The next morning, the air was still crisp and cool when a visitor arrived at the lakeside cabin.
She was an older woman with square glasses perched on her nose, black hair pulled back into a severe bun, and a plaid blouse beneath a deep green robe. A tall pointed hat crowned her head, and a slender wand rested in her hand. Her sharp, hawk-like gaze radiated authority, carrying with it an almost tangible sense of discipline.
"So this is the place?"
Her brows knit slightly as she studied the modest wooden house. It wasn't shabby, but it wasn't elegant either. She stepped forward and knocked firmly on the door.
"Coming."
A boy's gentle, youthful voice answered from within.
The door swung open moments later.
"And you are…?"
The same warm tone, now tinged with curiosity.
Minerva McGonagall found herself staring at the boy before her, and despite her usual severity, a flicker of admiration crossed her eyes.
What a remarkable presence for someone so young...
"Good morning, Mr. Byrne. I'm Minerva McGonagall. I believe you already know that name."
She looked down at Ark, her voice clipped and stern even though her expression betrayed a spark of approval.
"Yes, Ms. McGonagall. Of course I know you—you're the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You're the one who sent me the letter."
Ark bowed politely, all the while sizing her up, comparing this woman to the image burned into his memory.
Hmm… not quite like the movie version. But exactly as the novels described.
"Thank you for being so polite. But from now on, you may call me Professor. After all, you've already chosen to attend Hogwarts."
She hadn't the faintest clue what was running through his mind, but his manners and composure clearly pleased her. Between his looks, his bearing, and his courtesy, he had already earned the silent label of "a good child." If only half the pranksters in her own House could behave this way, her life would be far less exhausting.
With a private sigh, she pressed on briskly.
"I should also tell you—I'm Head of Gryffindor House and the professor for Transfiguration class. For the next seven years, I'll be teaching you Transfiguration." She wasted no time before adding, "Now, the reason I've come… For children like you, raised by Muggles or unfamiliar with the Wizarding World, Hogwarts sends a faculty member to explain matters to your guardians and help you purchase your school supplies."
Her eyes flicked past Ark into the small cabin.
"But from the looks of it, I doubt I'll be meeting any parents or guardians today, am I right?"
It was obvious she had realized the boy lived alone.
Ark's guardians… gone, most likely.
She didn't ask. She didn't need to.
"Sorry you had to see this, Professor." Ark smiled faintly—too faintly for a child—as he answered, "It's just me here. You only need to talk with me."
"Poor child." McGonagall couldn't help herself. She reached out and rested a hand on his head. "Don't worry. At Hogwarts you'll have plenty of young wizards your own age. You won't be lonely."
"I'm already looking forward to it." Ark shifted uncomfortably under her touch and tilted his head away. "Would you like to come inside for a bit, Professor?"
"No." McGonagall shook her head firmly, all business again. "If I don't need to speak with your guardians, then we won't waste time. Let's head straight to Diagon Alley to buy your things."
"Diagon Alley?"
"It's the shopping street of the Wizarding World. You can find just about every magical item a wizard could need there."
She explained patiently, easing his curiosity.
"Don't worry, Mr. Byrne. I'll take you there myself. After that, you'll be able to visit on your own—assuming you have enough money."
At that, Ark nodded. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills—everything he had managed to save over the past year.
After fixing up this abandoned cabin and surviving on fish from the lake, he had eventually discovered a village nearby. Selling his extra catch there had given him just enough to scrape by, with some left over to store away. Originally, he'd planned to save enough to move into the village or even a town. But now? That plan no longer mattered.
It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
"Good." McGonagall nodded in approval. She set her hand firmly on his shoulder. "I intended to guide you there on foot, but this place is far too remote. Walking would be a terrible waste of time."
Her eyes met his.
"So remember this, Mr. Byrne—we're about to Apparate to London, to a pub hidden in Westminster on Charing Cross Road. It's called The Leaky Cauldron."
The instant her words faded, a thunderous pop split the air. Ark's stomach lurched as if he'd been flushed through a giant whirlpool. His whole body spun violently, inner ear screaming in protest.
But just as suddenly as it began, it ended. His feet steadied, sound rushed in—voices, bustling and loud. A crowded street.
When his vision cleared, he stood between a bookstore and a record shop.
"Follow me, Mr. Byrne."
McGonagall smiled faintly when she saw he'd recovered quickly, unshaken by Apparition. She led him forward, closer to the two shops—until, as though forced into existence, another building slid between them.
Ark's eyes widened in awe.
"The Leaky Cauldron?"
He trailed her inside, glancing around at the dim, shabby room. Old tables huddled in the shadows, the bar was grimy, and the place was empty—too early for customers. The faint clatter of someone moving about behind the bar suggested the owner preparing to open, but McGonagall didn't so much as pause. She swept Ark through to a walled courtyard out back.
The space was bare but for a rubbish bin and a few weeds.
"Watch closely. Next time, you'll need to do this yourself."
She pointed with her wand. "Count three bricks up from the bin, two across, then tap three times."
She demonstrated—up three, across two, tap-tap-tap.
The brick shivered. Then a hole yawned open, growing wider until it stretched into a stone archway.
Through it, a bustling, crowded street appeared.
Ark's eyes lit up.
At last. The Wizarding World, revealed before him in the most vivid, undeniable way.