THE FEATHERED CLOCK

Mars – Phoenix Habitat 4 (Mission Year 15)

United States of America and United Kingdom Mars Co-Development Project

August 15th of the Year 2104


Mathew Maclay poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from the automated tap in his kitchen. He glanced out of the thin nano-mesh window, stronger than Liverpool steel, at the vast Martian landscape and took a sip.

The coffee was strong, a touch bitter, and even fifteen years into his life on Mars as a senior surgeon for the eight-habitat community, he could still taste the difference between the fresh water from the north of England back home and the circulated water on Mars. One definitely came from a dead planet. Unfortunately, it was circular water or nothing in what passed for the Martian summer.

He scanned the horizon, the distant curves of the Valle Marineras. At four thousand kilometres along the Martian equator, and eight kilometres deep in some places, the gulf had been home for the joint mission between NASA and the UK Space agency for the last fifteen years. Mathew no longer missed Earth, not as he had done in the early years anyway.

He checked the weather data, noting a stronger than usual gust moving in from the east, and that the temp would rise to a balmy zero degrees. The Valle Marineras had been a controversial choice for the first interplanetary human colony, with the potentially fierce canyon winds screaming through the jagged gullies and steep slopes, but the canvas wind guards kept the worst of the gusts away.

And the benefits far outweighed the costs.

The lower altitude in the canyons made for a denser atmosphere, which meant better radiation shielding. Soil rich and plentiful enough to support a bio-sphere of diverse and edible plant life, as well as a complement of farm animals grown from embryos in the lab-hab. None of the chickens or cows on Mars had ever seen a green field in the old country before, and never would.

“Are you going to stare out that window all day?” Ava Maclay asked, startling Mathew out of his reverie. “Or are you going to help me with the balloons? I hope he likes his present!”

Maclay pulled his gaze from the network of roads built between the eight habitats, each large dome supporting family groups of no more than fifty other people, the self-cleaning solar panels still alight until 0800. The shadows could grow long on Mars, and the night crews that maintained the outer shell integrity operated in rotating twelve-hour shifts every day of the year.

“He’ll be down in a minute. I’ll do the banner,” Maclay said. “You know what he’s like though, almost like he’s got a sixth sense. It won’t be a surprise, but I’m sure he’ll love it all the same.”

He got to work stringing the large banner, one of only two in the Phoenix Habitat, across the kitchen to the living area. Space was at a premium in all of the habitats and a family of three could fit comfortably intro a three-pod unit with small living area, but Mathew was often reminded of the shoebox apartment he’d rented in Manchester as a college student.

As if his ears were burning, Tommy’s ladder descended from his pod and he slipped down the metal rungs with a wide grin on his face, tearing through the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner and landing lightly on his bare feet.

“It’s my birthday!” he declared proudly.

“Oh, really?” Mathew said. “Did you remember, Mum? I forgot.”

Ava placed her hands on her hips and then slapped her forehead, as if remembering something important. “Tommy’s birthday! Surely not, it can’t have been a year since you turned ten.”

“It is!” Tommy said proudly and ran a hand back through his short-cut brown hair. “Can I have my Grav-Trike now?”

Mathew laughed and rolled his eyes. His wife huffed but couldn’t stifle a grin.

“Told you he’d guess it, Ava.”

Mathew pushed a few buttons on the kitchen bench console and a compartment in the living area floor slipped open. A sleek silver-white Grav-Trike rose from the compartment, wrapped in a big red bow, and hovered silently a foot above the floor. A helmet and HUD display in Tommy’s size sat atop of the trike’s seat.

Tommy yelled and fist-pumped the air. “Yes! Can I take it out? Danny over in Hab Three got one last week. He says racing up the northern face is wicked.”

“Breakfast first?” Mathew asked. “Pancakes and butter?”

Tommy stopped in his tracks at that, one hand on his new trike. “How did you get butter? The next cows won’t be ready for two months!”

