There was no ticket in the letter, though Petunia Dursley assured me that a similar letter had arrived for my mother, Lily Evans, with a ticket for the Hogwarts Express. Before I opened the letter, it had not been tampered with, as evidenced by the intact wax seal. Could it be that the train ticket was stolen? Of course, it's possible, although unlikely; it was probably just an administrative mistake, and they simply forgot about my ticket. Orphans are always ranked lower than other children.
I took a pencil from the desk, wrote on the envelope about the missing detail and my complete lack of knowledge about the magical world, and requested that they send a guide or someone familiar with the preparations for the school year. The owl, surprisingly, hadn't flown off yet, seemingly waiting for something? I shoved the response back into its beak, and it flew off immediately. Now, I just had to wait for the response from the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wondered, is Hogwarts like Ban Ard? A double curiosity, since I'd never attended an official magical school before.
The reply came the very next day, or rather, a woman appeared—a rather stern-looking one with glasses, which did not align with my expectations. I knew about Hogwarts' co-education, since my mother and father had attended the same faculty at the same time, but I subconsciously expected to see an elderly wizard in a robe with a long staff, speaking of the greatness of magic and the high virtues, much like the nonsense they spout in Ban Ard and Aretuza at first. It turned out I had underestimated the liberalism of this world's relationships.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she fixed me with a stern look. I barely held back a laugh. Just think about it, an old sorceress—I'd never seen anything like it, unless you count the village healers and self-taught witches. This was probably what Yennefer or Tissaia de Vries would look like without their decoctions, mandrake ointments, and other elixirs.
"Good morning, Miss…"
"Miss Minerva McGonagall," the woman introduced herself. "I am the Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts and the Head of Gryffindor House, Mr. Potter. We received your reply, and that's why I was sent to give you your instructions, considering the circumstances." She said this while looking around the living room. During this time, we had moved from the doorstep inside. The Dursleys didn't dare protest. Obedient Muggles.
"And what happened to my ticket, Professor?" I was genuinely curious, because this awkward situation, where an adult is lecturing a "child," could have easily been avoided. My aunt, being non-magical, had always tried to appear normal, unaware of the supernatural side of the world. For years, she had worked on creating a mask of realism, attempting to hide her cowardice and envy towards her own sister, Lily Evans. The latter was the stronger emotion. However, with the right question from me, my aunt revealed many interesting facts.
She was well aware of magical Britain, of Diagon Alley, where wizard children buy their school supplies before the school year, and the hidden platform 9¾ at King's Cross Station, from where the Hogwarts Express departs on September 1st at 11 a.m. to take students to Hogsmeade. Aunt Petunia knew a lot; I didn't even need to talk to her much. I read her like an open book. Thoughts that provoke strong emotions always surface on the mind. One leading question and a silent answer told me more than a thousand lying words.
"There was an unfortunate incident, Mr. Potter, but fortunately, I have your ticket." Minerva pulled the ticket from the folds of her robe and handed it to me, along with a new letter. "Now, Mr. Potter, if your guardians don't mind, I'd like to show you Diagon Alley, where you can buy everything you need for school this year."
"They don't mind, Miss McGonagall, but I have no money."
"That's not a problem, Mr. Potter, I assure you," the professor said with a meaningful smile.
We left the house immediately. I just threw a jacket over my sweater, put on sneakers, expecting the witch to open a portal, but no, it was much simpler. She stopped by the road, waved her wand, and at great speed, as if materializing out of thin air, a magical triple-decker bus arrived, stopping right in front of us.
The conductor, a strange young man named Stanley Shunpike, seemed to know the Transfiguration professor well—evidently, Hogwarts professors are held in high regard in Britain. However, he was even more thrilled when he learned my name.
"Professor, may I ask why Mr. Stanley reacted so excitedly?"
"Get used to it, Harry," the professor smiled at me, "you're a celebrity. The entire magical world of England knows you."
"Is it because of who killed my parents? Could you tell me more about what happened that night, please, Miss McGonagall, we still have some time while we're traveling…" I didn't even finish the sentence before the bus stopped in front of a pub. Fast, I thought.
