Vincent was actually looking forward to seeing how Ms.
Kenna would contact the wizarding world.
Would she summon a wizard to the orphanage?
Would she communicate through the Floo Network?
Or perhaps a wizard would send a Patronus Messenger?
Instead, Ms.
Kenna simply wrote a short letter and placed it on the windowsill of the Headmistress’s office.
By dinnertime, the letter had already disappeared.
After several days of continuous rain, the sun finally broke through the clouds.
It was a rare beautiful day.
Vincent stepped out of Ms.
Kenna’s storeroom, stretched lazily, and basked in the warm sunlight.
For the past three days, he had asked Ms.
Kenna every morning whether there had been any reply.
Each time, the answer had been the same.
Nothing.
“Wizards are really slow at replying…”
“I don’t even know if anyone actually received the message.”
“Couldn’t they at least send back a note saying, ‘Received’?”
Still, there was nothing he could do except wait while continuing his preparations.
Over the past few days, he had practically moved into the storeroom.
He brought in blankets, ate simple meals there, and even slept among the bookshelves.
He spent every waking hour reading about the wizarding world, committing both familiar and unfamiliar knowledge to memory.
As for the most important book, Ten Steps to Becoming an Animagus, he carefully copied every instruction onto several sheets of paper.
Then, worried that even the copies might be lost, he reread them repeatedly until he had memorized every word.
“I just hope they don’t make me wait until Hogwarts starts.”
Vincent stretched once more and looked up at the clear blue sky.
A brown barn owl was flying toward the orphanage.
It glided gracefully overhead before heading straight for the Headmistress’s office.
When Vincent pushed open the office door, a cool breeze drifted through the room.
The window stood wide open.
The barn owl was perched calmly on the coat stand while Ms.
Kenna untied a letter from its leg.
“Vincent? Perfect timing,” she said with a smile.
“The reply has arrived. I was just about to come looking for you.”
She handed him the envelope.
Written across the pale yellow parchment in elegant emerald-green ink were the words:
Mr.
Vincent Aydon
Blanket Section, Storeroom
Second Floor, West Wing
Kookaburra Orphanage
Shropshire
Vincent immediately opened the letter.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards
Dear Mr.
Aydon,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September.
We await your owl no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
P.S.: Go to Charing Cross Road, London, and follow the owl.
P.P.S.: While you’re there, please deliver the owl—his name is Mr.
Hoot—to The Daily Prophet.
P.P.P.S.: He can bring your reply back to Hogwarts.
In his previous life, Vincent had only ever seen Hogwarts acceptance letters in books and films.
Even though he had been ninety-nine percent certain he would eventually receive one himself, holding the genuine letter in his hands still stirred an indescribable feeling.
But…
What were those postscript notes at the end?
“Oh, those are for me,” Ms.
Kenna said after glancing over Vincent’s shoulder.
“They’ve approved your request to purchase your school supplies early.”
At that moment, the barn owl gave a loud, piercing hoot.
With a flap of its wings, it shot out through the open window.
“Wait!”
Ms.
Kenna hurriedly pressed a handful of coins into Vincent’s palm.
“Take these.”
Vincent shoved on his coat, dashed down the stairs, and chased after the owl.
Mr.
Hoot flew out of the orphanage grounds, crossed several streets, and landed calmly on the roof of a London-bound bus.
The passengers stared in surprise.
Some even raised cameras and snapped photographs.
Mr.
Hoot, however, seemed completely unfazed.
He merely half-closed his eyes and leisurely preened his feathers, as though being the center of attention were an everyday occurrence.
This owl is calmer than I am…
Vincent squeezed onto the bus, paid his fare with the coins Ms.
Kenna had given him, and settled in for the long journey.
The trip lasted nearly two and a half hours.
Several times along the way, Mr.
Hoot flew off, causing Vincent to panic that he had lost his guide.
Fortunately, whenever the bus stopped, the owl would always be waiting nearby, perched patiently on a lamppost or rooftop.
Only after Vincent stepped off the bus in London did Mr.
Hoot take flight once more.
The owl led him through the bustling streets until they stopped before a shabby-looking pub squeezed between larger buildings.
Its narrow frontage was barely two doors wide.
A weathered sign hung above the entrance.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Vincent’s eyes brightened.
A gateway between the Muggle and wizarding worlds…
Just then, a customer pushed open the door.
Mr.
Hoot darted inside.
Vincent followed immediately.
The Leaky Cauldron was warm, noisy, and filled with the chatter of witches and wizards.
Behind the bar stood an almost bald old man with a wrinkled face that reminded Vincent of a walnut.
The moment he saw Vincent, he called out,
“The young gentleman Professor McGonagall mentioned has arrived!”
“Tom, that’s me…” the innkeeper muttered to himself with a chuckle before raising his voice again.
“Someone show him the way to Diagon Alley!”
Several tipsy patrons immediately pulled out their wands.
Instead of helping…
They began casting random spells for amusement.
A bouquet of daisies suddenly sprouted from one wizard’s hat.
Another man’s sleeves stretched until they nearly touched the floor.
A third accidentally turned his own beard bright purple.
“Poor lad!” one drunken wizard slurred.
“My brother died in the First Wizarding War too!”
“Those blasted Death Eaters ruined everything!”
“That’s enough!” Tom barked.
With a tap of his wand against his throat, his voice magically boomed throughout the pub.
“Stop fooling around!”
“I’ll open the entrance myself.”
He walked into the small courtyard behind the pub.
Vincent followed.
Tom took out his wand and tapped a particular sequence of bricks in the wall.
The bricks immediately began shifting.
They folded inward and spread apart until they formed a magnificent stone archway.
Beyond it stretched a winding cobbled street lined with magical shops.
“Diagon Alley…”
Vincent whispered.
Tom smiled.
“So, you’ve heard of it?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
He had already hurried through the archway.
Second-hand robe shops.
Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Flourish and Blotts.
Ollivanders.
Every familiar storefront from the novels stood before him.
He walked slowly down the street, unable to hide his excitement.
He had finally entered the wizarding world.
Since it was only May, Diagon Alley wasn’t particularly crowded.
Most Hogwarts students wouldn’t begin shopping until late July or August.
Only a handful of witches and wizards wandered along the street.
Before arriving, Vincent had worried about one thing.
He only had a few pounds in his pocket.
Could he actually afford magical supplies?
The answer came almost immediately.
Mr.
Hoot landed neatly on Vincent’s shoulder before accompanying him into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
The owl suddenly puffed out his chest and gave an impressively loud hoot.
Then, in perfectly clear human speech, he announced,
“Three sets of plain black work robes, one winter cloak with silver fastenings, all embroidered with name tags.”
“Charge everything to the Ministry of Magic, Orphan Assistance Fund.”
The entire shop fell silent.
Every witch and wizard turned to look at Vincent.
Even someone as composed as Vincent couldn’t help feeling those sympathetic gazes stabbing into his back.
Couldn’t you have said that a little more quietly?
Announcing an orphan’s financial assistance in front of an entire shop…
Does the wizarding world not believe in protecting a child’s self-esteem?