Eleven Years Ago

George Kirk still couldn't believe all of it. Sure, he had a cool head and was pretty intelligent and perceptual, but anyone without the imaginative mind of a child would have been thrown by it all. The day that his wife had told him (or rather, he found out) that she was a witch had certainly been one of the weirdest he had ever experienced. They had met on a trip. He was in his third year of college and was studying abroad, and she was in Cardiff for reasons that at that time he hadn't known. Miraculously, they had stayed in touch even after he found out that she didn't have a cell phone or even a home phone number for him to call. It was all history after that; while she seemed reluctant to fall in love, he persisted and when they were both twenty-eight years old they were married.

It was the last day of their honeymoon when he found out. He had gone out to the local market for groceries, and when he came back early because he had forgotten his wallet his wife was standing in the middle of the room with objects flying about her as she flicked a stick of wood through the hair. He simply stood there for a moment, until she turned around and he saw the same deer in the headlights expression that he had on his face mirrored on hers. It had taken a while to explain, sure, but he had gotten used to it.

The issue of George even knowing of magic had been difficult to resolve at the very least. In the rare case of a witch or wizard marrying a muggle, laws mandated that the Statue of Secrecy was to be maintained until a moment of necessity, such as an emergency or a magical child, in many cases. Once they determined that he wasn't going to do anything stupid and placed him under an agreement to not break the Statue of Secrecy himself, he had been allowed to go without having his memory modified. It had been difficult to slip into Winona's magical life at first, but he had adjusted and eventually loved her even more for it along with her other quirks.

When their first child, Sam, had been born, Winona couldn't contain her excitement. He was beautiful, more than either of them could have imagined. As their firstborn aged, however, he could see that his wife was still looking for signs that he would be able to follow in her path in magic. Winona had told him that sometimes children developed late or had latent magical abilities, but he could see that she was disappointed that Sam hadn't shown any magical ability to date. They had known that the chance their child was magical was small since George was a muggle and Winona's parents had been as well, but she had always hoped throughout their marriage that they would have been able to have a child capable of magic just as she was.

The second time she was pregnant, it had been unplanned. They were financially stable (in both the wizard and muggle banks), and it hadn't been unpleasant surprise. That's all it was: a surprise. Winona was not one to be tied down as she had during her first pregnancy, so throughout her first and second trimester she continued working, dangerous as her job as an Auror was. So when the communication came that they wanted her, needed her on a mission halfway through her eighth month, George had put his foot down. Their second child was due in two weeks, and Sam was only four years old. She had protested, stating that she needed to be there, that it was more important than just her job. Eventually, he had acquiesced on the condition that he had to go with her.

And that had gone over like a ton of bricks.

Apparently taking muggles on stuff like this was just a big no. But George Kirk was not one to give up, especially when now it involved the safety of his very pregnant wife. After several fierce conversations through the owl post (he still hadn't gotten used to that), the Ministry had eventually allowed him to go on the condition that he didn't interfere and tried not to stand out. They had been worried about him not being able to keep up, but after spending time in the American Army and working with tacticians, he had assured him that he was more than capable of staying with the group. They hadn't wanted to go without Winona, and eventually realized that they would just have to deal with George as well.

He didn't know the specifics of the mission, just that it was different from the others in the sense that it was just about as secretive as the Aurors got even within the wizarding society. His wife had handed him a secondhand set of robes that she had bought during her last trip to Diagon Alley, and they had set off. Everything was routine enough, but George suspected that he should've known that something would have gone wrong this time even though it never had before.

They had been traveling for quite some time when one of the wizards stopped and frowned. "Sir," he began, addressing Richard Robau, the man in charge. "I'm getting some magical energy displacement from nearby. It looks like it's coming out of nowhere."

The bald man's thick brow contracted, confusion etched on his face. "Is there an explanation?"

The other man swallowed. "No, sir. It's unexplainable, just a large displacement of magical energy without any apparent source. I recommend that we-"

Then all hell broke loose.

Men with heavily tattooed faces and sharp visages came rushing out, throwing back their hoods to expose themselves and firing bright bursts of light out of their wands. Immediately, all of the wizards drew their wands and attempted to retaliate, but there were simply too many. George moved slightly behind his wife as she shot spells wildly from the tip of her wand, not being able to help feeling as if it was a little backwards that he was he was relying on his very pregnant wife for protection when he was supposed to be the one protecting her. The hostiles kept firing alternating red and green jets out of their wands, and as their comrades fell the Aurors drew in closer together, George protectively shoving Winona to the middle even though she protested, beginning to gasp for breath. Wizard or not, he was going to protect her to the best of his ability.

