Silence.
An eerie stillness enveloped the air, a silence that whispered secrets. The memory of that day is etched in my mind, vivid and haunting. Abruptly, I awoke, disoriented in an unfamiliar place, grappling with the confusion of forgetting how and why I ended up there. The remnants of my pre-awakening memories seemed distant, almost unreachable. My body clung to a damp shirt, drenched in a cold sweat that trickled from my head to my neck. Strangely, I felt a surge of vitality, reminiscent of my youth when the unimaginable seemed within reach. A profound presence simmered beneath the surface of my consciousness, a force yearning to be acknowledged. Otherworldly, almost magical, it felt like a long-forgotten dream, yet eluded my grasp.
Gradually, I became aware of my heavy breathing, the scent of the evening breeze wafting through the nearby window, and faint distant conversations. As I focused, faint strains of an unknown melody drifted from afar. My ears and nose reactivated, confirming my presence in a small room, with my back against a wall, surrounded by mundane objects—a bed, a water pot, and a weathered wooden trunk. A place entirely unfamiliar to me. A creeping fear began to snake its way up my chest, momentarily quelled by the room’s fluctuating dimensions.
Motionless, I waited for the disorientation to subside. The room ceased its expansion, the melody faded into nothingness, the breeze intensified, and the muffled conversations merged with the rustling of paper. My eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for my phone. Instead, a yellowed paper, parchment, and an envelope adorned the small table beside the bed, weighed down by a pebble. A surge of longing and immense confusion flickered briefly before dissipating, leaving me bewildered. I leaned forward, extending my arm to retrieve the parchment and envelope concealed beneath the pebble. Curiously, my body felt rejuvenated, as if I had regressed in age. A disconcerting thought, but one I momentarily dismissed, captivated by the vaguely familiar symbol etched on the parchment. And then, my gaze fell upon the yellow envelope, bearing my name inscribed in emerald-green ink.
> Mr. Ravi Kumar
>
> The Cottage in the corner of the Backyard,
>
> Throndell Manor, Lancaster Hill
>
> Asterville
A myriad of questions flooded my mind. When did I acquire a Hogwarts letter? Why had I appended “Kumar” to my name? Was this my address, or had I stumbled upon someone else’s correspondence? Turning the envelope, my excitement mounted as I beheld the letter “H” above a crimson wax seal, encircled by four animals—a lion, a snake, an eagle, and a badger. Setting the envelope aside, I focused on the letter itself, thrilled to hold a tangible replica. An earthy, musty aroma permeated the air, mingling with the anticipation that tingled in my nostrils.
The letter revealed its contents:
> HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
>
> Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
>
> (Order of Merlin, First Class,__
“Ah, I perceive that you have regained consciousness, Mr. Kumar. And how might you be feeling, Mr Kumar?”
I turned my head abruptly, almost too fast, feeling a jolt in my neck as the letter slipped from my hands and landed on my lap. I stared intently at the tall, severe-looking woman before me, my mind racing to make sense of the situation. This room, the presence of a foreign Englishwoman, and the absence of any signs of urban life around us—it all felt strange and unsettling. I struggled to find the right words to say, my mouth dry and my voice sounding deeper than usual.
“I’m… fine, miss?” I managed to utter, my uncertainty evident.
“It is ‘Professor’ that you should address me as, Mr. Kumar,” she corrected me sternly. “As I have already informed you, I hold the position of Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Had you not regained consciousness, I would have been forced to take you to St. Mungo’s.”
I stared back at her, unable to form a coherent response. She continued speaking, sensing my hesitation.
“You fainted, Mr. Kumar,” she said, waiting for a reply. I remained silent.
“The rare occurrence of your fainting might be attributed to shock, which often happens to non-magical individuals when they are introduced to the wizarding world. I must say, it’s quite unprecedented for a wizard. Do you recall our previous conversation, Mr. Kumar?” she inquired, and I nodded slowly.
“Good. As I mentioned before, due to your unique circumstances, you will be placed in the third academic year upon your enrollment in the school. However, we have already lost valuable time, so we must procure your school supplies today as the train to Hogwarts departs from King’s Cross station tomorrow.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Various possibilities swirled in my mind, while theories narrowed down to a few. Could I have been drugged? It didn’t seem likely. Was I dreaming? I discreetly pinched myself on the arm, confirming that I was indeed awake. The idea of this being a hallucination or a prank seemed far-fetched. Panic started to well up within me, my stomach churning, my ribcage tightening, and my hands trembling. But I fought to remain calm, to take control of my body, and then something inexplicable happened. A warm sensation spread through me, both comforting and magical, easing my agitation.
“Mr. Kumar?” the professor called out, breaking through my thoughts.
I lowered my head, trying to hide my growing fear, and simply nodded in response.
“It is with great concern that I must address the matter of the Book of Admittance having inscribed an individual’s name so tardily just prior to the commencement of the academic year. If you are in good health and wish to attend Hogwarts, we should proceed with the necessary paperwork,” she explained.
