After finishing his reply, Anduin slipped the letter into a fresh envelope and handed it to the owl perched on the windowsill. The bird deftly tucked the envelope under its wing and soared into the sky without a backward glance.
"That's so cool. I wonder what the wizarding world is like now. Did Harry end up killing Voldemort?" Anduin's knowledge of Harry Potter was hazy at best. He'd overheard friends discussing it—something about Voldemort murdering Harry's family but failing to kill the boy himself, only to be defeated. Still, Anduin felt fuzzy on the details, especially how the magical world of 1980 aligned with the fragmented plot he half-remembered.
"No use overthinking. Let's wait for Hogwarts' reply. Strength is the foundation of any world. Getting stronger can't hurt." Shaking off his doubts, he resumed his strict orphanage routine: warm-ups, boxing drills, combat stances, cardio, meditation, and what he now recognized as rudimentary magic—though he'd initially mistaken it for telekinesis.
Time flew by in his regimented life. Just two days after receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter, an unexpected visitor arrived.
"You're saying you're Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts?" Anduin blinked at the stern-faced woman in dark green robes standing at his door. Her square glasses and immaculate bun gave her an air of unshakable authority.
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts," she confirmed formally. "We received your response, Mr. Wilson. It's customary to personally assist young Muggles—or those living independently, like yourself—when introducing them to our world."
"Oh! Of course—please come in, Professor. This is all still… surreal." Flushing, he stepped aside to reveal his modest room.
McGonagall's sharp gaze swept over the military-precise bed, the overstuffed bookshelves, the worn wardrobe, and the neatly aligned weights in the corner. Her eyebrow twitched at the pot of sprouting onions on the windowsill.
"Apologies for the simplicity," Anduin mumbled, gesturing to his lone chair.
"No need. I come prepared." With a fluid flick of her wand, she transfigured a weight into a plush armchair and sat gracefully. "Impressive discipline. Few first-years keep their quarters this orderly."
"The letter mentioned confirming by July 31st. I assumed updates would come in August."
"That deadline applies to wizarding families. For Muggle-born students, we prefer hands-on guidance." McGonagall twirled her wand absently. "Hogwarts exists to help youths like you master their magic. Have you noticed… unusual occurrences in recent years? Abilities often emerge during puberty."
Anduin nodded. Focusing, he levitated an empty teacup from his desk.
"Remarkable!" McGonagall's composure cracked for a heartbeat. "You've had no formal training?"
"Just concentration exercises. I thought it was… unique to me. Nothing like what you just did."
"You'll master far more at Hogwarts," she said, though her smile faltered briefly. "But let's proceed. We must settle paperwork with the orphanage and acquire your supplies."
Watching Sister Triss sign documents without question, Anduin tilted his head.
"Did you… charm her?"
"A simple persuasion spell. It won't harm them, and you're free to visit during holidays." McGonagall's eyes glinted mischievously. "As for funds: Hogwarts provides twelve Galleons annually. One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles, and each Sickle is twenty-nine Knuts."
Anduin grimaced. "Three subdivisions? Feels designed to confuse."
"Welcome to British wizarding tradition". McGonagall deadpanned, ushering him out.