The village of Lancaster Hill lay nestled amidst undulating hills and lush fields, enveloped by an atmosphere of serenity and tranquillity. Its picturesque charm was accentuated by the narrow, meandering roads that wound their way up and down the hill, offering captivating views of the surrounding landscape. Perched atop a hill in the northeastern direction, overlooking the village, stood Thorndell Manor, a place shrouded in mystery.

The origins of the manor were a subject of speculation and uncertainty. Some among the elderly residents, clinging to the remnants of their fading memories, claimed that the manor had materialized overnight, seemingly out of thin air, without a whisper. Others argued that it had always been there, hidden away from the prying eyes of the villagers, its occupants choosing to remain distant and aloof from the rest of the community.

Fear and apprehension hung in the air whenever the subject of the Walker family residing in Thorndell Manor arose. It was widely believed that anyone who ventured too close to them or formed any connection with them would befall a tragic fate. The most recent example of this ill fate was the British-Indian couple who had worked for the family for years. They perished in a bus accident while travelling to the nearest town, leaving behind their orphaned son. Fortunately, instead of forsaking the young orphan in the care of an orphanage, Mr. Walker, offered the boy a place within the Manor’s walls, ensuring his fundamental needs were met.

Not everyone in the village believed these rumours in the present time. There were even a few who held Mr Walker, the sole remaining member of the family, in high regard for his acts of generosity and kindness. After the consecutive deaths of his wife and children, Mr Walker had retreated into a quiet existence, occasionally offering financial assistance to young individuals to help them pursue their dreams. Some villagers had left for the city, building successful lives there, and despite Mr Walker never asking for the money back, they respectfully returned the borrowed funds, remembering his benevolence.

Apart from the enigmatic Thorndell Manor, the villagers led simple and uneventful lives. Any hint of peculiarity or anomaly would instantly become a topic of discussion among the tightly-knit community. On the morning of September 1st, the gossip revolved around the milkman’s son being accepted into a boarding school for the gifted. The boy had gained notoriety over the years for his extraordinary tales, often finding himself in inexplicable situations. Some speculated that both the Creevey brothers might suffer from a mental disorder, as even the younger one had begun fabricating his own stories.

The old lady, living nearby says,” I have me doubts about this School. Did you see the woman who came to visit. I ain’t seen no one dressed like a witch and claimin’ to be part of some fancy academy for the gifted.”.

Another plump woman chimed in, “Well, well, well, it’s about time that man came to his senses and realised that sending that older boy to a mental institution might just save the younger one from his negative influence. Back in my day, being a single parent was tough enough, but now he gotta deal with this mental nonsense too? Goodness gracious”

“Did ye see ‘em leavin’ this mornin’, lass? I was waitin’ by the cross, hopin’ to share some good words. But I didn’t see anyone. I stood yonder and nary a sight of Creevey’s. When I went to check on them, they were already gone.” A middle-aged woman with freckles on her face posed a question about the departure of the Creevey family to the youngest member of the group as she responded,

“I ain’t seen ‘em neither. She must have left early in the morning. I reckon they didn’t want to show their face.” Mrs Baker, a relatively new resident, was well-informed and kept abreast of the latest news circulating throughout the village.

Despite being a close-knit community, no one had noticed the arrival of a serious-looking woman with jet-black hair meticulously pulled back into a tight bun atop her head yesterday afternoon. She wore square glasses and a cloak of vibrant emerald green as she appeared unannounced at Thorndell Manor. Likewise, no one was aware that the thirteen-year-old Indian orphan boy, who resided in a humble shack in the manor’s backyard, had received an acceptance letter from the same school as the young Creevey. And as the clock struck 10:25 in the morning on September 1st, the boy would inexplicably vanish, leaving behind an empty bed and a desolate clay pot, his whereabouts unknown to all.

…

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Within the chilly confines of his cottage, Ravi nervously fiddled with his wand, a surge of anxious energy coursing through his veins.. It was the morning of September 1st, this day that marked the beginning of his extraordinary journey to Hogwarts. Yesterday evening, Professor McGonagall before leaving, delivered crucial instructions that still echoed in his mind.

“Mr Kumar,” the professor had addressed him with a stern yet compassionate expression, “I have arranged a special portkey for you. Tomorrow morning at exactly 10:25, It will transport you to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Make sure you hold onto it tightly when the time comes.”

