The wall parted with a low grinding groan, and Cael stepped through the archway into Diagon Alley.
It was like walking into a dream.
The cobbled street stretched out in a gentle curve, paved with stones that shimmered faintly beneath the soft golden glow of enchanted lanterns. The buildings leaned at whimsical angles, painted in bold hues, their windows filled with curious displays—cauldrons bubbling with mist, self-stirring quills, spellbooks flipping through pages on their own. Witches and wizards moved about in colorful robes, floating parcels trailing behind them, broomsticks strapped to their backs or zooming overhead.
A boy about Cael's age shot past on a broomstick, laughter echoing through the alley as his mother shouted after him in exasperation.
Cael stood frozen, wide-eyed.
This is it… This is real.
I'm not watching a film. I'm here. I've stepped into the wizarding world.
As he took in the bustling street—its magical shops, its vibrant crowd—he felt a strange sensation flood his body. It was like drinking a tall glass of ice water on a scorching summer day. A cool, rushing thrill traveled from his chest to his limbs, awakening something dormant.
So this is magic power… It feels good. Actually, I love this feeling.
"Congratulations," the System announced with a smug tone. "You're officially not a complete Muggle anymore. Just… mostly."
"Thanks for the encouragement, you gremlin," Cael muttered, grinning.
"You're welcome, Little Girl."
"Still holding onto that, huh?"
"Petty is my middle name."
He laughed under his breath and stepped deeper into the alley, soaking in every detail like a man starved of color. He passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where a woman was conjuring waffle cones out of thin air; Eeylops Owl Emporium, where owls hooted and rustled behind the glass; and farther ahead, the white, towering marble building of Gringotts stood like a sentinel.
But Cael didn't turn toward the wizard bank.
Instead, he drifted to the right, eyes narrowing at the crooked little wand shop nestled between taller, more polished storefronts.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
He stared at the faded gold letters.
That's where I'd get my wand… if I had any money.
He sighed. No Galleons. No Sickles. Not even a Knut. He didn't have a Hogwarts letter, either—no official proof that he belonged in this world.
For now, he thought, I'm still an outsider.
"System," he muttered quietly, "show me my stats."
🔹 [System Interface – Cael Vale]
Designation: Reincarnated Host
Age: 11
Race: Human (Modified)
Class: Half-Wizard (Unconfirmed)
Title: None
🧭 Attributes:
STR: 6 (Normal adult average: 10)
INT: 13 (Above average)
CHR: 19 (Exceptionally high)
Magic Power: 3 (Newly awakened. Average 11-year-old wizard: 10–12)
Cael frowned. "Only three? After all the trouble I went through?"
The System chimed in, "First of all, that's not bad. You're technically a late-bloomer. Most magical children experience their first magical incident between the ages of 3 and 8. You just had yours today, so your growth curve has only just started."
"But… none of this was in the books or movies."
"This is the real world, you bum. Don't compare reality to fantasy."
Cael sighed and rubbed his temples. "So, what now?"
"Now you go back. You've triggered the awakening. The next quest—and your Hogwarts letter—will come in due time. You have about five months. Don't waste them."
With one last wistful look at Ollivanders, Cael turned and walked away from the heart of the Alley. He passed back through the Leaky Cauldron and out into the Muggle world, catching the next bus back to the orphanage just as the sun began to dip behind the rooftops.
Meanwhile… in the Scottish Highlands
Far to the north, in a castle hidden by mountains and clouds, the sun cast long shadows through the spires of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
In a tall tower lined with timeworn tomes and whirring instruments, a single desk stood untouched by dust. Upon it lay a great leather-bound volume, ancient beyond measure: The Book of Admittance. Beside it floated a long, faded quill hovering in midair: The Quill of Acceptance.
For a moment, the room was still.
Then—
Scratch.
The quill dipped and scratched a name onto the next page with slow, elegant motion.
Cael Vale
Age: 11 years, 2 months
Mother: Deceased
Father: Alive
Location: England – London – District 12 – Vale Orphanage
It was not a flashy entrance. No explosion of light or thunderous music. Just ink on parchment.
But that quiet moment marked something significant.
A name written. A future claimed.
A legend begun.