“Never you mind. I’ll cook them up in the warm box.”

A quarter hour later, Tommy and his family sat around the small table just off from the kitchen, plates stacked with two fluffy pancakes and smeared with butter, alongside a shake of nutrients that vaguely, if you held you nose, tasted reminiscent of the idea of a chocolate.

Not that Tommy would know the difference.

Mathew watched his son dig into his pancakes and wondered what Earth would make of him when he flew out on the next crew shuttle in four years. The habitats had been the greatest and proudest technological feat in the history of the human race, and though they had succeeded in many ways, advancing science and humanity, Mathew couldn’t help but feel that Tommy was the mission’s greatest achievement.

He and Ava had been selected out of thousands of other applicants, not only because they were married, but because they had expressed a desire and willingness to have a child on Mars. Four years into the mission, after the colony had been established, Tommy had come screaming and crying into the world like every other child before him—only difference, his world wasn’t Earth.

As Tommy tucked into his pancakes, Mathew wondered if growing up on Mars had been unfair, but that was an old worry. He also wondered on what Mars had done to Tommy. Tommy was… different. Gifted. Smart, clever, sure. But also, more than that. Strange things happened when he was sad, or angry, or happy.

“Can you ride with me today, dad?” Tommy asked. “All the way up the crater?”

“Sure, pal,” Mathew said. “We’ll take the trikes right to the edge.”

“Good, I want to go further than Danny—”

A startingly large crack shattered the quiet of the room and Mathew leapt to his feet, terrified the multiple canvas redundancies had failed and the hull shielding with it, shattering the shell of his home. If so, he and his family would be dead in seconds.

A cloud of mist burst in the room, like a bag of flour exploding, and as it cleared Mathew felt the strength leave his legs. He didn’t so much sit as fall back down.

An old man stood in his kitchen, wearing what Mathew took for a dressing gown in the first glance, but seemed far too regal on the second. He stood under six feet, though held himself taller.

The old man coughed into his close-cut beard, eyes wrinkled by humour and time, and more of that smoke-mist rose in thick tendrils from his stuffy green robes. He coughed again, a pained laugh, wheezing into his fist, and leaned back against the habitat wall.

“Merlin’s Beard,” he said with a sigh. “One hundred and five million miles. That’s definitely the record.”

He stood a little taller and beamed at the Maclay family, each of them staring at him in varying states of disbelief and wonder.

“Good morning,” he said and consulted a fantastically shiny pocket watch. “I trust it is morning here.” He glanced out of the window. “Ah, now there’s a sight to behold. Another planet.”

His gaze switched back to Mathew, Ava, and Tommy, assessing and—just for a moment—Mathew thought, dangerous and wise beyond even his clearly ancient years. Then his gaze softened as he saw Tommy.

The old man reached into his robes and retrieved a pink box roughly the size of a two-tiered birthday cake with buttercream frosting and sugary-sweet strawberry jam filling. He untied the ribbon and revealed the box to the table at large.

“Happy birthday, Thomas,” the old man said. “Eleven years old today—and while I’m certain the scientific marvels of your home are many, I’m told something as simple as fresh jam and sponge cake is a marvel beyond this otherwise marvellous facility.”

He placed the cake in the centre of the table and maintained a calm smile as shock gave way to curiosity for Thomas Neville Maclay. He leaned forward and, with a quick glance at his parents, shrugged and dug his finger through the cake icing.

Tommy licked the icing from his finger and his eyes widened in delight.

“The bakers in Hogsmeade promised me enough sugar to fly one to the moon,” the old man said with a chuckle. “I suspect this may be the farthest a mere birthday cake has ever flown, so to speak.”

“How…” Mathew cleared his throat. “Who… what are you doing here?”

“All pertinent questions, yes, Mr Maclay,” the old man said, “but first if I may…” He stepped around the table and took Ava’s hand. She had paled considerably. “My dear, you have your great-great-grandfather in your eyes. His ears, too. How lovely to meet you.”

