The next morning, the orphanage was still quiet.
Alex pushed open his window, letting the fresh morning air fill his small room. After taking a deep breath, he changed into a fresh set of clothes and made his way to the courtyard. It was his routine to begin the day with some light exercise before breakfast, and today was no different.
He started with a set of punches, his movements smooth and precise, honed by years of discipline. "Hah…" he exhaled sharply as he finished his set, wiping the sweat from his brow. He stretched out, feeling the familiar relief in his muscles, before heading toward the cafeteria.
"Morning, Mother Triss," Alex greeted the elderly nun who oversaw the orphanage's daily routines. "I could smell that pumpkin porridge from all the way outside," he added with a grin.
Mother Triss, standing over a pot, smiled warmly. "Morning, Alex. Up early again, I see. If only the other children were as disciplined as you, I'd be able to rest easier."
She ladled a bowl of porridge and handed it to him. Alex accepted it with a polite smile. "Thank you, Mother Triss."
He knew better than to say too much. If she ever found out about the soul of an adult soldier inside this eleven-year-old body, she might not be as impressed by his discipline. After finishing his breakfast, he thanked her again and made his way back to his room.
But as soon as he stepped inside, Alex froze. Something was off. Sitting calmly on his desk was a brown owl, its sharp eyes locked on him. The owl wasn't just sitting there—it was unloading something. With practiced skill, it untied a letter from its leg and placed it neatly on the desk, then flew to the windowsill, perching there quietly as if waiting for something.
Alex stared at the bird, his mind racing. Slowly, he closed the door and walked over to the desk, picking up the envelope. There was no stamp. The address, written in bright green ink, read:
Mr. Alex Wilson, Ellens Church Welfare Home, Shaftesbury Street, London.
Turning the envelope over, he saw a wax seal with a coat of arms—a large letter "H" surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
"What kind of letter is this?" Alex muttered to himself as he carefully opened it.
Inside was a neatly folded letter that read:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Wilson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st.
We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Alex blinked, staring at the words in disbelief.
"Hogwarts...?" He had never expected this. Sure, he had some strange powers, but the idea that he was part of a magical world seemed ridiculous. He had always thought his "telekinesis" was just a superpower.
But now, he realized, it was something more. And then another thought struck him—he didn't know anything about Harry Potter. His memory of his past life was blurry in places, but he knew that Harry Potter was something that happened after the 1990s. Yet here he was, in 1980, receiving a letter from Hogwarts.
With a mix of curiosity and worry, Alex sat down at his desk, glancing at the owl, still watching him intently. "Waiting for my reply, huh?" he mused. "Well, I've never had a pet before, but I don't have anything to offer you."
The owl remained silent, its gaze unblinking.
"Alright, alright. I'll write the reply."
Alex grabbed a pen and paper, writing a neat, careful reply. He expressed his thanks for the acceptance and mentioned that being an orphan, he had no knowledge of the wizarding world, so he asked if there was any assistance available to help him prepare for this strange new life.
After writing the reply, Alex carefully folded the letter and placed it into a fresh envelope before handing it to the owl. The bird, sitting patiently on the windowsill, took the envelope, tucked it into its feathers, and flew off into the night without a backward glance.
"Wow, that bird's got no chill," Alex muttered to himself, watching the owl disappear into the distance. "I wonder what the wizarding world is like right now. Has Voldemort already been defeated by Harry?"
His knowledge of Harry Potter was minimal—just fragments from conversations with friends. He vaguely remembered that Voldemort had killed Harry's family but failed to kill Harry himself. However, what was happening in the magical world during the 1980s was a complete mystery to him, as was most of the Harry Potter plot.
"Well, no point in overthinking it. I'll just wait for Hogwarts' reply. No matter what world you're in, strength is the key. Getting stronger is always the right path," he decided, shifting his focus back to his daily routine.
Alex's summer break at the orphanage was structured around a strict training schedule he had set for himself. Every day, he started with a warm-up, followed by boxing, standing exercises, aerobic workouts, meditation, and now what he called "telekinesis" training—though he now knew it was actually magic.
Each activity was carried out with military precision, one after the other, in an orderly fashion.
Time passed quickly in a disciplined life, and just two days after receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter, a special guest arrived at the orphanage.
"Are you saying you're Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts?" Alex asked, looking at the middle-aged woman who stood at his door. She wore square glasses, had curly black hair neatly tied into a high bun, and was dressed in a dark green robe.
"That's correct. I'm Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I saw your reply, Mr. Wilson. We visit Muggle-born students or those like you who haven't been exposed to the wizarding world yet," Professor McGonagall explained, her voice calm but firm. After a brief pause, she added, "And, of course, we visit independent young gentlemen like yourself."
"Ah, sorry, Professor McGonagall, please come in." Alex stepped aside, a bit embarrassed. "I'm still getting used to the whole magic school thing."
Professor McGonagall walked in and began to take in the room's surroundings. The space was small and modest, with a neatly made bed, a simple desk, and a shelf filled with books. In one corner, a few dumbbells were neatly stacked, and on the windowsill sat a lone pot of green onions.
She noted the clean, organized nature of the room with quiet approval. It was clear Alex maintained a disciplined lifestyle, something rare among teenagers. It made a good impression on her.
"I apologize for the simplicity of the room, Professor. It's not much," Alex said as he moved the only chair in the room toward her.
"That's quite alright, Alex. I brought my own chair." With a small wave of her wand, the dumbbells in the corner transformed into a wooden chair. She sat down gracefully, her movements fluid.
Alex couldn't help but feel amazed. He had seen magic in action for the first time, but despite his awe, he maintained his composure.
Sitting down across from her, he smiled slightly. "I was expecting a reply or visit in August since the letter asked for a reply by the end of July."
"That's mostly for children from magical families," Professor McGonagall explained. "We visit children unfamiliar with the wizarding world a bit earlier. And these days, the magical world is... more sensitive." She hesitated for a moment before continuing, avoiding the more troubling details.
"As you may have noticed, certain strange things have likely happened to you in recent years. Young wizards and witches usually experience accidental bursts of magic, which we call magical surges or 'underage magic.' Hogwarts teaches students how to control and use this magic properly."
Alex nodded as she spoke, and with a casual wave of his hand, a nearby cup floated in the air and hovered in front of him.
Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's impressive—casting a levitation spell without a wand, and silently at that. Mr. Wilson, are you sure no one has taught you magic before?"
"Yes, Professor. I discovered my abilities on my own. I thought it was some kind of superpower, like what we ordinary people say in the Muggle world. I practiced through meditation and trial and error. Of course, I'm nowhere near being able to do things like you just did." Alex smiled modestly.