeks ago."

My words alone were enough to increase Michael's dad's interest on me. It seemed like he was now viewing me in a different light, his face appearing softer and more welcoming.

"A witch, huh?" he asked with a smile. "Well, I apologize if I scared you off for a moment there. Allow me a late introduction: I am Oswald June. And your name is?"

"Polly," I said. "Polly Kin."

"Kin," repeated Oswald June slowly. "Certainly no relation to the infamous Robert Kin, I'm guessing?"

He let out a gruff chuckle, as if he'd just cracked a joke. My stomach dropped.

"Yes, actually," I said, though it came out sounding more like a question. Infamous? "That's my father."

It was as if I'd said the aliens had descended on earth to wipe out the entire human race. My words were followed by the man's loud coughs and, unlike Michael and the girl who were previously pretending to be choking, it looked like he was genuinely choking on his food.

"Dad?" said Michael with a concerned look, offering him a glass of water.

"Thanks, Mike," his father gasped after gulping down the water. I noticed him and Michael exchanging a strange look.

The churning in my stomach only grew stronger. Did I say something I wasn't supposed to? Why did Oswald June seem so shocked that Robert Kin was my father?

Infamous . . .

Before I could say anything, the pretty girl, who had remained silent the whole time, decided to jump in.

"Nice to meet you, Polly." She pushed her bangs away from her finely shaped eyebrows and gave a sweet smile. "I'm Sibi Mayo, Mike's best friend."

Ah, so this was Sibi. I assumed it was his sister at first, but on second thoughts, they didn't look much alike.

"Oh, Michael told me about you," I said, trying to sound polite.

Instead, she just glowered at him.

"Did he?" she said cooly.

What? Not wanting to be the reason of the two of them fighting, I quickly added, "Er, when I asked him who was inside his house, he mentioned his dad and you. That's it."

"Oh." Sibi's eyes softened and she looked down at her plate of food.

I turned to Oswald June again, who seemed to have recovered from his coughing fit. Promptly, I decided to push thoughts of my dad aside. Now that I knew they were wizards, maybe I wouldn't be leaving the next day. I could ask them if they were planning on visiting Diagon Alley any time soon or if they could at least drop me there. Finding a wizards' family in the middle of nowhere had to be some sort of blessing.

"Uh, I actually wanted to get to Diagon Alley," I said, jumping straight to the point. "I just didn't know how to get there and as I mentioned before, I hadn't made any plans when I left home. So I was wondering if you could, you know, tell me a way to get there." I paused for a moment and then added, "Soon."

If mom had gone to the police department and they were searching for me everywhere, the smartest idea was to get out of this continent as soon as possible.

"We'll be traveling to the UK next week," Michael's father said, his tone suddenly colder. "If you're really in a hurry, you can use the Floo Network to get there. But for someone like you, who has never tried wizarding transportation before . . . well, I wouldn't suggest it."

I hesitated for a minute, my brain processing what he had just said. Would it be better to wait and go there with people who had been there before? But if the police was after me, then-

"Is this place protected by muggle-repelling charms?" I asked.

Oswald June looked at me weirdly and sent Michael and Sibi a quizzical look. "Definitely."

A wave of overpowering relief washed over me. I could stay with them even for a month and the police could pass just by their cottage and not see it. Not see me. I was as safe as I could be. Which meant that I didn't have why to rush things. I could use this time to get more information from Sibi and Michael about Hogwarts, Diagon Alley and the wizarding world in general.

I nodded. "I'm not in a hurry, then. I can come with you next week."

Oswald June's eyes wouldn't leave me, almost burning me with their intent gaze, as if he was trying to understand something. Eventually, it seemed like he gave up. He dropped his stare, getting up and disappearing into the kitchen.

He came back a minute later, holding a plate of food in his big hands. The dish was poor-truthfully, I didn't have high expectations either; I was just glad to finally have something to eat, even if that only consisted of a bread roll with some cheese and sliced tomatoes.