But somehow, even though they had lost almost two fifths of their small twenty person group, the assault stopped. One solitary man stepped out, throwing back his hood to reveal inky, thick tattoos on his face and pointed ears. When he spoke, it was in a thick, raspy voice. "Our leader wishes to speak with the one in charge. A refusal would be…unwise." He paused briefly and let the fact that they were now outnumbered almost four to one sink in. "You have three minutes to make your decision." He turned on his heel and the others followed him into the depths of the forest.

The wizards stood there for a moment, then began to regroup. Immediately, George felt Winona's death grip on his arm and turned around to see her face contorted in pain and her hand on her belly. "George," she gasped. "I think it's coming."

George's face blanched as he realized what was happening, and for a moment he just stood there, unaware of what to do. He swore briefly, and then ran over to the Asian man that he distantly remembered had some semblance of medical training, or whatever they called it. "The baby's coming," he said breathlessly, watching as his eyes widened. "You need to get her out of here now."

The man frowned. "Apparition is extremely dangerous in her condition. There's a good chance we could end up splicing something involving the baby. I'd have to create a portkey; we can fix the authorization later."

"Do whatever you have to," George replied, taking a moment to remember just exactly what a portkey was. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her. What do I need to do?"

"Is there anything you have on you that I could use to create one?" The healer asked. "Muggle objects work best."

Without thinking, George shrugged off his jacket. "Just use this. I don't have anything else on me."

The man grabbed it, handing it to one of the other men who began casting the complicated spell. He quickly moved over to Winona who was now grimacing in pain. George watched as he sat her down on the ground, instructing her to keep breathing as her face contorted with effort. He kneeled next to her, offering words of comfort and encouragement.

Suddenly, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder steering him away from the scene and was surprised to see himself staring into the face of Richard Robau. The man quickly got down to business. "You have military experience, right?"

George paled. "Yes, sir."

Robau stared directly into his eyes. "I'm going to go and speak with them."

All of a sudden, George jumped. "Are you crazy? With all due respect sir, you can't go in there. Nothing good is going to come out of it."

"Yeah, well at least there we have a chance," Robau snarled. "Here, we'll almost certainly die. If I can delay them enough, the portkey might be ready to get those of us that are still alive out of here."

That meant something to George since both his wife and his child's lives were on the line. Slowly, he nodded, understanding the man's reasoning. Robau took a deep breath. "I'm leaving you in charge while I'm gone. You're the only one who has any sort of experience with this sort of thing; usually we just work one on one." Upon seeing the muggle's expression, Robau drew his lips tight and clapped him on the shoulder. "I need someone who can make good decisions under pressure. All of these people are great men and women as well as fighters, but I need someone who can get it."

George bit his lip. "And you think that's me?"

Robau looked around. "Well, you're the best we've got. So congratulations, you're an honorary Auror."

The wizard slapped him on the back and began to walk across toward the now emerging hostiles in the trees, shoulders set and face determined. George quickly swallowed his fear, moving to the center of their small group and trying to keep his wife's muted cries out of his mind so he could stay focused and save her. Robau was quickly grabbed around the biceps by two large, tattooed men and was pulled through the foliage as he shot them a withering glare and tried to shake their grips free to no avail.

And in that moment, with the unknown hostiles hiding just behind the foliage and his wife in labor behind him, George S. Kirk had never felt so helpless.

Richard Robau was feeling pretty damn helpless.

He knew from experience that there was no way he was making it out of this situation unharmed, probably not even alive. What unnerved him was that they had gotten a tip off that something was happening here tonight and no one had any idea what, and even now he still had not the faintest idea who these people were or what they wanted. And damn, they were strong. Robau liked to think that as a senior Auror he was able to hold his own in a fight, magical creature or not. But no matter how much he tried to pry his arms from their grip, their fingers only curled tighter and tighter around his biceps.

