Sitting on my bed, surrounded by the soft dusk of evening, I pulled one of the books I'd bought today from my bag. Simple Spells for Beginners — the very textbook used by first-year students at Hogwarts. The book was thick, about two hundred pages long, and its spine gave a quiet creak as I opened it for the first time.
The pages felt slightly rough under my fingers, smelling of fresh paper mixed with something... magical. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe every book in this world carried a trace of enchantment.
I began flipping through it slowly, pausing now and then at more interesting chapters. Many of the spells listed inside were unfamiliar — I didn't recall seeing them in any of the books I'd read before.
Names like Glacium — a charm that created a mist of frost; Fixato — for briefly immobilizing small objects; Luxorbis — which summoned a glowing orb of light to hover above one's head; and Refresco — used to cool the air in a stuffy room — were all completely new to me. And I was only on page fifty.
I closed the book for a moment and looked at my hands. I wanted to try something.
Setting the book beside me, I raised my hand."Lumos," I whispered, moving my fingers in a way that felt natural.
A faint orb of light appeared at my fingertips. It was dim, almost transparent — but it was there. It trembled slightly, as if it might vanish at any moment."Nox." It vanished silently.
That was… incredible. But I knew this was only the beginning. I wanted to feel the real difference.
I pulled my wand from its box. Its presence was like taking a breath after being underwater for too long. Holding it in my hands, I felt whole — as if I'd carried a void inside me my entire life, a void I hadn't even known existed… until now.
And then a thought struck me. Sudden. Sharp. Unsettling.
I wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school. I was underage. The law was the law.
I froze, holding the wand still. But… when I'd first cast Lumos, I hadn't even had a wand. I'd used wandless magic — and nothing had happened. Maybe the Ministry considered it accidental magic? I had no idea.
But now... I had a wand. Did that change everything?
I exhaled quietly.What if I just try? I thought. Let's see where this leads me.They wouldn't send me to Azkaban for this, right?
I tightened my grip on the wand, raised it with purpose, and whispered:
"Lumos."
A beam of white light burst from the tip of my wand. Bright. Pure.It filled the entire room, like someone had switched on a streetlamp right outside the window. I had to squint.
This was a completely different scale.
I stared at the glow, mouth slightly open. Magic with a wand… was stronger. Ten times stronger? Maybe more.It was the difference between a whisper and a shout. Between a spark and a flame.
"Nox." The light vanished instantly, and the room returned to semi-darkness.
I listened. Nothing. Silence. No caretaker knocking on the door, no one shouting from down the hallway.
I smiled to myself, just a little. That was only the first try. But I already knew — this wand, this magic, was more than just a tool.It was mine.
Ministry of Magic, London – Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Improper Use of Magic Office
In the dim light of a cramped office stacked with parchment and leather-bound records, a sudden sound echoed — a long, drawn-out ping from a magical detector. A senior clerk, seated at one of the desks, raised his eyebrows and glanced at the glowing blue orb.
"Again?" he muttered under his breath, reaching for his wand. With a few practiced motions, he summoned a map of London, which unrolled above his desk. A pulsing dot appeared just north of the center — in a Muggle district.
"Spell used in a non-magical area… orphanage…" he murmured, summoning additional sheets of information. "No registered underage wizards in the area… no adult wizards within a two-mile radius…"
He furrowed his brow. It didn't add up.
"Hey, Miriam!" he called over his shoulder to his colleague in the next cubicle. "We've got a Lumos detection, but nothing's showing in the registry for that location. Muggle area. No supervised kids, no wizarding families."
A woman with glasses on a chain looked up from her parchment.
"Was the wand trace identified?"
"No. No owner on record. Clear signal, wand activation — not a spontaneous surge."
She sighed.
"Forward it to Investigations. Unconfirmed cases are their territory. If it happens again — we'll send someone. Let them monitor the area for now."
The clerk quickly noted something on a form, which immediately rolled itself up and disappeared with a soft snap into the silver tube above his desk, heading off to the proper department.