Professor Minerva didn't answer and waved it off, saying we'd talk after taking care of everything. I hope she doesn't think I'll forget my question. Anyway, we found ourselves in a dim, tiny bar called The Leaky Cauldron. My first impression was twofold—it was like I'd stepped back in time, into one of the low-quality taverns. The difference between a regular London pub and this place was like taking a huge step back from a comfortable chair to a straw mattress, which, strangely enough, was just as comfortable. I didn't think I'd miss Neverland.
Inside the tavern, they greeted me like a hero. The innkeeper, the patrons, the visitors—they all introduced themselves, mentioned their names, swore friendship, and thanked me. Who would have thought that attention could be unpleasant, especially when you don't understand why they're honoring you?
We didn't stay long at the bar, walking into a small courtyard surrounded by walls with nothing but a trash bin and some weeds. Then Minerva McGonagall touched the bricks above the bin in a specific order three times. The bricks folded inward, opening an archway leading to an unusual place.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter." The witch paused, clearly expecting me to fall into shock or at least be surprised, but without waiting for me to react, she continued: "On the back of the second sheet, you should have a list of the required items for school. Now, we're going to Gringotts, the only wizarding bank run by goblins. You may not know, but your parents made arrangements for your future, Mr. Potter."
I listened half-heartedly, marking important details about the family inheritance, but I was more interested in the fate of my parents. On the way to the bank, I tried not to look at the local wonders; there was no time for that now. Unfolding the letter, I read the Hogwarts invitation from yesterday, carefully examining the second sheet.
**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**
**Uniform**
First-year students are required to have:
Three plain black robes.
One plain black pointed hat for everyday wear.
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or a material of similar properties).
One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings).
Please remember to sew name tags on the clothing.
**Books**
Each student should have the following books:
"Beginner's Guide to Spells and Charms" by Miranda Gussock
"History of Magic" by Bathilda Bagshot
"Theory of Magic" by Adalbert Woffling
"Transfiguration for Beginners" by Emeric Switch
"One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Phyllida Spore
"Magical Potions and Brews" by Zig Myszjakoff
"Fantastic Beasts: Their Habitats" by Newt Scamander
"Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Defense" by Quentin Trimble
Also required:
1 wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size #2), 1 set of glass or crystal vials, 1 telescope, 1 set of brass scales.
Students may also bring an owl, cat, or toad.
**REMINDER TO PARENTS: FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.**
"I appreciated the joke about the parents."
"Sorry, Mr. Potter, the letters are written by enchanted self-writing quills, and the text is standardized for everyone, except for names and places, of course."
We stopped in front of a gleaming white building towering over the little shops. At the polished brass doors, a creature that vaguely resembled a goblin (if compared to the ones from Neverland) stood in a red-and-gold uniform. They looked more like leprechauns, though these two races are distantly related.
From what I had seen, a thought, grand in its scale and probabilities, flashed through my mind. What if the people in Neverland came from this world, from Earth? Yes, the theory is weak, but facts that support its plausibility keep popping into my mind one after another.
"Professor McGonagall, are you going to tell me that giants and dragons exist too?" I asked, trying to sound sarcastic.
"How do you know, Mr. Potter? Are you sure you had no connections with the magical world before today?"
"I did." The witch narrowed her eyes.
"And you kept quiet? That could have been dangerous for your life, Mr. Potter. Who did you contact?"
"Yesterday's postal owl."
Minerva appreciated the joke, smiling slightly, and then we climbed the white stone steps leading to the bank.
"Don't you think that showing a child the financial side of things would blow all the magic out of their head in an instant? What if the child is an orphan and has no money for school?"
"In that case, the Hogwarts board of governors and other school sponsors will provide for the education."
"Just like that, for free?"
"Exactly, Mr. Potter."
"Truly magic, Professor, nothing could be more magical. Most likely, such free help means several years of unpaid work for the benefit of society."
Minerva McGonagall addressed a free goblin-leprechaun regarding withdrawing a specific amount from my vault, handing him the key. The goblin examined it closely, studying it, while I studied the bank itself. What I saw didn't exactly thrill me.
