Chương 9: Chapter 10 : Hogwarts Acceptance Letter II

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) Dear Mr. Steward, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on the 1st of September. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. We very much look forward to welcoming you to Hogwarts. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress...

His gaze dropped to the second page of the letter, where the equipment list was neatly written out. Robes. Books. A cauldron. A wand. A lot of things, actually. There was even a telescope on the list, which immediately caught his eye. He'd always wanted one. After skimming through it, Tyson handed the parchment over to his father, who took it and began reading carefully. His eyes narrowed as he reached the supply list, his expression still a little pale from what he had just witnessed.

"You're serious," he muttered, his voice rough.

"Very," McGonagall replied without hesitation. The next several minutes were spent explaining. She spoke plainly, going over the basics of what magic was, what Hogwarts existed for, and why Tyson had been invited. She explained accidental magic, how it often appeared in magical children before they learned control, and why proper education was necessary to keep it from becoming dangerous. That part, at least, made sense to his parents. Especially his father.

After all, the man had literally witnessed Tyson teleport right before his eyes.

"And what if he doesn't go?" his father asked. McGonagall's expression sharpened slightly.

"Then his magic remains untrained and uncontrolled. That can be dangerous. Not only to himself, but to others around him as well." That changed the atmosphere immediately. Tyson could feel it. The uncertainty had shifted into something heavier. Concern, perhaps. Before the silence could drag on, Tyson spoke up.

"So what exactly am I going to learn at this Hogwarts?" He already knew the answer, of course. But he had to keep appearances. As far as everyone here knew, he was just an ordinary Muggle-born who knew nothing about any of this. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to refresh his memory of the wizarding world. McGonagall looked at him, her gaze lingering a second longer than expected. Tyson caught the faint surprise in her eyes. He understood.

Upon witnessing a thing straight out of a fairy tale and learning they were soon going to become a part of it, most children would probably be bouncing in excitement, or demanding to see more magic. While Tyson was utterly calm, even having the leisure to ask a practical question. It stood out. Then again, most children didn't already know Hogwarts existed. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic," she replied concisely. Tyson deliberately showed a confused expression, then nodded slowly, as if committing the subjects to memory. His father exhaled through his nose.

"So he has to move to... Hogwarts?"

"During term time, yes." His jaw tightened.

"He's eleven." McGonagall's face softened, though only slightly.

"A difficult age to let go, certainly. But Hogwarts is the safest place for him to learn." Tyson resisted the urge to snort. Canon said otherwise. His mother had gone quieter now, her disbelief giving way to worry.

"A hidden world," she murmured.

"And we knew nothing about it until now."

"That is by design, Mrs. Steward," McGonagall said.

"The Statute of Secrecy makes sure of that." For the next hour, Professor McGonagall answered every question they had. Tyson had expected bluntness and impatience, but McGonagall handled it with more patience than he would have guessed. Not warmth exactly—she wasn't built for that—but there was understanding there, firm and measured. She explained about Diagon Alley, wizarding currency, the Ministry of Magic, and Hogwarts itself. By the end of it, his parents looked mentally drained.

Professor McGonagall finally rose from her seat.

"I will return in two days to escort you to Diagon Alley so Mr. Steward may acquire his supplies." His father stood as well, escorting her toward the door. Before she stepped out, he hesitantly asked, "Will he be safe?" McGonagall studied him for a moment before answering, "Hogwarts is the safest place on the planet, Mr. Steward. It has the most powerful wizard in the world as Headmaster." Saying that, she simply vanished with a snap. Apparation? How convenient.

Tyson almost laughed at her claims at the end, though. At the former. He had no doubts about the latter, though. After Professor McGonagall's departure, the house fell quiet for a moment. His mother sat down heavily on the couch, still staring at the teacup like it might suddenly grow fur again. His father remained standing, Tyson's letter still in his hand. After a while, he looked over.

"So," he said slowly, "what do you think?" Tyson leaned back against the wall and considered it.

"I think science is about to get a lot more complicated." His father let out a breath, though there was no humor in it. Then he cleared his throat.

"Do you really want to go?" It was a simple question, but Tyson heard what was underneath it. Worry. He thought about it for a moment before answering.

"It's useful." That earned him identical confused looks from both parents. Tyson gestured toward the teacup.

"If all this is real, learning to control it seems important. I'd rather not wake up one day and accidentally turn the furniture into wildlife." His mother groaned and dropped her forehead into her hand. Again. Tyson walked over and draped an arm over her shoulders.

"See? Better I learn how not to do that." She didn't look reassured.

"Wizards and magic..." his father muttered, rubbing at his temple.

"There were always stories in the Steward family, you know. Very old stories. Tales about strange people and impossible things. I always thought they were just stories." That explained his reaction earlier. It wasn't surprising, either. From what Tyson remembered, most Muggle-borns weren't truly Muggle-born. Somewhere back in the family tree, there was usually magical blood. An old wizarding ancestor, maybe a Squib, maybe someone forgotten. The whole thing was one giant mess of ancestry.

And honestly, the names didn't help. Muggle. Squib. Whoever came up with them deserved to be pegged hard. Tyson pushed the thought aside and looked down at the supply list resting on the table.

"Going to this Diagon Alley should be interesting." Over the years, he'd built up a decent amount of savings from odd jobs—mowing lawns, fixing appliances, running errands, taking whatever work people were willing to pay for. By now, he'd saved nearly two thousand pounds. Not bad for an eleven-year-old. Half of it would probably end up converted into wizarding currency. The other half was staying exactly where it was. Investments mattered.

Tyson fully intended to become a billionaire someday, and magic wasn't going to derail that plan.

"Tyson." His father's voice broke him out of it. He looked up. Mike sighed, his expression heavy.

"I'm still not sure about this." Tyson stayed quiet.

"A new world. A new school. Magic." His father shook his head.

"We know nothing about any of it. And you'd be living there most of the year." His jaw tightened.

"I went to boarding school," he continued.

"Hated it. Swore I'd never send either of my children away like that." Tyson understood. This wasn't about magic. It was about letting go. He nodded.

"Fair enough." Then he tapped the supply list.

"So let me go to this Diagon Alley first. See it for myself. Learn more before deciding." His eyes drifted down to the required books.

"As long as they have books," he added, "I can work with it." That finally got a smile out of his mother.

"You and your books." Tyson grinned.

"The greatest source of knowledge humanity ever invented." At least until the internet. Though if he was being honest, that wasn't flawless either. Then again, books weren't immune to nonsense. In less than a year, he'd be attending a school where an entire bestselling collection had been written by Gilderoy fucking Lockhart. That alone was enough to kill any argument about blindly trusting books.