“Yes, Professor,” I replied, and she handed me a letter. Leaning forward, I stretched my trembling hand and signed the parchment, using the bedside table for support, my mind preoccupied with thoughts and questions.
“Now that the task is complete, would you like some time to prepare yourself before we head to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies?” she asked.
I looked down at my attire, realizing that I was wearing knee-length dark blue shorts and an oversized white t-shirt with dark brown horizontal stripes. I surveyed the room and found what I was looking for.
“Um, can I… no, nothing. Sorry. Just a moment, Professor,” I stammered, quickly moving towards the water pot on a nearby wooden block. As I splashed cold water on my face, a wave of clarity washed over me, pushing aside the fog in my mind. I pushed aside all the thoughts, feeling my ears flush from overthinking. She would have to perform magic at some point, and I only needed to nod my head and wait for the proof that would satisfy my curiosity. My hand touched the pocket of the shorts unknowingly, it felt empty. I doubted I would find my phone here. Without my smartphone, I no longer had immediate access to internet, or the ability to communicate with anyone around the world at any given moment. It was as if a lifeline had been severed, leaving me feeling strangely isolated. Glancing down at my feet, I realized I had nothing suitable to wear.
“Thank you for waiting, Professor. We can go now,” I finally said, and she noticed my bare feet, her expression carrying an indiscernible emotion, perhaps pity for my lack of knowledge about my own past.
“I distinctly recall seeing a pair of footwear by the door, Mr. Kumar,” she softly pointed out.
I nodded hurriedly and went to find the slippers. It was a long shot, but I hoped to witness some magic along the way. Regardless, I would soon find out. Stepping outside, I was momentarily blinded by the brightness, gradually adjusting my vision to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. I couldn’t recall ever being in a place with such a breathtakingly beautiful and expansive garden. If everything that had happened so far was indeed true, despite sounding utterly absurd, then this must be the backyard of the address written on the envelope. Rows of majestic tall trees stood like sentinels along the edges, while a grand fountain loomed in the distance behind a dense bush, partially obscuring the view. Birds sang in the distance, trees swayed gently in the cool breeze, the midday sun shone brightly in the western sky, and not a single cloud marred the azure blue expanse above.
“It’s a perfect afternoon for a nap,” I thought to myself. I stood there, taking deep breaths and trying to calm my nerves, or at least divert my attention from the mounting anxiety to the melodic chirping of the birds. I couldn’t deny that I felt alive, as if my soul had longed for this very moment. It had been years since I experienced such vitality and freedom coursing through my body. There was something else beneath the surface, an inexplicable sensation that defied explanation, or perhaps I was simply starting to make assumptions.
“Yeah, I’ll be alright. It doesn’t seem like I’m in mortal danger,” a passing breeze seemed to assure me.
I noticed a pair of slippers near the door and carelessly slipped them on before turning to face the professor.
I simply smiled.
In the blink of an eye, I found myself gazing at a different sky. It was undoubtedly blue, but there was something off about it, a tainted hue. Fluffy white clouds meandered aimlessly, scattering and drifting lazily. The air resonated with the blaring honks of nearby vehicles, and the murmurs of countless people engulfed my senses, reminiscent of waking up in my parents’ house in Mumbai. My back ached, and I realized I was lying on a hard, cold surface in an isolated alleyway. Memories of the past few minutes flickered in my mind, but they remained elusive and blurred. Fragments of explanations about the peculiar modes of travel in the wizarding world started to materialize, the uncomfortable sensation of squeezing through a tube being the most vivid memory etched in my mind.
“Are you alright, Mr. Kumar?” I heard an aged yet commanding voice from my left. Minerva McGonagall stood before me, the one who had shattered my reality, defied the laws of nature, and bewildered my logical mind, all within a matter of minutes. It became undeniably clear that I was no longer in my world, yet she seemed like the savior who would guide me from the realm of ordinary to the extraordinary, from the mundane to the magical.
“Yes, Professor?” I responded, my voice tinged with curiosity and uncertainty.
“You appear to be in an acceptable condition, Mr. Kumar. Adapting to Apparition takes time. Considering it was your first attempt, you managed to maintain your composure admirably compared to your peers,” she remarked.
“I’d have vomited if I had anything in my stomach,” I quipped silently to myself. As I regained my bearings, a surge of excitement coursed through my entire being. I had truly teleported. This was the confirmation I had been yearning for. This was the Wizarding world, and I possessed the ability to perform magic. I lay there for a full minute, reveling in the realization, until Professor McGonagall’s cough snapped me back to the present.
“Mr. Kumar, shall we continue, or do you need more time to recover?” she inquired.
In a sudden moment of realization, I jumped to my feet and replied, “I’m alright, Professor. Thank you for waiting. We can proceed now.”
“Indeed. Please follow me. This way. We find ourselves in London, at one of the entrances to the magical world of Britain, famously known as Diagon Alley. Stay close to me and refrain from wandering off,” she instructed, and I obediently walked in her footsteps.