Prologue
The morning light streamed through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of pale blue. Micah Cason Harris stirred in his bed, roused by the familiar, lilting voice of his mother. Her light brown hair caught the sunlight, gleaming as she leaned into the room. Whether up close or from afar, Christy Harris's presence was unmistakable. Her voice, soft and melodious, was like a butterfly flitting through a field of dandelions.
Micah stretched and sat up in the room he had proudly made his own. Every inch of the walls was adorned with posters of famous witches and wizards, their enchanted images moving ever so slightly. His favorite, of course, was the boy who lived. Harry Potter's determined gaze seemed to inspire him every morning. Today, however, was no ordinary day. Today was the day he had been waiting for his entire life.
Born to a pure-blood mother and a father whose identity remained shrouded in mystery, Micah had always known his destiny lay beyond the ordinary. Hogwarts awaited, and the thought sent a thrill through him.
He jumped out of bed, flung open his wardrobe, and rummaged through his clothes with purpose. A pair of dark jeans, a red-orange hoodie, and a tank top found their way onto his lanky frame. The September air was crisp, and his outfit was warm enough to fend off the chill. He glanced into the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, ruffling his unruly dark hair.
"I'm ready, Ma," he announced, bounding into the kitchen where Christy was sipping coffee from a steaming mug.
She looked him over with a fond smile, the kind that only mothers could manage. "Looking sharp," she said, then added with a teasing glint in her eye, "But where's your bag, sweetie?" Micah grinned, a spark of mischief in his brown eyes. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll use a summoning charm when it's time to go."
Christy chuckled, shaking her head as she set down her mug. "Well, you'll need a wand to do that, won't you? And we've yet to pick yours up."
At the mention of a wand, Micah's excitement bubbled over. This was it—the first step to becoming the wizard he had always dreamed of being. He could hardly sit still as his mother gestured for him to follow her.
They moved into the cozy living room, its brick fireplace the centerpiece of countless family memories. Christy approached the hearth, placing her hands on the cool, worn bricks. With a confident voice, she spoke the shortcut spell, her words clear and deliberate:
"Via brevis!"
The air shimmered, the bricks seeming to ripple like water. Micah's heart raced as he stepped closer, ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace the extraordinary world that awaited.
The fireplace shimmered and swirled, its bricks bending impossibly outward to form a wide, glowing archway. The light was brilliant, warm, and inviting, casting long shadows across the cozy living room. Without hesitation, Christy stepped through, her hand reaching back to guide Micah. He swallowed hard and followed, the sensation of stepping through the magical portal sending a tingle up his spine.
On the other side, they emerged into the dimly lit backroom of a familiar shop—Ollivanders, the finest wandmaker in Diagon Alley. The faint smell of old wood and polished shelves filled the air. Christy paused for a moment, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she glanced around.
"This," she said, her voice soft, "is where your father and I met." She looked down at Micah, her expression warm. "He was brilliant—structured, straightforward, and determined. A Gryffindor, through and through. He wasn't pure-blood, though… nor Muggle-born."
Micah tilted his head, curiosity lighting his brown eyes. "So, he was half-blood?"
Christy nodded, her smile widening. "Bingo. And that's why you're half-blood, too."
Micah let the information sink in, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. But before he could ask more, Christy gently nudged him forward. "Now," she said with a glint of excitement, "let's get you a wand."
They walked to the front of the shop, the shelves towering around them and filled to the brim with wand boxes. It felt like stepping into a maze, one where every turn whispered of magic waiting to be unleashed. At the counter, Christy rang the small brass bell, the soft chime echoing in the quiet store.
Moments later, an elderly man with sharp eyes and a knowing smile appeared from the shadows. "And what may I do for you today?" he asked, his gaze settling on Micah.
"One wand for my son, please," Christy said, her tone warm but firm.
The wandmaker hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tapping the counter as he studied Micah. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the labyrinth of shelves. Micah fidgeted, his excitement building with every second. When the wandmaker returned, he held a slim, dusty box with an air of reverence.
"Let's see," the man said, opening the lid and presenting the wand to Micah.
Micah reached out, his fingers brushing the smooth wood. A sudden warmth spread through him as he lifted the wand, the air around him shimmering faintly.
The wandmaker nodded approvingly. "There you go."
"Thank you," Micah said, his voice brimming with awe.
Christy and Micah exchanged a glance, both smiling brightly. The wand felt perfect in his hand—like it had been waiting for him.
"Well," Christy said, breaking the moment. "We best be off. Platform nine and three-quarters won't wait for us." With that, they turned and stepped out of the shop, the promise of new adventures just ahead.