“Nicholas Clifford Gibbs! If you go any further than the
beach, so help me, you will find yourself washing pots for the next week! And
leave your surfboard, the waves are too big!”

“Alright Mum – I’ll be back before dark”

“You better be mister.”

Yup, that’s me, nine years old and not a care in the world
aren’t I adorable? Still the same scruffy hair, though a little bit lighter;
bleached from the blazing sun of the Cornish coast where I spent all of my
life. Wrapped up in muggle sea wear known as a wet suit (Dad imbibed it with a
warming charm to make it even more efficient). The bare soles of my feet hard
as leather from a lifetime of clambering over rocks. Despite being pureblood,
mum and dad had opened up a cliff top eatery known as the ‘Hell’s Mouth Café’;
so named for the treacherous and unreachable beach which the café overlooked.
Muggle tourists (and even the odd witch and wizard) would come in their droves
to sample dad’s famous pasties and take in the remarkable views.

I ambled along in the direction of Godrevy, my local beach,
a tingle of excitement coursing through me as I cherished this time alone away
from the watchful eyes of my parents. In the distance, I could see the outline
of a girl also in a wetsuit perched on top of a bridge. Her rake thin legs
dangling over the side as she idly tossed stones into the saltwater river that
flowed from the sea and into the marshes. Lowenna Penrice was exactly two
months older than me and had been my best friend ever since we had met several
years before. We both loved to surf, though at the time of our meeting we were
rather uncoordinated body boarders. The other local kids found our friendship a
little strange and a rousing chorus of ‘Nic and ‘Wenna sitting in a tree’ often
followed us around. I would blush profusely whenever this happened but ‘Wenna
thought it hilarious and would toss back her head filled with a mass of curly
brown ringlets and laugh. Which was usually followed by her punching the
nearest singer. ‘Wenna was no tomboy, but she could hold her own against anyone
who sort to cross her or her friends.

The sprightly girl hopped down from her perch as soon as I
was within shouting distance.

“Alright Gandalf!”

I rolled my eyes at this newest of a long line of nicknames
that she had for me.

“What does that make you – Orc-face?” I replied as I joined
her on the bridge.

‘Wenna gurned and waggled her tongue grotesquely before
slapping me on the arm. I grinned back feigning mock pain. She looked at me
expectantly.

“So, are you going to try it again?”

Looking back, I can see what a complete idiot I was. But
then aren’t all children? That being said, most mistakes of youth were not a
colossal as mine.

I peered up at the overcast sky that was making the whole
place seem a lot darker than the late afternoon should have been.

“Let’s head down to smuggler’s alcove.” I replied
purposefully.

We made our way across the rocks and onto the beach. To the
left in the distance, was the little village of Gwithian. To our right, Godrevy
lighthouse; between these two points a vast expanse of sea, the waves rolling
and crashing; ‘nature’s symphony’ my dad used to call it. ‘Smugglers Alcove’
was just that, a naturally eroded alcove in the cliffs that in days gone by was
used for storing smuggled goods. These days it was nothing more than a quirky
feature of the beach. Popular for tourists roaming the beach, but we both knew
that at this time of the year, it would offer us privacy and seclusion.

The pair of us sat on the same naturally formed rocky
shelves that we always sat on when we came here. ‘Wenna looked around, as if
checking for some unknown guest; happy there was nobody about, she turned to
me.

“Well go on then, do your magic thing.’

Now I know what you’re thinking. Telling a muggle about the
existence of magic breaks all kinds of laws; but what could I do? She was there
the first time when in a fit of rage after bashing my toe, I caused a rock,
larger than myself to crack completely in two. I was fully aware of magic by
then. Mum told me that I may have strange things happen to me as my dormant
powers emerged, but it was ‘Wenna who had first come to the conclusion that it
was I who had cracked the rock. Of course, then I felt obliged to tell her
everything. Which is surprising as I hadn’t yet mentioned it to my parents. I
don’t know why but I felt I had to keep it a secret just a little longer.

The sky rumbled, indicating the beginnings of a storm. We
both knew that we were safe the tide had gone out and wouldn’t be in for hours.
I picked up a stone no bigger than a tennis ball and concentrated. You should
understand; this didn’t come easy to me. Don’t forget, I was nine years old and
I really had no clue what I was doing. At first, the stone simply twitched, but
eventually it hovered just a few centimetres above the palm of my hand. I could
hear the rain had started, but nothing would stop me from trying to move this
stone a little higher. That is until I heard the scream.

My head darted up, the stone falling harmlessly to the
ground. It was ‘Wenna, and she was accompanied by something or someone else.
The figure was in a black cloak its outstretched claw like hand pointed at
‘Wenna’s chest. To my horror, she was floating, some four feet above the
ground. I was frozen to the spot, unable to know what to do. ‘Wennas back
arched in agony as she turned her head to face me. A sadness in her eyes as the
life simply faded out of her. She was gone. In a blind rage I charged the robed
figure fully aware that it was a hopeless thing to do. I was as good as dead.
As ‘Wenna’s body crumpled to the ground the figure turned its head and held out
its claw in my direction. The last thing I can remember was its eyes. Or, more
precisely, the small tongues of green flame where its eyes should have been.
After that a crippling pain came over me, and I blacked out.

When I came to, I was back in my bed. Three days had passed
since those events, and I had dwindled close to death on several occasions. Mum
informed me that she had sent for her sister, a healer at St. Mungo’s but any
magical healing she tried just didn’t want to work. It was reported in the
muggle news that ‘Wenna had suffered from an unknown degenerative lung
condition, and I had collapsed in shock. Both Mum and Dad listened to my story
politely, but I knew they didn’t believe it. There was nothing in the magical
world that could explain the robed figure. To make matters worse, after a
couple of years, I realised that my magic would never emerge again, and my
parents sadly put it down to my being a squib. But I knew I wasn’t a squib.

I had been made one.

If that wasn’t bad enough there was a somewhat unique
side-effect to my affliction. It wasn’t just that I was unable to use magic.
Magic simply had no effect on me whatsoever. I had tested this over the years
and unforgivable curses aside, (even I wasn’t brave enough to have those tried
on me) I had tried every piece of magic my friends and confidents would perform
on me.

So when Cora Kelley threw the stunning spell at me, that day
in the office, I simply looked bemused. Thrangbard gave the first genuine, if
somewhat unpleasant, laugh since he had arrived.

“My apologies Mr. Gibbs, I heard rumours and simply wanted
to confirm if they were true. Rest assured, your secret is safe with us.

With that he turned on his heel and left the office with a
rather apologetic and guilty Miss Kelley following closely after. I let out a
sigh and ran a hand through my hair. This was the biggest job I had probably
ever taken on, and the financial reward had the potential to set me up a little
more legitimately than I was now. I flopped down in my chair, and considered
the information that the Goblin had given me.

It was time to call Lix.

Up Next: Sidekicks and
Stoolies