Alphonse stayed with me for nearly fifteen minutes, gently stroking my head until I calmed down.
"Well, sir, I haven't seen you like this since long ago, when you were denied the chance to buy an Antipodean Opaleye dragon," Alphonse remarked, softly moving me aside as he stood up, brushing my snot and tears from his jacket.
"I'm sorry," was all I could manage to say after such a pitiful scene.
"Well then, I took the liberty of bringing you the admission letter from the great Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. And, as you ordered, I disposed of the other admission letter from the equally renowned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As usual, I also brought the newspaper so you can enjoy the puzzles at the back," he said, winking as he set the items down on my bed.
The first thing I noticed when I picked up the newspaper was that I was in Lyon, my hometown, in June of 1990, exactly eight years before the great disaster.
Damn it—the letter.
"Alphonse, where did you throw away the Hogwarts Academy letter?"
"My lord, the letter is currently in the refuse depot behind the mansion," Alphonse exclaimed, looking at me in bewilderment.
Before he could ask another question, I gave him no time. My body moved as fast as it could, bursting from the room. I sprinted down the hallway and slid along the banister of the grand staircase.
Landing on the first floor, I rushed straight to the back door, throwing it open with a slam. In the distance, I saw a towering mound of trash spilling from the containers, and though still barefoot, I tore across the garden as quickly as I could.
At the bins, I began ripping through garbage bags in search of the letter. After several minutes, covered in food scraps and foul-smelling substances of questionable origin, I still hadn't found it. Many bags remained to be checked.
Damn it… what a terrible start. My feet were scraped raw from the rocks and flagstones that formed the paths leading to different corners of the estate—our vast garden of rare and beautiful flowers, adorned with sculptures by celebrated artists of ancient Greece. Hurting my feet was only to be expected if I ran without shoes.
Back at the door of the house, Alphonse was waiting for me with a gaze full of questions. I suppose it's not every day one sees a child dash madly toward garbage bins and frantically tear them open one by one.
"My lord, what is happening? What's the matter?" he asked, crouching down with a first-aid kit to tend to my cuts.
"I needed that letter," I replied, frustrated.
"But, sir, you had made it clear you weren't interested in any school other than Beauxbatons. What has changed? Have you reconsidered?" he asked, carefully cleaning my feet with gauze soaked in hydrogen peroxide.
"Though my dream was to attend Beauxbatons, I've been thinking for some months now… perhaps my mother would have wanted me to go to Hogwarts," I said, lifting my gaze toward the heart of the house.
I hadn't remembered it being so vast. Before my birth, my father had arranged its purchase with the hope of having more children—children who could race through the labyrinth at the back of the estate, while my mother tended her gardens of magical plants and herbs.
Some said it looked like a castle, but in truth, it resembled more those old manor houses built for royalty on their long journeys, a place to rest in comfort. Now, seeing it with new eyes, I realized I had never truly appreciated the privilege I had grown up in.
And yet, a house so large felt terribly lonely without people to fill it. Alphonse and I knew this well—for we were the only ones who truly lived here. The rest of the servants resided in the nearby village, just a few minutes away by carriage or car.
No one would ever have guessed, looking at my parents, that they were such extravagant people with expensive, old-fashioned tastes.
When I lowered my eyes again, Alphonse was smiling at me, his gaze fixed.
"Is something wrong, Alphonse?" I asked, puzzled by his inexplicable grin.
"You've left me speechless, my lord. I never expected such a change in you. You can't imagine how much joy it brings me," he said, standing up again, that smile unshaken.
"What do you mean, Alphonse?"
"To tell the truth, I had been hoping for a miracle, for you to change your mind. That is why…" He reached into his coat and drew out an envelope sealed with the crest of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My hair stood on end at the sight of it in his hands, and all I could do was throw my arms around him in a fierce embrace.
"Thank you, Alphonse," I murmured, clutching his waist tightly.
"Don't worry, my lord. In any case, Hogwarts letters are enchanted to know whether a child has read their invitation or not. That means even if the letter were destroyed, they would keep arriving until you gave your answer," Alphonse explained, turning and heading toward the kitchen.
I had heard rumors about how the letters worked. Each school had its own method. A special quill inscribes the names of magical children at birth, ensuring that letters like those from Hogwarts reach every magical child at the right time—even those born to Muggles.
The letter was written in emerald-green ink upon parchment, delivered by owl—except in the case of Muggle-borns, whose first acceptance letters arrived through the regular post.
"Very well then. Once you've finished reading, take a bath and brush your teeth properly before coming down to breakfast."
I nodded without reply and ran back to my room. Once there, I opened the letter. A burst of tiny fireworks leapt from it—quite unlike the Beauxbatons letter, which had produced trumpets and the French flag. The wording, however, followed much the same formula:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Dear Mr. Dion Beaumont de Legrand,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Once I had finished reading, all that remained was to get ready and plan the day to buy the items requested.
But before that… I needed clothes. What on earth had they dressed me in as a child? I looked like a miniature nobleman, clad in Victorian attire. It was hideous—I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. But it was all I had, so I endured it, at least until I could overhaul that dreadful wardrobe.
As I descended the stairs, I heard the soft laughter of a woman—or so I thought, until it transformed into a powerful cackle that startled the few birds nearby. Between laughs, she even let out little piglet-like snorts—something most high-society folk would have deemed vulgar.
I crept as quietly as possible, tiptoeing toward the kitchen, the source of that ghastly laughter. Peering through a narrow gap in the door, I spotted Alphonse speaking with Madame Amélie—the best cook in the village, and the secret love of Alphonse.