Not Your Average Saturday Solo Finished

It started out like any other Saturday, actually.

The sun seemed a bit slow with its rise that winter morning, a lovely 7:15 a.m. or thereabouts. It shone brightly through a crack in the curtains of a certain eleven-year-old boy, stirring him just enough that he shifted in his bed to get it out of his eyes so he could sleep for another few hours.

Geoffrey Donovan had never been much of a morning person.

When he did finally get up it was to his mother’s calls for him to come down to breakfast. He groaned and grumbled a bit but eventually rolled himself out of bed, glancing quickly at his bedside clock to note the time—it was 8:12 a.m., a much more respectable time to get up for someone like him, especially on a day like today. Groggily, he made his way out of his room and downstairs. The route was familiar and he walked almost on auto-pilot, eyes half-closed and still bleary from sleep.

“Happy birthday, dear!” he heard his mother greet him as he yawned. He waved in response, first to his mum and then to his dad, who was seated in his usual spot at the table, paper open in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Have a seat, I’ve made your favorite!”

“Thanks, mum. French toast?” he asked as he took his place at the table, swaying a bit in his seat in his groggy state. Despite sleeping early the previous night he still felt exhausted. He and his friends had been up to quite a lot the day before—football and skateboarding at the local park for most of the day, and then video games well into the evening until his parents called and told him to come home—and he was certainly feeling it now.

“French toast? I thought you liked waffles, son.” There was a brief rustling as Mr. Donovan turned the page. “Oh, and happy birthday, son.”

“Thanks, dad. And I think I’d give the edge to french toast.”

“Oh! Well, next time then. It’s waffles for today.” Mrs. Donovan poured him a glass of milk and took a moment to smooth out his bed-head, which he didn’t mind all that much. Normally before breakfast he’d spend some time fixing his hair to his liking, but today he hadn’t bothered.

He sipped his milk and settled in.

Despite it being his birthday Geoffrey elected to spend the day at home. It was a rare weekend that both his parents would be home so he wanted to take advantage of it. After breakfast he opened his presents, then they watched a couple of movies together, squeezed in a game of Scrabble, prepared lunch, and his grandparents even stopped by to greet him and drop off his gifts before they headed out of town to visit some old friends. It was about as ideal a Saturday as could be for the boy, even if he did have to be the one to wash the dishes after lunch. Clearly being the birthday boy didn’t excuse him from his chores.

He finished soon enough and was about to head upstairs when the doorbell rang.

A quick look at his parents told him that they weren’t expecting anyone either, so he waited by the stairs while his dad got the door.

“Good afternoon,” came an unfamiliar voice.

That greeting was the beginning of one of the most confusing conversations Geoffrey had ever been in. It was mostly a blur, if he was being honest. There was something about him being accepted into a school, something about magic, and something about him being a wizard. He was able to look his acceptance letter over while his parents asked for proof first, and then asked a multitude of other questions that any responsible parent would ask a complete stranger that was saying such things. That whole portion faded into the background, though, as he read and re-read his letter.

He didn’t even notice that his parents, having exhausted all of their questions, finally ended the conversation. Their guest expressed understanding and soon was gone. By the time Geoffrey was able to really hear the conversation again, his parents were having a very loud discussion about whether he’d be going or not.

“It’s ludicrous!” bellowed Mr. Donovan, who at this point in time looked as red as a tomato. He was very clearly angry at the idea that his son was a wizard. A wizard! “I won’t pay to have my son go to a school run by...by charlatans!”

“'Charlatans'?" Mrs. Donovan huffed. "Honestly, Charles. Just say 'frauds' like the rest of us, dear. Now, deep breaths. We can discuss this calml-”

“There’s nothing to discuss! He’s not going!”

“Of course he’s not,” she tried again though there was an edge of irritation in her voice. “I only mean that we can talk in more civil tones!”

The argument went on but at some point something finally clicked after he read the letter for the umpteenth time, and a feeling suddenly surged, one that he couldn’t quite explain. Some weird cross between not wanting to miss out and genuinely wanting to go, to figure out what all this was really about. It was all still incredibly confusing. He had classmates who talked about magic and all the amazing things that happened in all the books that they read. Fantasy adventure stories, that kind of thing. He was more of a sports and outdoors type of person and he always thought that reading felt too much like homework to be enjoyable , so the whole idea of magic, while not foreign, was just out of his purview. But apparently it was real and here he was, officially accepted into a school that would teach him all about it.

“I want to go,” he said calmly while looking up at his parents. The looks on their faces didn’t deter him in the slightest.

“Remember my console, dad? You saw it yourself. It was completely toasted on the inside, nothing we could do to save it, and we didn’t have an explanation for it. This,” he held up the letter, “this kind of does. This explains a lot of the weird stuff that happens around me.”

He stood, his usually energetic green eyes as calm as they’d ever been as he looked up at his parents, who looked like they were between horrified and understanding. “I want to go.”

His parents exchanged glances, still hesitant but he could see that they were wearing down.

“Please. I have to go.”

Mr. Donovan let out a heavy sigh, brows furrowed together as he stared long and hard at him, while his mother wore a very worried expression. Before long, though, both his parents wrapped their arms around him and he smiled softly as he melted into their embrace. They stood there like that for a moment before Mr. Donovan peeled himself away.

“We’ll have to figure out how to send our reply,” he mumbled as he began to inspect the envelope. Meanwhile Mrs. Donovan looked over the list of things they had to buy for him for school.

“The things on this list...” she mused, arm around Geoffrey’s shoulders. “Do you think they have some kind of magical shopping center somewhere?”

Geoffrey grinned.

“Not sure. Didn’t that person say anything about where we ought to go?”

"Oh, they did! Let's see. I think it was...Diamond? Diameter?"

"That's your maths talking, mum," chuckled Geoffrey as he looked over his list of supplies. It really was quite a curious list.

"Diagon," inserted Mr. Donovan, now inspecting the first page of the letter. "Diagon Alley."

"Right! Diagon Alley. Okay, now how did they say we get there again? It's in London, right?"

The family of three made their way to the kitchen, the conversation carrying as they tried to recall everything that they had been told earlier. Eventually they went on to entertain fanciful thoughts of what sorts of things they might expect to find in Diagon Alley, and the rest of the magical world for that matter. To think that it existed all this time...

And he was going to be a part of it all.

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