I turned the envelope over in my hands several times before I let Rupert see it.
It felt absurd to be hesitant; it was only paper and wax, no more magical in composition than a business contract or a handbill nailed to a post. But something in it vibrated faintly against my palm, like power poorly caged. I knew this was going to change everything.
Rupert came in with his tea, glanced down at the envelope in my hand.
"Richard?" His voice was casual. "That a solicitor's letter?"
I shook my head. "Not precisely."
Then I broke the seal.
"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Armando Dippet
Dear Mr Magus,
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 1 September.
We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Matilda Weasley
Deputy Headmistress"
I read it aloud, voice even, more to hear how it sounded in the room than because Rupert needed it. He stood as if turned to stone before laughing.
"Who sends a letter like this?"
"I don't know."
I said, laughing too, before continuing to read the second page.
"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl, a cat or a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Yours sincerely,
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions"
I couldn't help it; a quiet huff of dark amusement escaped me.
"Robes. Cauldrons. A pointed hat for day wear. Really."
Rupert had started to look more perplexed.
"Richard, let me have a look at this."
He said, taking the letter off my hands.
"Where'd you get this from? Did it come in the post?"
"No, it came from an owl."
I said between laughs.
He looked at me as if I had said I was a 7-foot-8 black man.
"It's at the windowsill."
I said while pointing at it.
What he saw was an owl, calmly waiting at the window.
"Really?"
He replied at this point, absolutely confused.
"Yes, it really did. Well, even if it is a prank, I might as well reply."
So, I wrote a short and precise note.
'I acknowledge receipt of your letter. Please send someone to discuss the details of attendance and curriculum.
Richard A. R. Magus.'
I tied it to the owl's leg and let it fly away.
"Now we wait."
The waiting was mercifully brief.
Just three days later, the doorbell rang at precisely nine in the morning. Rupert answered, and from the hall I heard the low murmur of polite voices, one his familiar gruff, uncertain baritone, the other bright, clipped, and distinctly amused.
Then he called for me. "Richard? You'd best come out here."
I stepped into the hall to find a woman in pale red robes, her hair pinned in a tight, serviceable bun. She had a cheerful face that didn't quite hide how sharply her blue eyes darted over everything, the ledgers stacked on the small console table, the quiet gleam of our polished bannister, the faint smell of pine still clinging to Rupert's shirtsleeve.
"Mr. Magus," she said, extending a gloved hand. "I'm Matilda Weasley, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I understand you received our letter."
She settled into the chair opposite me, robes folding gracefully around her. Rupert hovered by the fireplace, arms crossed tight, his expression caught between worry and suspicion.
Matilda Weasley regarded me with bright, inquisitive eyes.
"So, Mr. Magus, how much do you know about Hogwarts? Or our world at all?"
I tilted my head, letting a faint note of polite confusion slip into my expression.
"Very little. Your letter was the first official acknowledgement of anything beyond what I might have taken for tricks of the eyes. I'd hoped you might be the one to clarify it."
Her mouth curved, just slightly.
"That's often the case for Muggle-raised students. You've never noticed odd things happen when you were angry, or frightened?"
I considered how best to answer. Truth served me here, or at least a carefully selected version of it.
"I've had… incidents. Objects appearing in my hand without crossing the room. A cup that shattered when I was cornered as a boy. Nothing I couldn't rationalise, until your letter arrived."
She nodded, unsurprised. "Magic tends to leak out under stress when it's young and untutored. That's precisely why we have Hogwarts, to teach control, to give children a foundation before they risk harming themselves or others."
"Though it does raise a question."
"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow.
"If magic is real, and apparently common enough to support entire schools and booklists… why does no one know?"
Her lips quirked. "Ah. The International Statute of Secrecy. Enacted in 1692. By international magical agreement, wizards withdrew entirely from Muggle political structures. We keep to our own laws and communities, concealed by enchantments and long habit. The Muggle world is safer that way, and so are we."
"Effective. I imagine enforcement is quite strict."
"It has to be. Violations are taken seriously on both sides. Magical breaches draw attention we cannot afford, and it's easier for your people to call something madness or trickery than admit there are things they can't control."
I let my gaze rest on the letter I had in my hands. "And these studies? Charms, potions, and a rather ominous book titled The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. That's the standard curriculum?"
