Time seemed to suspend itself in the cool morning air. No one moved; the entire family stood frozen like statues in a garden display. It felt as though half an hour had passed in silence, though in reality, the shock had likely lasted only ten seconds.
Albert was the first to break the spell. He bent down and retrieved the heavy, yellowish envelope from the pavement. It felt thick and textured—parchment, not paper. There was no stamp. Instead, the address was scrawled in shimmering emerald green ink.
He read it softly under his breath:
Mr. A. Anderson No. 1 Tibber Alley London
The moment Albert finished reading the address, a familiar chime rang out in his mind. The semi-transparent blue panel flickered into existence.
[Quest Triggered: The Wizard's Path] Description: You possess the dormant potential to become a Wizard, though you are not yet qualified. A precious opportunity has arisen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Reward: 10,000 Experience Points, 2 Skill Points, [Wizard Bloodline +1].
Wizard Bloodline?
Albert stared at the floating text, stunned.
What on earth is this?
The reward of 2 Skill Points was incredibly tempting. To put it in perspective, getting into Eton College—a feat requiring years of academic grinding—only offered 1 Skill Point. In all his years since rebirth, Albert had only hoarded a total of 3 Skill Points, which he treated like a dragon hoarding gold, refusing to spend them on anything trivial.
But the implications were far more jarring than the rewards.
This is a novel world.
And not just any novel. The mention of "Wizard" and "Hogwarts" pointed to only one place: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
Albert flipped the heavy envelope over. There, stamped in purple wax, was the undeniable crest: a shield quartered with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake, all surrounding a large letter 'H'.
"Mum," Nia asked, her voice cutting through the silence as she stared at the barn owl perched on the fence nearby. "Do zoos train owls to work as postmen now?"
"Nia, don't be silly. No one uses owls to deliver mail. At least, normal people don't," Daisy said, her voice tight. She forced a laugh, but it sounded brittle. "It's a prank. Just a silly prank."
She glanced at her husband, expecting agreement, but Herb was staring at the letter in Albert's hand with a furrowed brow.
"What's wrong, dear?" Daisy asked, her anxiety spiking. "Shouldn't we be leaving?"
"It's nothing," Herb murmured, though he didn't look up. "Albert, let me see that letter."
"Oh, here." Albert handed the parchment envelope to his father.
"Herb!" Daisy snapped, her patience fraying.
Herb didn't seem to hear the displeasure in his wife's voice. His fingers trembled slightly as he tore open the seal. He pulled out the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents rapidly. The color drained from his face, only to be replaced by a flush of complex emotion.
"Children," he said, his voice unusually grave. "It seems our plans for London will have to be postponed."
"Dear, what happened? What is in that letter?" Daisy's tone grew heavy, a pit forming in her stomach. She sensed a shift in the atmosphere—something she couldn't control.
"Dad, what does it say?" Nia pressed, bouncing on her heels.
Only Albert remained impassive.
"Let's talk in the living room, Daisy," Herb said firmly. He slammed the car door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street, and ushered his confused family back toward the house.
Behind them, the owl that had delivered the letter didn't fly away. It merely shuffled its wings and waited.
Back in the living room, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Herb Anderson, you'd better give me a proper explanation right now," Daisy demanded, her hands on her hips. She was furious—she had been looking forward to seeing her son being fitted for his Eton tailcoat all week.
"Dad, read it out! I want to know who knew exactly where we were!" Albert said, feigning curiosity.
Internally, Albert was as calm as a millpond. Of course, he knew what the letter was. If he hadn't already experienced the shock of death, rebirth, and a game system appearing in his brain, he might have been flawed. But compared to transmigration, finding out he was in the Harry Potter universe was barely a blip on the radar.
Besides, in his past life, he had read the bestsellers. He had even written a fanfiction or two. He knew the lore.
"Very well. I'll read it," Herb said. He looked at his son, noting the boy's unnatural calmness, before clearing his throat and reading from the parchment:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
"Hogwarts... School?" Daisy's eyes went wide. She had heard the name before—in whispers she had dismissed as nonsense.
"Magic? Is there really magic in this world?" Nia gasped, her face lighting up with poorly concealed excitement. "I want to learn magic too! I want to go to magic school!"
"Hmph. Albert, let me see!" Nia lunged for the letter, dissatisfied that her brother was the center of attention.
"Nia, sit down. Let Dad finish," Albert said, pulling her back by the collar of her dress. He guided his seething mother to the sofa and made her sit.
"Son, I will absolutely not let you go to any Hogw—whatever it is!" Daisy hissed. She glared at Herb, her intuition telling her that her husband was hiding something.
Herb ignored the interruption and continued reading the body of the letter:
Dear Mr. Anderson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress
Herb finished reading and handed the parchment back to Albert.
Albert scanned it briefly—standard boilerplate acceptance letter—and handed it to his sister. Nia snatched it eagerly, running over to Daisy to show her.
Daisy read the letter again, her eyes narrowing at every sentence. Finally, she looked up, articulating each word with icy precision.
"I. Will. Not. Agree. To. This." She took a breath. "Albert is going to Eton. This is a scam. Someone is playing a sick joke. We should call the police immediately and have them arrest these troublemakers."
"Mum," Nia chirped, pointing at a line on the parchment. "It says 'we await your owl.' Does that mean they want us to write back using the bird outside?"
Daisy didn't answer. She was staring at her husband with an oppressive, demanding gaze.
"Dad," Albert interjected smoothly, drawing attention away from the impending marital dispute. "Do you know something about this?"
"Not exactly," Herb sighed. He rubbed his temples, a look of distant nostalgia washing over his face. "When I was about your age... my father—your grandfather—was devastated when I didn't receive a letter from Hogwarts."
The room fell silent.
"I asked him once what Hogwarts was. He just said it was a school. Later, one night when he'd had too much to drink, I asked him why he wanted me to go there so badly."
Herb's voice dropped to a whisper. "He told me he was a Squib. I didn't know what the word meant at the time."
He looked up, his eyes slightly watery. "I remember he cried that night. I think... I think I finally understand what Hogwarts is. Father would be so happy to know his grandson received the letter."
Albert nodded slowly. He knew what a Squib was—a non-magical person born to magical parents. It explained why he had the "Wizard Bloodline" but no active magical skills in his System panel until now. The gene had skipped a generation.
"I need to write to him. No, I'll call him! He'll be ecstatic!" Herb stood up, looking ready to sprint to the telephone.
"HERB ANDERSON!"
Daisy's shout shook the walls.
"Albert is going to Eton College! He is going to be a titan of industry, a leader, a success! He is not going to some obscure magician's school we've never heard of! Do you understand? This is his future! I will not allow you to ruin it with your father's fairy tales!"
She was hyperventilating, her chest heaving with panic and anger.
"Mum, calm down. We haven't even confirmed if magic is real yet," Albert said. He reached out and took his mother's trembling hand, his voice soothing and mature.
"Look," he reasoned, "The letter says 'we await your owl,' right? Why don't we write back? We can tell this Hogwarts school to send a professor here to prove that magic exists. If they can't prove it, then they're liars and frauds."
Daisy paused. The logic penetrated her panic.
"You're right," she breathed, clutching Albert's hand. "You're absolutely right, son."
She clenched her free hand into a fist and pumped it in the air, her eyes blazing with determination.
"Let that damned school try to prove it! Just you wait. I'm going to call the police, catch these fraudsters, and make sure they rot in prison for years!"