After a minute or so of walking, he was thrown in front of an imposing, robed figure with an almost bored expression on his face. He looked the same as the others with a tattooed face and long, pointed ears, but you could easily tell that he was the one in charge by the large berth his men gave him as well as his commanding presence. As he looked up from his position on the ground, the first man that had spoken to them in the clearing stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the other figure. "State your name and position."

"Richard Robau," he grunted, standing up shakily. "Senior Auror of the Ministry of Magic. You brought me here to speak with your leader, so unless that's you I'd suggest you introduce us."

The man, creature, whatever he was glanced back at the imposing figure behind him. "I will speak on behalf of our leader, Nero."

Robau decided that he was going to die anyways, so he might as well go out with gusto. "Yeah, well I don't care enough to speak to you. Let Nero speak for himself." All of a sudden, the man came up and grabbed him by the front of his robes, pulling his toes off of the ground. Damn, he's strong, Robau couldn't help think as he gasped for air.

"What is the current date?" The man growled, eyes narrowing.

His eyebrows knit together. "What is the date?" he breathed, baffled by the simplicity of the question. The man's grip only tightened on his robes as an answer, and Robau grunted out, "January 4th, 2013."

He stared into the background to see Nero's eyes narrow. With renewed strength, he began kicking and thrashing against the man that was restraining him until he was finally grabbed around the arms again by two and securely restrained. His eyebrows were drawn together in a look of gritty determination as the man waved his wand seemingly produced out of nowhere and a glowing image appeared in front of him. "Do you know this man?" He asked.

Robau regarded the visage. The man in question had a soft, weathered face with a severe yet gentle expression, framed by a straight fringe of hair across his forehead. With some surprise, Robau saw that he had the same pointed ears that these creatures did; albeit slightly smaller, there was a definite resemblance. There were no tattoos on this man's face, however. He looked to be nearing very old age. After a moment, Robau shook his head. "I do not recognize him."

Suddenly, Nero stepped forward and growled, "Where is Spock?"

Richard Robau narrowed his eyes and stared directly into Nero's dark ones. "I don't know who he is, and even if I did I wouldn't tell you."

With that, Nero let out a feral roar and Robau barely had a moment to brace himself before he heard, "AVADA KE-"

One of the witches stood up suddenly from Winona's side, turned to George, and breathed out, "Robau is dead."

George clenched his fists as he heard the desperation and fear creeping into her voice. "We need to go!" he yelled over his wife's cries at the man still working on the portkey, who merely nodded to acknowledge that he understood, his brow creasing in concentration as he cast the spell over the jacket. George glanced at Winona and saw her face contorted and her fingers clenched onto the grass beneath her as if holding on for dear life.

He ran over to the portkey. "How long?" He asked the man, who was now regarding the jacket with an almost solemn finality.

The man, an expert in magical transportation, looked up with a pained expression on his face. "It's done… but with the baby we're one over capacity. Normally pregnancy wouldn't be an issue, but with the baby so close we can't risk it. "

It took a moment for the statement to register. We're one over capacity. George swallowed, and then realized that they were dealing with wizards, not just muggles like him. "Someone could apparate, right?"

"That's the catch, sir," the man said. "There's been so much residual magical energy floating around the area that it's not safe enough to apparate. Someone would end up splicing off something important."

George ran through the process in his mind. Robau had put him in charge, and as the current officer in command… He took a deep breath. "I'll stay behind. They might not hurt me since I'm not a wizard, and I'm not an idiot. I can take care of myself, and I don't know anything important. They have no reason to torture me."

"But it's not your duty to-"

"Robau put me in charge," George pressed. "And if I have to order you to leave I will."

Realizing defeat and the power of a confident commander, the man acquiesced and nodded. Not wasting any time, George shouted out, "We need to leave, now!"

With surprising speed, the wizards including Winona gathered around the portkey. For a brief moment, their eyes met and as she saw him standing outside of the circle she suddenly understood. "George, you can't! It's almost – it'll need you –"

George cupped his wife's head in his hands. "I love you, Winona, and I always will. I love our child, and I always will. You know that. I'll be fine." He put as much sincerity into his voice as possible, but the last promise rang empty. George had the perception and ability to read a situation of a trained soldier, and there was very little chance he would escape. But to save his wife and child… there was little he wouldn't do in order to ensure their safety.

The transportation wizard began counting down. "Three…two…one…"

"George!" Winona cried as the Asian healer forced her hand onto her husband's jacket.