"Eat," he said gently, placing the plate of food in front of me. I tried not to dart at it eagerly. "You must be really hungry."

I very much was. Sadly, I had lost the opportunity to taste the delicious desserts that mom and aunt Camilla had prepared for me, as well as my birthday cake, which I didn't even catch a glimpse of before leaving.

This was definitely the weirdest birthday ever.

I tried not to look greedy, but it was true that when I was done with my poor dinner, I wanted more. Back home I'd usually have two rolls of bread with butter or honey or Nutella. But tonight, I was content with the paucity I had been given, compared to the absolute nothing I'd have, had I spent the night alone in the street.

When I was done, I picked up my plate, but Sibi didn't let me. She and Michael took away the dirty dishes and cutlery, while I awkwardly waited on my seat. Oswald June turned to me at last.

"Well Polly, you must be really tired. I mean, it's been quite a journey for you, hasn't it?"

I nodded as an involuntary yawn escaped my throat.

"Come on," Michael said timidly. "I'll show you where to sleep."

I followed him and Sibi suit as we entered the dingy living room, illuminated only by the pale glow of a candle positioned on the windowsill. Michael lowered his head. In the little ball of light, I saw a blush spread over his cheeks and his thumbs fiddling in unease.

"Yeah, so . . . uh, sorry about this," he murmured. "If we had a guest room you could stay there, but unfortunately we don't. So you have to sleep on-on the couch. I-It's a bit stiff, but I hope you don't mind."

"Hey, that's all right." I gave him a warm smile. "Thank you for even taking me in in the first place, Michael."

It was true that I was used to my cottony bed back home, so I could already tell this would be a rather uncomfortable night. But given the conditions, I was more than grateful, and it was a hundred times better than getting to sleep outside in the cold.

"I think, uh, my dad's calling me," Michael said, glancing at the door. "I'll see you girls in the morning. Polly, get some rest."

I smiled. "I will."

"Good night, Mike," Sibi said.

He disappeared out of the room, closing the door faintly behind him. I flopped backwards on the couch, only regretting it when a jet of pain shot through my back as if I had landed on a hard rock.

"It isn't the softest thing ever, but it will do." Sibi said, almost reproachingly. "After all, his family isn't in the best financial position, as I presume you've noticed by now."

"I know," I said, feeling guilty that I'd let the reaction show on my face like that.

"Take these."

She handed me some bed sheets and a light blue pillow, which smelled of lavender soap. I accepted them and started setting up the couch. A few minutes later, my so-called bed was ready. Though it was hardly comfortable, it would do, just like Sibi had said.

I wondered about the Junes. Did they live in the USA, even though Michael attended Hogwarts? Or was this a vacation house? If so, why did Michael say they were 'moving soon' and that his dad had been looking at a house in London?

Besides, how convenient to run into two wizards just when I thought I'd lost my way, and not too far from my own neighborhood either. A real life deus ex machina. If the Junes had always lived here, that meant I'd gone my entire life feeling out of place and misunderstood, when a family of wizards happened to exist only a couple hours away from my house?

"Is his dad a squib?" I asked Sibi as we lay down parallel to one another, me on one couch and Sibi on the other.

"No." She turned to me, face wrinkling in confusion. "What makes you think so?"

"He doesn't use magic. Why is that?"

Sibi didn't answer. She gazed at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing ever seen. It was then that I realized they probably had more hidden secrets than they cared to show.

With a sigh, I rolled over to the other side of the couch and whispered, "Goodnight."

"Night, Polly."

I shook my head and decided to just get some sleep. So many unpredictable, questionable things had happened in one day alone that any further mysteries could wait till at least morning. My mouth widened in a yawn and I closed my eyes.

All in all, this was absolutely the most unexpected birthday ever, but also the only one I knew for sure I'd remember forever.

◈

END OF PART I