July 12, 1991.
The sun peeked through the half-closed blinds, casting golden streaks across Isaac's modest bedroom. A soft breeze carried in the sounds of summer—the hum of distant cars, children playing on the street, and the occasional bark of a dog. But Isaac didn't stir. He was exhausted, his limbs heavy with the kind of fatigue only a full day of excitement could bring.
It had been his birthday. His eleventh.
His third birthday with Alan and Elaine.
He remembered the first one like a faded photograph—awkward, quiet, unfamiliar. But this one? This one had been... warm. Real. Elaine had made a chocolate cake shaped like a dragon, its icing cracked slightly from the summer heat. Alan, never one to plan anything flashy, had surprised him with a trip to a nearby amusement park, something he'd never experienced before. Rollercoasters, cotton candy, games he never thought he'd win but somehow did.
He remembered laughing. Truly laughing.
They hadn't said it outright, but he could tell: they were trying. They cared. And after years of drifting through the foster system, that meant everything.
That night, when they'd returned home, Isaac had barely made it to his room. His usual routine—stretches, focus exercises, a bit of quiet meditation to see if he could sense the strange pull of something inside him—was skipped entirely. He collapsed into bed, limbs aching from exhilaration, face still glowing from smiles.
And so, when the knock came the next morning, it was a shock.
A sharp tap-tap-tap against the glass window.
Isaac groaned, rolling over in bed. Sunlight streamed in, far brighter than he liked. He blinked, rubbed at his eyes, and froze.
Something was at the window.
Something… feathered?
He sat up slowly, sheets rustling.
A bird.
No—an owl.
A brown-and-gray owl, large and serious-looking, stood perched on the narrow ledge outside his window, tapping its beak lightly against the glass. A rolled-up envelope was tied to one of its legs, the wax seal unmistakably red even from here.
Isaac blinked, confused. He moved closer and slowly opened the window.
The owl stepped forward immediately, offering its leg like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Carefully, Isaac untied the letter. The moment the envelope was free, the owl gave a sharp hoot, flapped once, and vanished into the morning sky.
Isaac stood there in silence, envelope in hand, breeze tousling his hair.
His eyes drifted to the seal: a deep crimson wax, imprinted with an emblem—a shield bearing a lion, snake, badger, and eagle.
That symbol…
His breath caught.
Something tickled at the back of his mind, like an old tune almost remembered. He turned the envelope over, and the moment he read the name printed in green ink, his heart skipped a beat.
Mr. Isaac HaleBedroom, Second Floor12 Primrose StreetLondon
His hands trembled.
He tore it open with surprising urgency, unfolding the heavy parchment.
And there it was:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRYHeadmaster: Albus Dumbledore(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Hale,We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
He stopped reading.
Hogwarts.
That name.
His memories—those buried ones, the ones that didn't quite belong to this world, the ones that whispered of a different life—suddenly roared to the surface.
Hogwarts.
Magic.
Wizards.
Harry Potter.
Isaac stumbled back, gripping the letter tightly.
This wasn't just any letter.
This was that letter.
And he wasn't just in any world.
He was in that world.
The Wizarding World.
The world of Harry Potter.
And somehow—somehow—he was a part of it now.
Isaac slumped onto his bed, the letter spread across his lap.
"This can't be real… Can it?"
He re-read the words a dozen times. Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore. Witchcraft and wizardry. Supplies to be bought in Diagon Alley.
"Is this… really what I think it is?"
The pieces slid into place faster than he could process them. The emblem, the names, the formatting—it was all exactly like the books he'd read in his previous life. The parchment, the owl, the seal. He had died as Aiden, a burned-out teenager obsessed with escaping reality—and been reborn as Isaac in a world that felt too ordinary.
But it wasn't ordinary, was it?
Not after the wind that saved him during that near-death accident. Not after those flickers of energy he sometimes felt but could never explain.
And now, this.
He clenched the letter between his hands.
"No. It can't be… this is fiction—was fiction."Unless…"
A whisper from memory surfaced. A boy with a lightning-shaped scar. A chosen one. Potions, spells, magical creatures, a castle. But it was supposed to be a story. A story.
"So what does that make me?"
The idea that he wasn't just reborn, but reborn into a fictional world—a fictional universe—was staggering. And more than that… it was terrifying.
"If this is the Harry Potter world… then danger is coming. Real danger. Voldemort. Death Eaters. War. Am I ready for that?"
A part of him, the part that had been a burned-out scholar in another life, wanted to hide. To crawl under the covers and pretend this was all a dream.
But another part—something deeper, stronger—tugged at him.
Curiosity.
Purpose.
Possibility.
After several long minutes, he stood and walked downstairs, letter clutched tightly in his hand.
Alan was in the living room reading the newspaper, while Elaine was humming to herself in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon.
"Alan? Elaine?" Isaac said cautiously.
Alan looked up from his paper. "Morning, birthday boy—well, belated now. You sleep okay?"
Isaac nodded slowly. "There's… something I need to show you."
He held the letter out, carefully unfolding it.
Elaine peeked her head around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel."Is this some kind of summer program?"
"No," Isaac said quietly. "It's… you're not going to believe this, but—just read it."
Alan raised an eyebrow, taking the parchment. His eyes scanned over the top line.
"'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'?" He snorted. "Is this a prank? You making up fantasy stories now?"
"I'm not joking," Isaac insisted, voice rising. "It came this morning—delivered by an owl!"
Elaine chuckled softly. "An owl brought you a letter? Like from a fairy tale?"
"I saw it," he said, growing frustrated. "It knocked on my window with its beak!"
Alan lowered the letter and looked at him seriously. "Isaac… we know you've always had a strong imagination. But this is a bit much, don't you think?"
Elaine put a hand on Isaac's shoulder. "Sweetheart, it's okay. Maybe you dreamed it? Or someone's playing a trick on you"
Isaac didn't argue any further. He knew they wouldn't believe it. A letter delivered by an owl was already absurd — but a wizarding school? If he kept pushing, he was sure he'd sound completely crazy.
So he went back to his room where the owl is waiting on his desk he grabs a pen and sat at his desk, the wax-sealed letter open before him. His fingers hovered over the pen, unsure what to write. After a long breath, he began to write carefully, words flowing with a mix of hope and uncertainty.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
:Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,Thank you for your letter and the invitation to Hogwarts. I must admit, this all feels... unreal. The letter itself is magnificent and very convincing, but I find myself wondering if it's truly meant for me. If it is, could you please provide proof?
Also, I am unfamiliar with this place called Diagon Alley where I am supposed to buy supplies. Could you please guide me?
I look forward to your reply.
Yours sincerely,Isaac Hale:
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Issacc finished writing the letter carefully, sealing it with a hopeful breath. He reached out and placed it gently on the owl's leg.
Then, on a whim, he grabbed a handful of nuts from his desk and held them out.
The owl blinked at him, then let out a sharp, almost disdainful snort. It ruffled its feathers, clearly unimpressed.
With a flap of its wings, the owl snatched the letter and shot out the window, disappearing into the bright morning sky.
Isaac watched it go, half amused, half bewildered.
"Well, guess you don't eat nuts," he muttered.