And then they were gone, and George was alone. He could hear movement in the trees far away, and realized that they had taken Robau farther than he had expected, which gave him a slight head start. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket that he hadn't revealed earlier, the one that he so often carried with him just for the safety and comfort of its ability. He took one last glance at the rustling foliage across the clearing, and then began to backtrack and run.

He could hear them behind him; saw the first shot of green light fly past him as he dodged to avoid a tree branch. Some vague part of his mind recognized it as the killing curse, and he knew that if he was finished. Even so, he loosed off several shots from his pistol and was surprised to hear a cry of pain. It seemed that whatever they were, like most wizards they weren't accustomed to muggle weapons. They could call them crude, but they were horribly effective.

He saw a cave and ducked into it, hopefully buying himself a minute, or even 30 seconds. That was all he needed. The mirror was already growing warm in his pocket, and he knew that his wife was thinking the same thing that he was. He pulled it out and breathed out, "Winona."

His wife's face filled the glass, and George gasped as he saw the small, wet bundle swaddled in his jacket, the one that had just saved his wife's life. She saw that he was safe for the moment, and her eyes lit up. The baby's soft cries could be barely heard through the connection, and George couldn't help but smile at the beautiful sound that for a moment he hadn't thought he would ever hear. "What should we name him?" He managed to choke out.

Winona brushed away a piece of hair, a sheen of sweat visible on her forehead. "After your father?"
George couldn't help but laugh, and knew that it would be his last. "Tiberius? No way, that's the worst." He paused for a moment. "After yours?"

His wife brushed a piece of wispy hair off of the baby's forehead, looking at his face. "Jim. James Tiberius Kirk." They both laughed. "That's a name for the ages."

George let himself smile, but he could hear Nero's men approaching the cave. "Winona, I need you to know that I love you. Just…" he paused. "Don't forget me, okay?"

Panic crossed her face. "No George, I love you, you can't…" She choked on the end of the sentence, the words refusing to come out. "He has your eyes," she murmured, turning the mirror as tears began to fall freely.

Nero's men were at the mouth of the cave now. "He's beautiful," George managed to say, and the last thing he saw before the green flash of light was two bright, electric blue eyes.

His eyes.

Eleven Years Later

James T. Kirk was pretty sure that there had never been a happier day in his life than the one that he received his Hogwarts letter.

He had always been confident, cocky even in his belief that he was destined for something. Sure, that something very well might have been driving Frank's prize car off the cliff near their house (he had thought about it enough), or being the smartest kid ever sent to the principal's office for misbehavior, but he had never imagined…magic. While most kids had dreamed of fantasy and adventure, when Jim was young he had been surprisingly pragmatic and calculating and hadn't indulged in dreams like his peers. That wasn't to say that he paid attention to anything or even cared for that matter, but merely that he didn't care for dreams because he knew that there was a good chance that they wouldn't come true.

It didn't help that his childhood was strained and stressed, his mother raising him and his brother alone for several years before finally giving in and marrying a man who could care less about her kids just so she could escape it all. Jim wasn't even sure what his mother did exactly. He just knew that whenever he needed her, she was gone. She had told him once that she was continuing his father's legacy in the only way he could, but in an unusually insightful manner for an eight year old he retorted that he was his father's legacy so why wasn't she staying with him.

She hadn't talked about her work with him since then, and had only become more and more distant. By the time he turned eleven, Jim was considering doing something drastic just so someone would notice. The only attention he received was Frank either screaming at him to do something or his teacher scolding him for misbehavior. Often at school or at home, he would find himself in the center of strange events that he was almost always blamed for. Once, he had been irritated with one of his classmates and was finding it difficult controlling himself and when he turned around the fish tank had frozen solid. Another time at home, Frank had been screaming at his brother, drunk as drunk could be, and all of a sudden the lamp next to Frank had shattered and embedded pieces of glass in his stepfather's skin. People began to stay away from him.

Not to say that he hadn't gotten used to it. He was strong, intelligent and could take care of himself, which he did most of the time. It was merely that he wished he had an actual father, someone who would take him places and tuck him in and pat his shoulder when he did something good, not a freeloader like Frank. But when that letter came… his entire life changed.