Late evening — somewhere in a London orphanage
Silence. Thick, heavy, sticky night silence — broken only by the distant hum of cars outside and the faint ticking of the hallway clock. Everyone was asleep. Or at least — everyone except me.
I was still sitting on my bed, by the curtained window, with a book open on my lap and a wand in my hand. The pages of Simple Spells for Beginners were already slightly bent, some marked with my finger. I stopped at one of the new spells — something that hadn't been mentioned in canon. Or if it had, I didn't remember it.
Fixato — a spell used to temporarily immobilize objects or creatures. Often used by beginners to develop control over binding energy.
It sounded simple. It sounded safe.
"Fixato," I whispered, pointing at a pencil lying on the nightstand.
Nothing.
I frowned. I tried again — this time focusing on the exact wrist movement described in the book. A short arc, then a sharp point.
"Fixato."
The pencil twitched. It lifted slightly… then dropped back down. I smiled faintly.
This was starting to get fun.
For a few hours, I forgot about the Ministry, about the rules. In my mind, there was only the wand and the possibilities it opened. I kept practicing — Glacium, Refresco, Luxorbis. Some worked immediately; others were harder — but that didn't matter.
Each successful spell felt like a new breath, like opening a door to another world. To my world.
For a moment, I imagined I wasn't in an orphanage, but in a castle. That it wasn't Muggle children sleeping behind those walls, but other wizards. That in a few months, I'd truly be one of them.
The wand's light illuminated the book and my hands. Shadows danced across the walls, as if magic had its own rhythm — one only I could hear.
And I didn't know that somewhere far away, in the marble corridors of the Ministry of Magic, someone was poring over maps and scrolls, trying to figure out who I was.
But even if I had known — would I have stopped?
No.
Because for the first time in my life… I felt what it meant to be made for something.
Ministry of Magic — Office for the Improper Use of MagicLate Night
The clock struck midnight when the magical map of London suddenly lit up with a series of bright pulses. In the dim office, only one lamp still burned — above the desk of the senior inspector. Rufus Notley looked up from his report, squinting at the flickering cluster of signals in one part of the city.
"What in Merlin's name…?"
He pointed his wand at the map. The district name appeared automatically: Southbridge — Muggle orphanage. Notley cursed under his breath and reached for the registry. No wizard, no witch, no registered underage magical individual was supposed to be there.
And the spells being cast? Lumos. Nox. Glacium. Fixato. Refresco.All performed in quick succession. Practice. Deliberate. Unauthorized.
He didn't hesitate.
"Hemsley! Greaves!" he called loudly.
Moments later, two officers from the Enforcement Division entered the office. One young, the other older, wearing a gray cloak with the department's insignia on the sleeve.
"We've got a case of unauthorized magic in a Muggle district," Notley said briskly. "No registration, no personal records. And the number of spells suggests someone's been deliberately practicing."
Hemsley raised an eyebrow."A Muggle neighborhood, with no known wizards?"
"Exactly. Someone's casting spells knowingly, and no one knows who it is. Too much activity to ignore. You're going there immediately. Identify the source of the magic, question the locals, find out who and why. And if necessary — bring the culprit in."
Greaves nodded, already reaching for his coat, preparing to Apparate."If it's an unregistered underage wizard…?"
"Detain them. The Registry of Magical Births has to know where they came from. And if it's something more… notify the Aurors."
The map pulsed again — this time more brightly.
"Go," Notley barked. "And be careful."
Oliver's Room
The light in the room was dim — only the faint glow of Luxorbis hovered above the open book on the bed. I sat cross-legged, my wand resting against my knee, leaning over a page on the basics of Transfiguration.
Then I heard a soft crack. I knew what that meant.Took them long enough, I muttered to myself.I wasn't afraid — I had nothing to fear. But I felt strangely excited.Let's see where this takes me.
I didn't jump.I didn't hide the wand.I looked toward the door. My gaze was calm. Too calm for a ten-year-old.
