Julien stared at the acceptance letter in his hands—the one he had been waiting for his entire life—and turned to his grandfather with pure delight. Alphard wore a look of deep, quiet relief. He had always told Julien that any Black who wasn't a Squib would receive the Hogwarts letter eventually, but only now did the last weight lift from his chest.
Inside Julien's mental library, Murphy the cat was sprawled lazily across a fresh pile of books, tail lazily curling around a quill.
The title glowing on the new volume beneath him read:
Hogwarts Survival Guide
---
Several days had passed since the birthday party. The Hogwarts acceptance letter was now safely tucked away in the hidden compartment at the bottom of Julien's nightstand, right beside the willow wand his grandfather had given him.
That evening after dinner, the whole family gathered in the living room. Alphard cleared his throat and broke the silence. "Altair, Clara… there's something we need to discuss."
His father lowered the financial newspaper. His mother looked up from the account books. "What is it, Father?"
"It's about Julien's schooling." Alphard's gaze was gentle but firm. "I've already arranged everything. He'll be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Hogwarts?" Clara frowned, repeating the unfamiliar name. "Sounds like some private boarding school in Scotland. Did one of your old British friends recommend it?"
"No, my dear," Alphard explained patiently. "It's not an ordinary boarding school. It's… a school of magic."
The living room fell into absolute silence.
Altair blinked, then burst out laughing—loud, bewildered laughter. "Father, how many glasses of your 'special reserve' have you had tonight? A school of magic? You mean the kind where they teach kids card tricks and sleight of hand? Or are we talking circus training—lion taming, that sort of thing?"
Clara didn't laugh. Her eyes were filled with worry and confusion.
She turned to her son, voice soft but carrying a hint of reproach. "Julien, did you tell Grandpa some strange story? Magic, wizards… those are fairy tales, sweetheart. You can enjoy them, but you can't take them seriously. Your future is at Eton or Oxford or Cambridge."
Julien opened his mouth to explain, but his grandfather gently rested a hand on his shoulder.
Only Grandma Élodie stayed quiet at first. She lifted her teacup, blew softly across the surface, and let her thoughtful gaze move between her husband and grandson.
As a daughter of the Moreau family, she had heard old whispers about "special people" when she was young, though she had never seen anything herself. Now, watching her husband's deadly serious expression and remembering the inexplicable quality of their wines, a small ripple of understanding stirred inside her.
"This isn't a fairy tale, and it isn't sleight of hand." Alphard's voice grew steady, carrying the quiet authority of someone who had kept a lifelong secret. "Julien carries the Black family blood. He possesses real magical talent. Hogwarts is the only place that can teach him to control that power and grow up safely."
"The Black family?" The smile vanished from Altair's face, replaced by the sharp, calculating look of a businessman. "Father, I always thought that was just an old surname. Are you telling me there are family secrets I don't know about?"
"The Black family was once a wizarding family. Julien is a wizard. He needs to attend a wizarding school."
"Oh my God, that's impossible!" Clara gasped.
"It's true," Julien said quietly, unable to stay silent any longer. "I already received the acceptance letter." He placed the heavy parchment on the table.
"This has to be some kind of prank," Altair muttered, scanning the letter in disbelief. "Look at this—cauldrons? This stuff looks like it's from the Middle Ages."
"Whether you believe it or not," Alphard said gravely, "I still ask that you keep this confidential for Julien's sake."
"Is this… dangerous?" Clara's first thought was her son's safety.
"I wouldn't tell anyone my son is a wizard even if you paid me," Altair said flatly. "It's ridiculous."
Just as the tension in the room thickened and the argument threatened to escalate, the doorbell rang.
Ding-dong—
The bright chime cut through the heavy atmosphere like a knife. Clara stood up, still half-convinced it was a misdelivered parcel.
Standing on the doorstep was an elderly woman in deep emerald robes. Her hair was pulled into an impeccably severe bun, square spectacles perched on her nose, and her sharp eagle-like eyes missed nothing.
Her mere presence seemed to freeze the air in the hallway.
"Good evening," she said, voice crisp and clear with unshakeable authority. "Is this the residence of Mr. Caelum Julien Black?"
Clara nodded automatically, stunned. "Yes… may I ask who—"
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Professor McGonagall gave a small, courteous nod. Her gaze moved past Clara and landed precisely on Julien in the living room, a spark of quiet appraisal in her eyes.
"Hogwarts?" Clara repeated, turning back toward her husband and father-in-law in shock.
Altair was already on his feet, face tight with suspicion.
A stranger in bizarre robes showing up at night claiming to be from a "magic school" looked like a textbook scam.
He stepped forward protectively in front of his wife, tone hard. "Ms. McGonagall, I'm sorry, but we have no interest in any so-called 'magic school.' My son will receive a proper, scientific education. Please leave."
Professor McGonagall's mouth tightened slightly—she had clearly dealt with this brand of Muggle skepticism before. Her gaze shifted to Alphard seated in the main chair. He gave her a small nod, granting permission.
"Mr. Black," she said, still perfectly calm but now with steel beneath the words, "I understand how difficult this is to believe. But please allow me to demonstrate why the 'proper, scientific education' you mentioned cannot explain what is about to happen."
She raised her hand. No wand. Just a gentle wave.
On the coffee table where Altair had casually set it down, the financial newspaper suddenly rustled though there was no breeze. Pages flipped rapidly.
Then, under the horrified stares of everyone present, the newspaper lifted smoothly into the air, folded and twisted in mid-air, and transformed into a lifelike white crane.
The crane flapped its wings, circled a stunned Altair once, then settled gently beside him.
"This… this is impossible!" Altair stood frozen, reaching out to touch the bird. The feathers were soft and detailed, the beak sharp—the sensation so real it sent chills down his spine.
Clara clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief, whispering, "Oh my God…"
Grandma Élodie sat up straight. The thoughtful look in her eyes had been replaced by pure, undeniable shock—and sudden understanding. She turned to her husband and said softly, "Alphard… so it really is true."