Chapter 9 : Hogwarts Acceptance Letter I

The school year ended on the twenty-first of July.

Summer settled in soon after, bringing long warm days and the slow quiet that always seemed to follow the end of school. Tyson didn't mind it. He had never hated school, but the break gave him time to train, read, and spend his days however he wanted without teachers breathing down his neck.

So when a letter arrived on the twenty-seventh, he wasn't surprised.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room when his father knocked and stepped inside.

"Tyson."

Tyson looked up as his father paused by the doorway, his eyes moving over the room in that familiar way they always did, as though trying to understand how his son's mind worked.

Tyson had arranged everything exactly how he liked it. A rack of dumbbells stood in one corner beside a bench, while the walls were lined with shelves packed full of books on nutrition, anatomy, engineering, combat theory, psychology, and whatever else had caught his interest over the years.

His father held up an envelope. "This came for you."

Tyson's gaze locked onto it instantly. Even before taking it, he knew what it was. He reached out and accepted it, forcing himself to stay calm despite the way his pulse had picked up.

The parchment looked exactly as he remembered from the movies—thick, yellowish paper, his name written across the front in emerald-green ink, the address oddly specific.

Turning it over, he found the red wax seal pressed neatly against the fold, stamped with a shield-shaped crest. At the center sat a large H, surrounded by four animals: a badger, a serpent, a lion, and what Tyson's brain stubbornly insisted was a raven.

Technically, he knew it was an eagle.

Didn't matter.

It still looked good.

For all the criticism he'd thrown at the series over the years, he'd always been a fan.

"What is it?" his mother asked as she stepped into view, carrying a basket of folded laundry.

Mike shrugged, though Tyson could hear the curiosity in his voice. "No idea."

Tyson broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, but he had barely read the first line before the doorbell rang.

The sound made him pause.

A memory surfaced almost immediately—something from the books. Hogwarts sent professors or representatives to explain things to Muggle-born families.

His father noticed the look on his face. "Expecting someone?"

Tyson folded the letter halfway and pushed himself to his feet. "No. But we probably shouldn't keep them waiting."

The bell rang again, almost like confirmation.

His mother tilted her head toward the stairs. "Then go answer it."

Tyson headed downstairs with both parents close behind him. When he opened the front door, he found a tall woman standing there in deep emerald robes, her posture rigid and composed. Her expression was sharp behind square spectacles, dark hair streaked with silver pulled back tightly beneath a pointed hat.

Tyson recognized her immediately.

Minerva McGonagall.

Truthfully, he hadn't expected her. Out of everyone, having the Deputy Headmistress personally show up felt excessive. Didn't she have more important things to do than explain Hogwarts to random first-years?

McGonagall adjusted her spectacles and studied him with a measured look. "Mr. Tyson Steward, I presume?"

"That would be me," Tyson said politely. "And you are...?"

"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Professor of Transfiguration. You may address me as Professor McGonagall."

Behind him, his mother let out a small sound of confusion.

McGonagall's gaze shifted past Tyson toward his parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Steward."

His father frowned. "How do you know us?"

"It is my responsibility to know the families of prospective students."

She reached into her robes and withdrew a sealed parchment identical to Tyson's own. "I assume your son has received his letter."

Tyson lifted his.

McGonagall nodded. "Good. There are several matters that require explanation. May I come in?"

The way she said it made it feel less like a request and more like politeness before inevitability.

His father hesitated, then stepped aside.

McGonagall entered without another word, her robes brushing lightly against the doorway. She stood in the center of the living room with complete confidence while Tyson shut the door behind her.

His parents sat opposite her on the couch, neither looking particularly comfortable, while Tyson remained standing nearby, letter still in hand.

McGonagall folded her hands neatly in front of her and got straight to it.

"I will be direct. Your son has been invited to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry because he possesses the ability to wield magic. He is a wizard."

The room fell silent.

His father stared at her like she'd lost her mind, but Tyson also caught a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Yeah, his father definitely knew something about the wizarding world.

His mother, on the other hand, looked completely lost.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly, "what?"

McGonagall remained unmoved. "Your son is capable of magic. Hogwarts exists to educate children like him."

His father leaned back, rubbing his jaw. "You understand how insane that sounds, right?"

"I do. It's a bit hard for most mug—non-magical people to accept magic initially."

"And yet, you expect us to believe it?"

McGonagall inclined her head slightly. "Not without proof."

She drew her wand.

Tyson's eyes sharpened at once, excitement stirring in his chest.

He half-expected some dramatic display, but instead McGonagall simply pointed the wand at the porcelain teacup resting on the coffee table.

With a clean flick, the cup suddenly twisted.

Its surface rippled like water before folding inward, reshaping in seconds into a sleek tabby cat!

The cat blinked, stretched lazily, and let out an irritated meow.

Tyson's mother gasped, nearly dropping the laundry basket. His father shot to his feet so fast Tyson thought he might trip over himself.

Tyson realized his own mouth had fallen open too.

He shut it quickly.

Could anyone blame him, though? Knowing magic existed was one thing. Seeing matter casually rewritten in front of his eyes was something else entirely. His attempts at Accio looked like a parlour trick compared to this.

"Turns out chemistry's been catching strays for no reason," he muttered under his breath. "Physics might secretly have even more exceptions."

McGonagall calmly stroked the cat once before tapping it again with her wand. It folded back into a teacup and settled neatly onto the table exactly where it had been before.

"That," she said simply, "is magic."

His mother stared at the cup, pale. "That's impossible."

"And yet," McGonagall replied bluntly, "you saw it."

His father slowly lowered himself back onto the couch, his face pale as he stared at the teacup like it might transform again.

"It's real," he murmured, almost to himself. "Wizards... they're actually real."

Meanwhile, Tyson unfolded the acceptance letter once more.

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