When a traverser mistakenly thought that he had crossed the back of Britain in the 1980s, and when he was enduring childhood hardships and ultimately sinking into darkness, a strange yet familiar acceptance letter rekindled his life.
But when he came into contact with the deeper darkness, would he choose to stay away from the abyss or jump into it without hesitation?
“Wait for me, I’ll be back soon.”
By the bedside of a certain bed on the fifth floor of St. Mungo’s Hospital, he held her pale hand with unwavering determination.
This is a tale of a cunning little trickster, one who can deceive even himself, struggling between pain and tenderness.
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Sunlight filtered through the tattered brown curtains, and the morning's fresh air gently dispelled the mustiness that lingered in the small attic.
Perhaps due to its proximity to the sea, the humidity here remained as high as ever. Even in the corners of the attic, where moss climbed and expanded its territory, there was an inexplicable vitality.
While the men of London were still snug in bed with their wives—or mistresses, who could say for sure—anyway, while those chaps were still sleeping soundly on their soft beds, the people of Topoint had already begun their bustling day.
This was the morning of a port city, shortly after casting off the revelries of the previous night. It heralded a new round of noise and activity, as if people had no need for sleep.
Of course, all this liveliness had nothing to do with the residents of Diagon Alley.
Maca was one of the inhabitants of this alley on the east side of Topoint. Although he was born in Plymouth, what did it matter?
The poor had their own ways of living, and they naturally had their choices. In this alley filled with "ideals" and "futures," life was far more stable than in places like Plymouth, where various forces converged.
Here, there wasn't too much official scrutiny, and even less the heavy-handed influence of corporate giants. Those things were all in Plymouth! In this port city of hidden depths, there were only various covert transactions lurking beneath the water's surface.
Although Maca was young, he lived his days and nights upside down here, relying on his natural intelligence and extraordinary shrewdness. Just two hours ago, he had returned from the colorful night scene and was currently sound asleep on his slightly worn bed. What did he care if a few more cargo ships appeared at the docks?
While he lingered in a dreamy realm, a sudden flurry of wing flaps sounded outside the window, as if something had landed on the narrow windowsill.
"Thud, thud, thud."
It seemed a bird was pecking at the window frame, and the dull sound filtered through the curtains.
Maca, in the midst of slumber, furrowed his brows but wasn't awakened. He turned over, pulling the blanket over his head.
"Thud, thud, thud."
Three more gentle thuds, as if someone were knocking, raised curiosity about what was causing the commotion outside.
"Thud, thud, clang—"
Three more thuds, maybe the last one made the windowpane tilt or something, and the old glass immediately fulfilled its purpose, with shards falling to the ground with a tinkling sound. If it weren't for the curtain, glass fragments would probably have scattered all over the bed.
The worn-out blanket was abruptly pulled away as Maca blinked his eyes open and sat up. He seemed a bit dazed, probably still half-asleep. Looking around, his baffled expression was quite amusing.
Suddenly, while Maca was still in a daze, he yanked open the curtains, but then froze.
Outside the window, a pale gray owl was standing there, its large eyes meeting Maca's gaze. In a short while, the owl actually tilted its head, emitted a dry hoot, as if feeling a bit embarrassed about its mistake.
Maca blinked his eyes twice, not sure what expression to make. Because he had found something in this owl that was usually only seen in humans—a kind of intelligence.
"Can owls really be this smart?" Maca found himself leaning towards questioning life.
"Hoot—"
Just as Maca was filled with question marks, the owl hooted softly, extending its left claw and placing a letter on the edge of the windowsill.
On the thick parchment envelope, the address was written in emerald green ink, without a postage stamp. Maca was taken aback for a moment, then reached out and picked it up. At the top was a crimson wax seal with a coat of arms. The capital letter "H" surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent, each taking up a quarter of the space.
At the top of the coat of arms was a word that was unfamiliar yet oddly familiar to Maca.
"Hogwarts?" Maca sounded out the word, his tone a mixture of surprise and confusion.
He didn't rush to open the envelope but instead stared at the shield-shaped emblem with a vacant expression, his thoughts drifting farther away. After a while, he snapped back to reality.
Silently leaving the envelope on the bed, he huddled into himself, using his pale and slender arms to tightly embrace his head. His lackluster black hair hung disheveled between his fingers, as if telling the tale of the dim and bitter past years.
"Only now, at this point..." After a long while, Maca squeezed out a sentence laden with melancholic groans from his parched throat, "Ugh—this is simply ridiculous."
A sudden gust of sea breeze blew in through the window, making the air even colder.
Indeed, in June's Topoint, it was a time far removed from the scorching heat.
...