The door opened silently, without a creak. Two men in gray cloaks stood in the doorway. Both had their wands out — held low, but ready. The older of the two stepped inside first. He looked at me, then at the book, and finally at the faint orb of light still floating near the ceiling.
"Impressive," he said after a moment. "You're… very calm, for someone who's just been caught using magic illegally."
I closed the book without breaking eye contact.
"Um, I didn't know it was illegal," I replied in an innocent tone.
The younger officer exchanged a glance with the older. The older one didn't answer right away. He stepped further into the room, evaluating every detail with a trained eye.
"Yes, it's illegal. You're not allowed to use magic near Muggles — especially not as a child," he finally said.
"Sorry, I didn't know."Playing the innocent child was always effective in situations like this.
The older wizard sighed. He reached inside his cloak and pulled out a slim black notebook.
"Silas Greaves. Office for the Improper Use of Magic. We need some answers, kid. Who are you… and where did you get that wand?"
I looked him in the eye and took a deep breath.
"My name is Oliver Peverell. The wand was… a family heirloom. It was passed down to me. I didn't steal it. I was at Ollivander's shop. You can ask him, if you don't believe me."
The name hung in the air like a dagger.
Peverell.
Silas furrowed his brow.
"Peverell?" he repeated, as if in disbelief. He looked at me again — this time more carefully.
I just nodded.
The younger wizard started scribbling — quickly, nervously.
"We'll take you to the Ministry," Greaves said at last. "Just for questioning. No one's going to hurt you, but… you're too much of a mystery to leave on your own."
I stood slowly from the bed."All right," I said quietly.
The senior officer gestured for me to come closer.
I slipped the wand into my pocket and stepped toward them.
"This might be a little unpleasant," Notley said.
And with those words — we vanished from the room.
A swirl in the air. A crack. A drawn-out sigh from the space that had to make room for three new arrivals.
Apparition always felt… strange to me. Unpleasant. Like my body forgot, just for a second, where it belonged.
I blinked several times, adjusting to the bright, cold light. We were in a corridor — long, lined with marble, stretching endlessly, with rows of closed doors on either side. Only a few were lit, and the soft echo of footsteps rang off the walls.
Silas Greaves straightened, brushing off his cloak.
"Follow me, boy," he said shortly — though not unkindly.
I didn't speak. My steps were soft, light, nearly silent — a contrast to the sharp tapping of their boots.
We passed strange offices, where self-writing quills floated through the air, folders hovered mid-flight, and spheres of light chased fluttering documents like thoughts. The Ministry lived even at this hour — as if magic never truly slept.
Eventually, we stopped before a door with a brass plaque:
Registration and Inquiry Office
Greaves stepped in first. Inside, an older clerk sat with a magical magnifier hovering over his glasses, dipping a quill into an inkwell.
"Another night, another case?" he asked with a sigh, not looking up.
"Yes. Use of multiple spells in a Muggle district. No registry entry. A child. Name: Oliver Peverell."
This time, the clerk did look up.
"Peverell?"
He blinked, then leaned over a massive ledger, running his finger down the columns.
"The Peverells are listed. An old pure-blood family, but they've been unseen for decades… no known descendants in the recent records. No births."
He looked at me closely.
"And you… where did you come from?"
I hesitated for a moment.
"I don't know. I've lived in an orphanage since I was very young."
Greaves kept his eyes on me but didn't interrupt.
"I have the Peverell family signet. The wand was kept for me as well. It was crafted over five hundred years ago by one of Ollivander's ancestors for one of my forefathers. My father — Elias Peverell — brought it to the shop ten years ago. He asked for it to be stored safely. Mr. Ollivander gave it to me this morning and explained everything."
The clerk stopped writing. He looked at Greaves.
"Did Ollivander confirm this?"
Greaves nodded.
"Yes. He said he'd been safeguarding the wand for ten years. And that Oliver was its sole intended recipient."
"And the father's name?"
"Elias Peverell," I repeated.
Silence settled over the room.