He had come home from school, set his backpack down and tiptoed back towards the kitchen and past Frank's sleeping form sprawled out on the armchair (his Dad's armchair) with a beer on the table and the TV playing on low volume. He grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked back outside the house, towards the quarry where he spent more of his time than anywhere else. It was close to his house, but private enough that even if Frank cared enough to look he probably wouldn't find him. Sometimes, Sam would come with him, but more often than not his brother would elect to either stay at some or go out with his own friends, which was fine with Jim. He didn't care enough to wait around for his brother to come home. If Sam needed, him he knew where he would be.

In a matter of minutes he was sitting on the edge of the quarry with his legs dangling off of the edge. It was his favorite place to sit and think and not be disturbed. He took a sip of the soda he had grabbed, and looked out at the wide Iowa sky. For a while, he simply sat and stared across the horizon, enjoying the peace and quiet. Jim Kirk may have been somewhat of an ostentatious child, but he still appreciated silence and solitude just as much as anyone else. Anything was better than being stuck at home with Frank.

He knew the landscape well since he came here so often, so he didn't really expect a large, white object streaking across the sky. At first, he thought it was an airplane but then he realized that it was flying right at him. In a couple of seconds he could see a large, pure white owl coming towards him clutching something in its beak. He squinted. Never before had he ever seen this kind of bird. Sure, they had owls in Iowa, but they were few and far between and none of them were pure white.

It landed next to him in an uncharacteristic lack of fear for humans and deposited its package in his lap. It moved away from him, flying low above the ground but staying close to him all the same. Bemusedly, Jim looked at the package sitting in his lap. It was a thick envelope with a red seal keeping it closed. He flipped it over and looked at the address. "James Tiberius Kirk, Riverside Quarry, Iowa". His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Was this some type of prank that Sam was playing on him, or one of the guys at school?

Not able to resist the temptation, he slowly broke the seal and opened the envelope. Pulling out the first readily available piece of paper, he murmured aloud the text located there. "Mr. Kirk, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He continued reading, occasionally mouthing along the words, getting more confused as he went. The letter was handwritten, but obviously a form letter right down to the signature at the bottom with an official title.

Something caught his eye through the paper, and he furrowed his eyebrows, flipping the paper over. On the back was a more personal note, written in a slanted, flowing script. As he read, Jim's eyebrows drew closer and closer together, the entire situation seeming to make less and less sense.

"Jim,

I am aware that your mother is away with the Ministry and will be for several months more, and I regret that she will not be able to see you off to your first year at Hogwarts. I have arranged for one of my colleagues to escort you to buy your supplies as well as to King's Cross for your trip to the school. They will arrive on September 13th, two days before the start of term. Enjoy the rest of your summer.

-Headmaster Christopher Pike"

For a moment Jim just stared at the letter, nothing making sense. He pulled out the rest of the envelope's contents, seeing a list of required school supplies as well as general guidelines for the school such as pets and such. He wasn't sure what to think. If it was a prank, it was an elaborate one to write everything out as well as train or rent an owl that would deliver straight to him as well as stay in the area once it was done with its job. Whatever it was, he knew that just in case, he was going to call his mom. Even if none of it was true – which it probably wasn't – she'd still want to know about it.

He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his jeans, grabbing the letter in the process. Grudgingly, he began to walk back to his house, disappointed that he had only been there for only an hour. Usually, he would try to stay out for several hours at the very least, avoiding home until the last possible second. He had friends, sure, but it always seemed like they were walking on eggshells around him. Everyone in the small town knew that George Kirk had died early in Sam's life and at the advent of Jim's, and Winona was always gone. No one wanted to say anything… wrong, and Jim hated it. Sometimes he would go into town, but the majority of the time he just wandered around by himself.

It was about 5:30, right in the middle of the time Winona had set away for her sons to contact her if they needed to. She had given them a cell phone to share and as Jim tiptoed inside just in case Frank was still sleeping he grabbed it from its usual place on the kitchen counter near the outlet. He took it back outside and walked to the tree close to his house. Sitting down, he dialed the number and listened to the dial tone. He was still clutching the letter in his hand.

The phone rang for almost thirty seconds, and for a moment Jim thought that she wasn't going to answer, but then he heard a small click and someone pick up on the other end. "Hello?" His mother's voice came through the other end.

Jim swallowed. "Mom?"

"Jim, is that you?" She asked immediately, sounding mildly surprised. Rarely did her sons ever call her.

