FicWad

And here's chapter 2! At long last. Chapter 3 is in the works right now, so hopefully you won't have to wait so long. Thank you!

And oh yeah, nothing you recognize is mine.

Pengolodh followed a skipping Elijah and his titanic father from the playground to a smallish house in a rather nice neighborhood. When Elijah ran on ahead and banged on the door, it was opened by a rather harassed-looking woman with a colorful scarf tied onto her head and a yawning baby in one arm. "Elijah!" she protested. "You woke your sister up!"

"Sowwy, Mommy," said Elijah, not sounding very sorry. He scooted past his mother and ran into the house, and the woman looked up at her husband. "How was he?" she asked.

"He flew," said her husband. "Again."

She sighed and shook her head and was about to reply when she noticed the Elf, and that seemed to startle her very much. "Richard!" she said accusingly. "You could have told me you were bringing somebody! And the house looking like it is - "

"Elijah knocked into him on the playground," said Richard. "He asked if he could stop by discuss it with us, and it's really the least we can do. Sorry I couldn't have let you know any earlier."

Pengolodh thought he heard her say "Men!" under her breath, but the next instant she turned toward him, switching the baby (who was gazing up at the Elf with definite interest) to her other arm. "Come on in, and please excuse the mess!" she said, opening the door wider.

"Thank you," said the Elf, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind him. He was now standing in the living room, and on the far side of the living room was the doorway to the kitchen.

Elijah was playing with knockoff Hot Wheels in the middle of the carpeted floor, which was indeed strewn with various toys. A big cabinet with a child-safety lock (Pengolodh expected it had a television inside it) sat against the left wall, and opposite the cabinet was a sofa long enough for three or four, a big easy chair, and a big rocking chair. A playpen stood in the corner.

"Elijah! Move these cars!" said his mother, and then, turning back to Pengolodh, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," said the Elf, seating himself on the sofa and taking his bag off his shoulder. The woman sat down in the rocking chair, and her husband on the couch next to Pengolodh. Elijah brought all his toy cars over and began playing with them at his father's feet. The baby, who was really being very good about having had her nap interrupted, tried to put her thumb in her mouth, and ended up putting in her whole hand.

"Well, shoot," said Ricard.

And Pengolodh did.

"My name," he said. "Is Pengolodh, and I am here mainly on account of your son. You have seen for yourselves that he can do rather unusual things."

"Yes, we've noticed that," said the mother unhappily. "and it's caused us no end of trouble. Mostly it's been Elijah, but I'm starting to notice little things happening around Deborah too." The baby stirred and looked up at her mother at hearing her name. "We can't take either of the kids anywhere because inevitably something's sure to happen - plates and glasses move by themselves, lights start flickering, family pets act up. Our friends and neighbors won't let their kids near ours anymore. And at first I thought it was because we were black, but even other black families won't let their kids play with Elijah now - our own relatives don't talk to us. And we've tried everything we can think of; we've seen all kinds of doctors and specialists and paid them fees we can't afford, and not one of them can tell us what's wrong with our children."

She had teared up a little as she spoke, and her husband reached over and patted her arm. "It's okay, Lauretta," he soothed. Elijah got in on the act, climbing all over his father in order to reach his mother's wrist. Richard grabbed him and put him on the floor again, and he went right back to playing with his cars again.

"There is naught wrong with either of your children," said Pengolodh quickly, for he could not abide tears. "That is why I am here. Please be comforted." He waited until Richard had calmed his wife down, and then began again. "There is, I say, naught wrong with your two children," he went on. "But the truth, I fear, may little please you."

"Honestly, if you have anything to tell us, it's better than what we have," said the father. "We just need some answers."

Pengolodh decided not to mince words. "What you have seen in your children," he said. "Is truly nothing more than bursts of untrained magic."

It seemed to take both father and mother a few seconds to realize he was being completely serious. When they did, Richard was the first to react. He blinked, and stared very hard at the Elf. "You're not playing me for a fool, are you?" he asked rather suspiciously.

"I am not!" Pengolodh protested, even though he knew how wild and out-of-the-blue his pronouncement must have sounded. "And as for proof, you need only observe it in your children. What name do you give to the strange things that happen around them?"

"Okay, I don't know what exactly you're trying to tell us about our kids," said the mother. "but in our neck of the woods, 'magic' usually means palm readers, mediums, spiritists, and people who have familiar spirits and talk to the dead. That's not something we want for ourselves or our children."

