Hogwarts - Headmaster's Office
In a room filled to the brim with magical texts, artifacts, and gadgets, an old man with a long white beard sat at his desk. Dumbledore was deep in thought, reflecting on past mistakes. A regretful look appeared on his face, but before he could dwell further, a graceful black owl swooped into the office and dropped a letter in front of him.
Dumbledore first regarded the owl, then his gaze shifted to the letter. The moment he saw the insignia—a large tree entwined with a dragon—his expression turned serious. He had seen this symbol before, in ancient tomes, notes from old wizards, and the Ministry's Department of Mysteries' restricted library. It was somehow connected to Merlin and even to Hogwarts' founders. He had tried to trace its origin for years, without success—until now.
Carefully, he inspected the letter for any sign of foul play. Once satisfied it was genuine, he opened it.
---
To Professor Albus Dumbledore,
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
I hope this letter finds you well. Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Ambrose Emerys, son and heir of the Emerys line. Though our family has largely remained apart from wizarding society for centuries, I have long wished to experience Hogwarts—not only as an institution of learning, but as a place where wizards and witches gather to shape the future of magic.
I have received extensive education in the fundamentals of magical theory and practice within my family's estate. However, I now seek to broaden my perspective and witness firsthand the form of magic cultivated in the wider world. For this reason, I humbly request admission into Hogwarts.
Please consider this a formal application for enrollment. I will, of course, comply with all traditions and requirements of the school, and I look forward to contributing my utmost to its community.
Should you wish to speak further, I would be honored to meet with you in person at your convenience.
With respect,
Ambrose Emerys
Heir to the House of Emerys
---
Dumbledore set down his glasses, staring at the parchment for a long while. His fingers traced the insignia again—the coiled dragon embracing the ancient tree. It was a mark he had seen only in obscure footnotes, in half-burned scrolls from Merlin's era, and in a handful of forbidden tomes locked deep within the Department of Mysteries. The Emerys line… he had dismissed it as myth, or at least long extinct.
Yet here it was, alive. Breathing. Writing to him.
"Ambrose Emerys…" he murmured, testing the name aloud. It carried the weight of legends, a reminder that the world still held shadows and powers even he — Albus Dumbledore — could not fully comprehend.
Part of him felt a scholar's excitement; another part, an old man's dread. If this boy truly was what he claimed… if the Emerys legacy had indeed endured in silence all this time… then the tides of the magical world were about to shift.
And Hogwarts would once again stand at the center of it.
Dumbledore took up his quill and wrote his reply. When he finished, he handed the letter back to the black owl, which had been waiting patiently in his office, ensuring it received its due care.
---
Emerys Owlry — Vanaheim
Luma stood quietly as the owl returned. Meanwhile, Ambrose had gone back to breakfast with Fuzzle. After what seemed like several long minutes, the owl arrived carrying the reply. Luma took it, fed the bird again, and with a soft pop, appeared before her master to hand over the letter.
Ambrose took the letter and unfolded it.
---
Dumbledore's Reply
To Lord Ambrose Emerys,
Your letter has stirred in me a reaction I have not felt for many years. The insignia alone gave me pause, for I have encountered it only in fragments of ancient records — in the margins of Merlin's writings, in whispers preserved within the Department of Mysteries, and even in the lore of Hogwarts' founders. Never did I think to see it again, much less to receive correspondence bearing its mark.
That the Emerys line endures is, in truth, astonishing. That its heir should now write to me is even more so.
You speak of wishing to walk the halls of Hogwarts, not to gain what you lack, but to observe and share. Such words are unusual, yet they carry the weight of sincerity. If it is indeed your will, then Hogwarts shall open its doors to you.
Know, however, that Hogwarts is not merely a sanctuary of learning. It is a living place, its unpredictable, demanding, and filled with tests that no library can prepare one for. Should you choose to step within, it will shape you, as it has shaped countless others before you.
I would greatly value the chance to meet you in person, to speak face-to-face of your intentions and of the legacy you carry. Until then, you have my respect… and my deepest curiosity.
With regards,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
---
After breakfast, Ambrose tidied himself, donning elegant, noble robes. He instructed Luma and Fuzzle to Apparate him in front of the Hogwarts gates. Although the school year had already begun, he was content to wait until the next term, roughly four months away
Ambrose stepped through the air displaced by Apparition, feeling the familiar hum of magic brush against his senses. The Hogwarts gates loomed before him, wrought of stone, enchanted, and alive in ways only a true observer could feel. He paused for a moment, drinking in the view. The castle stretched far beyond what memory or expectation could capture: towers spiraling toward the sky, windows glowing faintly in the morning sun, smoke curling from distant chimneys. He could see the Forbidden Forest beyond the lake, dark and mysterious, yet alive with quiet magic.
