Part One - (2)

Little Jonny gets a telling off

40 years before. Jonathan is a small boy, seven years of age. He sports a mane of light brown hair, and a bright football shirt. He is playing in a quiet street on an estate. The estate seems somewhat rundown, with gardens overrun by weeds and rusted cars. But as kids, the 4 boys kicking a football in the road didn't notice nor care. In the garden of the nearest house, one of the most prominently shabby gardens of the street, a girl about 2 years younger than Jonathan sat in the weeds playing with a doll, seemingly in her own little world, but occasionally glancing up to watch the boys. This was Jonathan's sister, Sarah. She shared his bright blue eyes, and her hair was a sun-bleached faded brown, tied back in pigtails.

A man came out of the house; Jonathan's father, Robert. He was a big man, and looked as if, at a younger age, he may have made a professional sportsman. With his close-cropped hair and dark brown eyes, he struck an imposing figure, but he wore the merry smile of a father watching his children play. He put down his beer can under the car bonnet, and gestured to the boys.

“Here, Dan!” he called. The smallest boys, a chubby boy with black hair, aimed the ball of Robert's direction, and the man bounced it back off his knee. Another boy, taller than the others, caught it on his head and hit towards where sweaters marked the goal. It seemed clear set to score, and there wasn't much Jonathan's side could do.

“Quick, Jonny!” called his father, egging him on vainly.

The ball flew towards the goal, just inches off now, and then, all of a sudden it just stopped, as if it had hit an invisible wall. If one had been looking carefully, you would notice the tiniest of flashes of purple flash from the child Jonathan to the flying ball. But none of the boys were looking that carefully, and if they did notice it they would have dismissed it as a trick of the light. But one person knew it for what it was. And Robert Snowbright was faced with a dilemma; to confront his son in front of his friends, which would be foolish and draw attention to the small slip of magic, or to pretend it didn't happen and talk to Jonathan later. He decided the second option would be safer. Which was why, and hour and a half later, Jonathan was sitting at the chipped and stained kitchen table, whilst his father paced around the small room.

“Jonathan, you and I both know what happened back there.” Robert's tone was very angry, and the happy father of playtime was gone, like another personality. “You used magic.”

“Was that cheating?” asked Jonathan, trying to make an innocent joke in an attempt to reduce the anger. Instead, his dad slammed his fist of the table.

“Yes, of course it was bloody cheating!” He roared. “But that's not the point. Do you have any idea what would happen if one of your mundane friends found out about your magic?”

Jonathan grinned. “They'd think I was so cool!”

“No, they'd think you were a freak, and they would tell their parents, and we'd be in huge trouble! The Elite Sorcerer is very keen on the existence of magic being kept very secret, and if rumours evolved, and they were traced back to us, then we'd be dead!”

Jonathan looked at him, fear making his lower lip wobble.

“Don't you dare cry on me, boy! Now, do you see why you should never, ever, ever practice magic in front of any mundane people?”

Jonathan nodded, ashamedly.

“Alright. Now get out of here!”

Jonathan ran from the room, tears streaming down his cheeks.