I woke up to the smell of strong tea coming from the kitchen and the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains of my room. It had been a week since the letter arrived. That letter sealed with red wax and the crest of a castle I had never heard of: Hogwarts.
It still felt strange to say it out loud. "Hogwarts." Like something out of a fairy tale. But everything around me kept telling me it wasn't madness. I was a wizard. I, Elliot Grey, an utterly ordinary boy, born to ordinary parents, in an ordinary neighborhood of 1930s London... was a wizard.
It had been hard telling my parents. They thought it was just one of my fantasies—until the same owl that delivered the first letter came again, this time tapping its beak on the window with another letter in its beak. Dad nearly fainted. Mum thought about calling a priest.
And that's when everything changed for good.
That morning, while I was on the couch reading the letter for the thousandth time, someone knocked on the door. Mum went to answer, and I heard her surprised voice:
— "You are...?"
— "Albus Dumbledore, madam. I've come to talk to you about Elliot."
Albus Dumbledore. The name sounded as imposing as his figure. When he stepped into the room, the air seemed to change. He wore a dark robe with silver embroidery, and his blue eyes behind half-moon glasses seemed to read everything about me at once.
— "So this is young Elliot Grey," he said with a gentle smile. "I see you've received your letter."
I nodded, speechless. Dumbledore turned to my parents and, with impressive patience, explained everything: Hogwarts, the magical world, the fact that me being a "Muggle-born" wasn't a barrier to studying magic. That, although rare, sometimes magical children were born into families with no connection to the wizarding world.
— "And how exactly... does magic work?" my father asked, still skeptical.
— "Magic has been in your son since birth," Dumbledore answered calmly. "In some, it manifests instinctively. In Elliot's case, from what I understand, he's already begun experimenting with it on his own. I imagine he's moved objects with his mind?"
I froze. How did he know that?
— "Yes," I murmured. "It started when I was about nine. First a flying book, then a breaking teacup... and then I started learning to control it."
Dumbledore nodded with a gleam in his eyes.
— "Very impressive, Elliot. Few young wizards discover it on their own. You have a special gift. But now, it's time to channel it properly. For that, you'll need a wand, books, a uniform... and for that, there's a place."
He turned and smiled:
— "Let's go to Diagon Alley."
---
We left home a few hours later. Dumbledore led us through the streets of London to what looked like just an old, dark pub: The Leaky Cauldron. Apparently abandoned, no one else seemed to see it. But once inside, we realized the place was far from empty. Witches and wizards were sipping tea, reading newspapers with moving pictures, and chatting excitedly about ingredients, spells—even magical creatures.
— "Diagon Alley is in the back," Dumbledore said.
He led us into a walled courtyard. He drew a wand from his robe and, with quick gestures, tapped bricks in a precise sequence. In seconds, the wall opened—literally—like magic.
And then I saw it.
A hidden world, vibrant and alive. Shops with enchanted displays, wizards in colorful cloaks, owls perched on window sills, children running with cauldrons. It was like stepping through a veil between two worlds. My parents were speechless. As for me... my heart was pounding like never before.
— "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Elliot."
---
Our first stop was Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Dad tried to ask how everything worked, but the goblins—small, sharp-faced creatures with calculating eyes—weren't exactly friendly.
— "Even a Muggle-born is entitled to a beginner's vault if accepted into Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained. "The Founders believed that talent could come from anywhere."
I took a few gold and silver coins—Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts—and we walked down the cobbled streets. It was like being in a dream. I saw shop windows filled with flying broomsticks, steaming potion shops, cauldrons that stirred themselves. But I could only think of one thing: my wand.
— "The wand chooses the wizard, Elliot," said Dumbledore, guiding me to Ollivanders.
It was a narrow shop, with piles and piles of wand boxes stacked high. A tall, thin man with pale eyes appeared between the shelves, as if he'd been waiting for me.
— "Mr. Grey," he said in a quiet voice. "I've been expecting you."
My parents hesitated at the door, but came in. Ollivander had me try several wands. Some gave off faint sparks. Others made papers explode. One I held caused every box to fall off the shelves. I was almost ready to give up when he pulled out one from an old box.
— "Dragon heartstring core, 13 inches, ash wood. Stiff but powerful. Try it."
The moment I held the wand, I felt something different. A warmth spread through my hand, a strange vibration that pulsed through my bones. A breeze seemed to swirl around me, lifting dust and golden sparks.
— "Ah..." Ollivander smiled. "That's the one."
— "What does dragon heartstring mean?" I asked, still feeling the heat in my palm.
— "It's one of the most powerful cores, my boy. Determined, loyal, and with a fiery temper. It demands respect... but if you can master it, it will be a remarkable wand."
I smiled. My wand.
---
We spent the rest of the day buying books—"Magic: Theory and Practice," "A History of Magic," "Potions and Poets," among others—as well as the black uniform with the Hogwarts crest stitched on the chest, a cauldron, vials, quills, scrolls... everything I needed.
In one shop window, I saw a beautiful white owl and wanted her desperately, but Dad gave me his classic "don't even think about it" look. I ended up with a smaller gray owl—which I named Ink, because she loved messing up my father's newspapers.
By the end of the day, we returned to the Leaky Cauldron exhausted. Dumbledore said goodbye with a gentle nod.
— "See you in September, Elliot. And remember: Hogwarts is more than a castle. It's a home."
I looked at my wand, carefully stored in its box, feeling the weight of it all. For the first time, I realized what was ahead.
I was a wizard. A real wizard.
And my life would never be the same again.