Sitting on my bed, surrounded by the soft dusk of the evening, I pulled one of the books I'd bought today out of 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 were 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 hint of enchantment.

I began flipping through slowly, pausing now and then at more interesting chapters. Many of the spells listed inside I didn't recall from 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 floating 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.

I set the book beside me and raised my hand."Lumos," I whispered, moving my fingers the way it felt right to me.

A faint orb of light appeared at my fingertips. It was dim, almost transparent, but it existed. It trembled slightly, as though it might vanish at any second."Nox."It vanished silently.

That was… incredible. But I knew this was just 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 too long. Holding it in my hands, I felt whole. As if I'd carried a void inside me my whole life — a void I hadn't even known was there — until this moment.

And then a thought struck . Sharp. Unsettling.

I wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school. I was underage. Law was law.

I froze, holding the wand … when I'd first used Lumos, I hadn't 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. Was that a different level?

I exhaled quietly.What if I just try? I thought. Let's see where this leads 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. filled the entire room, like someone had turned on a streetlamp right outside the window. I had to squint.

It was a completely different scale.

I stared at the glow, mouth slightly with a wand… was stronger. Ten times stronger? Maybe 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 was only the first try. But I already knew this wand… this magic… was something more than just a was mine.

Ministry of Magic, London – Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Improper Use of Magic Office

In the dim light of a small office crammed with stacks of 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.

"Something 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 one of the Muggle districts.

"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 residing 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 neighboring cubicle. "We've got a Lumos detection, but no registry entries for that location. Muggle district. 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 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 out. 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 toward the proper department.

Meanwhile, late evening — somewhere in a London orphanage

Silence. Thick, heavy, sticky night silence, broken only by the distant hum of cars outside and the barely audible 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 was, I didn't remember it.

Fixato — a spell used to temporarily immobilize objects or creatures. Used by beginners to learn 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 trying to recall the exact wrist movement described in the book. A short arc, then a precise point at the end.

"Fixato."

The pencil twitched. It lifted slightly and 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 wall, 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 dark office, only one lamp still burned above the desk of the senior inspector. Rufus Notley looked up from his report and squinted 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 person should be there.

And the spells that appeared?Lumos. Nox. Glacium. Fixato. Refresco.All cast in a short span of time. Practice. Deliberate. Unauthorized.

He didn't hesitate for long.

"Hemsley! Greaves!" he called loudly.

Moments later, two officers from the Enforcement Division entered the office. One young, the other more seasoned, in a gray cloak with the department's insignia on the sleeve.

"We've got a case of unauthorized magic use in a Muggle district," Notley said briskly. "No registration, no personal records. And the number of spells suggests someone's practicing deliberately."

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, determine who and why. And if needed — bring the culprit in."

Greaves nodded, already reaching for his coat and 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 brighter.

"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, wand resting against my knee, leaning over a page describing the basics of transfiguration.

I heard a soft crack. I knew what that meant. Took them long enough, I muttered to myself. I wasn't scared — I had nothing to fear. But I felt oddly excited — let's see where this takes me.

I didn't jump.

I didn't hide the wand.

I raised my gaze to the door. My eyes were 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 wands in hand, held low, but ready. The older of the two stepped in first, looked at the boy, then at the book, and at the faint trace of light 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 latter didn't respond immediately. He stepped further into the room, as if evaluating every detail.

"Yes, it's illegal. You can't use magic near Muggles — especially not as a child," he finally said.

"Sorry, I didn't know."Playing the innocent child is very 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 answers, kid. Who are you… and where did you get that wand?"

I looked at him 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. 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 only nodded.

The younger wizard scribbled something — nervously, hastily.

"We'll take you to the Ministry," Greaves finally said. "Just for questioning, for now. No one will hurt you, but… you're too big a mystery to leave on your own."

I stood up 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," said Notley.

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 was always… strange to me. Unpleasant. Like my body forgot for a moment where it was.

I blinked several times, adjusting to the bright, cold light. We were in a corridor — long, marble-lined, stretching endlessly, with rows of closed doors on both sides. Only a few were lit, and the echo of footsteps rang quietly off the walls.

Silas Greaves straightened, brushing off his cloak.

"Follow me, boy," he said shortly — but not unkindly.

I didn't speak. My steps were soft, light, nearly silent, contrasting with the tap of their boots.

We passed strange offices, where self-writing quills floated, folders hovered in mid-air, and spheres of light chased documents like thoughts. The Ministry was alive even at this hour — as if magic never slept.

Finally, we stopped in front of a door with a brass plaque:

Registration and Inquiry Office

Greaves stepped in first. Inside, an older clerk sat with a magical magnification charm over his glasses, dipping his quill into an inkwell.

"Another night, another case?" he asked with a sigh, not looking up.

"Yes. Use of several spells in a Muggle area. No registration. A child. Name: Oliver Peverell."

This time, the clerk looked up.

"Peverell?"

He blinked and leaned over a massive registry of names, running a finger down the columns.

"The Peverells are listed. An old, pureblood family, but unseen for decades... no known descendants in recent records. No births."

He looked at me closely.

"And you… where did you come from?"

I hesitated slightly.

"I don't know. I've lived in an orphanage since I was very young."

Greaves kept watching 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 version of events?"

Greaves nodded.

"Yes. He said he had been holding onto the wand for ten years. And that Oliver was its sole intended recipient."

"And the father's name?"

"Elias Peverell," I repeated.

Silence fell.

The older clerk finally leaned back in his chair, quill still hovering above the parchment.

"This is… an unusual case. A magical child who never appeared in the registries. A centuries-old wand. A family name rooted in history, but no recent activity."

No one spoke for a moment.

"So what now?" I asked, curious.

