1991, England.
Duskcliffe, Dorset.
---
The slightly salty sea breeze carried the scent of silver lime leaves, but the windows largely blocked it out. Ryan Elias leaned against the window, his pale blue eyes reflecting the sunlight filtering through the trees.
He gazed out at the open space where children were playing hide-and-seek. However, the boy made no move to join them. Instead, he stretched out his fair hands and began to paint on the window. The moisture on the windowpane was smeared by his fingers—he was drawing what appeared to be several animals.
"What's that?" Just as Ryan finished drawing the second animal, a sudden voice shattered the silence. The speaker was a woman in her forties, wearing a nurse's apron. She had shoulder-length red hair, freckles on her nose, and a bright smile. A badge hung on her chest, with the name of this place, Silver Lime Tree Orphanage, and her own name, Nurse Perla Jones, written on it. "Starlings and mice? Nice drawings!" she complimented Ryan as she entered the house, pushing a cart.
Ryan, however, didn't appreciate the compliment and sternly corrected her. "Actually, anyone should be able to tell—they're hawks and badgers."
"Oh... okay," Perla replied, glancing again at the tiny, furry creature and the small, overly winged, bird-like creatures in the window. She nodded hesitantly, wisely choosing not to question her assumptions about his drawing skills.
"Horace said you didn't want to play with the others and wanted to stay in your room?" she asked, concern evident in her eyes.
She knew that Ryan had suddenly developed a fever three days ago and had been unconscious for a day. When he regained consciousness, something in him had changed. The change was subtle, almost imperceptible, and Ryan himself seemed to be trying to hide it. But as a nurse who had watched the children of the orphanage grow up, Perla could still discern it.
This worried her deeply—could the child's earlier fever have damaged his brain?
"Yes," Ryan nodded. "I'm waiting for a letter."
"A letter?" Perla looked at him puzzledly. "Who wrote to you?"
She knew Ryan's situation well—his entire family had died in a fire, and he had been sent to the orphanage by distant relatives. He had never left the orphanage since childhood, so who would write to him?
But Ryan smiled faintly. His smile was filled with longing and intimacy. "My teachers."
This made Perla even more worried.
Ryan had never had a teacher—the Silver Lime Tree Orphanage lacked the funds to hire one, so the children's daily studies were handled by caregivers. She thought she should immediately inform the director about the situation and ask her to find a doctor to treat Ryan.
If the orphanage was short on funds, she might be able to cover some of the medical expenses. After all, this child was too pitiful, and she couldn't help but feel bad for him.
With this in mind, Perla chose not to provoke Ryan further.
"Okay, then, you wait—I won't bother you anymore," she said, patting the cart in front of her before opening the lid. Inside was a small cake, with cookie crumbs sprinkled on top forming the number "11."
HBD! was scrawled crookedly in cream on the side.
"The dean and I made this cake, but we're not exactly skilled—so we had to use the abbreviation," she said, waving her hand awkwardly. Looking seriously at the child in front of her, she added, "But anyway... Ryan, happy birthday!" She placed the small tray, along with a knife and fork, on the little table inside. Then she turned and wheeled the cart out of the cabin.
"Thank you, Ms. Perla," Ryan said softly. A voice behind her made her hum a country tune.
After Ms. Perla left, Ryan looked at the modest, undecorated cake on the table and grinned. Although it didn't feature a roaring lion, magical plants oozing juice, intricate carved runes, or a green snake hissing coldly—reminding him he couldn't stop training even on his birthday—he still loved it.
Whoosh!
Just then, Ryan heard a sound outside the window—the flutter of wings breaking through the wind. He turned and saw a plump snowy owl flying toward him. It landed on the orphanage's windowsill, tilting its head to look at him and making a soft cooing sound. In its beak, it held a letter.
"!!!!"
Ryan's body suddenly straightened. He stood up abruptly and pushed the window open. Startled, the owl nearly fell off the windowsill, dropping the letter in its mouth.
Goo!
After managing to regain its balance, it emitted another gurgling sound—but Ryan suspected it wasn't a friendly one. He had no time to pay attention to the owl's antics, simply picking up the letter from the windowsill. The envelope bore a wax seal and a shield-shaped crest: a capital H surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a snake, and a badger.
Ryan's eyes flashed with unprecedented joy and nostalgia. Of course, he recognized the crest. In fact, he had been the one who had made the final decision on the design when his four teachers were arguing. Only when Ryan opened the letter did his excitement suddenly falter and then dim.
---
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
President of the International Confederation of Magical Societies, First-Class Master of the Order of Merlin, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.
Considering your family situation, we will dispatch a professor in three days to answer your questions about the school.
Minerva McGonagall, Vice-Headmistress.
---
"Headmaster Albus Dumbledore..." Ryan muttered the unfamiliar name.
Not Gryffindor Godric, not Rowena Ravenclaw, not Helga Hufflepuff, not Salazar Slytherin—none of the four names he knew well.
"Yeah..." he whispered after a long pause, a slightly bitter smile forming on his face. It was not a typical expression for a child his age. "A thousand years have passed since the teachers' time," he murmured quietly, words only he could understand. However, Ryan quickly suppressed the sadness within him. He adjusted himself quickly, as if he could still hear that noble and calm voice in his ears.
"Emotional catharsis should exist, but it shouldn't last forever. Otherwise, it will only taint the crown of wisdom."
Ryan looked at the letter in his hand again and carefully put it away.
'That's good enough. At least it wasn't all a dream. They really existed.' He muttered with a hint of relief on his tone. 'I can return to the wizarding world, and then...' His voice was low, almost as if speaking to himself.
The Bournemouth sea breeze carried the scent of silver lime leaves, drifting into Ryan's nostrils. He seemed to hear four voices on the wind, "We will meet again, Ryan—my disciple.", and a smile curled on his face. No one knew anything about the voice, as this was a secret that belonged only to Ryan Elias.