Eliot Clarke turned eleven on a drizzly morning in early August. The cake was still half-frosted when he began pacing the drawing room like a caffeinated squirrel.
His mother, Margaret Clarke, sat on the settee with a cup of chamomile tea, watching her son perform what she could only describe as ritualistic anxiety laps.
> "Eliot," she finally said, "if you don't sit down, you'll wear a trench through the carpet."
> "It's late!" Eliot snapped, then immediately caught himself and softened. "Sorry. It's just… they said on your eleventh birthday. It's been hours."
Margaret raised a brow. "It's been twenty-three minutes since breakfast."
He sighed and collapsed beside her. "Do you think they forgot? What if I'm not magical enough? What if they changed the rules? What if I get rejected?"
She patted his knee.
> "Eliot, you've accidentally turned the garden hose into a snake, the teapot into a turtle, and the curtains into origami cranes. If that's not magical enough, then I don't know what is."
He chuckled nervously. "Yeah, but what if they think I'm unstable magic? Like… magically insane?"
> "You'd fit right in," she said with a wink.
---
The knock on the door came exactly at noon.
Three raps. Heavy. Rhythmic.
Grandfather stood there, stoic and unreadable. In his hand was a thick envelope sealed with wax and a crest Eliot recognized instantly:
**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**
His hands trembled slightly as he took it.
> "It's real," he whispered.
> "Of course it is," Grandfather said. "You think I trained you for circus acts?"
Eliot tore it open, eyes darting across the parchment:
> *Dear Mr. Clarke, > We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…*
He exhaled the breath he'd been holding for weeks.
"I got in," he said, almost in disbelief.
---
Two days later, they stood before the **Leaky Cauldron**—a dingy-looking pub tucked between a bookstore and a record shop in London. Muggles passed by it without even noticing, eyes sliding off the entrance like it didn't exist.
"Alright," Grandfather said. "Watch and learn."
He led Eliot into the pub, nodding to the bartender, and walked straight to a brick wall behind the building.
> "Three up, two across," he muttered.
With the tip of his cane, he tapped the bricks in a precise sequence.
With a rumble, the wall **shuddered and rearranged**, bricks folding back to reveal a narrow cobbled alley teeming with witches, wizards, and magical shops.
**Diagon Alley.**
Eliot's jaw dropped. "It's like… Diwali and Comic-Con had a baby and sprinkled it with chaos."
Grandfather smirked. "Wait till you see the owl emporium."
---
They stepped through, and Eliot felt like he'd crossed a threshold between worlds.
Cauldrons bubbled in shop windows. Brooms hovered lazily. Children ran around with chocolate frogs leaping from their bags. A wizard argued with a hat over fashion choices. It was mayhem—and it was magnificent.
> "First stop: Gringotts," Grandfather said. "You need funds."
> "The goblin bank?"
> "Correct. And don't ask them if they play Dungeons & Dragons. They don't find it funny."
---
After the vault visit and nearly being yeeted off a cart at goblin speed, they proceeded through Eliot's list:
- **Robes** from Madam Malkin's- **Books** — including, to Eliot's delight, *Magical Runes and the Logic of Enchantment*
At one point, they stopped at a corner where Grandfather whispered something under his breath, grabbed Eliot's shoulder, and—
**CRACK**
Sudden pressure. No air. The world twisting like a Möbius strip.
A heartbeat later, they were in front of another shop.
Eliot wobbled. "What the hell was that?"
> "Side-Along Apparition," Grandfather said casually. "You'll learn it by sixth year. Or die trying."
> "Comforting."
---
By sunset, their shopping bags bulged with supplies and Eliot's head spun with wonder.
As they sat outside Florean Fortescue's eating Butterbeer ice cream, Eliot leaned back and said:
> "You were right, Grandpa."
> "About what?"
> "Magic's not a fairytale."
Grandfather looked at him, eyes proud but serious.
> "No, lad. It's a responsibility."
Eliot nodded.
He was ready.