"It is. You'll learn spells, transfiguration, and defensive magic. Magical theory, so you don't accidentally collapse a ceiling on yourself trying to levitate a bookcase. History, so you understand the laws and customs that protect our society, and you. Hogwarts is rigorous, but fair."
She studied me a moment longer, her eyes narrowing just slightly, as though trying to peer beneath my composure.
"And it's also a place to form ties. To learn who you might become in our world, and who might stand with you."
I kept my smile small and noncommittal.
"That seems… prudent."
"More than prudent. Essential."
Rupert cleared his throat again, but this time it came out as a growl.
"And forgive me for being blunt, Madam Weasley, but how do we know any of this is real? Magic, hidden societies, thousand-year-old schools, it sounds like something from a child's fantasy."
Her eyes twinkled with something dangerously close to amusement. "A perfectly fair question. Most Muggle guardians react with far more alarm, or outright denial."
Then she lifted her wand. A simple flick, almost lazy, and Rupert's teacup rose gently off the side table, hovered in a neat arc around his head, then settled precisely back onto its saucer.
Rupert's mouth opened and closed twice.
"...Ah."
I had to stifle a laugh. The look on his face was worth it.
Matilda Weasley leaned back slightly, the very picture of composure.
"I assure you, Mr Anderson, Hogwarts is as real as this sitting room. Your ward's magic will only grow stronger. Our school exists to ensure growth is guided, responsibly, and safely. Without training, unchanneled magic can become quite… unpredictable."
Rupert cleared his throat.
"And you're certain this is safe? That it's the right place for him?"
Her expression softened by the barest margin. "Mr Anderson, Hogwarts has been educating young witches and wizards for more than a millennium. Your ward will be among peers who understand what he is, in ways you or I can't fully grasp. And he will be guided by professors who've dedicated their lives to making sure children like Richard learn to use their gifts safely."
She glanced back at me.
"And wisely."
I inclined my head.
"Then I look forward to seeing it for myself."
Matilda Weasley's mouth curved again, a faint, satisfied little smile.
"I thought you might. And as it happens… we can go now, if you wish. Diagon Alley is not so busy this time of morning. Best to have these matters settled early."
Rupert shifted beside me, clearly flustered. "Now? Today? Don't we need an appointment or something?"
"Wizarding shops aren't so stiff as all that," she said briskly. "Besides, it's customary. New students often acquire their things with their families the same day the letters are acknowledged."
I folded my hands together lightly. "Then by all means. I'd rather not wait."
Matilda Weasley glanced between us, her expression faintly amused.
"Well then, best not to waste time. If you'll each take an arm?"
Rupert looked at me, and I gave him a slight nod before stepping forward. I rested one hand lightly on her offered forearm. Rupert did the same on the other side, though his grip was decidedly more anxious.
She gave us each a quick, reassuring glance.
"You may feel a slight pressure."
Then the world vanished.
It felt like being yanked through a pinhole, the breath squeezed out of me, bones compressed into something smaller than thought. It lasted only a heartbeat — then we were standing on a narrow cobbled street outside a dark timbered pub.
I let go of her arm at once, swallowing against the faint nausea.
Of course, my mind went immediately to logistics.
"How do you know the space you Apparate into isn't already occupied? With this many people in London, it seems… statistically risky."
She actually smiled at that, a slight, genuine curve of her lips.
"A very sensible question. Certain spots are marked out with special wards, slightly out of phase with normal space, you might say. They repel Muggles subconsciously, or simply never quite occur to them to walk through. Those spots are reserved precisely for safe Apparition."
Rupert still had a white-knuckled hold on her sleeve. He released it only when she patted his hand gently.
She nodded to the dark wooden sign overhead.
"The Leaky Cauldron. The entrance to Diagon Alley is through here. You'll see how well we've kept our world hidden."
Inside, the pub was dim and slightly musty, the air full of pipe smoke and the sharper tang of something sweet, elderflower cordial or a light whiskey. A few patrons in oddly cut cloaks glanced up, but no one did more than nod politely at Matilda Weasley. A wide-eyed boy with freckles darted behind his mother's skirts, peeking at me as though expecting my hair to burst into flame.
She led us straight through, past a scarred oak bar and out a low back door.
