James woke at eight in the morning, his internal clock refusing to let him sleep any longer despite having tossed and turned most of the night. He dressed quickly and rushed downstairs to find his parents already in the kitchen, setting up the table for breakfast.
The aroma hit him first. Halwa puri. His mother only made this for special occasions, given how unhealthy the deep-fried bread and sweet semolina dish were. Tall metallic glasses filled with creamy lassi sat beside each plate, condensation beading on the metal.
"Good morning, sweetie," Yara said, though she looked like she'd slept as poorly as James had. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "Thought we'd have a proper breakfast before our big adventure."
Michael was already seated, but his leg bounced nervously under the table. His composure was cracking at the edges, excitement and anxiety warring on his face. "Morning, James. Sleep well?"
"Not really," James admitted, sliding into his chair. "Too excited."
"Join the club," Michael said with a weak laugh. "Your mother and I were up until three talking about what we might see today."
They ate quickly, though the food was delicious. The halwa was perfectly sweet, the puri crispy and hot, while the lassi was cool and refreshing. But none of them could truly focus on the meal. Their eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall.
8:47 AM.
Since November 1st had fallen on a Thursday this year, they'd only had one day to prepare.
Friday had been a whirlwind of activity. Dad had gone to the bank and withdrawn ten thousand pounds in cash, a transaction that had required substantial paperwork and raised several eyebrows. The money now sat in a locked briefcase in his study, neatly bundled and ready for exchange.
The rest of Friday had been spent talking, wondering, speculating about the magical world. They'd pored over the pamphlets again and again, reading between the lines, trying to understand this hidden society they were about to enter.
"Do you think there are vampires?" Yara had asked at one point. "If dragons and goblins are real, what about vampires? Werewolves? What other creatures exist that we've only read about in stories?"
"Mermaids," James had suggested, remembering details from the books. "Centaurs. Giants, maybe."
Michael had made lists, his legal pad filling with questions they wanted to ask Professor McGonagall. What magical creatures existed? How did wizarding law work? What were the boundaries between Muggle and magical jurisdiction? How did the Statute of Secrecy enforcement actually function?
Saturday morning, after breakfast, Michael pulled out his legal pad again, and they all gathered in the drawing room for one final strategy session.
"Alright," Michael said, his lawyer's instincts taking over. "We need to be careful about what we ask and how we ask it. We don't want to offend Professor McGonagall or give her reason to think we're going to cause problems."
"Agreed," Yara said. "Especially after reading about memory modification. I don't want her thinking we need to be... managed."
"She won't wipe your memories," James said automatically, then stopped. He wasn't supposed to know anything about Professor McGonagall beyond what they'd seen on Thursday night.
His parents looked at him curiously, but Michael just nodded. "Probably not. But better safe than sorry. So we ask questions about things we genuinely need to know, practical matters about James's education and safety. We don't ask anything that implies we're unhappy about the lack of choice in sending James to Hogwarts."
"Even though we are unhappy about it," Yara muttered.
"Even though," Michael agreed. "We play along, we're cooperative, and we make sure James gets what he needs."
They reviewed the list of questions. Practical concerns about the school year, about communication, about holidays and visits. Questions about the subjects James would study, the house system, and what support was available if he struggled.
At 9:30, they all went to shower and change. James chose his best smart casual outfit, dark trousers, and a button-down shirt with a warm coat. His parents dressed similarly, looking more like they were heading to an important business meeting than a shopping trip.
By 9:45, they were all sitting in the drawing room, coats on, briefcase of money by the door, watching the clock with an intensity that would have been comical if the nervous energy weren't so palpable.
9:52 AM.
9:58 AM.
At precisely 10:00 AM, the doorbell rang.
This time, Mum rose to answer it. James heard her greeting Professor McGonagall with forced cheer, inviting her inside with all the practiced hospitality of someone who'd been raised to be gracious even when nervous.
Professor McGonagall entered the drawing room looking exactly as she had on Thursday night, emerald green robes immaculate, pointed hat perched on her head, an air of absolute authority surrounding her.
"Good morning," she said formally. "I trust you've all had time to review the information I provided?"
"We have," Michael said, standing to shake her hand. "Would you like some tea? Coffee? We have snacks if you're hungry."
"Thank you, but no. I've had breakfast, and I'm afraid I have limited time today." McGonagall settled into the chair they offered. "Term has begun at Hogwarts, and I only have Saturdays free. I teach Transfiguration during the weekdays."
"Of course, we understand," Yara said, sitting beside Michael on the sofa.
"Before we depart, did you have any questions about the materials I provided? I'm happy to clarify anything before we begin our shopping expedition."
Michael consulted his legal pad. "Is it common for professors to personally deliver acceptance letters? It seems like a significant time investment."