Grateful yet apprehensive, he nodded, the weight of this momentous occasion settling upon his shoulders. Unfortunately, there was no clock in the cottage to guide him, leaving him unaware of the precise time. All he knew was that he had to be prepared by morning’s light.

The anxiety that had initially gripped him now morphed into paralyzing fear. The prospect of stepping into the unknown, of encountering unfamiliar faces, overwhelmed and exhilarated him simultaneously. It was this very excitement that had kept him awake throughout the night, denying his weary eyes the rest they desperately craved.

As the hours ticked by, Ravi’s stomach growled with hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything since his awakening yesterday, unsure whether he should venture out to search for something to eat. The uncertainty of the world beyond the cottage’s walls kept him trapped in a cycle of unease and doubt.

Thirsty and desperate, Ravi’s gaze fell upon a clay pot containing a meagre amount of water. It was his only source of nourishment throughout the night. With shaking hands, he reached for the pot and took the final sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. He knew it was far from enough to sustain him, but in his anxious state, even a small relief felt like a victory.

As the first rays of the sun painted the horizon, Ravi’s anxiety heightened, entwined with his imagination to conjure the most dreadful scenarios. What if the portkey malfunctioned, casting him astray? What if he found himself lost in an unknown land? The fear of the unknown gnawed at him relentlessly, refusing to release its grip on his vulnerable psyche.

Determined not to leave anything to chance, Ravi clutched the portkey tightly in his hand, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He paced back and forth within the confines of the quaint cottage, seeking solace in the familiarity of his movements but finding none. The silence, unbroken except by the sounds of his restless footsteps, that always helped him calm down, now seemed to amplify his worries, leaving him feeling isolated and vulnerable.

Hours stretched into what felt like an eternity as Ravi’s mind became a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities. He questioned his readiness for this new chapter of his life, wondering if he possessed the strength and resilience necessary to navigate the trials that awaited him at Hogwarts.

With each passing minute, Ravi’s grip on the portkey tightened, his fear fueling an irrational belief that any momentary lapse would render it ineffective. The weight of unknown responsibility pressed down on him heavily, threatening to crush his fragile resolve beneath its burden. The magnitude of the journey he was about to embark upon became an oppressive force that loomed large in his mind.

Finally, after what felt like an infinity, an urgent sense of purpose seized his being. Glancing out the window, he observed the clouds hovering high in the sky, a silent reminder that the moment he had both dreaded and yearned for had arrived. It was time. He couldn’t tell where this certainty came from. He simply knew.

Summoning his inner strength, Ravi steeled himself and muttered, “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters,” his voice a quiet prayer. He clung tightly to the portkey, a decayed half-broken cricket ball, shutting his eyes tight and surrendering himself to the words of Professor McGonagall that echoed in his mind.

In an instant, a jolt of energy surged through Ravi’s body, he felt an invisible tug just behind his abdomen, his surroundings dissolving into a dizzying whirl. The fear and anxiety that had consumed him mere moments ago intensified, threatening to overwhelm him entirely.

But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the spinning sensation ceased, leaving him with a mixture of cautious relief and newfound curiosity. Slowly, he opened his eyes, greeted by the bustling sight of students, parents, and luggage carts on a vibrant platform. The portkey had worked.

A wave of relief washed over Ravi as he realized that he had successfully completed the first step of his magical odyssey. Releasing his grip on the portkey, he experienced a surge of accomplishment that eclipsed the lingering fear from earlier.

Surveying the surroundings, Ravi absorbed that there was a fireplace behind him, “So that’s where I landed.”

Though a tinge of anxiety remained, he knew that he was not alone. Armed with magic, an eternal power coursing through his veins, he possessed the strength to overcome whatever challenges lay ahead.

With newfound determination fueling his spirit, Ravi pocketed the portkey, securely grasped his trunk with both hands and took a resolute step forward onto the platform. He was prepared to embrace the thrilling adventures and formidable trials that awaited him on this path to self-discovery.

As he navigated through the bustling crowd, a subtle shift occurred within him. The fading remnants of his anxiety were replaced by a growing sense of anticipation, a spark of excitement that ignited his imagination. The unknown, once a formidable foe, now beckoned to him as a realm of endless possibility. He knew that beyond the threshold of this platform awaited a world of magic and wonder, and he eagerly awaited the discoveries that awaited him there.