After writing his reply, Alan sealed the parchment inside a brand-new envelope and held it out. The brown owl perched on the windowsill skillfully snatched the letter from his fingers, secured it tightly against its body, and launched itself into the sky without so much as a backward glance.
"So cool," Alan muttered to himself.
He leaned against the window frame, wondering what the magical world actually looked like in this era. Had Voldemort already been defeated by baby Harry? His knowledge of the franchise was frustratingly vague. He vividly remembered a friend from his past life talking about it; apparently, a dark wizard named Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents but inexplicably failed to kill the infant, resulting in his own destruction. But Alan was entirely clueless about the specific political climate of the magical world in 1980, or where exactly they were in the original timeline.
"No point overthinking it. I'll just wait for Hogwarts to respond," he decided. In any reality, personal strength was the ultimate foundation. Becoming stronger was never the wrong move.
With that pragmatic mindset, he threw himself right back into his rigorous daily routine. Alan had structured a punishingly tight training schedule for his summer break at the orphanage: extensive warm-ups, shadowboxing, martial arts stances, intense cardio, deep meditation, and what he used to call "levitation Training"—which was now officially rebranded as magical training. Everything proceeded with absolute, unbroken discipline.
Time always flew by when living such a regimented life. Merely two days after dispatching his acceptance letter, a highly unusual guest appeared at Alan's door.
"Are you telling me you're Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts?" Alan asked, eyeing the stern, middle-aged woman standing in the hallway. The woman claiming the title wore square spectacles, had her dark hair pulled back into a severe, tight bun, and was draped in flowing, emerald-green robes that looked entirely out of place in modern London.
"That is correct Mr Wilson. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts," she replied crisply. "I received your owl, Mr. Wilson. It is customary for us to personally visit Muggle families—that is, non-magical families—who have had no prior contact with our world." She paused, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction. "Naturally, that policy extends to independent young men residing in your circumstances as well. Now, are you going to invite me inside, Mr. Wilson?"
"Oh, my apologies, Professor McGonagall. Please, come in," Alan said smoothly, stepping aside to grant her entry. "I suppose I just haven't entirely processed this whole 'school of magic' revelation yet."
As she stepped over the threshold, Professor McGonagall's keen eyes immediately swept the room. It was decidedly small and spartan: a narrow bed, a simple wooden table with a matching chair, a compact bookshelf, a worn wardrobe, and a coat rack. In one corner sat a collection of heavy iron dumbbells. The bed was made with military precision, without a single wrinkle in the sheets. On the windowsill rested a small, thriving potted scallion plant.
The pristine tidiness and the crisp, refreshing atmosphere of the room instantly elevated her opinion of the boy. Given that this was a completely unannounced visit, it was clear evidence that this prospective student was remarkably disciplined.
"Forgive the humble accommodations, Professor. The room is rather simple," Alan offered a polite apology as he moved to pull out the room's single wooden chair for her.
"There is no need for such formalities, Alan—you don't mind if I call you Alan, do you? I have brought my own seating." With a fluid, practiced motion, Professor McGonagall drew a long, elegant wooden wand from her robes. She pointed it directly at the iron dumbbells stacked near the wall. In the blink of an eye, the heavy metal smoothly morphed and expanded, transfiguring into a plush, high-backed wooden chair with a comfortable tartan cushion. She seated herself with impeccable grace.
Alan was genuinely taken aback by the casual display of reality-bending power, but he maintained his stoic composure. He simply pulled up his own chair, positioned it across from her, and sat down.
"I noticed the letter requested a response by the thirty-first of July," Alan noted. "I honestly assumed I wouldn't receive a reply or a personal visit until sometime in August."
"That deadline is primarily for children raised within established wizarding households," McGonagall explained. "For children who are entirely unaware of our world, we make it a point to visit as early as possible. Furthermore, the current climate in the magical community is... rather sensitive right now." She seemed momentarily hesitant to elaborate on the grim reality of the ongoing war, deciding instead to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand.
"Children possessing magical talent are tracked and notified of their enrollment upon reaching the appropriate age. Hogwarts excels at teaching underage wizards how to properly control and channel their abilities. I trust you have experienced certain... inexplicable phenomena occurring around you over the past few years? It is common for underage wizards to gradually awaken their magic, often resulting in accidental magical outbursts."
Alan nodded slowly, processing her words. Rather than explain, he simply raised his hand and gave a casual wave. From across the room, a glass cup steadily floated through the air, hovering perfectly still in the space between them.
Professor McGonagall's heart gave a sudden, involuntary jolt at the sight. Was this child demonstrating a freely mastered Levitation Charm? And more astonishingly, he was executing it with wandless magic and silent spellcasting. "Mr. Wilson... Alan, are you absolutely certain you have never received formal magical instruction before today?"
"Positive, Professor," Alan replied evenly, letting the cup drift back to the desk. "Once I realized I could do things others couldn't, I started practicing on my own through deep meditation and focus exercises. Honestly, I just assumed it was a superpower like in the comics. But that's the absolute limit of what I can do. I certainly can't conjure a chair out of iron the way you just did."
"You will learn how to do precisely that at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall stated, her tone brimming with profound satisfaction. A disciplined, diligent, and incredibly hardworking student with immense natural talent—what a remarkably promising young wizard! Then, a shadow crossed her mind as she thought of the current violent chaos ravaging their world and the dark forces lurking in the shadows. The thought made her feel a sharp twinge of protective anxiety for the boy's future.
"Alan, I am exceedingly pleased to see such dedication," she said briskly, shifting back into her professional demeanor. "Now, we must get moving; our schedule today is quite tight. I need to formalize your departure with the orphanage's administration, and then I will escort you to purchase the necessary supplies for the upcoming school term."
Professor McGonagall proved to be a woman of decisive action and staggering efficiency. After a brief, closed-door conversation with the orphanage's senior staff, she had Alan's entire educational leave and living arrangements sorted out without a single hitch. Alan strongly suspected she had employed some magical persuasion, considering the usually stubborn administration hadn't raised a single objection.
"Did you use some of that magic when you were talking to Sister Therese and the director?" Alan couldn't help but ask as they walked out of the building. "They agreed to everything way too easily."
"Just a mild Confundus Charm," Professor McGonagall replied, a rare, slightly playful smirk ghosting across her stern features. "It does wonders for improving administrative efficiency, wouldn't you agree? But do not worry, it will not cause them any adverse side effects, nor will they forget you. You are perfectly free to return here during your summer holidays."
Alan would be very suspicious of her actions if he already didn't know about her character. He knew from the tidbits of his knowledge that she was a strict but fair professor.
"Now, I shall take you to acquire your school materials," she continued. "Given your particular circumstances, I have already taken the liberty of applying for a financial assistance fund on your behalf. The school board provides an annual stipend of twelve Galleons for students requiring aid."
"Oh, before I forget—the Galleon is the primary currency utilized in our world," she instructed. "The exchange rate is rather specific: one gold Galleon is equal to exactly seventeen silver Sickles, and one silver Sickle can be broken down into exactly twenty-nine bronze Knuts."
*Should I even be surprised? The people are quirky, after all,* Alan thought with an internal sigh. *Even the magical currency exchange rates are a convoluted mathematical nightmare.* He could already feel a mild headache forming at the thought of calculating his daily expenses.