Chapter 9
The rhythmic thud of leather meeting leather echoed through the near-empty gym. John was moving with a frantic, jagged intensity, his strikes landing with more force than the sparring session required. His instructor, Mike, a grizzled veteran of the ring, parried and blocked, his brow furrowed as he watched the boy's eyes—they weren't on the target, they were lost in a private, dark storm.
"Easy, John! Pull it back!" Mike barked, but John didn't seem to hear. He lunged forward with a flurry of hooks that forced Mike onto the defensive. Seeing the boy wasn't stopping, Mike stepped into the pocket and delivered a sharp, stiff jab to John's shoulder, enough to knock him off balance and create some much-needed distance.
John stumbled back, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin. Mike dropped his gloves. "That's enough. You're not sparring, kid what's going on in that head of yours..eh? Since the past few months, you've been acting aggressive kid."
"You're a good kid..eh don't lose that."
John wiped his face with the back of his glove, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference. "I'm fine, Mike. I think I'm done here….. for today." Without waiting for a response, he headed for the locker room, the weight on his chest feeling heavier than any barbell.
"Someone said correctly I think, pain doesn't fade overtime, you just get better at living,despite it."
The walk home was a blur of gray pavement and biting wind. When he finally reached his room, he collapsed onto his bed, but the silence didn't last. A sharp, persistent tap-tap-tap drew his attention to the window. Perched on the sill was a large, tawny owl, its amber eyes staring at him with unnerving intelligence. Clipped to its leg was a thick, yellowish envelope sealed with a heavy wax crest.
John froze, then slowly approached the window. He untied the letter, his fingers trembling slightly as he recognized the emerald-green ink of the address. A slow, cold smile spread across his face, one that reached his eyes for the first time in weeks.
"It's here finally," said John while looking lost in his own thoughts. Till a peck on his side jolted him awake. He looked towards the owl annoyed by the peck, "Ouch! Little buddy you want something." he asked.
What replied to him were angry grunts of an adorable owl. 'Cute' he thought, as he went by his desk brought a bowl of peanuts for his small companion to enjoy.
'Do owls even eat peanuts.' he thought but seeing the little fella eating none the less eased his mind. Finally, he placed a bowl of water for it to drink from and went back to reading the letter.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Smith,
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.
The term begins on the 1st of September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
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The letter contained the usual contents John vaguely remembered from the books—formal acceptance, supply lists, and instructions for the beginning of term.
After reading through it once, he quietly sat down at his desk and began writing a reply of his own, politely requesting that someone visit in person to verify the existence of magic.
John held his response letter as he approached the owl who was about to fly off once again.
"Hey..birdie! I mean Mr. Owl, will you help me send this letter back to Hogwarts." The owl with a flick of annoyance snatched the letter from his hand and flew away.
"Bye- Bye." shouted John in what felt like a childlike joy after a month of somberness.
For the first time in weeks he finally smiled, he still remembered all those things that happened and how the perpetrators behind Alina's… likely reside in Hogwarts but for the first time in forever he felt like he was moving again.
As they say small wins to fight large battles.
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The sun rose over the Scottish Highlands, its light washing over the titanic silhouette of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The castle stood proudly amidst the Scottish Highlands, an ancient symbol of history, war, rebellion, and above all else—learning. Its towering stone spires seemed to rise naturally from the mountainside itself, as though Hogwarts had not been built, but grown over centuries through magic and time. Early morning mist rolled gently across the grounds, softening the dark edges of the Forbidden Forest and turning the Great Lake below into a sheet of black glass.
As the sun slowly climbed higher into the sky, the castle truly came alive. Thousands of windows reflected the golden light, illuminating ancient stained glass and casting shifting colors across the moss-covered walls. Hogwarts did not feel like merely a school; it felt alive—ancient, watchful, and overflowing with quiet power.
The view drifted upward past the tallest astronomical tower before settling on the sturdy red-bricked Gryffindor Tower. More specifically, one particular window on the seventh floor.
Inside, parchment flew through the air in neat stacks as a sharp flick of a wand sorted letter after letter with practiced precision.
Professor Minerva McGonagall sat behind a large mahogany desk, dressed in her tartan robes, her expression as stern and composed as ever. Beside her, a self-writing quill scratched steadily across parchment while the pile of incoming response letters from Hogwarts' future students steadily shrank.
With swift efficiency, she checked names off the master enrollment list one after another. Malfoy… Bones… Weasley…
Then her hand paused, hovering over the next letter. The paper was slightly thinner than the usual parchment. It's writing readable but as if written in hurry, and her sharp eyes immediately caught the return address.
She picked it up, ignoring the name "Mr. J. Smith" for a moment, letting her focus fall entirely on the muggle street address handwritten below. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, the sound echoing lightly in the silent office. She knew that address. The one from which she had just received an unprecedented request for a verification visit. The visit that she went through herself, last year.
With a shake of her head, she placed the letter down and reached for the scheduling scroll—a long piece of enchanted parchment that displayed the immediate movements of all Hogwarts staff. She quickly scanned the elegant, looping script. Going through the list of different professors. Professor Sprout on a vacation, Professor Flitick is busy presenting his thesis in Mahutokoro, Japan. Professor Snape has filed an application of no disturbance as he is brewing some advance potion of his.
Minerva pursed her lips, a familiar exasperation rising. Headmaster Dumbledore…. No, unreliable as always, she thought with a crisp sniff.
There was no time to waste on the Headmaster's whimsical availability. She made a quick, decisive movement, drawing her own silver-tipped quill and scribbling a new entry onto her personal parchment schedule.She would handle this herself.