A small, walled courtyard lay beyond, paved with uneven stone. She then raised her wand and tapped the brick wall.
The wall trembled. Bricks folded back on themselves like a collapsing puzzle box, until a wide archway yawned open to reveal a bustling street that looked ripped from a fevered medieval fantasy.
Shops pressed close on either side, every sign hand-painted in swirling gold or smoky silver. Stalls spilt over with piles of spell books, racks of polished cauldrons, cages of chittering creatures. A cart nearby hawked roasted nuts under a faint haze of pink steam.
Rupert actually took half a step back, one hand going to his chest.
"God above. This was here all along?"
Matilda Weasley merely smiled. "It has been, for a very long time. Come along. We have quite a bit to purchase."
As we stepped through the Leaky Cauldron into the bustling alley beyond, Rupert leaned closer, voice pitched low.
"Well… I suppose we ought to change some money. I've got a few pounds on me, and you've got that company account..."
I cut him off with a slight shake of my head, my eyes already scanning the shops.
"We have money, certainly. But does it even spend here? I've yet to see a single pound note."
Rupert looked suddenly stricken. "You think they don't take sterling?"
Matilda Weasley, walking just ahead, turned back with an expression halfway between amusement and sympathy.
"We don't, I'm afraid. Wizarding Britain still operates on the old coinage system, Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Gold, silver, copper. We maintain strict separation, both for secrecy and because your Muggle banks would rather not deal with vaults of actual dragon-hoard gold."
Rupert flushed. "Well then. I'm not sure we're equipped for that, madam. Neither of us exactly carries sacks of gold coins."
She waved a gloved hand lightly. "Quite all right, Mr Anderson. The Ministry maintains a modest fund to ensure no student goes without basic supplies. It's older than the Statute itself, even the most traditional pureblood families agree it's best we take care of our own. I'll arrange it. Consider it an educational subsidy."
I filed that away at once.
An ancient institution, careful to maintain secrecy yet broadminded enough to bankroll children whose families couldn't possibly repay them.
Power was always at its most interesting when it wore the face of generosity.
Matilda Weasley led us straight to Gringotts. Inside, she had a brief, muttered conversation with a sharp-suited goblin who produced a slim ledger and a brass stamp. Within moments, he counted out a small pile of gleaming Galleons into a discreet pouch, sliding it across the polished counter with a bow that somehow felt more mocking than servile.
She handed it to me. "There. This will more than cover your robes, books, and wand, with enough left for your potion supplies."
Rupert still looked as though he'd swallowed a bee.
"All this, paid for by the government. If only our own ministers were so efficient."
Matilda Weasley gave him a bright, pointed smile.
"Oh, I wouldn't call the Ministry of Magic efficient, exactly. But in this, at least, they are reliably thorough."
We stepped back out into the flow of Diagon Alley, the purse of Galleons heavy in my pocket.
Rupert walked beside me in a daze, eyes darting from the sign of a shop offering "Bespoke Broom Servicing" to a window that seemed to contain nothing but writhing blue flames.
Matilda Weasley moved through it all with the calm certainty of someone who knew precisely where every shop lay.
First was Madam Malkin's.
The shop was small, with shelves stacked high with bolts of dark cloth; the air was faintly scented with lavender and dust. A squat witch measured me with a tape that slithered around my shoulders and legs all on its own.
"Three sets of school robes, black, standard cut," she chirped. "Name tags sewn in, of course."
"Thank you."
Flourish and Blotts was a riot of books.
Shelves climbed to the ceiling, ladders skated along rails all by themselves, and more than once, I caught a book re-shelving itself when it apparently decided it had been put back incorrectly.
I ran my hand over the spines of Magical Theory and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, feeling the faint tingle of old spells still clinging to the leather. Rupert picked up a thin volume that squeaked like a startled mouse, nearly dropping it in shock.
Matilda Weasley merely gave me an approving nod as I stacked each title carefully into a growing pile.
"You'll do well," she said quietly. "You already look like someone planning which chapters to prioritise."
Ollivander's shop was quieter than the rest of Diagon Alley. Dust hung in lazy shafts of light, thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood. Shelves towered around us, packed edge to edge with narrow boxes stacked with mathematical precision.
The man himself appeared almost from nowhere, thin, pale, his silvery eyes bright but not unkind.
