Prologue : Dawn of Hogwarts

Sunlight filtered through the cracks of worn brown curtains, and the fresh morning air alleviated the stuffiness in the small attic.

Perhaps due to the proximity to the sea, the humidity here remained as high as ever. Even in the attic, moss still climbed and expanded its territory in the corners, leaving patches of inexplicable vitality.

While men in London were still embracing their wives—or mistresses, who knows; anyway, while those fellows were still asleep in their soft beds, the people of Toppington were already busy.

This was the morning of a port city, not long after casting off the revelries of the previous night, ushering in another round of hustle and bustle as if people didn't need sleep.

Of course, all this lively scene had nothing to do with the residents of Tamer Lane.

Macka was one of the residents of this dark alley on the east side of Toppington, born in Plymouth, but what did it matter?

The poor have their own way of life, and they naturally have their own choices. In this alley full of "ideals" and "futures," life was much more peaceful than in Plymouth, where various forces converged.

Here, there were not too many official gazes, nor were there dominant forces of financial giants; those were all in Plymouth! In this port city where darkness lurked beneath the surface, there were only various clandestine transactions submerged in the depths.

Although Macka was young, he lived day and night here with his innate intelligence and extraordinary shrewdness. Just two hours ago, he had returned from the colorful nightlife and was now fast asleep on his slightly old bed! He didn't care about the few more cargo ships on the dock.

As he lingered in the colorful dreams, there suddenly came a hurried flapping of wings outside the window, as if something had landed on the narrow windowsill.

"Thud, thud, thud."

It seemed like a bird was pecking at the window frame, and the dull sound came through the curtains.

Macka frowned in his sleep, not disturbed by the noise. He rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head.

"Thud, thud, thud."

Again, three light taps, as if knocking on the door, made him wonder what was happening outside.

"Thud, thud, bang—"

Another three, perhaps the last one knocked it crooked or something, and the old window glass immediately fulfilled its mission, with glass shards falling to the ground with a clatter. If it weren't for the curtain cloth blocking, the glass shards would probably have splattered all over the bed by now.

The tattered blanket was suddenly thrown open, and Macka sat up with wide eyes. Apparently still half-asleep, he looked around in confusion, his bewildered expression somewhat amusing.

Suddenly, while Macka was lost in thought, he pulled open the curtain, but then froze.

Outside the window, a light gray owl was standing there, its large eyes meeting Macka's gaze. Before long, the owl tilted its head, dryly called out, seeming a bit embarrassed about its mistake.

Macka blinked a few times, not sure what expression to make. Because he found, on this owl, he saw the kind of intelligence usually only seen in humans.

"Do owls have such high intelligence?" Macka found himself doubting the trend of his life.

"Hoo—"

Just as Macka was full of question marks, the owl gently hooted and then stretched out its left claw, placing a letter on the edge of the windowsill.

On the thick parchment envelope, the address was written in emerald green ink, with no postage stamp on the envelope. Macka was stunned for a moment, reaching out to take it, only to see a piece of crimson wax seal and a coat of arms on it. Around the large letter "H," a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake each occupied a quarter of the space.

At the top of the emblem was a word that was strange yet familiar to Macka.

"Hog... warts?" Macka sounded out the word, his tone full of surprise and confusion.

He didn't rush to open the envelope, but stared blankly at the shield-shaped emblem, his thoughts drifting further and further away. After a while, he finally came back to his senses.

He silently tossed the envelope onto the bed and curled up, tightly hugging his head with his pale, skinny arms. The dull black hair hung messily between his fingers, as if telling of the dim and bitter past of these years.

"Now, only... at this point..." After a long time, Macka squeezed out a sentence full of melancholy from his dry throat, "Ugh... this is simply ridiculous."

A gust of sea breeze suddenly blew in from outside the window, making it unusually cold.

Yes, in June, Toppington was still a time completely unrelated to heat.

...

The sun gradually rose, bringing a hint of warmth to this coastal town. Macka sat on the sloping roof outside the window, leaning against the outer wall of the attic, gazing into the shimmering waves of the Thames River. The morning sun rose from the horizon where water and sky met, casting a shimmering golden layer on the blue surface of the river.

For Macka, who often walked the streets late at night, this was an unparalleled sight.