"Only for Muggleborn students," McGonagall explained. "The practice dates back centuries. In the early days of the Statute of Secrecy, simply sending a letter about magic could get a child killed for witchcraft. Personal delivery allowed us to explain, demonstrate, and protect the child if necessary. These days, parents are more likely to be disbelieving than dangerous, but the tradition continues. It ensures Muggleborn students don't miss their opportunity due to parental skepticism or fear."
"And the letters come on birthdays?"
"Only for first years," McGonagall clarified. "It's a symbolic gesture, marking the transition into magical majority. In subsequent years, all Hogwarts letters go out on the first of July, delivered by owl post."
"Owl post," Yara repeated faintly. "Of course."
"Do you have more questions?" McGonagall asked.
"Many," Yara admitted. "But most are about shopping. We thought it would be easier to ask as we see things, if that's alright?"
"Perfectly reasonable," McGonagall agreed. "Let me explain how today will proceed, then."
She straightened in her chair, slipping into what was clearly a well-practiced explanation. "First, we'll visit St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. All Muggleborn students receive a mandatory health check and vaccinations against common magical diseases."
James saw his parents exchange alarmed looks. "He can get magical diseases?" Yara asked, her surgeon's training making her voice sharp with concern.
"Nothing for you to worry about, Mrs. Acton. James has so far been isolated from other wizards as a Muggleborn, and Muggles cannot contract magical diseases. You're immune by virtue of not having magic." McGonagall's expression softened slightly.
"James will be vaccinated against the most common ones: Dragon Pox, Spattergroit, Scrofungulus, and a few others. The vaccines are quite effective, and wizarding healthcare is completely free for all British magical citizens."
"Spattergroit," Michael said, testing the word. "That sounds unpleasant."
"It is. But the vaccine is nearly one hundred percent effective if administered before puberty, which is why we do this early." McGonagall continued. "After St. Mungo's, we'll proceed to the Leaky Cauldron, which houses the gateway to Diagon Alley. We'll visit Gringotts first to exchange your currency, then proceed through the main shops on James's supply list."
"Are we allowed in these places without you?" Yara asked. "As non-magical people?"
"You are, though you'll need James or the barkeep Tom's wand access to enter through the Leaky Cauldron. I'm simply acting as a guide today. Once you've been introduced to the magical district, you'll be able to return as needed with James."
They all stood. Michael picked up the briefcase. "How are we getting to St. Mungo's? Should we take our car?"
"We can travel by your automobile if you prefer," McGonagall said. "That way you'll know the route for future visits. Though I should mention the alternative. Once James has his wand, he can summon the Knight Bus, our magical transportation service."
"Knight Bus?" Michael asked.
"James needs only to step to the curb, hold out his wand arm, and the Knight Bus will appear within moments. It can take him anywhere in Britain."
"Anywhere in Britain," Yara said faintly. "Within moments."
McGonagall's lips twitched with what might have been amusement. "It's magical, Mrs. Acton. It can reach any destination within an hour, regardless of distance. Quite convenient, though the ride can be rather... vigorous."
"I'll drive," Michael said quickly. "I want to know the route so I can take James again if needed."
They all filed out to Michael's Mercedes. James slid into the back seat, and Professor McGonagall settled beside him with surprising grace, given her pointed hat. His parents took the front seats, Michael adjusting mirrors with hands that trembled slightly.
It was past eleven by the time they pulled out of the driveway, following Professor McGonagall's directions through London's morning traffic. The drive took about fifteen minutes, winding through streets James knew well, until suddenly they were pulling up in front of a red-bricked building with boarded windows and a faded sign reading "Purge and Dowse, Ltd."
The building looked condemned, abandoned, like something that should have been demolished years ago.
"This is a hospital?" Yara asked doubtfully.
"To Muggle eyes, it appears derelict," McGonagall said. "Watch."
They got out of the car and approached the building. As they drew closer, James saw it. The true building, layered over the condemned storefront like a double exposure. A gleaming entrance, polished brass fixtures, witches and wizards passing through ornate doors.
"There it is," he said, pointing.
"Where?" His parents looked around, confused. "James, that's just an old abandoned store."
"Mrs. Acton, Mr. Acton, take James's hands, please."
They did, and James felt the moment the magic included them in its recognition. His mother gasped. His father swore softly.
Where there had been a derelict building, now stood an impressive hospital entrance. The transformation was jarring, reality reshaping itself before their eyes.
"Muggle-repelling charms combined with notice-me-not enchantments," McGonagall explained. "Muggles see what we want them to see. But magical people, or Muggles accompanied by magical people, see the truth."