Vilgefortz wasn't the most tolerant wizard, he considered all people beneath him, especially women, and other races were no better in his eyes. Part of that passed down to me. Minerva had mentioned the monopoly of goblin-leprechauns on banking operations in the magical world of Britain. I don't know the details of how things ended up this way, but at first glance, it seemed utterly insane. One institution handling all the financial matters, old witches, and what's next—giant teachers?
When the professor finished speaking with the goblin named Griphook, we headed to the vault, and the ride down the rails on a small cart turned out to be the most absurd thing in my new life. But what followed greatly lifted my mood. Money had never been a goal for me, rather a means, and a pleasant one at that. Money could solve many problems, usually through someone else's hands, keeping me safe, out of sight of enemies. My late parents left me a considerable sum for a carefree life. I'm incredibly grateful to them, but my life will be full of various "concerns." I'm more than sure that sum will run out pretty quickly.
After getting acquainted with the family fortune, the professor and I took a trip around Diagon Alley, shopping for all the items on the list, top to bottom, and more. Besides books, clothes, cauldrons, and other essential school supplies, I picked up a few artifacts. I bought myself an extension charm suitcase, a few books for advanced wizards, and textbooks for all seven years of study at Hogwarts. Miss McGonagall was puzzled as to why I needed books on such complex magic, but she didn't object to the unreasonable spending, which was strange. Magic is a dangerous science; the slightest mistake, a single slip-up in casting a spell, and thousands could be harmed. You'd be lucky if you were the only one who died. If McGonagall allowed me to buy these books out of maternal feelings toward an orphan or thinking, "Let the child amuse himself," her authority in my eyes would seriously drop.
It's also worth mentioning the purchase of a wand. Artifacts that concentrate magical forces, in one form or another, are possessed by every wizard who has completed traditional training. Magic staffs, wands, rings, necklaces, bracelets, grimoires, and other enchanted artifacts that help the wizard increase the efficiency of their spells, spend less magical energy, and increase the power or duration of their effects. Not necessarily all at once, but thanks to such artifacts, even novices could show something impressive.
The wand I bought for seven golden galleons had only the outward appearance in common with a classic wand. The functionality of this artifact could only be loosely considered a focusing tool. It seemed like a simple construction, with a wooden body and a magical core. Two components, plus a few factors like flexibility and length, should determine the owner, right? I don't believe it. This tool had something else hidden, even from the gaze of wizards. Charms or enchantments that allow local wizards to cast with just two or three words, and with a mere flick of the wand.
While we were walking around Diagon Alley, I witnessed many spells, including some fairly impressive telekinesis. A wizard simply waved his wand, without uttering a word, and a couple of heavy chests floated up to his chest level, smoothly following him. Of course, I can do the same even without a wand, right now, in a weakened state. However, Vilgefortz wasn't a common wizard in his world, and neither am I. Oh, I like this puzzle. I bet that once I solve it, I'll become much stronger. It was after visiting Ollivanders' shop that I was finally convinced of the serious differences between the local magic and the magic of Neverland. So, if these gaps aren't filled, I could quickly find myself left behind, at the end of the serpent's tail, not far from its fangs.
But with shopping done, the only thing I didn't buy was a pet. I decided that if it came down to it, I'd definitely get a cat, but for now, I'd do without. Before we parted ways, Professor Minerva McGonagall explained in more detail how to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and then she was ready to leave. But I wasn't about to let her go just like that.
"Professor, have you forgotten something?"
She sighed deeply, searching around with her eyes until they caught the sign for Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. That's where we had our conversation, and as a result, I got a general overview of the biggest threat in magical Britain. An amazing story—it's not every day that you learn you've been a killer since infancy.
This Voldemort left me a scar on my forehead, cursed me with a magical parasite, but the professor didn't need to know such details. According to her, some of Voldemort's supporters, who once cried on the scaffold, are now upstanding citizens who have secured themselves a reputation as victims of mind control. Who knows who this witch really serves? Yes, in the present time, because many are not sure that the one-who-must-not-be-named has truly died. Many believe he simply lost his powers or has hidden away, recruiting new followers.
I'm sure the truth is somewhere in between, which gives me even more reason to get to school as quickly as possible, under reliable protection, focusing on strengthening my magical muscles, studying, and recovering my old skills.