Greaves looked at me with a hint of respect — maybe even slight intrigue.

"Now… we'll need someone higher up. Someone who'll know what to do with you. I've notified the Minister's office. If he's available, he'll come down himself. If not… they'll send someone from his staff."

He looked at me again, but this time, his gaze wasn't cold — only 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 of short stature, with curly hair, wearing a plum-colored ministerial cloak with the crest of England on the lapel. The other — tall, bearded, with twinkling eyes and a calm presence that seemed to smooth the very air around him.

Cornelius Dumbledore.

The senior clerk stood at once — almost too hastily.

"Minister! Headmaster! We weren't expecting—"

"No matter, Arlo," Fudge cut in politely but wearily. "We received word of an unregistered underage wizard casting spells in the middle of a Muggle district. That sounds… interesting enough not to postpone until tomorrow."

Meanwhile, Dumbledore's gaze swept across the room until it settled on me. For a long moment, he just looked — saying nothing. I felt his stare — piercing, calm, but not judgmental. As if he saw more than what was on the surface.

"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… comes from Ollivander. Kept there for ten years on request of his father, allegedly — Elias Peverell."

Fudge raised an eyebrow.

"Peverell?"

"Yes, Minister," the clerk confirmed. "Both the signet and the surname match. But we have no documentation confirming this child's existence in any of our systems."

"And the wand?" Fudge asked coldly.

"Registered centuries ago. The Peverell family once had the right to commission custom wand cores. Old magic."

The Minister frowned slightly.

"This whole matter reeks of archives and complications. A child with no paperwork, a surname from legend, magic from the past…" He trailed off. "We don't have time for fairy tales."

And then Dumbledore spoke — quietly, almost a whisper, yet his voice filled the room.

"If I may… take responsibility for this case, Minister?"

Everyone fell silent.

Fudge looked at him hesitantly.

"As Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, you are under no formal obligation—"

"But I am interested. He is, after all, a future Hogwarts student," Albus interrupted politely. "And I do have the necessary experience. As well as complete trust in the Ministry staff, of course."

He smiled slightly, with a glint in his eye.

The Minister hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, then waved his hand dismissively.

"Very well. But keep me informed. If this turns into something… bigger… I need to know."

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded.

Fudge cast me a brief glance, then turned and left without another word.

Once the door had closed, Dumbledore slowly sat down across from me, still watching me intently.

"Oliver Peverell," he said softly. "Would you be willing to speak with me? Just you and me. In peace. About your story. About what you remember. And… perhaps about what you may still be hiding from yourself?"

I nodded without a word.

The senior clerk pressed a silver button. A small golden orb — a message charm — detached itself and flew through the vent.

"I think there's no point in prolonging this," Dumbledore said as he stood up from the 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 the same time. Dumbledore was exactly as I remembered from the books. Some might have mixed opinions about him, but I liked him — regardless of everything.

Dumbledore walked over to me and extended 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, yet gentle. And in that same moment, the world spun. The air stretched with a rush, the colors blurred into a long streak and...

Dumbledore's Office — Location unknown, somewhere in magical London

We found ourselves in a spacious room filled with candlelight and the whisper of spells drifting through the air.

The office was exactly what one might expect from Albus Dumbledore — high ceilings, shelves lined with old books, bizarre devices ticking and blinking, and portraits of ancient wizards dozing in their frames. A fireplace crackled warmly in one corner. A phoenix sat nearby, lifting its head to regard me curiously.

Dumbledore motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite 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 down slowly. I was alert, but not afraid. He noticed that too.

"I must admit, it's rare to meet children so… composed," he said with a smile. "Especially in situations that most adults would find rather stressful."

I was silent 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 you out. 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 deep breath.

"I've always remembered the orphanage. Nothing before it. No one ever visited me, no one ever told me where I came from. The caretakers only knew my name. A few days ago, strange things started happening around me — magical things. I also had a dream where someone in black told me I was a wizard and that I should go to Diagon Alley, to Gringotts Bank, to claim what was mine, and then visit Ollivander's for something else. The figure explained everything. Gave me the exact location and all the necessary instructions."— 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 waited ten years for me. My father — Elias Peverell — left it with him before disappearing. He never returned."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his keen 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. Wonderful people — both your father and your mother. 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 made me feel unexpectedly sad. Even if they weren't truly my parents — they were the parents of the boy whose body I had taken. It seemed I hadn't just appeared in this world out of nowhere, as I had initially thought. I had simply taken someone else's place.

Dumbledore noticed the expression on my face and stopped speaking for a moment.

"If you wish, we can leave this story for another time. When you're older," he said with compassion.

I thought about it for a moment, but I wanted to know. If I had arrived in this world, I would take on the role of the person before me.

After a moment, I said that we should finish the conversation now."Let's continue."

"There's no need to rush. But if that is your wish, then at least this much I can offer you," he said, stroking his beard."The time you were born into was uncertain — times of war. Your parents were actively involved in that war, opposing evil."

He looked at me deeply."Your mother, Aria, moved to Britain from France. She started attending Hogwarts at age fourteen. That's when she met your father. After graduation, they married. Aria and Elias never told anyone they were expecting a child."Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"They were truly secretive people. Even I don't know much about their lives. But we have another serious matter to discuss. I understand you were fascinated by magic… but you can't be casting spells freely without supervision. So I need you to promise me you won't use magic again in the orphanage."He looked at me.

"I promise," I answered sadly.

"Good. Now that we've settled that… don't you think you should be sleeping by now? You must be exhausted after this whole day. I'll escort you back to the orphanage and take care of everything else. You needn't worry. Remember — there's time for everything. You'll learn all you need to, sooner or later."

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 free to share your thoughts — I'd love to hear what you think.