"I understand that," said Pengolodh. "And do not worry, the magic I speak of has very little to do with any of what you have just mentioned. Magic as I have known it is very like the energy you have gathered from water and the wind and the sun. It is naturally present in the elements - earth, fire, water, and air. There are two reasons it is distinguished as magic: firstly, because it physically resonates only with those few who are born with a certain genetic trait commonly known as the magical core; and secondly, because the few who are born with a magical core are then able, like your children, to easily perform acts which are called feats of magic by most. Do you follow me?"

"So far," said the father, glancing at his tiny daughter who had gone back to sleep. Elijah now began smashing two cars together in imitation of an accident.

"That is well," said Pengolodh. "Your son's magical core - or perhaps I should say, your children's magical cores - has been until now left untrained, and so has shown itself in little uncontrolled bursts which are commonly known as accidental magic. Accidental magic can on occasion be very dangerous, especially when the child in question is frightened or angry or upset in some way. For that reason, many make it their business to teach young children how to control and harness their magical energy."

"Controlling and harnessing their magical energy," said Richard. "What's that mean, exactly?"

Pengolodh was fairly sure that neither the man nor his wife was ready to fully believe him yet, but he plunged on regardless. "It merely means training them in specific exercises - spellcasting and transfiguration - and teaching movements of celestial bodies, the names of magical plants and the making of magical draughts, and so on."

"And that's what you're saying we should have for our children," said the father skeptically. "What if we're not so hot on all this magic?"

"Then you could always leave your children's magical abilities untended," said Pengoldh. "Bear in mind that if you do this, the bursts of accidental magic your children exhibit will not stop. They will only become more severe and more dangerous as they grow older, and - "

But this seemed to do it for Lauretta, who Pengolodh guessed had suffered more directly from her children's accidental magic and the accompanying ostracization than her husband had. "Okay, then what are we talking here?" she asked. "Obviously we can't send our children to regular elementary school, so what should we do?"

"Well, you have one of two choices," said Pengolodh. "You can hire a tutor for them, or you could wait until sixth grade and send them to one of three private wizarding schools in this country. Most parents choose the former - "

"And deal with shrunken keys, missing dishes, and sudden power outages until then?" asked Lauretta.

"Quite so," said Pengolodh. "Because for many years there has been no other choice. Now, however, you also have the choice of hiring a tutor."

"And where do we find a tutor?" asked Richard.

"I can provide that myself," said Pengolodh.

"You're a qualified educator?" Richard looked skeptical.

"I am not sure about being qualified to teach children," said Pengolodh a little stiffly. "But I have taught linguistics and history at the college level for a number of years, and I thought perhaps I might be of service to you."

"Sure you are," said Lauretta. "You're what, twenty-five or something, and you expect me to believe you're a college professor?"

Pengolodh flushed a little in annoyance. "I prefer not to answer that question," he said in clipped tones.

"You don't need to get an attitude about it," said Lauretta. "You need to let me know that you know what you're doing before I hand my children over to you for the next eighteen years."

Pengolodh saw that he had been bested. "I understand and apologize," he said. "As for my age, I will say for the moment that I am much older than I look." Eventually, he knew, he would have to come clean about what he was; but that was another day's work entirely. "And my qualifications -" he fumbled through his shoulder bag and after some little trouble brought out his teaching certificate.*

Richard was satisfied after only a brief glance at it, but Lauretta had to examine it at length before giving it back. She had to move one of her arms to free her hand, and this woke little Deborah again. This time she began to cry.

"She's hungry," said Lauretta. "Do you mind?" When Pengolodh shook his head, she promptly pulled the blanket down from the back of the chair, laid it over her shoulders, and began breastfeeding her daughter. Pengolodh took back his certificate and put it back in his bag.

"Well," said Richard. "It looks like we don't exactly have too many other options here; how young do you start teaching?"

"How old is Elijah?" asked Pengolodh.

"I thwee!" said the boy cheerfully, holding up three fingers.

"Three?!" cried the Elf in genuine surprise. The child was easily the size of most Mortal five-year-olds. But then he did talk like a three-year-old. . .

"The doctor says he's in the ninety-eighth percentile for height and the hundredth for weight for his age," said Richard. "Think he's overweight or something." He snorted.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," muttered Pengolodh, looking down at the big toddler. "But as to when I begin, I would start at once, if you are willing."

* I'm not sure what the requirements were in 1980, but at the moment the requirements for being a private tutor in Pennsylvania include holding a valid state teaching certificate (interestingly enough, a private tutor can only service one family at a time). Note that I have no idea how Pengolodh would prove having advanced degrees in history and linguistics.

More action in later chapters, I promise.