They entered through the ornate doors into what seemed to be a crowded reception area. Rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements. One witch's skin appeared to be melting slowly. A wizard had legs where his arms should be. Another sported a horn growing from his forehead.
The room was scarcely less noisy than the street outside. Many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: moaning, giggling, muttering, or humming. Witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards. James noticed the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed.
Yara's surgeon's instincts kicked in immediately, her eyes cataloguing injuries and ailments with professional interest despite her obvious shock.
McGonagall walked up to the reception desk, where a harried-looking witch was managing a floating quill that wrote appointments on a massive ledger. "Muggleborn check," McGonagall said crisply.
The receptionist barely looked up. "Room 343-C, ground floor. Healer Aldermark is expecting you."
They followed McGonagall through double doors and along a narrow corridor lined with portraits of famous healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated near the ceiling, looking like giant soap bubbles. More lime-green-robed staff walked in and out of doors as they passed.
Room 343-C was a simple white room with a single hospital bed, a side table, a small window, and a blue couch against the wall for visitors. They'd barely settled in when a healer entered on their heels.
"Good morning," he said cheerfully. "Healer Cregan Aldermark. You must be the Acton family."
He appeared to be in his mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, though with wizards, James knew, appearances could be deceiving. He could be twice that age.
"Please, everyone, sit. James, up on the bed for me."
James climbed onto the bed while his parents settled nervously on the couch. Healer Aldermark pulled out a clipboard from thin air and began asking questions about James's medical history. Had he had any serious illnesses? Broken bones? Allergies? Family history of magical conditions?
"Not that we know of," Michael said. "We're not magical ourselves."
"Ah, Muggleborn. Excellent. Usually the healthiest patients, no accumulated family curses or inbreeding issues." Aldermark said this so casually that James nearly laughed at his parents' shocked expressions.
The healer pulled out his wand and began waving it in intricate patterns over James. Colored lights encased him, making him glow various shades of blue, green, and gold. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, like warm water flowing over his skin.
After several minutes, Aldermark turned to McGonagall. "Perfectly healthy eleven-year-old. No hidden diseases or issues. . Quite strong for his age."
He flicked his wrist, and five small vials appeared on the side table, floating gently down. "Right then, James. These are your inoculations. They taste better than Muggle shots feel, I promise."
James drank them one by one. The first tasted like peppermint, the second like honey, the third oddly like copper, the fourth like nothing at all, and the fifth like strawberries. Each one left a warm sensation spreading through his chest.
"That will prevent all magical diseases?" Yara asked, her professional interest evident.
"Of course not," Aldermark said cheerfully. "These are just the ones we have vaccines for. Dragon Pox, Spattergroit, Scrofungulus, Vanishing Sickness, and Purple Warts. There are many other wizarding diseases, but these are the most common and most dangerous. The good news is, as a wizard, James won't get any Muggle diseases except the common cold. Magic provides a certain baseline immunity."
Yara asked several more questions about magical medicine, about how healing worked, about what conditions were treatable. Aldermark answered patiently, clearly used to curious Muggleborn parents.
"Clean bill of health," he said finally. "I'll send his medical certificate to Hogwarts this afternoon."
"Certificate?" Michael asked McGonagall as they filed out of the room.
"Hogwarts requires health certificates for all Muggleborn students," she explained. "It ensures they've received their vaccines and had a professional check. Can't have students spreading Dragon Pox through the castle."
They made their way back through the hospital, past the strange injuries and bizarre ailments, and returned to the Mercedes. This time, Michael drove with slightly more confidence, following McGonagall's directions for another ten minutes until they reached a busy shopping street in central London.
"Park here," McGonagall instructed.
They found a spot and climbed out, looking around. The street was crowded with Saturday shoppers, normal Muggle shops lining both sides.
"Where's the magical district?" Michael asked.
James scanned the street, and suddenly, he saw it. Between a large bookshop and a record store, where there should have been nothing, stood a grimy little pub. The Leaky Cauldron. Shabby and unobtrusive, it seemed to actively discourage notice.
"There it is," James said, pointing.
His parents looked where he was pointing, confused. "Where? I just see that bookshop and the record store. There's nothing between them."
"Take his hands again," McGonagall instructed.
The moment they touched James, they both started. "Oh!" Yara gasped. "It's right there. How did we not see it?"
"Muggle-repelling charms," McGonagall said. "Same as St. Mungo's. The Leaky Cauldron has been here for centuries, and Muggles walk past it every day without ever noticing. It's one of the most powerful pieces of protective magic in London."
They approached the shabby pub. The sign above the door showed a leaky cauldron, paint fading, and rusty hinges. But to James, who could feel the magic thrumming through the place, it looked beautiful.
McGonagall pushed open the door.
And the wizarding world opened before them.