With a soft pop, Professor Pomona Sprout appeared on a dirt path.
She straightened her pointed hat, which the wind had knocked askew, and looked ahead.
Under the brilliantly blue Scottish Highland sky stood a perfectly ordinary Muggle farm—a stone farmhouse, wooden fences enclosing pens for sheep, cows, and chickens, all filled with the lively sounds of the animals.
“Caithness, the McGregor farm…” Professor Sprout muttered as she walked toward it.
Home visits for new Hogwarts students were usually handled by Minerva, but she had asked Sprout with an awkward expression: “Pomona, could you go instead?
I… I have some urgent matters to attend to.”
Professor Sprout guessed it had something to do with the Boy Who Lived.
Rumor was he hadn’t responded to any of his dozen acceptance letters.
“Try mine first, Lucas!”
Sudden girlish laughter rang out from the farm.
Sprout instinctively waved her wand and melted into the shadow of the hedge.
She moved closer and saw three girls gathered around a tall boy in front of a stone table beside the farmhouse.
His fluffy, fiery-red short hair blazed like flames under the bright sunlight.
So this was him?
Lucas McGregor, the eleven-year-old Muggle-born wizard.
…
Lucas was feeling a bit helpless right now.
He had just finished his farm chores and barely caught his breath when the three chatty girls surrounded him.
After quickly washing his hands and rinsing his mouth, he sat down with them.
“Me first!
Me first!” One girl pushed a plate of Victoria sponge cake forward.
She stared at him with moist eyes, cheeks flushed pink.
“Lucas, I made this specially for you.
It’s called ‘Amy’s Love.'”
Lucas was half a head taller than other boys his age.
His fair skin had a sun-kissed glow, and his clear hazel eyes sat above a straight nose.
Framed by that vivid red hair, they looked especially bright—like rich soil after the snow melts, warm and full of life.
Lucas picked up a knife and carefully cut a small piece of the cake, studying the cross-section.
Then, under Amy’s nervous gaze, he put it in his mouth and chewed slowly.
Every strength and flaw appeared clearly to him.
“Hmm, the raspberry jam has a nice sweet-tart balance… but unfortunately, the texture is too coarse.”
Another girl chimed in, “Must’ve been baked too long.”
Lucas shook his head.
“The problem isn’t the baking time.
It’s the meringue.
Amy, you whipped the egg whites to stiff peaks, right?
For a sponge cake, you only want soft peaks.
Over-whipping makes the meringue lose its elasticity.
It expands too much in the oven and loses moisture, leaving it dry and tough.”
“Aha, looks like your ‘love’ was a little too much,” the third girl said, quickly squeezing forward with her plate.
Lucas gave a gentle smile.
“Jenny, cutting in line isn’t nice.
Sophia was ahead of you.”
An arm wrapped warmly around him.
Sophia hugged him, eyes full of emotion, while Jenny pouted.
“Fine, let her go first.
The winner is obviously going to be me anyway.”
“Lucas, let me feed you—” Sophia smiled sweetly and offered him a savory tomato-basil tart.
Lucas tasted it carefully.
Nothing escaped his tongue.
“Mmm… the idea is really good.
Using green tomatoes to add depth.
But the fresh basil is too strong and overpowers the sweet-acidic tomato flavor.
It’s an easy fix though.
You’ll get it perfect next time, right?”
Sophia looked at him with pure adoration.
“Of course… Lucas, and don’t forget our marriage promise once I succeed!”
Jenny pushed forward angrily.
“Pfft, who counts a promise made when we were four?
Stop joking around.
Lucas is mine.
You two can forget it.”
She proudly presented her dessert: a smooth Italian panna cotta in a glass cup, topped with a few fresh blueberries.
Lucas scooped a spoonful.
The panna cotta parted smoothly.
He put it in his mouth and let it melt.
“The shape and sweetness are perfect, Jenny.
But the texture falls a little short.”
Amy and Sophia breathed sighs of relief.
Jenny panicked.
“How?”
“Take another taste,” Lucas said with a smile.
“Does it melt in your mouth the way it should, or do you feel a slight graininess?
That’s because the gelatin didn’t fully dissolve.
You need to—”
“Soak the gelatin sheets in ice water until they turn spongy, then heat them gently over a double boiler until completely melted…” Jenny finished reluctantly.
“I know all that.
I was just too impatient.
Lucas, next time I’ll get it right.
I’m the one who should be your wife!”
Amy and Sophia started protesting loudly.
The three girls crowded around Lucas, bickering playfully.
It took Lucas quite a while, plus promising a tasting session next time, before he finally managed to send the three reluctant girls on their way.
Finally, some peace.
He had just picked up his toolbox to head back inside when a figure suddenly appeared in front of him.
“Good morning, Mr.
McGregor.”
Lucas jumped, nearly dropping his toolbox.
Where the hell did she come from?
He looked at the woman who had appeared out of nowhere in strange long robes.
She was short and stout, solidly built, with a warm, kind smile on her rosy face.
A patched old pointed hat sat on her head, with a few strands of graying hair peeking out.
There was dirt on the brim and mud stains on her robes, which actually made Lucas feel more at ease.
“Hello, ma’am.
Your hat is nice.
Who are you?”
Professor Sprout adjusted her pointed hat.
“Thank you.
I’m Pomona Sprout, Herbology professor at Hogwarts and Head of Hufflepuff House.
Since we never received your reply, Hogwarts sent me for a home visit.”
Lucas froze.
Hogwarts?
What a strange name.
Was it some kind of boarding school?
“I’m sorry, Professor Sprout… what is Hogwarts?
I don’t remember applying to any school by that name.”
Professor Sprout understood immediately.
She pulled a thick parchment envelope from her robes.
“I see.
You must not have received the letter.”
On the envelope, written in emerald-green ink:
Caithness, Scotland
McGregor Farm
Mr.
Lucas McGregor
Lucas took the envelope.
His fingers touched the wax seal—a shield crest with a large “H” in the center, surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
Puzzled, he tore open the envelope, pulled out the letter, and read the first lines:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr.
McGregor,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.