Dear Tristan,
Do you remember those endless morning meditations at Mahoutokoro? I hated that cursed cold of the jade under my knees and the sulphur smell that seemed to seep permanently into the skin. I thought the meditations were a refined form of torture, a pointless waste of time. I sat with my eyes closed, shivering in the wind, dreaming of just one thing: to take up my wand as soon as possible. I wanted simply to flick it and get a result — a flash, an explosion, levitation. The way Father and Mother did it. The way you did it. Effortlessly, elegantly, instantly.
It seemed that ‘finding the centre’ was a pretty fairy-tale invented by the sensei to keep us from blowing up the school in our first year.
But now, back in Britain, I’m beginning to understand. Here at Hogwarts everything is different. The local wizards… they’re incredibly talented, Tristan, but they rarely try to feel magic. They cast spells like stones into water — loudly, with splashes, relying on the force of the ripple. They memorise Latin, perfect their gestures, but often miss the moment when magic becomes an extension of will rather than merely a tool.
I’ve spent the last two days with Harry Potter. The boy has unbelievable potential, Tristan. There’s so much raw, wild power in him that the air around him hums when he’s angry. He could bring down walls simply by wishing it. But he didn’t feel the weight of his own spells. To him it was just a word and a flick.
We worked ourselves to exhaustion. I made him pull, push, sense inertia and the resistance of matter. And when he finally caught that feeling… when he stopped merely casting and began truly interacting — the effect was frightening. If he learns to control it he will become a great wizard.
Though, watching what lies ahead for him, I question the sanity of the adults here. Tristan, they are sending a fourteen-year-old boy against a dragon. A real, adult dragon. This is not a test of valour; it is madness. I hope the organisers have some safety plan, or this is simply a public execution. But Potter doesn’t give up. There’s a stubbornness in him that I admire.
I’ve settled in here somewhat; they’ve accepted me… tolerably. I even have something like friends. A strange company, but everything here is strange. Yet I still don’t feel in my right place. Like an actor who has learned the lines, put on the costume, but stands on the stage of someone else’s play.
I miss you, brother. Your calm. Your advice. I often wonder what you would say if you saw this castle and these people. You’d probably laugh and call us barbarians.
Take care of yourself wherever you are.
Your brother,
Kieran Kai Morgan