He sighed, rattling his breath through the speakers. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, I have a question-"

"Couldn't either of you ever call to just talk?" She interrupted him. "I miss the two of you."

Jim felt something clench in his chest, but dismissed it. "You could always stay here."

There was a pregnant pause, until he heard her sigh come through the connection. "You know I can't do that. What is it you need?"

He unfolded the letter again in his lap. "I was out today, and an owl came and gave me a letter. I think it's a prank, but there was a note that said they knew you were away, so I thought I'd check."

He heard her breath hitch in her throat. "You got a letter…from an owl?"

Jim's brow furrowed. "Yeah. It said I got accepted to a magic school or something."

There was an unusual amount of silence for even their awkward conversations. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and strained. "What was the name?"

Jim searched again on the letter, finally finding what he was looking for. "Erm… Hogwarts."

Nothing. Jim couldn't even hear his mother breathe, until she tersely said, "I'm going to come home."

Jim's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Why? It's not serious…" She didn't answer. "Mom, you're kidding. You have to be kidding."

She sighed. "Jim, I… we'll talk when I get there."

She promptly hung up, leaving her youngest son speechless on the other end of the line. His thoughts were whirling. Magic wasn't real, and his mom certainly didn't know anything about it. If she had, she would've saved his father, done something. There had to be something even a pregnant woman going into stress induced labor could do. He still didn't know the details of his father's death, but his mom had always told him that his father was a hero, someone to be proud of. He couldn't fathom anyone just standing by with something as free and powerful as magic that could have, should have saved a life.

He rifled through the papers again, looking at the supplies this. It looked like a lot of books, some miscellaneous supplies like a cauldron and brass scales, but at the bottom, something caught his eye. One wand. After a moment, he merely laughed. This had to be a prank, and he couldn't believe that his mom was getting so worked up about it. He didn't know anywhere you could buy a wand. He pulled out the cellphone again and began dialing his mom's number, telling her not to come. She was halfway across the world, or at least it felt like that with how little he ever saw her.

Jim was about to press the call button when he heard a sharp crack from near the house. He jumped up, startled by the unexpected noise, and his jaw dropped when he saw his mother standing near the kitchen window looking frenzied and slightly disheveled, wearing the same jacket that she always did. She quickly shoved something in her back pocket before straightening herself out and forcing a smile at Jim upon realizing that he had seen her. He merely stood there, mouth gaping and unable to form words.

She sighed and walked over, ruffling his hair like she had used to albeit in a more longing way than usual. She grabbed the papers off of the ground and took his hand, surprising him. "Let's take a walk."

He closed his mouth and nodded, walking alongside her. "How did you-"

"In time," she interrupted. "I'll explain soon. We need to go someplace quiet, think you know anywhere?" There was a twinkle in her eye for the briefest moment, and Jim was reminded of some of the early days of his childhood when she had still tried to put on her best face.

He nodded slowly, knowing that just by the way she had asked the question his mom already knew about his favorite haunt. They made their way to the quarry, not saying anything but only walking. The only reason for his mom's sudden appearance that Jim could fathom was that she had been nearby, very nearby, and had been avoiding them until something important happened. He frowned. That also made this letter important…he had a lot of questions.

They sat down together at the edge where he often watched the sun set or rise. Winona immediately began rifling through the papers, her expression remaining as impassive as it had been since she had arrived. After a moment, she took a deep breath and began to speak. "Jim, there are things that I haven't told you and your brother. Things that I didn't think I would have had to."

Jim looked back up at her. "Are they important?"

She bit her lip. "I didn't think they would be." She ran a hair through her hair, looking slightly frazzled. "Jim, I don't really know exactly how to explain all of this so you're just going to have to bear with me. Can you do that?"

He nodded, not saying anything. She exhaled and began worrying the edge of her clothing. "I began attending this school when I was your age, and continued until I was almost eighteen years old. It's very real, Jim."

He inhaled sharply, staring into his mother's eyes. "You're kidding. Magic isn't real, is it?"

She sighed, looking away. "Magic is very real, Jim. Just not for everyone."

"And you're saying that you can do magic."

She paused for a moment, and then pulled something long and dark out of her back pocket. She pointed it at one of the papers sitting on the ground and said, "Wingardium Leviosa." To Jim's utter surprise, the paper gently floated up into the air, following the motions of his mother's tool. He examined it, and then looked at the paper that was gently floating in the air.