Ava Maclay, falling back on her manners, nodded once. “And you, sir, Mr…” She blinked. “My great-great-grandfather, you said. Oh my god! Are the stories true? We thought him cracked in the head!”

“That old gardener was many things, all of them kind,” the old man said, “but he was no more cracked than the rest of us. I remember you at his funeral, Ava, just a young girl at the time with ribbons in your hair.” His smile turned old, for the first time matching his face. “He would be proud to know just how much you and your family have accomplished.”

“Who are you?” Mathew demanded. “Tommy, don’t eat that cake—”

"It is delicious cake," the old man countered.

“Stories,” Ava said. “My grandmother knew better, she said. Now look… magic.” She dropped her face into her hands to stifle a nervous scream.

“Tommy, is it? Not Thomas,” the old man said. “Well, Tommy. There’s no certain way to deliver this news, one must grab the snorack by the horn, as another dear friend of mine used to say.” He pointed a firm finger at the birthday boy. “Yer a wizard, Tommy,” he said, in a crude imitation of a West Country accent.

Silence, thicker than before, but promising mischief, fell inside the habitat. Only the whistling Martian wind, heavy against the canopy break, could be heard.

“I’m a what?” gasped Tommy.

“A wizard, yes, one born of magical talent and a capability to learn how to harness it,” the old man said. “And the first wizard ever to reach admission age and be entirely unreachable by conventional means. The poor owl I asked nearly nipped my finger clean off!” He chuckled. “Another solution had to be found.”

The old man removed a thick parchment enveloped from within the folds of his robes and held it face-up to Tommy between his hands. Tommy reached out to take the yellowish envelope, letters in old emerald ink from a store two hundred years old formed a fine script on the front, and read that it was addressed to Mr. T. Maclay, Pod 5C, Phoenix Habitat 4, the Valles Marineras, Mars.

Tommy broke the wax seal with a satisfying crack and pulled out the letter. He read aloud from the fine cream parchment, the letter comfortably heavy in his hands:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: HARRY POTTER

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock)

Dear Mr Maclay,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,


Katherine Bell

Deputy Headmistress

Tommy read the letter again, to himself, while the old man made himself busy cutting the cake into even slices. He passed a slice to both Ava and Mathew who, after a moment, each took a bite. Nothing so sweet had ever been on Mars.

“What is Hogwarts?” Tommy asked, scrambling to ask one of a million questions. “And who is Harry Potter?”

“Hogwarts is a school for gifted young wizards and witches like yourself, Tommy,” the old man said. “And Harry Potter, well, he’s led an interesting life, many books written about his dark and terrible deeds.” A twinkle shone in the old man’s eye. “If nothing else, one can’t argue with the lengths he’ll go to deliver a birthday cake.”

He stuck out his hand.

“Thomas Maclay, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Harry Potter, and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Mathew found his feet. “This is… absurd. What’s happening? Where did you come from?”

“Earth,” the headmaster said. “From the top of a tall tower in a castle in Scotland about five minutes ago. Let me tell you, the magic and runic calculations that went into getting me here had to be precise. Hermione, bless her, did the math and wanted to be the guinea pig, but I figured if I ended up floating somewhere between Earth and Mars then she would be our best bet to get it right next time.” He blinked and consulted his pocket watch again. “My trust in her has never been misplaced. Not once in a hundred years.”

Tommy peered over the table. “That’s a strange watch—all those swirling numbers and dials, it looks like the stars!”

“Indeed,” Harry Potter said. “It’s… well, it’s complicated, is what it is, and there’s more magic and ingenuity in this pocket watch than in half the Department of Mysteries put together. It’s also telling me we’ve got just under three minutes.”

“Three minutes to what?”

“Until Earth falls out of alignment and I’ll be stuck here for a week!” Harry chuckled. “A way had to be found, you see. A portkey too imprecise, apparation like trying to catch a snitch in a blizzard… on a field a hundred million miles wide. But I mean what were the odds? The first child born on Mars would be magical? We should have known.”

