The warmth of the celebratory chaos was a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of Privet Drive. No matter how much fun Allen and his two friends had enjoyed celebrating Harry's birthday—a small, precious pocket of warmth in Harry's miserable life—the moment Allen pushed open the massive front door of the Harris manor, he was engulfed in an explosion of vibrant color and sound.
"Allen, congratulations!"
A flurry of colorful, twisting ribbons rained down from the ceiling, instantly transforming the elegant, if slightly staid, entrance hall into a riot of joy. Sparkling jets of light erupted from the tips of several wands, chasing a steady stream of iridescent, oversized bubbles that bounced and drifted through the air.
Allen's family emerged, beaming, from behind the door. Mrs. Harris and Daisy wheeled a massive, elaborately decorated cake out of the kitchen. The sheer exuberance of the scene filled Allen with a deep, unexpected warmth. He was enveloped in a profound sense of belonging; his eyes reflected the myriad, dancing sparks of magic. Instead of being the miraculously rescued savior, Harry Potter, he was Allen Harris, a beloved part of this eccentric, powerful wizarding family. He felt incredibly, deeply fortunate.
Emily, always the most attentive, rushed forward, carefully taking Allen's heavy backpack and putting it away in its proper spot. His father, Owen, approached, holding out a single, significant piece of mail.
The envelope was made of thick, heavy parchment, the address written in elegant, emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, no sign of Muggle postage. Allen turned the envelope over to find a familiar, imposing wax seal: the Hogwarts crest. It featured the four animals—the bold lion, the humble badger, the soaring eagle, and the cunning snake—surrounding a stylized 'H,' entwined with ribbons bearing the school's name and solemn motto.
"Congratulations, Allen, you've received your official Hogwarts acceptance letter. Open it, let's see the list of required materials again!" Morgan LeFay Harris watched proudly, making a mental note to circle July 31st on the large wall calendar, satisfied that another one of her boys had successfully joined the ranks of the wizarding world.
Allen broke the seal and quickly scanned the letter, which detailed the necessities: first-year textbooks, standard robes, a pewter cauldron, and, most excitingly, the all-important wand. He handed the parchment to his mother. Though every adult present had seen dozens of such letters, they still passed it around, each person taking a moment to read the familiar text. Finally, Owen Harris took the letter and, as was his tradition, meticulously sealed it with a fresh drop of wax, promising to keep it stored safely as a family heirloom.
The family settled around the dining table, enjoying the perfectly roasted beef and rich apple pudding Mrs. Harris and Daisy had painstakingly prepared. The conversation, naturally, revolved around Hogwarts, with the adults spinning increasingly ridiculous and contradictory tales about the Sorting Hat.
"You see, Allen, the Hat looks into your heart and only sends the truly brave to Gryffindor—that's a fact," Len declared firmly.
"Absolute nonsense, Len! It actually ignores your current personality and sends you where you'll do the most good! It sent Aunt Melina to Hufflepuff because she needed to learn patience, not because she was inherently loyal!" Daisy retorted, stifling a giggle.
"No, no, darling, you've got it all wrong," Owen interjected with a dramatic whisper. "The Hat listens to your thoughts, but it's actually incredibly deaf, so you have to scream your intentions at it, and it usually just sends you wherever the loudest voice is coming from at that moment!"
"I wonder which school Allen will go to?" Emily asked, her voice tinged with the sadness of impending separation, knowing her brother was about to disappear to a distant boarding school.
Owen gave a hearty laugh and turned to his youngest son, his voice taking on a rare, serious tone. "Allen, you must remember this: wherever you end up, you must intentionally cultivate the virtues of every house. Being sorted is only the starting point, not the destination. I was reluctantly placed in Slytherin, a house infamous for its ambition and political cunning. But I assure you, I have acquired the boldness of a Gryffindor, the stubborn loyalty and honesty of a Hufflepuff, and the strategic knowledge of a Ravenclaw. You must blend them all to succeed."
Allen listened, his initial anxiety over the Sorting Process receding significantly. Owen's advice, though laced with a touch of Slytherin manipulation, was sound: holistic self-improvement over rigid house identity.
"So, how does it actually work? All those stories you just told contradict each other!" Little Emily had initially been intimidated by the spooky tales, but as the plots became more nonsensical, she realized they were deliberately trying to scare her.
The experienced family members merely smiled. Morgan LeFay gently stroked her youngest daughter's soft, pale hair. "You'll see for yourself when the time comes, my darling."
Amidst the familial expectations and blessings, Allen, his heart filled with burgeoning hope for the wizarding world, wrote out his answer and sent his acceptance to Hogwarts via the family owl, Edward.
"Oh, and Allen, one last thing. Take a moment and send a quick, encouraging note to Harry," Father Owen instructed, his tone suddenly pragmatic. "He doesn't know you're a wizard yet, does he? Don't let all our previous efforts to solidify that friendship go to waste because of a simple oversight like forgetting to say goodbye."
Meanwhile, fifty miles away, Harry Potter was experiencing the most astonishing, earth-shattering night of his entire life.
He had received a colossal, chocolate birthday cake from a towering giant named Hagrid, and had learned the unbelievable truth of his existence: he was a wizard. As he slipped on Hagrid's massive, warm moleskin coat and devoured the surprisingly fragrant, perfectly cooked sausages Hagrid had conjured from thin air, he felt as if he were suspended in a glorious, impossible dream.
He was a wizard. He was not going to Stonewall High. He was going to a magical school, and he could finally escape the oppressive, suffocating tyranny of the Dursleys!
Amidst the overwhelming euphoria, a sharp wave of sadness hit him. Allen and Fogg. He knew he would be leaving them. They wouldn't be in the same school, or even the same city. They would inevitably make new friends, brighter, more interesting friends. Allen is so distinguished, so smart, and Fogg is so cheerful and loyal. They're like the star boys of the crowd, always surrounded by people… Harry felt a wrenching pang of loss just thinking about it.
Thump-thump-thump!
A loud, insistent thudding startled him. Harry looked up at the grime-coated window of the dilapidated shack perched on the reef.
An owl was visible, struggling against the foul weather. He'd been bombarded by magical letters all day, and he instantly recognized the determined creature as a messenger. He rolled over, scrambling to the window, throwing it open to a blast of harsh, salty sea wind.
The owl, unsteady but utterly determined, fought the wind, aiming for the tattered armrest of the broken sofa. It stared down at Harry with fierce, accusing eyes, seemingly demanding why the recipient hadn't rushed to retrieve the message.
"Go on, untie that parchment from his leg! It's an incredible feat for him to have flown here in this weather, the faithful old messenger!" Hagrid urged, clearly fond of the creature. He quickly began slicing up sausages, preparing a reward for the exhausted bird.
Harry quickly walked over. The soaked, powerful owl extended its left leg. Tied to it with a piece of red cloth string was a small, rolled parchment. Astonishingly, despite the relentless wind and spray, both the string and the parchment were completely, miraculously dry—not a single trace of water.
Who else in the wizarding world would be sending me letters now? Harry wondered, his heart pounding.