One wand.

He reeled, scooting back slightly. The entire time, his eyes were focused on the paper and his mother's wand controlling it until she set it gently down once again. He leveled his gaze, looking up at her. "Can I do that?"

She put the wand back in her pocket. "With teaching, yes. To be quite honest, I hadn't expected you to be a..." she forced the word out of her mouth as if it was difficult to say, "…wizard since your brother never displayed any signs." She paused for a moment. "Your father wasn't one, and neither were my parents.

He sat back, digesting the information. "Is that how you got here? Magic?"

She nodded hesitantly. "It's called apparation, and it's very difficult to use over a long distance…" she trailed off, looking at the ground.

It took him a minute to understand, and then anger boiled through him. "You could've come home at any time that you wanted and you stay out there for eleven months of the year? You abandoned us, and you could have come back at any time?"

She looked up at him with sad eyes. "I wish I could have but…" she stopped, looking for the right words.

Jim stepped in. "But what? I look too much like him? Do you don't like Frank? Or maybe you just can't stand the house without him here?"

Winona looked down at the ground, unable to say anything that would justify her actions. "Jim, I….I'm so sorry."

He stood there fuming for a minute before realizing that there was nothing he could do that would bring back the eleven years of his life he had lost without his one parent truly there. He sat down again, not looking at the woman beside him before quietly saying. "So…I go to this school after the summer?"

She smiled, the corner of her mouth turning up just a bit. "If you choose…yes."

He thought for a moment. "Is Sam a… wizard too?" He asked, the word feeling odd and unfamiliar in his mouth.

His mother looked sad for a moment, and shook her head. "He never displayed any signs of magic, which is why I never thought you would either. Your father wasn't a wizard and neither were my parents, so to have a magical child was a very slim chance. I guess I never saw any signs with you…or I just never looked and I'm sorry for that."

He sat for a moment, and then looked up. "Can I do any magic right now?"

His mother bit her lip. "Yes and no. I'm sure that at some point it happened, I just wasn't here…" She paused for a second, and then quickly glossed over the moment. "Right now, your magic is raw and will respond to your emotions. It's difficult to control until you've been properly taught."

Jim quickly thought back to the incidents that had occurred throughout his childhood of unexplainable events that he had always been blamed for in some way. In hindsight, he could easily explain it as magic, and he couldn't believe it.

"You know, you're taking this pretty well," his mother said, breaking his reverie. He smiled a crooked smile, and she reciprocated, holding out her hand to help him up after she had stood herself.

"I'm going to have to tell Frank something else to explain your absence. How does military school sound?" She said, obviously knowing of her second husband's distaste for both of her sons.

"As long as I don't actually have to go," he paused, smiling slightly. "Military school sounds great."

Her face lit up at the humor, finally getting to see her son smile for the first time in several months, possibly years. "I can't come back with you now since Frank would wonder why I'm back so soon. I'll be back within the week hopefully, but my work doesn't allow me much freedom."

He frowned slightly. "Where do you work? Can you tell me now?"

"I'm an auror," she explained. "Kind of like magical law enforcement. I work wherever they need me. When I'm not actively working on something, I'm usually in London at the Ministry of Magic."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "There's a Ministry of Magic in London? Why not New York or D.C. or something?"

"Most wizarding families are British," she explained. "The majority of the pureblood families and magical blood runs there. Believe it or not, there are actually few wizards in America unless they or an ancestor came to America from Europe."

His eyebrows drew together. "Where's the school?"

Winona bit her lip. "The train leaves from London. You won't be able to return home for the duration of the year."

Jim broke out in a smile. "Fantastic. Am I going to be the only American there, then?"

His mother thought for a moment. "One of few, I would assume. There may be several others, though. I was one of the only ones in my class." She thought for a moment. "Jim, there are some wizards that have prejudices that the refuse to let go of."

He laughed. "What, because I'm American?"

"No, because your father was a muggle," she replied gravely.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "What's a muggle?"
"A non-magical person," she explained. "The term isn't derogatory; it's just what's most commonly used. While your father's name commands a certain degree of respect within the wizarding world, many families that have preserved an entire line of wizards and call themselves purebloods still will call out your muggle heritage." She paused for a moment. "That doesn't mean much, though. There have been brilliant witches and wizards that have been muggle born. There have been brilliant muggles."

