Not to mention how Adrian, Harry, and Friegg spent the afternoon darting through the streets of Little Whinging, laughing until they nearly collapsed and treating Harry to the best birthday he'd ever had, the real surprise waited for Adrian when he returned home. As he stepped through the front door of the Blackwood residence, he was instantly met with an explosion of color and sound.
"Adrian, congratulations!" came the warm chorus, followed by a flurry of enchanted ribbons that soared into the air and spiraled down around him like confetti. A burst of mini fireworks shot into the ceiling, their sparks dissolving into harmless, glittering puffs of smoke. Shimmering magical foam swirled in the air, coloring the room in hues far brighter than its usual subdued tones.
The entire Blackwood family stood behind the door, grinning broadly. Mrs. Morgan le Fay Blackwood and Daisy emerged from the kitchen, carefully pushing a massive cake topped with swirling layers of chocolate and golden icing that spelled out "Welcome to Hogwarts!" in edible runes. The familiar warmth that filled the house tightened Adrian's chest—not in pain, but in deep, grateful joy. His eyes shimmered, reflecting the festive magic around him. He couldn't help but think how fortunate he was to have landed in a loving, wizarding family like this, rather than in Harry Potter's shoes—confined to a cupboard under the stairs, unloved and isolated.
Emily came trotting over eagerly, taking Adrian's worn satchel from his shoulder and setting it aside with care. His father, Owen Blackwood , stepped forward and presented him with an envelope. It was thick, made from heavy parchment. The address was inked in a familiar, vivid green cursive:
"Mr. A. Blackwood, Second Floor Bedroom, 11 Abbeyfield Lane, Ottery St Catchpole."
There was no stamp—only a wax seal depicting a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake surrounding a capital H—the unmistakable crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Adrian turned the envelope in his hands, fingers brushing over the raised crest. His heart pounded as if echoing the very magic sealed within the letter.
"Go on, open it!" urged Morgan le Fay, her smile proud as she marked a large red circle around July 31 on the family calendar. That date, sacred in wizarding tradition, had once marked Harry Potter's first letter—and now, her own son's.
The parchment inside gave the familiar instructions: a list of required books like Magical Drafts and Potions, robes in standard black, and a wand to be purchased from Ollivanders in Diagon Alley. Adrian read it once before handing it over to his mother. Though all of them had seen similar letters before—Emily, most recently—they still passed it around with reverence, as if holding it gave a sense of connection to generations of Hogwarts-bound witches and wizards.
Father Owen finally took the letter and placed it inside a crystal-stoppered case. "Tradition," he said with a grin. "It'll be sealed and displayed in the study with Emily's and—someday—yours, Daisy."
That night, the family gathered around the dining table. Mrs. Blackwood and Daisy had prepared roast beef with a honey-glazed crust and a perfectly set apple pudding for dessert, a feast even Molly Weasley would have admired. Laughter echoed as the family swapped stories about Hogwarts: its moving staircases, peeved poltergeists, and midnight duels. But some of Owen's tales—especially the one about Nearly Headless Nick's failed attempt to join the Headless Hunt—had Adrian so wide-eyed he nearly dropped his spoon.
"I wonder what house I'll end up in…" Adrian murmured, half to himself.
Emily leaned her head against his arm, her usual energy dampened by the thought of her big brother going off to school. "I hope it's not Slytherin," she said softly, eyes clouded with a child's worry.
Owen chuckled at that. "Don't judge a house by its founders. I was sorted into Slytherin myself, though I've never schemed to take over the Ministry or hoard horcruxes," he added with a wink. "Back then, all I had was ambition and a sharp tongue. But every house has its virtues. Gryffindor for bravery, Hufflepuff for loyalty, Ravenclaw for wit… and Slytherin for those willing to do what others won't."
"That's confusing," Emily frowned. "You said the Sorting Hat puts you where you belong, but it sounds like anyone could go anywhere."