The older clerk finally leaned back in his chair, the quill still hovering motionlessly above the parchment.
"This is… an unusual case. A magical child who never appeared in any registry. A centuries-old wand. A family name steeped in legend — but with no recent activity."
No one spoke for a long moment.
"So what now?" I asked, curious.
Greaves looked at me with a trace of respect — maybe even a spark of intrigue.
"Now… we'll need someone higher up. Someone who knows what to do with you. I've already notified the Minister's office. If he's available, he'll come himself. If not… someone from his staff will."
He looked at me again — this time, his gaze wasn't cold. Just full of questions.
"You can sit down. And don't worry. This isn't an interrogation. Not yet."
I smiled faintly. And I sat down.Ready for whatever came next.
A few minutes later
The door opened silently, almost imperceptibly. Two wizards entered the room — one short, with curly hair, wearing a plum-colored ministerial cloak adorned with the English crest on the lapel. The other — tall, bearded, with twinkling eyes and a calm presence that seemed to soothe the very air around him.
Cornelius Fudge. Albus Dumbledore.
The senior clerk stood at once — a little too quickly.
"Minister! Headmaster! We weren't expecting—"
"No matter, Arlo," Fudge interrupted, polite but weary. "We received word of an unregistered underage wizard casting spells in the middle of a Muggle district. That sounded… intriguing enough not to delay until morning."
Meanwhile, Dumbledore's gaze swept across the room until it came to rest on me. For a long moment, he simply looked — saying nothing. I felt his eyes on me — steady, calm, but not judgmental. As if he saw more than what was visible.
"This is him?" he asked gently.
Greaves nodded.
"Yes. Oliver Peverell. Ten years old. Resident of a Muggle orphanage. No record in the Registry of Magical Births. And the wand… came from Ollivander. Kept there for ten years at the request of his father — allegedly, Elias Peverell."
Fudge raised an eyebrow.
"Peverell?"
"Yes, Minister," the clerk confirmed. "Both the signet and surname match. But we have no documentation of this child's existence in any of our systems."
"And the wand?" Fudge asked, his tone sharp.
"Registered centuries ago. The Peverell family once had the right to commission custom wand cores. Very old magic."
The Minister frowned slightly.
"This whole thing reeks of dusty archives and complications. A child with no paperwork, a surname out of legend, magic from the past…" He trailed off. "We don't have time for fairy tales."
Then Dumbledore spoke — softly, almost in a whisper, and yet his voice filled the room.
"If I may… take responsibility for this case, Minister?"
Silence fell.
Fudge looked at him, unsure.
"As Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, you're under no obligation—"
"But I am interested. He is, after all, a future Hogwarts student," Albus interrupted kindly. "And I do have some experience in such matters. Along with full confidence in the Ministry's staff, of course."
He smiled slightly, a twinkle in his eye.
Fudge hesitated for a heartbeat longer, then waved his hand dismissively.
"Very well. But keep me informed. If this turns into something… larger… I want to know immediately."
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded.
Fudge gave me a brief glance, then turned and left without another word.
Once the door closed, Dumbledore slowly sat down across from me, still watching me closely.
"Oliver Peverell," he said softly. "Would you be willing to speak with me? Just the two of us. Peacefully. About your story. About what you remember. And perhaps… about what you might still be hiding from yourself?"
I nodded silently.
The senior clerk pressed a silver button. A small golden orb — a message charm — detached itself and zipped through a vent.
"I don't think there's any reason to delay this," Dumbledore said as he rose from his chair. "I'll report to the Minister after our conversation. Gentlemen, thank you for your vigilance."
Greaves and Hemsley nodded. They didn't object.
"Ready?" he asked me.
I nodded again. Still silent. I felt calm and curious at once. Dumbledore was exactly as I'd imagined from the books. Some had mixed feelings about him, but I liked him — no matter what.
He stepped toward me and offered his hand.
"A handshake, if you don't mind. This will be a slightly more subtle form of Apparition."
