The morning sunlight spilled lazily into Cael's room, but it was the sharp tap-tap-tap on the windowpane—not the warmth—that jolted him awake.
He scrambled out of bed, heart racing, and threw open the window.
There it was.
An owl.
Large, tawny, and majestic, it sat on the sill with all the grace and disdain of a royal courier inconvenienced by the mortal world. Its golden eyes fixed Cael with an expression that clearly read: Finally.
"You've got a letter for me," Cael whispered in awe, reaching out with trembling fingers.
The owl huffed, extended one leg, and allowed the parchment to be untied with the air of someone doing charity work.
The envelope was thick and creamy. The ink shimmered emerald green.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, etc. etc.)
Cael sat on the edge of his bed and stared.
It was real.
It was happening.
Hands shaking, he opened the letter and read every word like a sacred rite:
⸻
Dear Mr. Vale,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Term begins on September 1st. Enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Please confirm your attendance by owl no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
⸻
Cael didn't blink for a full thirty seconds.
Then he stood up, spun in a circle, and whispered to the sky, "YES! YES! THANK YOU, MAGIC GODS!"
The owl blinked slowly, unimpressed.
"Dude," the System piped in, "you're embarrassing me in front of the bird."
Cael ignored it. He rushed to his desk, yanked out a piece of paper, and grabbed the first pen he could find (slightly chewed, still functional).
"Okay," he muttered. "Convince them. Be cool. Don't sound insane."
He wrote:
⸻
To Professor McGonagall (or whoever reads this first),
Hello! My name is Cael Vale and I am very grateful to receive this letter.
There's just one tiny, slightly enormous problem.
I live in an orphanage. Our house doesn't even have a microwave. Magic is something adults here blame for television corruption and childhood imagination or something the TV invents to distract kids from homework.
If I tell Mama Linda—a lovely woman who runs the orphanage—that I've been invited to a school for witches and wizards, she'll assume I've gone mental. Or worse, she'll call a therapist.
So… please, respectfully, desperately…
Could you send someone? A representative? A real wizard or witch who can explain everything to her?
Preferably someone who doesn't look like a cult leader. Or smell like mushrooms.
I really, really want to attend Hogwarts. I've worked hard. I solved a thousand integrals. I followed a strange man in a green robe into a pub hidden behind a wall (which, yes, sounds insane now that I write it). But I need help convincing my guardian.
Please.
Yours (nervously),
Cael Vale
P.S. The owl you sent is terrifying. But cool. Also, do I get to keep one? Asking for a friend. (Me. I'm the friend.)
⸻
He folded the letter and offered it to the owl along with a couple of nuts from his stash.
The bird gave him a look that seemed to say what kind of lunatic am I delivering for now? but nonetheless took the letter and launched into the sky with a regal flap of its wings.
Cael closed the window, heart pounding.
"That might've been a little… much," he murmured.
"Oh, you think?" the System snapped. "You literally confessed to sneaking into Diagon Alley without an adult and begged for an owl. McGonagall's going to throw a brick at you."
"Wait—WHY didn't you stop me?!"
"I wanted to see how the professors react."
Cael groaned and collapsed onto his bed. "I'm going to Hogwarts. Or prison."
⸻
Meanwhile, in the Highlands of Scotland…
Professor Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk, sorting through parchment with the precision of a battle-hardened general. A rustle of feathers made her glance up just in time to see a familiar owl drop a letter on her desk.
A student reply? Curious.
She opened the envelope.
And began to read.
By the second paragraph, her eyebrows had shot up.
By the fourth, she was chuckling.
By the end, she was laughing—a rare, genuine sound that would have sent most Gryffindors into cardiac shock.
Still smiling, she stood, letter in hand, and made her way to the Headmaster's office.
The eagle gargoyle turned obediently at her password—"sherbet lemon"—and the staircase spiraled upward.
Inside, Albus Dumbledore looked up from his teacup. "Minerva? You're smiling. Should I alert the press?"
"I received a rather… unique reply." She handed him the letter.
Dumbledore read, stroking his beard. Halfway through, his shoulders began to shake.
"Quite the candid young man," he said at last. "He snuck into Diagon Alley on his own, solved a thousand integrals, and somehow made fun of cults and owls in the same breath."
Minerva crossed her arms. "He reminds me of someone."
"Don't say the twins."
"Oh, I was thinking of you."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Fair enough."
"So," she said, already fastening her cloak, "I suppose I'll go visit him. Speak to this Mama Linda, and make sure Mr. Vale is properly introduced to the magical world."