He stared into the distance, lost in thought, but still held the unopened letter tightly in his hand. The letter was so light, yet Macka constantly felt the weight it pressed on his heart.

"Tch."

The envelope was gently torn open, and two rather textured sheets of paper neatly folded together were drawn out by Macka. He flicked the corner of the letter with a rustling sound, the elegant handwriting giving him a strange sense of unreality.

——————————

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards, President of the Wizarding Association, Knight of the First Order of Merlin)

Dear Mr. Macka McClane:

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment. The term will begin on September 1st. We will await the return of the owl with your reply by July 31st.

Also, if the owl needs to stay with you for a while, please feed the little fellow.

——————————

Macka read the contents of the letter repeatedly, then turned to the next page, but before he could read more, he pursed his lips and stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

"Yes, yes, it still costs money." Macka muttered under his breath, "Tuition may be waived, but miscellaneous fees are unavoidable. I should have thought of that long ago!"

He sighed, wearing a face full of gloom, and climbed back into the attic. He rummaged through a few gray and dusty papers from the bedside cabinet and threw them on the counter. Then, he pulled out a dirty and dusty suitcase from under the bed, ignoring the rising dust, and opened it with a click, pulling out a long rectangular box.

This was a pen, not a good brand, but it was the only birthday present left by his deceased mother. It was also the most cherished treasure in his life, besides the pounds.

"Oh, right, I need ink! Ink!"

He muttered to himself as he prepared to write a reply. Not far away, the light gray owl stood curiously on the bed rail, watching Macka busy.

Although he was a bit rusty with the pen, he hadn't forgotten how to spell words. Macka had a good memory, as evidenced by the large amount of scattered pounds he memorized without error on weekdays, but writing crooked letters was inevitable.

For this reason, he ended up wasting several pieces of paper.

Watching the owl flutter away outside the window, disappearing around the corner in no time, Macka's heart finally calmed down a bit.

He really hadn't expected that in the midst of despair, he, who had resolved to sink into the darkness of Britain, would see a glimmer of miraculous dawn. And what he didn't expect was that this glimmer of miracle would be related to Hogwarts, which he had almost buried deep in his memory.

"Hogwarts, huh!" Macka chewed on the word again, a smile of genuine innocence that had long been buried with his deceased mother in the old graveyard of Plymouth, resurfacing on his face.

Just as Macka was lost in thought about his not-so-distant future, in Little Whinging, Surrey, Number 4, Privet Drive, the boy who had narrowly escaped death had just awakened in the cupboard under the stairs. And what awaited him was a chaotic life stirred up by that "unexpected guest."

...

For Macka, the past two months might have been an ordinary life journey. But now, everything was completely different.

Macka bid farewell to the attic that had accompanied him through three years of gloomy years, and also bid farewell to Uncle Angus, the bar owner who gave him his first job. He sold everything he could to the fence clients he often visited on the black market, then, with all the pounds he had earned so far and the rekindled anticipation, he boarded the ferry to Plymouth.

Only when he arrived in Plymouth could he catch the train to London and embark on his new journey.

"Let's go see Mother first!" Macka leaned against the railing on the ferry deck, looking in the direction of the opposite bank of the Thames, murmuring.

His time on the Thames wasn't very long, and the distance between the two banks of the river wasn't very far. Before long, Macka was standing in a slightly messy cemetery.

Years ago, nine-year-old Macka spent the last bit of money left by his father to erect a tombstone for his mother, which was luxurious for him at the time. Not for anything else, just because it was the first time he admitted in his heart to this woman who was always busy with money.

"... Mother." Macka gently stroked the cleaned tombstone, even though it was noon, it was still surprisingly cold, "It seems like the second time I've called you 'Mother'."

He paused, then continued, "To be honest, I still can't naturally call you that. I don't know if I should call you that, or if I have the right to. But, no matter what, now, you are still my mother. My... mom."

"Cough, I know, it still sounds very hesitant, but at least I called you that, so just bear with it..."

It seemed that because of the atmosphere, or perhaps because of the sentiment and longing of the past three years, Macka spoke intermittently for a long time. It was almost dusk when he stood up and sighed, intending to find a cheap motel to stay for the night, and then take the train to London tomorrow from the city center.

Just as he turned around, a hint of light gold flashed in his vision. In the reflection of the sunset, it emitted a unique brilliance...