Alastair's POV
I felt it.
The moment Dumbledore reached into my mind—softly, subtly, like a breath against a closed window—I felt the touch.
More importantly, I felt it fail.
Something inside me tightened instinctively, walls locking into place with a cold precision I didn't consciously control.
The probe slipped, slid, and broke against a barrier I hadn't known I possessed.
Natural Occlumency.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered—just for a heartbeat—but I saw the surprise. The curiosity. The calculation.
Not suspicion.
Not yet.
He turned to Blake and attempted the same.
This time he found something—nothing dangerous, nothing deep—just the edges of her memories, her affection, her fierce loyalty.
I watched his shoulders ease. Only slightly.
He was still Dumbledore, after all—too old, too wise, too dangerous to ever fully relax.
But the rest of the conversation flowed easily.
He explained magic.
Hogwarts.
The secrecy laws.
Our enrollment next July.
When I'd asked if we could learn magic on our own, he refused immediately—too dangerous, too unpredictable—but offered something better:
Books.
Not just any books—textbooks from the magical world.
Blake nearly vibrated off the sofa in excitement.
And for the first time, I felt something warm in my chest, a quiet thrill.
It wasn't magic.
It wasn't even nostalgia.
It was hope.
__________________________________________
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
And Blake and I devoured every page of every book Dumbledore had left. She read loudly, dramatically, mispronouncing half the names and adding her own commentary. I read quietly, absorbing theory, history, etiquette, structure—everything that would give us a foundation once we entered Hogwarts.
Sometimes Blake would fall asleep mid-sentence on my shoulder.
Sometimes she'd drag me outside to "practice bowing like a proper witch."
Sometimes she'd badger the matron for quills instead of pens.
She grew into her magic slowly—warm, calming, subtle.
I grew into mine… the opposite.
Sharper. Cold. Controlled.
The turbulent surges faded after my awakening, but a strange awareness lingered under my skin. A pull toward something greater. Something old.
A year passed in quiet preparation.
June 1989 – Blake's Birthday
Her birthday was bright and peaceful.
No exploding lights.
No accidental magic storms.
No terrified staff.
Just laughter, a stolen chocolate cake from the kitchen, and a quiet corner where we sat shoulder-to-shoulder.
Blake wore a crooked paper crown one of the little kids had made. She insisted I wear one too.
I didn't argue.
For once, everything felt normal.
Happy.
She blew out her candles in one breath and made a wish she wouldn't tell me.
But when she smiled at me afterward, I had a feeling I knew what it was.
Mid-July 1989
The summer heat hung heavy over the orphanage, and the children lazed around the yard. Blake and I were in the lounge reading—she was dramatically reenacting a section about magical cauldrons—when a sharp tapping echoed against the window.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Blake paused mid-sentence.
We turned.
A large tawny owl stared at us through the glass, eyes bright, a crisp envelope clasped in its beak.
My heart stopped.
Blake's mouth fell open.
The owl rapped again, impatient.
We scrambled to the window.
Blake unlatched it with trembling fingers, and the owl swooped inside, dropping two letters into my hands before taking off again in a flourish of wings.
My breath caught.
Thick parchment.
Heavy seal.
Emerald ink.
One envelope read:
Mr. Alastair Caelum S–P
St. Mary's Home for Children
London
The second:
Miss Blake Smith
St. Mary's Home for Children
London
Blake covered her mouth with both hands.
"Alastair…" she whispered.
I swallowed hard.
We looked at each other.
Then—
Together—
We broke the seals.
__________________________________
The moment we finished reading our Hogwarts letters, Blake and I just sat there—breathless, shaking, grinning like idiots.
"WE'RE GOING!" she squealed.
I didn't squeal.
But I couldn't stop smiling either.
We both grabbed the closest thing that could be used as writing material—a battered old notebook missing half its cover—and tore out two fresh pages.
The letters asked for a simple reply:
"Please confirm your acceptance."
Blake wrote hers in big, uneven handwriting:
YES! YES! YES!!!—Blake Smith
I nudged her shoulder.
"That's not how replies are usually written."
She shrugged.
"But it's honest."
I couldn't argue with that.
My reply was neater—short, formal, careful:
I accept the placement at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.—Alastair C. S–P
We folded the pages carefully, sealed them together with tape (closer to a ransom note than official wizard correspondence), and hurried to the window.
The owl was still there—sitting on the old metal pole outside like it owned the neighborhood. It stared at us with large amber eyes, unimpressed and judgmental in the way only owls and librarians could manage.
"Come here," Blake whispered, motioning.
The owl tilted its head.
She motioned again.
The owl tilted its head the other way.
I sighed and reached into the small box under my bed.
Breakfast leftovers.
Bacon.
I held out a strip toward the window.
Instantly, the owl swooped down.
Blake yelped.
I stepped back.
The owl snatched the bacon like a professional thief and began devouring it with ruthless efficiency.
Only when the last crumb vanished did I offer our reply letters.
The owl extended its leg.
We tied the envelope on with shaking hands.
"Take it to Hogwarts," Blake whispered reverently.
The owl blinked once—as if to say obviously—and with a powerful sweep of its wings, it soared into the sky.
We watched it grow smaller… smaller… until it was just a speck against the bright July clouds.
Blake exhaled.
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath too.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow everything would change.
Tomorrow someone from the magical world would arrive.
Tomorrow we would finally step out of the dull, grey Muggle world and into everything we had only imagined in books—magic, wands, spells, futures.
Blake grabbed my arm.
"Alastair… tomorrow we get to see it."
I nodded.
"We do."
The excitement in her eyes was contagious.