"First wand?" he asked briskly, barely glancing at me.
I nodded once.
"Good. Left or right-handed?"
"Right."
He handed me the first wand with no flourish, and I felt nothing, not even the faintest tickle of magic.
"Hmm. No, not that one."
He moved with quick, economical gestures, pulling down narrow boxes, lifting lids, passing me one wand after another. Each time I grasped one, he watched keenly, not with eerie prophecy, simply with the brisk curiosity of a craftsman assessing fit.
A wand of cherry wood with unicorn hair fizzled out in a weak green spark. A slimmer ash wand did nothing at all, feeling like dead wood in my hand. Another of willow wood with a dragon heartstring let out some small sparks.
Box after box came down from the shelves. Some sparked, others fizzled. One cracked a lamp overhead. But then, finally, he offered one with a nod of quiet certainty.
The wand was crafted from deep, dark cedar wood, its surface polished to a smooth, almost glassy sheen that catches the light with subtle elegance. Twisting around its length is a pattern of intricate runes and symbols, carved in a seamless spiral from handle to tip. The runes vary in shape, some sharp and angular, others curved and flowing, giving the impression of a long-lost language whispered into the grain of the wood.
The carvings themselves are shallow yet precise, following an unbroken path that coils along the wand like a climbing vine of ancient intent. The wand tapers to a fine point, balanced and lightweight, yet with an undeniable sense of quiet strength. Up close, one can just make out faint ridges in the etchings, as if they were pressed into the wood with more than just craftsmanship, perhaps by magic itself.
The overall design is both elegant and enigmatic, the kind of object that invites both reverence and curiosity. It's not loud in its presence, but unmistakably powerful.
I took it in hand.
A sharp warmth flowed up my arm, a feeling like inhaling cold air after hours of heat, clean, bright, alive. Not overwhelming, but precise. I raised the wand, and a quiet gust of air swept past me, fluttering the ledger behind Ollivander's desk.
"Ah," he said, a small note of approval entering his voice. "There it is."
He gently took the box and slid the wand inside with care.
"Thirteen inches, cedar wood, thestral tail hair core. A rare combination, especially the core. Quite subtle, highly attuned to intent and conviction. Thestral tail hairs bond best with those who have seen what others fear and moved past it."
I didn't answer, just met his eyes evenly.
Ollivander gave the barest of smiles.
"Cedar, meanwhile, produces wands that are powerful in the hands of those with strong perception and a certain... quiet strength of purpose. They are not easily swayed or fooled. When their wielder is certain, the wand acts without hesitation."
He closed the box, wrapped it with a practised flick of his wand, and handed it over.
Ollivander gave a satisfied nod, making a small note on a parchment slip.
"That will serve you well. Seven Galleons. A good match, I think."
I took the package, nodding once.
"Yes. So do I."
The transaction was swift.
"Keep it well. And remember, it's a tool, not a crutch. Master it properly."
"I plan to," I said simply.
He offered a thin, professional smile, already reaching for the next customer's measurements as we stepped back out into the bustling alley.
We stepped back into Diagon Alley with all the supplies we needed.
Matilda Weasley checked a final list.
"That's everything. Expect your owl by mid-August with term details. And Mr. Magus, do remember that magic is far more than wands and books. How you conduct yourself at Hogwarts will shape much more than your studies."
I gave her a slight, polite nod.
"Of course. Thank you for your help."
She smiled again, then disappeared right there on the cobblestones with a faint pop, the scent of old wool and something crisp, like crushed pine needles, lingering in the air.
Rupert blew out a breath. "I'm still not sure we didn't both go mad and invent this entire day."
"Then I suggest we hold onto the receipts," I said dryly, glancing at the supplies we were both carrying, "Evidence does wonders for doubt."
He barked out a rough laugh. "Only you would treat magic like another business transaction."
That night, in my room, I laid it all out on my bed.
The neat black robes, the glint of new brass scales, the wand at the centre, quietly alive.
None of this changed who I was.
It only promised a much larger stage, and I intended to dominate it as thoroughly.
Morning came heavy with silence.
I woke before dawn; at this point, it was ingrained in my bones, muscles honed to discipline, nerves taut with the strange weight of knowing this was the last day I'd wake beneath Rupert's roof. For all I'd planned and plotted, the finality of it still struck with unexpected force.