I took his hand — warm, firm, but gentle. And in the same moment, the world spun. The air stretched, colors blurred into long streaks, and—
Dumbledore's Office — Location Unknown, Somewhere in Magical London
We arrived in a spacious room bathed in candlelight, the air filled with the soft murmur of spells.
The office was exactly what one would expect of Albus Dumbledore — high ceilings, bookshelves overflowing with old tomes, bizarre devices ticking and glowing, and portraits of ancient wizards dozing in their frames. A fireplace crackled in one corner. A phoenix sat nearby, lifting its head to look at me with curiosity.
Dumbledore motioned for me to sit in the chair across from his desk.
"Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Mead? Perhaps some pumpkin juice?"
"No, thank you," I answered quietly.
I sat slowly. Alert, but not afraid. He noticed that, too.
"I must admit, it's rare to meet a child so… composed," he said with a smile. "Especially in a situation that would leave most adults quite shaken."
I was quiet for a moment. Then I simply said:
"I know who I am. And I know I'm not a threat."
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
"And that is why I want to hear your story. No formalities, no officials. Just you and me. Tell me everything you can. How did you end up in the orphanage? What do you remember? And what do you know about your wand?"
I took a breath.
"I've always remembered the orphanage. Nothing before that. No one ever came to see me. No one ever told me where I came from. The caretakers only knew my name. A few days ago, strange things started happening — magical things. I also had a dream. Someone dressed in black told me I was a wizard and that I needed to go to Diagon Alley, to Gringotts, to claim what was mine. Then to Ollivander's — for something else. The figure explained everything. Gave me exact instructions and the address."— If Dumbledore was reading my mind, I might be in trouble. But I didn't think he was.
I took off the signet ring and placed it on the desk.
"Ollivander knew more. He told me about my wand. It had been waiting for me for ten years. My father — Elias Peverell — left it with him before disappearing. He never came back."
Dumbledore leaned in slightly, eyes locked on mine, as if analyzing every word.
"What you're saying, Oliver… carries more weight than you might realize. You see, I knew your parents. Remarkable people — both your mother and your father. They hid your existence from the world. Even I only learned of you recently. But the price of keeping you hidden… was their lives."He paused."They gave their lives so you could be safe."
Hearing that stirred a sadness I hadn't expected. Even if they weren't truly my parents — they were the parents of the boy whose place I had taken. Maybe I hadn't simply appeared in this world. Maybe… I had inherited someone else's life.
Dumbledore noticed the change in my expression and paused for a moment.
"If you prefer, we can leave the rest of this for another time. When you're older," he offered gently.
I thought about it. But I wanted to know. If I had come to this world, I would live the life of the person who came before me.
After a moment, I said, "Let's continue."
"There's no need to rush. But if that is your wish, then I can at least share this much," he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully."You were born into a time of uncertainty — war. Your parents were deeply involved in the resistance against evil."
He looked into my eyes."Your mother, Aria, came to Britain from France. She started at Hogwarts at age fourteen. That's where she met your father. After graduating, they married. But they never told anyone they were expecting a child."Dumbledore sighed.
"They were extraordinarily private people. Even I know little about their lives. But now, we must discuss something else. I understand your fascination with magic… but you mustn't cast spells unsupervised. Not yet. I need your promise — no more magic at the orphanage."
He looked at me seriously.
"I promise," I said, quietly, and with a hint of sadness.
"Good. Now that that's settled… don't you think it's time for bed? You must be exhausted after such a day. I'll escort you back to the orphanage and handle the rest. You have nothing to worry about. Remember — everything in its time. You'll learn all you need to, soon enough."
And so, the day came to an end.
AN:
3,900 words — basically two chapters in one.I know the conversation with Dumbledore might seem a bit chaotic, but I honestly didn't know how to write it. I've never claimed to be super precise when it comes to storytelling, so yeah — I'll admit it: I took some shortcuts. Is that really such a bad thing?
Still, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. As the story continues, everything will start to make more sense.Feel free to share your thoughts — I'd love to hear what you think.