After writing the reply, Alan sealed the letter in a brand-new envelope and held it out to the owl. The bird took the parchment with practiced ease, fastened it to its leg, and flew off into the morning sky without a second glance.
"Quite aloof," Alan muttered. "I wonder what the wizarding world is like right now, and if Voldemort has already been dealt with by Harry."
He only had a fragmented impression of the story. He recalled a friend mentioning that Voldemort had murdered Harry's family but failed to kill the boy, leading to his own downfall. However, Alan was genuinely clueless about the state of the magical world in 1980 or the specifics of the timeline.
"No use overthinking it. I'll just wait for the school's response. In any world, strength is the only true foundation." With that thought, he returned to his daily routine. Alan maintained a grueling training schedule during the orphanage's summer break: warm-ups, boxing, stance work, aerobic exercise, meditation, and what he now realized was magic training.
When life is disciplined, time moves fast. Just two days after sending his reply, a visitor arrived at the orphanage.
"Are you saying you are Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts?" Alan asked the woman standing at his door. She wore square glasses, had dark hair pulled into a tight bun, and was dressed in emerald green robes.
"That is correct. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I received your reply, Mr. Wilson. We make a point of visiting families who have had no prior contact with our world." She paused, perhaps remembering his living situation. "And, of course, young men like yourself who are living independently."
"Won't you invite me in, Mr. Wilson?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor. Please, come in. I'm still processing the idea of a magic school." Alan stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.
McGonagall scanned the room as she entered. It was small but meticulously kept: a bed, a desk with a connected bookshelf, a wardrobe, and a set of dumbbells tucked neatly into a corner. On the windowsill sat a single pot of green onions.
The tidiness of the space and the boy's composed demeanor made a good impression on her. This wasn't the room of a typical eleven-year-old; it belonged to someone highly disciplined.
"My apologies, Professor, the room is quite sparse." Alan moved to offer her the only chair in the room.
"No need for that, Alan—you don't mind if I call you Alan, do you? I've brought my own." McGonagall drew a thin wooden wand from her robes and pointed it at the dumbbells. In an instant, the heavy iron transformed into a comfortable wooden chair.
Alan was startled by the display of Transfiguration, but he didn't lose his head. He pulled out his desk chair and sat down to face her.
"The letter said to reply by July 31st. I didn't expect a visit so soon."
"That deadline is primarily for wizarding families. For those new to our world, we prefer to make contact early. The magical world is in a sensitive state at the moment..." McGonagall trailed off, deciding not to elaborate. "Children with magical talent are notified when they reach the appropriate age. Hogwarts will teach you how to control and focus your power. I expect you've noticed strange things happening around you over the years? Accidental magic is common in young wizards."
Alan nodded. He raised a hand, and a teacup from his desk rose into the air, floating steadily between them.
McGonagall's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't a random outburst of accidental magic; it was a controlled, wandless, and non-verbal Levitation Charm. "Mr. Wilson... are you quite sure no one has taught you magic before?"
"Yes, Professor. When I realized I could move things, I started practicing. I used meditation to help focus. I thought it was a psychic power—that's what people call it. Of course, I can't do what you just did. I can't turn iron into wood."
"You will learn that in time." McGonagall was increasingly impressed. A self-taught, disciplined, and hardworking student was a rare find. Yet, thinking of the darkness currently looming over their world, she felt a flicker of anxiety for him.
"Alan, I am very pleased to see your dedication. We should move quickly; our schedule is tight. We need to finalize matters with the orphanage and get you started on your school shopping."
McGonagall was the definition of efficiency. After a private meeting with the orphanage staff, the paperwork for Alan's schooling was settled. Alan suspected she had used a bit of magic, given how quickly the nuns had agreed.
"Did you use magic on Sister Therese? They seemed very eager to let me go."
"A minor Confusion Charm. It improves efficiency, doesn't it?" McGonagall offered a rare, thin smile. "Don't worry, it won't harm them, and they won't forget you. You are welcome to return here for your holidays."
"Now, we shall go to purchase your supplies. Given your circumstances, I have secured a scholarship from the Board of Governors. It provides an annual subsidy of twelve Galleons."
"Galleons are our currency," she explained. "One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles, and one Sickle equals twenty-nine Knuts."
*Of course,* Alan thought, suppressing a sigh. *Only in Britain would the money be this complicated.*