Thank you so much for checking this out! it means a lot to me that you would take the time to read this "little" story of mine. The Chronicle of Halo Wiggins tries to stay as close to canon as it possibly can. Well, except for HP and the Cursed Child, which came out when this story was about 70 percent done. Plus I don't like it all that much, although I do incorporate bits and pieces of it towards the end. Anyways, anything that is changed is done so only when JK Rowling herself didn't clearly state it one way or the other. Special thanks to her, of course, without whom this story simply wouldn't be possible.

Thanks again,

Andrei

Chapter 1 A Late Letter

July 31st promised to be a cheery day, clear and warm. Temperatures all over England spiked to record levels, and there was even talk of clear skies across all of Scotland; a thing that was very nearly unheard of. The city of London lay in a murky haze in the early morning hours when nothing moved through the streets save a few stray cats, for whom no hour was too early. One such nameless cat looked up from her meal of discarded tuna salad and observed a curious sight—a few dozen owls flying out of an old, abandoned building that both humans and animals knew to avoid. It was common knowledge to all, even cats, that the building was unsafe—a leftover shell that had been the site of a great fire or some such calamity. The cat watched curiously for a few moments as the owls separated, each one flying off in a different direction. It was unusual behaviour to say the least, but the cat decided it was none of her concern and returned to her meal. After all, the tuna salad wasn't going to eat itself, and owls were known to act strangely.

A few miles away, a young boy lay in bed, looking at his alarm clock that showed the time in huge red numbers. 4:43 was rather early, but he was so excited that he couldn't sleep. Cassy had said the letter would come today, and he had been waiting for so long! He had been eleven years old for more than a month, but for some reason he hadn't received... well never mind. His sister Cassy had told him not to worry, though, because sometimes they didn't send the letters out until the end of July. Well, that time had finally come, and he was much too excited to sleep when he knew there was a letter for him on its way. After all, Harry Lawrence Wiggins was a wizard, and was finally, finally old enough to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As Harry lay in bed, he thought of everything he had ever heard about Hogwarts from Cassy and his mother, getting more and more excited from just thinking about it. The school was the most magical, wonderful, amazing place in the whole wide world… everyone said so. Cassy had written letters nearly every week her first year, and Harry had read them over and over and over again. She hadn't written quite as much her second year, but Harry's parents had said that was just because she was so busy with schoolwork. He knew that wasn't true, though; his sister had just been too busy having fun to bother writing to him. Harry had been really angry, but that was months and months ago and he had no reason to be upset anymore. After today, they would be going to school together, and none of that would matter! In a few days they would probably go to Diagon Alley, or maybe even Hogsmede, to get his school supplies. Harry was so excited that sleep was completely out of the question.

At least, that was what he had thought. However, not a minute later Harry found himself unable to stay awake. He'd barely slept at all that night, and it was finally catching up with him. Maybe it was just his tiredness playing with his mind, but all of a sudden Harry began to feel a bit nervous, thinking that maybe something would go wrong. There was no doubt he belonged at Hogwarts, he wasn't a squib or anything... but still. What if no letter came? What if he wasn't good enough? Harry had used magic before, although he had never been able to cast a real spell or anything like that. Cassy said that was a good thing, that he would get in trouble for using any real magic, and that he needed to wait until he was older. Well, thought Harry tiredly as he struggled to stay awake, eleven was quite old enough. Letting his fears slip away, Harry drifted off to sleep, dreaming fantastic dreams about Hogwarts.

Next thing he knew, Mother was shaking him awake, a smile on her face. "I thought you would be awake already," she said a pretty smile, "breakfast is ready, Little Bean."

Harry scowled at her, careful not to give her the impression that the nickname was in any way acceptable. There was no way that anyone else in the whole world had a name as embarrassing as that. He was too excited to stay angry for long, though, and he was ready in less than a minute. He rushed out of his room, raced down the hall and practically jumped down the steps, tripping slightly and landing at the bottom in a tangled heap. He didn't care, of course, but Father said, "Easy there, sport, don't go injuring yourself."

Harry smiled mischievously and sat down beside his sister, who was buttering herself a piece of toast. Breakfast was always excellent on the days when Mother didn't have to go into work early. Father scrolled through The New York Times absentmindedly on his tablet as a frying pan emerged from the kitchen and served two pieces of bacon each of them, all on its own. Father didn't even give the frying pan a second glance, despite the fact that he had not been born into a world of magic. Derrick Wiggins was a muggle, an American in fact, and he liked to say that he came to England looking for a job and ended up finding a whole lot more. He'd met Olivia Boot at a bar in Tottenham, and, completely unaware that she was a witch, had fallen madly in love her. It had taken months, but eventually she'd fallen for him too, and that love had managed to survive the inevitable strain that exists in a marriage where only person can use magic. Harry knew little of this, for he was still too young, but Cassandra Wiggins knew or guessed most of it. She was very bright for her age, and spent most of her time asking questions and demanding to know all sorts of things. It was not easy raising a Ravenclaw.

Mother emerged from the kitchen with a smile while Father moved from The New York Times to The London Times before finally putting down the tablet and picking up a paper with a big headline on the top that read The Daily Prophet. It was nothing like a normal newspaper, and the front page was dominated by moving pictures of people on broomsticks.