"You're right to be confused," Adrian said, smiling. "Even the Sorting Hat says it takes your choices into account. Harry told me he nearly ended up in Slytherin—but asked not to be. So, really, the Sorting is a mix of who you are and who you want to become."
Emily blinked at that. "So it's not just magic?"
"No," Adrian said, reaching out to ruffle her hair, "it's also a bit of soul-searching."
And as the stars began to twinkle outside the window and the soft hum of the enchanted fairy lights danced overhead, Adrian sat back in his chair, surrounded by love, laughter, and the promise of the future. He didn't know which house he would end up in, or what adventures Hogwarts held in store—but he knew one thing:
He was ready.
Everyone in the Blackwood family looked at Emily with warm smiles. Morgan le Fay reached out to gently stroke her youngest daughter's soft, light-blonde curls and said softly, "You'll understand when the time comes, sweetheart."
Growth always arrives accompanied by expectation and hope. Surrounded by the love of his family, Adrian Blackwood stood by the open window, heart fluttering with anticipation. Their family owl, Edward, perched nearby with an air of duty, ready to deliver Adrian's first letter back to Hogwarts.
"By the way, Adrian, don't forget to write to Harry," Owen Blackwood reminded him, his tone serious. "He still doesn't know you're a wizard too, does he? Don't underestimate such details—it would be a shame if all our efforts to help you blend in with Muggles were wasted over a missed letter."
At the same moment, far away from Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry Potter sat huddled in a decrepit wooden hut on the rocky islet, battered by sea winds. Earlier that evening, Rubeus Hagrid had burst through the door, bringing with him more than just a birthday cake—he brought truth. Now, wearing Hagrid's oversized moleskin coat and still savoring the taste of sizzling sausages roasted on an open fire, Harry sat in stunned disbelief. He wasn't going to Stonewall High. He was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—a real wizarding school—for he, Harry Potter, was a wizard.
The joy in Harry's heart was overwhelming, almost too big for words, but as his thoughts wandered, a shadow passed through his joy. He remembered Adrian and Friegg—his two best friends back in Privet Drive. Soon they would all go their separate ways. Hogwarts wouldn't take Muggles like Friegg, and even though Adrian had always seemed… special, Harry had no idea he was magical too. They'd make new friends, of course. Adrian with his calm intelligence and uncanny insight, Friegg with his wild jokes and laughter—both of them would shine wherever they went. That thought made Harry's joy flicker with a trace of sadness.
Just then, a sharp tap came from the rain-streaked window. Harry turned to look. An owl. Not the snowy white one from Hagrid—this was a sleek barn owl, its feathers glistening with sea spray. Earlier that day, Hagrid had explained that owls were the primary delivery method in the wizarding world, faithful messengers of parchment and magic.
Harry jumped to his feet, rushed across the creaky floor, and flung open the window. A howling sea breeze surged into the shack, almost knocking him back. The owl buffeted in mid-air, wings struggling, but it forced its way inside and landed unsteadily on the arm of the tattered sofa. It gave Harry a reproachful look, head cocked sideways as if to say, What took you so long?
It was a striking bird—larger than Hedwig and clearly powerful. Its feathers were soaked and windblown, its claws grimy from the storm, yet it stood firm, delivering its letter with resolute dignity. It was soaked to the bone, and yet its intense amber eyes glared with unwavering purpose.
"Go on—get the letter off its leg," Hagrid grunted, rising from his sausage-chopping. "Poor thing flew through all that to bring yeh this. Loyal creature, that one." True to form, Hagrid rummaged in his pockets for scraps of meat—he never met a magical creature he wasn't ready to feed.
Harry approached cautiously. The owl lifted its left leg. Tied around it with a crimson ribbon was a neat roll of parchment. Despite the raging storm outside, the scroll was completely dry—sealed with the crest of a lion, a badger, a raven, and a snake coiled around a capital "H."
Magic.
With trembling fingers, Harry untied the ribbon and unrolled the letter, heart hammering. Someone had sent him a message through the wizarding post. Not just anyone—someone who knew.