The wizarding world revered history and bloodlines—names like Black, Malfoy, and Gaunt carried weight, their roots entwined with Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic378. Sagar understood that to truly belong, he needed more than forged documents or clever spells; he needed a legacy that would withstand scrutiny from even the most suspicious pure-blood families.
He began his work in the heart of magical London, where the oldest families kept their secrets and their grudges. Sagar spent weeks in the archives of the Ministry, poring over the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the tangled branches of British wizarding genealogy16. He wove the Jadhav name into the margins—an ancient house from the East, long allied with the great families of Europe, but always shrouded in mystery and distance.
In the dead of night, Sagar enchanted portraits to hang in the halls of a newly conjured ancestral manor, each depicting a dignified witch or wizard with the Jadhav features: sharp eyes, dark hair, and the faintest smile of mischief. He created heirlooms—wands inlaid with rare gems, a family grimoire filled with spells in forgotten languages, and a signet ring that shimmered with protective magic. Every detail was crafted to withstand the probing questions of Hogwarts professors and Ministry officials alike.
He even charmed the memories of a few influential wizards, ensuring that when the Jadhav name was spoken, it rang with the echo of old alliances and ancient power. The family vault at Gringotts overflowed with gold, enchanted artifacts, and a history that seemed to stretch back centuries.
For the finishing touch, Sagar conjured a magical guardian: a spectral white tiger, regal and silent, that prowled the manor grounds and answered only to the true heir of the Jadhav line. Its presence was both a warning and a promise—this was a family with magic as deep and wild as the jungles of its origin.
When the Hogwarts letter arrived, Sagar slipped easily into the role of an eleven-year-old scion, his appearance and mannerisms a perfect blend of innocence and confidence. He studied the list of required books and supplies, already imagining his first steps into Diagon Alley, the curious stares of shopkeepers, and the subtle tests of other magical children.
He knew that Hogwarts, founded centuries ago in the Scottish Highlands, was more than a school—it was a crucible for the next generation of wizarding power2. Here, bloodlines were scrutinized, alliances formed, and destinies shaped. The Jadhav family, though new to British soil, would be impossible to ignore.
Sagar spent the final days before term exploring the magical world he'd so carefully entered. He visited Ollivander's to choose a wand—yew and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple and unpredictable. He browsed the shelves of Flourish and Blotts, selecting tomes on magical theory and ancient runes. He even paused at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, allowing himself a moment of vanity as he admired his reflection in Hogwarts' black robes.
On the eve of his departure, Sagar stood in the grand hall of Jadhav Manor, surrounded by the echoes of a family that had never truly existed. He felt a thrill of anticipation—this was more than a new identity; it was a new story, one he would write with every spell, every friendship, every secret uncovered at Hogwarts.
As the magical clock chimed midnight, Sagar smiled. The Jadhav legacy was ready. And soon, so would the wizarding world.