By the time I turned eleven, my appearance had settled into something eerily similar to my past life. Shoulder-length silver hair framed my face, and my eyes—glowing with a faint golden light—often made people hesitate when they looked too long. Ethereal. That's what Aunt Petunia once whispered, though she couldn't explain why.
This morning began like any other—until three letters arrived.
Three thick, cream-coloured envelopes sealed with crimson wax, each bearing the Hogwarts crest. I could already feel the trace of ancient magic woven into them.
I handed one to Elijah, the second to Lily. Their eyes widened in sync as they broke the seals.
A small, knowing smile tugged at my lips as I read mine. Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, Number Four, Privet Drive.
Typical of Dumbledore's little tricks.
I set the letter down, picked up a quill, and wrote my reply in elegant, flowing script—letters forming with the precision of an aristocrat.
To Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,
It would be my honour to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this September. I look forward to beginning my studies.
Sincerely,
Harry James Potter
Not Harry. That name was for the world to see. But Isaac—that was who I truly was.
Elijah and Lily finished their letters soon after. Their handwriting wasn't as refined, but it carried their excitement all the same. I gave the owl a soft stroke before handing it all three responses.
"Take these to Hogwarts," I murmured. The owl hooted softly and flew off into the bright sky, carrying our new lives with it.
As I watched it disappear, a thought lingered at the back of my mind.This world didn't know what it had just invited in.