"Magnificent… almost like the stories described, yet more alive, more… real," he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. He adjusted the fold of his robes and allowed his gaze to travel along the stone path, noting the faint magical wards shimmering in invisible waves around the perimeter. Even from this distance, he could sense the subtle hum of spells protecting the grounds, the wards whispering age-old promises of safety and secrecy.
Luma and Fuzzle materialized behind him, bowing slightly, their small forms still radiating the air of loyalty and quiet competence. Ambrose allowed himself a moment to appreciate the symmetry: every detail of his surroundings, from the texture of the air to the faint smell of the lake, spoke of careful magic and ancient stewardship.
Hagrid stood near the gates, scratching his head in slight confusion as he took in the sight before him. "Blimey… who's this one? Look at 'im… hair white as snow, eyes glowing like fire… and those two little elves behind 'im… never seen nothin' like it…" His heart raced, half with nervousness, half with the awe that came from standing in the presence of someone so… different. Hagrid had spent his life meeting unusual students, but this—this was something else entirely.
Ambrose's voice cut through the morning air, calm, elegant, precise. "Mr. Hagrid? Could you please take me to the Headmaster's office? I have business with him."
Hagrid's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if words alone might fail him. He nodded rapidly. "Ah—yes! S-sorry… y-yes, follow me." He stepped aside, motioning toward the path, but he couldn't help stealing glances at the boy walking ahead. "White hair… molten eyes… not even a trace of fear… what manner o' student is this?"
As they began walking up the stone path toward the castle, Ambrose's eyes drank in every detail. The texture of the cobblestones beneath his boots, worn smooth by centuries of students; the glint of magical lanterns that floated unbidden along the walkways; the echo of distant voices, laughter, and footsteps reverberating from towers he had yet to explore. He allowed himself the smallest smirk. "Yes… this place will do. It will challenge me, test me… and I will learn everything it has to offer."
Students began to notice them as they walked. Whispers spread like wildfire. Some gawked openly at the pale boy with glowing eyes and snow-white hair. Others pressed closer to friends for reassurance, wide-eyed. "Who is that?" one whispered. "Is he… some kind of wizard royalty?" Another student whispered back: "Look at those elves! Are those… house-elves? They're huge compared to the ones I've seen!"
Ambrose, sensing the stares, did not flinch. Instead, he held his head high, allowing the noble posture to reinforce the aura of calm authority that seemed almost innate to him. He noted, almost clinically, the reactions of the students, the mix of fear, awe, and curiosity. "Yes… they are observant," he thought, "but they do not yet know what they are observing."
Hagrid's steps were hesitant at first, then faster, trying to keep pace with Ambrose's smooth, measured stride. Every few seconds he stole nervous glances at the boy. "By Merlin… his eyes… they're glowing, like lava… can he really be…? Nah, must be some kind o' family magic or trick, yeah, that's it…"
The closer they approached the office, the more details Ambrose absorbed. The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's entrance, perched as if waiting for someone worthy; the intricate carvings along the outer walls, depicting animals and shields that seemed almost to shimmer when his eyes caught them just right; even the smell—the mixture of stone, wood polish, faint smoke, and magic—that hung in the air like a perfume. He filed each observation mentally.
Finally, they reached the gargoyle. Hagrid paused and looked down at Ambrose. "This is it. Just say 'Sherbet Lemon,' and the door will open."
Ambrose inclined his head politely. "Thank you," he said calmly, his voice smooth and even, betraying none of the excitement he felt inside. Behind him, Fuzzle and Luma bowed subtly, standing ready to follow his instructions.
Students nearby craned their necks to watch, whispers cascading through the courtyards. "That boy… he's not normal. Did you see his eyes?" one murmured. Another added, "And his hair… it's… white as snow. No, not like gray… white." Even professors on the grounds turned to look as Ambrose prepared to enter. Every gaze seemed to acknowledge him as someone set apart, someone extraordinary.
Ambrose's own thoughts lingered briefly on these reactions. "Let them watch. Let them whisper. They will learn in time that observation is only the beginning." He felt a thrill, not of arrogance, but of anticipation. Hogwarts would soon become more than a school; it would be a stage, a proving ground, and a canvas for him to understand this world in all its depths.
Hagrid gestured toward the gargoyle again, swallowing nervously. "Right… Sherbet Lemon, go on…"
Ambrose spoke the words with perfect clarity, and the gargoyle shifted aside, revealing the passage to the Headmaster's office. His expression remained calm, almost serene, though inside his mind a storm of curiosity and strategy churned. Every step forward was measured. Every detail recorded. He was home, and yet this home would not simply welcome him—it would challenge him in ways he had yet to imagine.