At seven-thirty the next morning, the smell of burnt toast drifted up the stairs.
Magnus didn't need a alarm clock. He was already dressed in his best dark trousers and a clean navy blue jumper his mum had forced him to wear. He walked downstairs to find his dad sitting at the kitchen table with a thick wooden rolling pin sitting right next to his teacup.
"Dad, put that away," Magnus said, pulling out a chair.
"I'm not letting strangers drag my son away," Arthur grunted, taking a sharp sip of tea. "Not without a fight."
"If they have magic, a rolling pin isn't going to do much," Sarah said quietly, setting a plate of jam toast in front of Magnus. Her eyes were red around the edges, like she hadn't slept a minute all night.
Before Arthur could reply, a low, heavy engine rumble vibrated through the kitchen floorboards.
It didn't sound like a normal car engine. It sounded deeper, like an old tractor combined with the hum of a refrigerator.
Magnus stood up and walked to the front window.
Parked right outside their garden gate was a large, midnight-black van. It looked like an old British Telecom utility vehicle from the 1980s, but it had no windows on the sides, no license plates, and no brand logo. The paint looked odd—if you stared directly at it, your eyes seemed to slip off the surface, making it look blurry around the edges.
The driver's door opened, and Registrar Wilkins stepped out. He wasn't wearing his bright orange trousers today. Instead, he wore a dark navy pinstripe suit that looked slightly too big for his broad shoulders, paired with a heavy wool coat.
He walked up the concrete path, lifted his hand, and knocked twice on the front door.
Arthur grabbed the rolling pin and stood up, but Magnus beat him to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open before his parents could stop him.
Wilkins looked down at Magnus. His sharp silver glasses caught the morning sun. "Mr. Flower. You are prompt."
"What's the van?" Magnus asked, pointing past him.
"Ministry transport for unregistered muggle-born evaluations," Wilkins said smoothly. He glanced past Magnus at Arthur, who was standing in the hallway holding the wooden rolling pin like a cricket bat. Wilkins' face didn't change at all. "Good morning, Mr. Flower. Your weapon will not be necessary."
"He's not going anywhere until you explain what's going on!" Arthur snapped, stepping in front of Magnus.
Wilkins reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an official-looking leather wallet. He flipped it open. Inside was a gold-embossed badge featuring a scales-and-wand emblem.
"Department of Magical Education, Enforcement Division," Wilkins said, his voice flat and authoritative. "Your son’s name was flagged by the Registry Book at Hogwarts due to an irregular magical surge recorded three weeks ago. Under Section 4 of the Educational Code, we are legally required to verify his control before he attends a boarding school with one hundred other children. If I do not bring him in for testing today, two uniformed Obliviators and an enforcement squad will arrive by noon to handle the matter."
The room went dead quiet. Arthur looked at the badge, then at Sarah, his knuckles white around the rolling pin handle.
"It's fine, Dad," Magnus said, stepping forward. He looked up at Wilkins. "How long does the test take?"
"Two hours," Wilkins replied. "He will be returned to this doorstep before mid-day. Provided he passes."
Sarah came up behind Magnus, placing both hands on his shoulders. Her hands were cold and trembling slightly. "Can I come with him?"
"Muggle relatives are not permitted inside the Department of Magical Education during level-three screenings," Wilkins said. He turned toward the van. "Come, boy. We are on a schedule."
Magnus looked back at his parents. "I'll be fine. Really. I'll see you at lunch."
He walked down the concrete path before his mum could start crying. As he reached the black van, Wilkins opened the heavy side door.
The inside of the van was completely unexpected. From the outside, the vehicle looked no bigger than a standard delivery truck. But looking inside, Magnus saw a long, wood-paneled hallway lined with brass coat hooks, three comfortable leather armchairs, and a small writing desk bolted to the floor.
Spatial expansion charm, Magnus thought, recognizing the concept from his vague pop-culture memory.
He climbed up the iron step and sat down in the nearest leather armchair. Wilkins stepped in behind him and pulled the heavy side door shut.
The moment the door latched, all sound from Elm Street cut off completely. No wind, no birds, no hum of neighborhood traffic.
Wilkins sat in the armchair opposite Magnus, placing his thick brass binder on his knees.
The van lurched forward—not with the smooth roll of rubber tires, but with a sudden, violent jerk that felt like being dropped three feet through the air.
Magnus held onto the leather armrests, his knuckles tight. His stomach did a quick flip, but he kept his face completely blank.
Wilkins watched him closely, pulling a thin silver pocket watch from his coat. "No nausea?"
"I've been on worse carnival rides," Magnus said dryly, keeping his voice steady.
Wilkins hummed softly, making a small note in his binder with his purple quill. "Most Muggle-born children vomit on their first spatial shift. Your physical constitution is... unusually dense."
Magnus leaned back into the leather cushion, trying to look relaxed. "So, what's this latency thing you wrote on the paper?"
Wilkins stopped writing. He slowly lifted his head, his grey eyes locking onto Magnus through his silver-framed glasses.
"I see you found my note," Wilkins said quietly.
"Hard to miss when you throw it right into my mum's hydrangeas," Magnus replied.
"It was a test of observation," Wilkins said, leaning forward slightly. "Tell me, Mr. Flower... when I dropped that parchment, did you see my hand move, or did you know I was going to drop it before my hand even touched my pocket?"
Magnus hesitated. His brain slammed the brakes.
Rule one of dealing with strange magic bureaucrats: don't give away all your cards.
"I saw you drop it," Magnus lied smoothly. "I was watching you from the porch because you looked suspicious."
Wilkins stared at him for three long seconds. The silence inside the expanded van was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic thump-thump of the vehicle shifting through invisible space.
Then, Wilkins let out a short, dry breath that might have been a laugh.
"A lie," Wilkins said calmly. "A poorly timed one, but understandable. You are frightened."
"I'm not frightened," Magnus said.
"You should be," Wilkins said, closing his binder with a soft click. "Because the people waiting for you at the Ministry today are not looking for talented wizards. They are looking for dangerous ones."
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