“I’m… not a wizard,” Tommy said, quite unconvincingly.

Harry looked to Mathew and Ava. “Things happen around Tommy, don’t they? Things hard to explain?”

“He…” Ava cleared her throat. “It’s like he can read our minds at times, but we live on top of each other we just thought—”

“I’m sorry,” Mathew said, and hit his hand against the table. “This is a joke, isn’t it? Was there a shuttle landing I didn’t know about? Were you on that shuttle, Mr Potter, or whoever you are?”

“No shuttle,” Ava said, “you know that.”

“Then how on Earth or Mars did he get here?” Mathew nearly yelled.

“Magic,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts said. “Great and terrible magic.”

The anger faded from Mathew’s face.

“This is a lot to take in,” Harry admitted. “And I am sorry to drop in so unannounced. If you knew what it took to get here… Well, Hogwarts won’t allow a student to go untrained. Tommy is what he is, and he’ll make a fine student, I’m sure.” He glanced down at his pocket watch. “Ah… right, if you’d all take a look at this, it should help in explaining matters.”

Harry leaned in over the small table and presented his pocket watch. “Do me a favour, Mathew, Tommy, Ava—and hold onto the chain there. Yes, all of you. It won’t bite, I promise.” He winked at Tommy, who grinned. “Grab a piece of cake there, would you, Tommy. One for me as well, there’s a good lad.”

“What are we looking at?” Mathew asked, and despite himself was memorised by the swirling galaxy of symbols, numbers, and clock hands within the pocket watch. He felt calm, almost whimsical, as if anything could happen, the impossible was a mere guideline, and reality thin as tissue paper.

“Do you see that long hand?” Harry asked. “The one almost feather-shaped floating toward the heart of the watch? Yes, that’s what we want. Should have you back within the week, and we’ll work some magic so you’re not noticeably missed.”

“Back?” Mathew asked.

Harry Potter met his gaze and Mathew was startled by the life and vibrancy in his emerald eyes. “You’re going home, my friend.”

Mathew lurched back, letting the chain fall. "Some sort of... teleport magic? Ava, Tommy--drop it right now!"

"Don't be absurd," Harry said. "The watch is merely an anchor." He grinned widely. "The teleport magic was in the cake."

Mathew blinked and at the same moment something lurched in his stomach, a gentle tug, and the universe blurred into spinning colour and the chiming of distant bells.

 

Spoiler

My issue with this story is that it's... not really a story? It feels like the introduction to one, but the main character hasn't really learned anything. He also severely lacks agency, basically being kidnapped by Harry. He didn't go of his own choice, at least, not noticeably. He was tricked into it. It feels deceitful in a non-HP way.

As for Harry himself, I kind of find it weird to read about him as a Dumbeldore stand in. There's some dissonance for me, because it felt more like Dumbledore wearing Harry's skin than Harry who's grown into Dumbledore's shoes, if that makes sense. Harry needs to be demonstrably him as characters go. This story was in many ways better before Harry showed up.

Third issue is that there's no real hook to it. I never found myself curious about what's next, until Harry kidnapped the kid. And to be honest, your hook can't be at the very end of the story. That's not how stories work.

Another reviewer pointed out that this was Neville's grandson, and honestly, I never got that. I think that needs to be made much clearer, because for a second I thought this was possibly Hagrid's grandkid, given Harry's imitation. As if that's some kind of inside joke.

That said, this was a solid effort. Clean writing all around. I like the introduction to scifi.

 

2860 words

 

Spoiler

Huh, okay, I really like this.

I'm honestly surprised that it was under 3k words because I feel like I got a full and solid story out of this. Excellent example of what can be done within the word count.

At first I thought the opening was going to be too long and that I'd have to take points away from the story for not having enough magic/wizards in it. But once Harry showed up things took off in a light-hearted manner and I was into it, despite the length.

Well done all around.