The sun gradually rose a little higher, and its rays brought a gentle warmth to this coastal town. Maca sat on the slanting roof outside the window, leaning against the outer wall of the attic, gazing from a distance at the shimmering surface of the Tama River. The morning sun ascended from the horizon where water met sky, casting a shimmering golden layer on the blue waters.
For Maca, who often roamed the streets late at night, this was an exceptionally rare and extraordinary sight.
He gazed into the distance in a trance, but his hand tightly held the unopened letter. The envelope was so light, yet Maca could constantly feel the weight it carried within his heart.
"Sigh."
The envelope was gently torn open, and two fairly textured sheets of paper were neatly folded together, drawn out by Maca all at once. He shook the corner of the letter in his hand, creating a rustling sound. The elegant handwriting gave him a strangely surreal feeling.
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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (International Confederation of Wizards President, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, First Class Order of Merlin)
Dear Mr. Maca McLean:
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Also, if the owl needs to stay with you for a while, kindly provide it with some sustenance.
——————————
Maca read the contents of the letter repeatedly, then flipped to the next page. However, before he could read much, he pursed his lips and stuffed the letter back into the envelope.
"Yes, of course, it still costs money." Maca muttered under his breath, "Tuition may be free, but additional fees are unavoidable. I should have realized that long ago!"
He sighed, wearing a gloomy expression as he climbed back into the attic. He pulled out a few grayish papers from a small cabinet by the bed and tossed them casually onto the countertop. Then, he retrieved a dusty, dirty suitcase from under the bed. Ignoring the cloud of dust that rose from it, he opened it with a snap, pulling out a long, slender box.
Inside was a pen, not a high-quality brand, but it was the only birthday gift his deceased mother had left him. It was also the most cherished possession of his entire life, second only to the pound notes.
"Oh, right, I'll need ink! Ink!"
He muttered to himself while preparing to write a reply. Nearby, the pale gray owl tilted its head and stood on the bedpost, watching Maca bustling about with curiosity.
Though writing with a pen had become a bit unfamiliar, at least he hadn't forgotten how to spell words. Maca had a good memory, evident from his daily habit of memorizing various pound amounts without error. However, it was inevitable that the letters he wrote would be crooked and slanted.
As a result, he ended up wasting several pieces of paper.
Watching the owl fly away from the window and quickly disappear around the corner, Maca's heart gradually calmed down a bit.
He truly hadn't expected that, amidst the despair and his decision to embrace the darker side of Britain, he would encounter a glimmer of miraculous light. And even more unexpectedly, this strand of miraculous light was related to Hogwarts, a place that had nearly been buried deep within his memories.
"Hogwarts, ha!" Maca chewed on the word again, a smile of pure innocence appearing on his face—a smile he had buried alongside his mother in the old cemetery of Plymouth.
Just as Maca's thoughts were wandering through his not-so-distant future, in Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, the boy who survived a great ordeal had just woken up in the cupboard under the stairs. What awaited him was a life thrown into chaos by an "unexpected visitor."
...
For the past two months, life had been perhaps unremarkable for the old Maca. But now, everything had changed completely.
Maca bid farewell to the attic that had accompanied him through three years of darkness, along with Uncle Angus, the pub owner who had given him his first job. He sold everything he could to the black market clients he often dealt with, and with all the pounds he had earned so far and his renewed hopes, he boarded the ferry to Plymouth.
Only in Plymouth could he catch a train to London and embark on his new journey.
"Let's visit Mother first!" Leaning against the railing at the edge of the ferry's deck, Maca gazed across the Tama River, murmuring.
His time on the Tama River wasn't very long, and the distance between the two banks was not great. Before long, Maca found himself amidst a somewhat disorderly cluster of graves.
When he was just nine years old, Maca spent the last of his father's money to erect a tombstone for his mother—a lavish expenditure for him at the time. Not for any other reason, but because it was the first time he had acknowledged this woman, always busy with money, in his heart.
"...Mother." Maca gently touched the clean tombstone. Even though it was noon, the air was chilling, "This seems like the second time I've called you 'Mother.'"
He paused, then continued, "To be honest, I still can't call you that naturally. I don't know if I should or if I even have the right to. But, in any case, you're my mother now. My... Mum."
"Cough, well, I know it still sounds hesitant. But hey, I've said it. So just bear with it for now..."
Perhaps due to the atmosphere or the emotions and yearning of the past three years, Maca spoke intermittently for a long while. It was nearly dusk when he finally stood up, dusted off his pants, sighed, and decided to find a cheap inn to spend the night. Tomorrow, he would head to the city center to catch the train to London.
Just as he turned around, a fleeting hint of light gold passed through his field of vision. Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, it radiated a unique brilliance...