The next morning, Elderfield was quiet as always. The sky was soft blue, the birds chirped in rhythm, and the smell of dew still lingered in the grass.
But inside Wishing Well Cottage, no one was calm.
Mara kept pacing in the kitchen, wiping the same cup over and over again. Thom was outside pretending to fix the fence, but he hadn't hammered a single nail in twenty minutes. Harris sat near the window, watching.
They were all waiting.
Because the letter said someone would come.
To explain everything.
And then, just as the clock struck nine… it happened.
With a soft pop, a figure appeared right outside the garden gate, as if she had stepped out of thin air.
She was tall, dressed in a long green robe with silver trim, her hair in a tight bun. Her eyes were sharp but kind, and when she smiled, it was both warm and proud.
She walked up to the door and knocked politely.
Thom opened it, jaw slightly hanging. Mara froze with the cup still in hand.
"Good morning," the woman said. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I believe you've received our letter?"
Harris stepped forward, hands behind his back, and gave a respectful nod. "Yes, Professor. Thank you for coming."
McGonagall studied him carefully for a moment, then nodded with approval.
"May I come in?"
Inside, the small living room suddenly felt too small.
Professor McGonagall sat straight on the couch, sipping tea politely while Mara and Thom sat stiffly across from her, unsure what to say. Harris sat quietly nearby, eyes full of questions.
"So," McGonagall began, "let me start with the basics. Your son is what we call a wizard, someone born with the natural ability to use magic."
"But… how?" Mara asked, confused. "We're just… normal."
"It happens," McGonagall said kindly. "Some magical children are born to non-magical parents. We call them Muggle-borns. Others, like Harris here, may have magical ancestry we don't fully understand yet."
Thom rubbed his chin. "So this Hogwarts… it's real?"
"As real as the nose on your face, Mr. Thom. It is a school where young witches and wizards learn to use magic safely and responsibly."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small wooden box. Opening it, she drew out a thin, elegant wand.
"May I demonstrate?"
Thom and Mara hesitated, then nodded.
McGonagall gave her wand a tiny flick.
The teacups began to float. The fireplace lit with blue flames. Mara's dishcloth folded itself and placed itself neatly in the sink.
Thom blinked. "Well… I'll be."
"Magic is not all fun and games," McGonagall said. "But it is beautiful, dangerous, and real. And your son has a rare gift. One we at Hogwarts are eager to help him develop."
After a bit more discussion, and a few calming breaths from Mara, McGonagall stood up.
"I've come not just to explain, but to escort you all to Diagon Alley. You'll need to purchase supplies, and Harris will need a wand. You may come with me."
Mara blinked. "Wait… now?"
Thom grabbed his coat. "Why not?"
Harris was already at the door, heart racing with excitement.
A few minutes later, holding tightly to McGonagall's arm, Harris and his parents felt the world twist and spin. Their feet left the ground. The cottage vanished
And they landed in a small, busy street filled with people in robes, owls hooting, cauldrons bubbling, and floating books zooming by.
"Welcome," said McGonagall with a rare smile, "to Diagon Alley."
Mara gasped, eyes wide at the stores packed with magical items.
There were shops selling robes, apothecaries with glowing potions, broomsticks floating in windows, and even a toad playing a tiny violin.
"This is… unbelievable," Thom said, looking like a child in a candy store.
But Harris?
He was silent.
He was staring at a sign that read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
McGonagall gently touched his shoulder.
"Shall we find your wand first, Mr. Wells?"