I washed, dressed, and turned to the small drawer where I kept the egg.
The one I'd bled over again and again.
Its surface had changed over the past weeks, fissures spiderwebbing throughout, but today was different. It glowed. Not softly, not subtly. A steady violet light leaked from the cracks like a heartbeat made visible.
I sat before it and whispered, "Today's the day, isn't it, little one?"
As if in answer, the egg cracked, a sharp sound, like flint striking iron, and split open with a sudden pop. A thick, translucent membrane gave way, and something sleek and black pushed out into the room.
It unfurled like an oil shadow, wings stretching awkwardly as if unused to gravity. Two heads, both distinctly raptor-like, blinked at me with piercing purple eyes that mirrored my own.
It looked like an amalgamation of all accipitridae, but I did bear a striking resemblance to my House's Crest. If I knew the crest had an impact, I would have made it a dragon, but I'm not upset with this.
One head tilted sharply, the other blinked slowly. I didn't speak at first. I simply observed how its talons flexed over the wooden edge of the drawer, how it studied me not with confusion, but recognition.
"Do you understand me?" I asked quietly.
One head nodded.
The other gave a shrill, almost questioning trill.
It wasn't language. Not yet, but there was thought there, intent.
I reached out with my hand, and it welcomed the brush like a roosting perch.
"I am Richard Magus," I said. "And you, little one, seem to have been preordained to be my companion."
Both heads inclined as one.
I let the creature perch on the crook of my arm. Its talons were cold and light, like grasping shadows. I could feel a tether forming in my blood.
[Familiar Bond Detected.]
[Familiar Section added to System Status.]
'Status'
[FAMILY SYSTEM]
________________________________
Name: Richard Anderson Russo Magus
Age: 11
Race: Homo Magi
House: Magus
House Crest: -><-
House Motto: Non ducor, duco
Position: Patriarch
Allegiance: N/A
Alliance: N/A
Family Tree: -><-
Total Family Members: 1
________________________________
Wives: 0
Concubines: 0
Main line descendants: 0
Branch line descendants: 0
________________________________
Bloodline: Magus
Traits: -><-
________________________________
Talents: -><-
Affinities: -><-
________________________________
House Structure: -><-
House Wealth: -><-
________________________________
[Recognition: N/A]
[Reputation: N/A]
________________________________
Family Familiars: -><-
________________________________
Compatibility Index: -><-
________________________________
Tasks: -><-
________________________________
Body: 19.67
Mind: 38.33
Soul: 32.33
Mana: 13613
________________________________
Strength- 19
Dexterity- 20
Constitution- 20
Intelligence- 38
Wisdom- 38
Spirit- 39
Charisma- 30
Charm- 28
________________________________
SI: -><-
________________________________
'What type of creature is my familiar?'
[A Progenitor Accipitridae, it will exhibit all Accipitridae features and will be compatible to mate with any male Accipitridae.]
[It is the Apex Accipitridae.]
Well isn't that a pleasant surprise.
I wrapped it loosely in a cloak, settling it into the trunk I'd bought at a later visit to Diagon Alley. It didn't protest. It simply watched me, both heads calm, aware.
By the time Rupert knocked on my door with a quiet, "You ready, lad?" I was.
We took a cab to King's Cross. Neither of us said much along the way.
When we arrived at the station, Rupert kept looking around as if he expected someone to stop us.
"I suppose this is it, then," he said, voice tight. "You'll write?"
I held up the owl I'd purchased last week, sleek, snowy, smart-eyed.
"Every week. I've already trained her to find you. She prefers the roof chimney."
He gave a dry chuckle. "Of course she does."
A long pause stretched between us.
Then he did something unexpected, he reached forward and gripped my shoulders tightly.
"You're… something strange and brilliant, Richard," he said. "Don't lose yourself chasing power. Let some of that mind be used for your own happiness, too."
I simply nodded and stepped back.
I took a breath, placed my hand on the handle of my trunk, my wand tucked safely away, and the two-headed bird of prey nestled silently within.
Just before I crossed, I glanced back at Rupert, standing tall and still in the late summer haze.
Then I pushed my trolley forward, toward what looked like solid stone.
Then the wall swallowed me whole.
================================================================
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