The dragon egg lounged on the bed, basking in a patch of sunlight. The light would shift as the sun moved, but Lukas Vale knew the little one was clever enough to roll itself to a new sunny spot when necessary.
"Young Master, we should depart," came Rowan's polite reminder. "You're already an hour later than usual."
"I know," Lukas replied, his tone impatient. "I'm the boss, not some clock-punching shop boy. I arrive when I decide to arrive."
Rowan's lips twitched. "Then… perhaps we should not go at all today? You seem to be enjoying yourself. Happiness is worth more than a vault of galleons."
"That won't do." Lukas shook his head firmly. "A good boss inspects the business. Unless you'd rather I grow up to be as… *hands-off* as my dear father when I take over the family holdings?"
That last remark earned Lukas a faintly awkward silence. Criticizing the current head of House Vale was not something a butler could do, even if he agreed.
Minutes later, the two stood at the Manor's fireplace. A sprinkle of Floo powder, a whoosh of green flames, and they stepped out into **Vale's Finest**, Lukas's high-end beverage shop in West Cross Alley.
---
**System: Sign in.**
**\[Sign-in complete. Location: West Cross Alley. Reward: +2 Magic Points.]**
Lukas smiled faintly at the familiar voice in his mind. The rest of the day passed in his preferred rhythm—learning simple spells, reading through newspapers, watching employees work, and quietly deciding whose salaries could be trimmed this month.
In a world without fast communication networks, a man had to find his amusements somewhere.
---
By mid-afternoon, Lukas rose lazily from his reclining chair. "Rowan, I'm heading back early to check on the little one. Mind the shop."
Rowan immediately stepped in front of him, straightening like a soldier. "Wherever you go, Young Master, I go. Those were your father's orders."
"Of course they were." Lukas forced a thin smile. At his current level—Intermediate Wizard—he couldn't force the issue. Rowan was easily a Magister, perhaps even a Grand Magister.
Outside, Lukas let the man keep his pride. Inside Vale Manor, Lukas was his own master.
"Can we Apparate?" Lukas asked suddenly.
Rowan hesitated. "It's simple for me, yes. And taking someone with me is fine. But there's no way to guarantee your safety one hundred percent. If something happened, I couldn't explain it to the Master. And frankly, most wizards avoid Apparition when they can. The convenience isn't worth the discomfort."
"Tch. Boring," Lukas muttered. "Forget it. We'll go back at six. No sense wasting Floo powder all day."
"As you wish."
---
Days passed in the same pattern, each one bringing Lukas a little closer to the moment the dragon egg would hatch.
On the seventh day, for the first time, he skipped the shop entirely. Instead, he sat in his bedroom, staring at the white, silver-veined egg, determined not to miss its first movement into life.
"Young… Young Master."
Lukas turned to see a house-elf shuffling toward him, holding a letter.
"A good day indeed," Lukas said lightly. "Have my parents finally remembered they have a son?"
"No, Young Master. This isn't from the Master or Madam. But it is addressed to you."
"To me?" Lukas raised an eyebrow. "Now that is interesting. I wonder who else bothers to write to me."
It wasn't that Lukas had no social circle. He had relatives, but they'd address official matters to his parents. Friends existed, but none close enough for letters.
"Bring it here."
The elf stepped forward and placed it carefully in Lukas's hand.
The address read:
**London**
**Vale Manor**
**Mr. Lukas Vale**
"Straightforward," Lukas murmured. He turned the envelope over—then froze.
A shield-shaped crest, with a capital **H** in the center. A lion, snake, badger, and eagle marked the four corners. Above them, one word: **Hogwarts**.
"Rowan! Now!" Lukas barked, already tearing the envelope open.
---
**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**
Principal: *Albus Dumbledore* (President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grand Magister First Class of the Order of Merlin, Chief Magister of the Wizengamot)
> *Dear Mr. Vale,*
> We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
> Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
> Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by July 31.
> *Sincerely,*
> Albus Dumbledore
---
Lukas read every word, his lips curling into a strange, almost foolish grin. Then came the laughter—sharp, a little unhinged, but carrying a note of bittersweet relief.
"You called, Young Master?" Rowan appeared beside him.
Lukas thrust the letter into his hands. "Read it. Tell me what you see."
Rowan's brow lifted. "A Hogwarts letter. So—will you go?"
"Of course. My father promised that once I was enrolled in a magic school, you wouldn't be breathing down my neck until I graduate. This is my golden ticket to freedom."
Rowan's expression softened slightly. "Hogwarts is under the protection of the greatest White Wizard alive. Still… the Master always hoped you'd choose Durmstrang. Pure-blood student body, excellent faculty, and more… opportunities for the Vale family to arrange your care."
"Arranged care? Absolutely not." Lukas's eyes flashed. "Kill me first. Hogwarts, or nothing."
"…As you wish, Young Master. But we must inform your parents."
"Fine. But hurry. It's July 24. If they're still halfway across the world enjoying themselves, they'll miss their darling son for half a year."
"I'll send the letter at once." Rowan's gaze drifted to the dragon egg, sensing its faint magic and strange sacred energy. "The Master will also want to hear about… that."
"Of course. I'll need their approval to keep it openly later."
"Yobby!" Lukas called.
"Present, Young Master!"
"Where's the owl that brought this?"
"I'll fetch it now!" The elf darted off and returned with a grey owl nearly half his size.
Lukas grabbed a sheet of parchment and scrawled in brisk strokes:
> *It is an honor to receive this acceptance letter. I will report on September 1.*
> *Sincerely,*
> Lukas Vale
Rowan peered over his shoulder. "That's… the simplest reply I've ever seen."
"No need for more," Lukas said. "I'm eleven. Hogwarts just wants a confirmation, not a novel. If I wrote something too polished, they'd suspect ghostwriting."
Rowan considered this, then tapped his wand to transform the plain paper into a fine, embossed envelope.
---