Jim felt confusion flash across his face. "Why would any wizards know Dad if he was a muggle?"

His mother smiled wistfully, staring off into the distance. "Your father saved many lives including mine… and yours." She paused for a moment, as if remembering her husband's smile, his laugh, and the look of gritty determination as he sacrificed himself to save others. She looked at Jim, and he could tell by the way her eyes softened ever so slightly that she was seeing his father, not him. "Jim, you have to promise me that you'll work hard and do your best at this school. It'll be difficult, and unlike anything you've ever done before."

Jim smiled his childish crooked smile, and for the first time in several months, grabbed his mother's hand. "Mom, you can trust me." What Jim didn't know was that his mother had been thinking the same thing he was at the very moment she had gotten her letter.

I can't wait to get out of here.

He brushed the thought away and stood up, his mother following suit. "I guess I'll see you again soon?"

Winona smiled softly. "Hopefully. I'm afraid I won't be able to see you off, but it looks like the Headmaster has that covered." The corner of her mouth twitched. "I still wish he would have notified me that he would be picking up my son, but I know that I'm difficult to contact." She winked at Jim. "Not everyone has a cell phone. Which reminds me…" She rummaged around in an inside pocket of the jacket and eventually pulled out a mirror, slightly worn around the edges but with the surface clean and polished minus a jagged scratch that ran across the upper right corner of the frame.

He grabbed it out of her hands and looked at his reflection, then looked back at her to see her holding an identical one. She smiled briefly. "It's called a two way mirror. All you have to do is say my name and then you'll be able to see me."

He turned it over, and saw an inscription on the back. To George, from Winona. He gently ran his finger over the engraving in understanding. "This was dad's?"

She nodded slowly. "This was how we used to talk when I was away at work. He always had it on him."

For a moment, Jim closed his eyes, imagining his father's hands on the mirror and his mother's younger face on the glass. The late nights, the furtive conversations during whatever time they could find, and the connection that broke through the glass in between the two people. When he opened them, he could see his mother doing the same looking fondly at him, remembering the same thing. Unconsciously, she grabbed the hem of the still ragged jacket that she had refused to let go of, even taking it with her to formal events and all of those times Jim got sent to principal's office and she was actually there to bail him out. It was a gesture that he recognized all too well. She often did it when she was thinking of his father, and it hadn't slipped under his notice.

Jim tried to savor the moment. It was rare that he actually got some time with his mom, and even though he knew she was still seeing George instead of Jim, he understood. She was still here, and that was better than anything he had ever gotten the past several years. He held the mirror close to his chest and watched as she snapped out of her trance and smiled fondly at him. His mom seemed proud of him, and now he had a purpose in life rather than just sitting at the quarry waiting for something to happen. He looked into her eyes. "I'll talk to you later, then? You promise?"

She nodded sincerely. "Yes, Jim. I know that I haven't been the best, but from now on we'll stay in touch. Sam too." She added upon seeing her son's raised eyebrow. Sam had always claimed that he didn't care about her, didn't care about anybody, but Jim knew it wasn't true. She looked at the battered watch on her wrist, then in a rare moment of affection leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you, Jim. I'll see you soon."

And then there was a sharp crack and she was gone, presumably back to where she had been before. It was just Jim's luck that Frank woke up to the noise, shouting, "What did you break this time?" Jim sighed, but nothing could dampen his mood. The date was July 30th. There was only one month left to go.

A/N: Hi everyone! Most of you probably don't know me since I haven't written any Star Trek or Harry Potter fanfiction before. I've been huge on Harry Potter since I was a kid, and I love HP crossovers. I just recently got into the Star Trek fandom after seeing Into Darkness. In no way do I claim to be a Trekkie but I am a fan and this idea popped into my head and I had to write it. Please tell me if there's anything regarding Star Trek that I need to fix. I would greatly appreciate it since I'm fairly new to the fandom. Anyways, thanks for reading this chapter! I'm not sure how far this story will go, so I thought I'd just gauge a response first. Sorry it's so boring, but I needed to kind of set up my universe here. Oh, I'm also sorry Jim sounds so whiny. It just kind of came out that way :P

Also, if you read this PPBK, please don't kill me. Thanks.

~haaschiibrownii