"Must be a slow day, if England losing to Eritrea is front page news..." commented Mother, who had never much cared for Quidditch. Cassy groaned as she read the story upside down, muttering to herself about terrible seeking. Harry's sister was absolutely obsessed with Quidditch, badgering their parents all summer to get her a broomstick so she could try out for the Ravenclaw House Quidditch team. Harry liked the wizard sport too, but he had never been very good at it, and he could never muster the energy to feel upset when England managed to find spectacular ways to lose to rubbish opponents.

Harry was happy and excited all through breakfast, but the morning quickly slipped away without any owls arriving and his good mood soon faded. Hours passed, and still no letter came from Hogwarts. Cassy kept glancing at him nervously, but Harry pretended he didn't notice. Mother seemed uneasy as well, but she had to get ready for work, so she couldn't just sit around all morning and shoot him anxious looks the way his sister did. Mother managed an apothecary on Diagon Alley, and Harry knew that business was really busy this time of year with everyone getting ready to go to school. Everyone, it seemed, but him.

Mother was about to head off to work when the doorbell rang and Cassy hurried off to open it. Father had flipped the TV on to watch QPR play (and probably lose). Harry didn't care about football any more than he cared about Quidditch, and so he didn't join his father, even though he usually jumped at the opportunity to spend time him. Father worked hard as a defence attorney, and Harry usually didn't get to see him during the week, not even during the summer. Still, Harry wasn't a little kid anymore; eleven was quite old enough to spend more time alone. After all, when he was at Hogwarts he wouldn't see his parents for months and months. He didn't want to get lonely and have everyone make fun of him for missing his parents.

Harry was deep in the kind of thought that eleven year olds think when Cassy returned with Uncle Terry, who smiled and gave the boy one of his usual warm, exaggerated bear-hugs. He seemed to be in good spirits as usual, but Harry could feel that something was wrong when they broke apart. Uncle Terry was more nervous than Harry could ever remember seeing him. "You kids run along upstairs now, I have to talk to your parents for a moment," Uncle Terry said, his eyes betraying the unease that his smile was trying to cover.

"But―" began Harry, sure he could convince Uncle Terry to let him stay. After all, Harry's uncle had never said no to him before.

"Nope, let's go," Cassy said firmly, dragging her little brother behind her towards the stairs as Mother emerged from the kitchen, looking upset.

"Wait... ouch... what's—" Harry yelped, trying to get someone's attention. He failed, and Cassy dragged him all the way to the bottom of the stairs before turning to face him.

"Shut it, you," Cassy whispered, "I've got a plan. Don't worry, we'll find out what they're saying, and no one will ever know. Follow me, Halo, and keep quiet."

Harry knew better than to argue with his sister at times like this, and didn't even complain that she called him Halo. He didn't like that nickname much either—he thought it made him sound like a girl—but he knew this was important so he kept quiet and followed Cassy up the stairs. The children crept into their father's study, which sat right over the dining room.

Cassandra Wiggins had never much cared for authority, and she positively hated secrets. About a year ago, she had carved a little hole right underneath her father's desk through which a pair of Weasley Brand Extendable Ears could be lowered, making any supposedly private conversation taking place in the dining room easy to overhear.

Harry waited impatiently as Cassy pulled the Extendable Ears out of the pocket of her jeans, and tied her long blonde hair behind her so it wouldn't get in the way. Getting in the way was what Wiggins hair did best, and Harry's own wild blond hair was nearly as bad as his sister's. Whatever his hair lacked in length it made up for messiness, and he brushed his own hair out of his face impatiently as he crouched beside his sister, listening intently as she lowered the hearing device through the floor to listen to what his uncle had come to say.

"I don't understand," Father was saying, sounding agitated. "How could this happen?"

"I honestly don't know," Uncle Terry said, "I don't think anyone else would have noticed, but I know how excited Harry was and when I saw... well, I came straight here."

"But there's nothing wrong, he has just as much magic as we did at that age," Mother said, her voice stained, almost as if she couldn't speak. "This, this just can't be happening," she snapped, as angry as Harry had ever heard her.

"Olivia, please," Father said, "I'm sure there's a simple misunderstanding, there's no reason to overreact. Everything will be fine."

"You wouldn't understand," said Mother, using the voice she used only when she was really upset. "I love you, Derrick, but sometimes you're such a Mugg-"

"Olivia, stop it," snapped Uncle Terry, and Harry got nervous. He hated when people fought, and everyone seemed really upset. What had he done to upset everyone?

"You-you're right, Terry. I'm sorry, dear."

"It's fine, Olivia, darling, I know you're upset. Terry, you were saying."

"His name didn't go out today, and I couldn't understand why. There's no reason he shouldn't get a letter, especially if she got a letter. I thought there must be some sort of mistake, so I went over to the Department of Education and asked around. Padma helped me get to the bottom of it... she always rather liked me."

"Yes, yes, you're very handsome, get on with it," Mother said irritably.

Uncle Terry took a deep breath, as if whatever he was about to say was difficult. "Olivia, your son, he doesn't... he doesn't have the Trace on him."

Harry looked at Cassy, who just shrugged back at him. Apparently, she didn't know what that meant any more than he did, but his parents did. Mother gasped and said, "But that―that's..."

"Impossible?" Asked Uncle Terry, "That's what I thought. Every child born into our world has the Trace on them from birth, that's how it's always been… or so we thought. Anyways, the Director of Education and the Headmistress have been informed. I don't know what they're going to do, but until they make a decision, Harry won't be able to go to Hogwarts."