The letter had already sent my parents spiralling into confusion, but the actual meltdown happened when a sharply dressed woman knocked on our door.
Dad was still convinced it was a prank.
"Ethan," Dad said for the umpteenth time, waving the Hogwarts letter like it was evidence in a courtroom, "are you absolutely sure this isn't some kind of elaborate joke?"
"Yes, Dad," I groaned, sprawled out on the couch. "It's real. The owl wasn't part of some express bird delivery service."
Mom wasn't any better.
"Ethan," she said, pacing the living room, "they're talking about magic. You can't just expect us to believe—"
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
"Who is it now?" Dad muttered, tossing the letter onto the table.
I opened the door.
Standing there, with a gaze that could cut through steel, was a stern-looking woman dressed in an outfit straight out of a medieval fantasy novel.
Tall. Regal. Cloaked in dark green robes with an air of authority that screamed I don't take nonsense from anyone. Her hair was pulled back so tight, I was half-convinced it could deflect bullets.
"Good evening," she said, her Scottish accent slicing through the awkward silence.
I blinked. "…Uh. Hi?"
"May I come in?"
"Oh… sure." I stepped aside, trying not to panic.
Mom and Dad were still in the living room, staring at the door as if they expected a circus clown to walk in next.
"Mom… Dad…" I called out, already bracing for impact. "We, uh… have company."
Mom appeared first, still clutching the dish towel like it was her only line of defense.
"Ethan, who—"
Her words died the moment she saw the woman step into the room.
Dad followed, holding his half-empty coffee mug.
"…Ethan," Dad murmured, narrowing his eyes. "Why is there a woman dressed like she's from Lord of the Rings standing in our house?"
Facepalm.
"Dad…" I whispered through clenched teeth. "Not helping."
The woman gave a small, polite nod.
"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Carter," she said, her voice calm but carrying that teacher tone that made you sit straighter even if you hadn't done anything wrong. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
I froze.
Wait.
Minerva McGonagall?
I hadn't recognized her at first without the cat transformation or Alan Rickman scowling nearby. But now that she said it…
Oh, crap.
"This… this is real," I mumbled under my breath.
Mom and Dad?
Still stuck in complete denial mode.
"Professor of… what now?" Dad blinked.
"Transfiguration," she replied smoothly, as if that explained everything.
Dad opened his mouth. Closed it. Took a sip of his coffee.
"Okay," he muttered. "I'm gonna need something stronger than this."
Mom, however, was connecting the dots.
"Magic…" Mom murmured, her eyes flickering toward me. "This explains… a lot."
"Explain what?" I asked cautiously.
Dad set his coffee down and gave me the look.
"Ethan," he said slowly, "remember when Grandma's microwave exploded after she wouldn't let you have ice cream?"
"…Vaguely."
Mom's eyes widened. "Oh my God. And the time the toaster caught fire when you burned your Pop-Tart?"
"That was… unrelated."
"And the teddy bear?" Dad asked, crossing his arms.
I coughed. "In my defence, the bear started it."
"The bear didn't start it, Ethan," Dad said, rubbing his temples. "You accidentally set it on fire because it was missing an eye!"
"Okay, I was six! I thought I was fixing it!"
Mom's face turned pale as more memories came flooding back.
"The time the TV remote floated across the room… the doors locking by themselves… the hairdryer that melted…"
"Yup…" I mumbled, sinking into the couch. "Those tracks."
"Accidental magic," McGonagall murmured, her eyes twinkling slightly. "Quite common in young witches and wizards, though… unusually potent in Ethan's case."
"Accidental…?" Dad blinked, his brow furrowing. "As in… stuff just happens when he gets emotional?"
"Precisely," McGonagall said, her gaze flicking toward me. "Though it seems Ethan's… incidents have been more intense than most."
Dad glanced at the scorch marks still faintly visible on the living room rug.
"'Intense' is one way to put it…"
"Well," McGonagall continued, her lips pursed slightly, "I'm here to ensure Ethan's talents are properly nurtured… and controlled."
Dad still looked sceptical.
"Okay," Dad said, rubbing his temples. "If this is real… then prove it."
"Prove it?" I blinked.
"Yeah," Dad crossed his arms. "Show us."
I glanced at McGonagall, who gave me a slight nod.
"Alright… here goes nothing…"
I took a deep breath, focusing on the warm pulse of magic in my chest.
"Levitate the mug," I muttered, pointing at Dad's coffee cup.
The mug floated.
Smooth. Controlled.
"Whoa…" Dad's eyes widened.
"Oh my…" Mom whispered, her eyes glued to the hovering mug.
"See?" I grinned. "Totally got this under control."
McGonagall looked almost impressed.
"Well done, Mr. Carter."
"Okay…" Dad muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But… what about the other stuff? You know…"
I knew where this was going.
"Like the fire?"
Dad nodded.
I sighed.
"Alright…" I whispered. "Just… a little spark."
I focused on that familiar heat deep within me.
Come on… just a tiny bit.
A flicker of golden light danced at my fingertips.
"See?" I said softly.
But the glow intensified.
"Ethan…" Dad's voice was a warning.
"I've got it," I murmured.
Famous last words.
WHOOSH.
The tiny flicker expanded into a golf-ball-sized flame. Not a raging inferno, but definitely bigger than I intended.
"Whoa!" Dad flinched, almost dropping his coffee.
"Got it!" I quickly clenched my fist, snuffing out the flame.
"…Okay," Dad muttered, his face pale. "That's… that's new."
"Indeed," McGonagall murmured, her gaze sharp. "Elemental magic… quite rare."
Mom's expression had shifted from shock to mild panic.
"So… not just accidental magic," she said softly. "There's… more?"
Dad gave me a look that screamed explain now.
"Um… well…" I rubbed the back of my neck. "It's… complicated."
McGonagall's eyes lingered on me for a moment, but she said nothing.
Dad took a long, slow breath.
"Okay," he said finally. "No more fireballs in the house."
"Got it."
"…Or floating the TV remote."
"Fine."
"…Or exploding Grandma's appliances."
"That was one time!"
Dad gave me the look.
"Okay… two times."
McGonagall cleared her throat, her lips twitching with amusement.
"Well, Mr. Carter," she said, her gaze steady, "I believe Hogwarts will be… quite prepared for you."
Dad muttered something about fire insurance.
Mom just looked like she was contemplating her life choices.
And that's how I convinced my parents I needed wizard school…
…by almost setting the house on fire.
"Great start, Ethan," I muttered, shaking my head. "Real smooth."