The book's final line was simple. Bold.
> "I am Iron Man."
And then everything exploded—metaphorically.
The magical world erupted in rumors. The Muggle world flooded my father with interview requests. Conspiracy theorists wrote entire essays arguing that Iron Man was real, hiding among them. Some claimed to have seen him flying over Wales or leaving scorch marks on rooftops in London.
Even in Diagon Alley, someone sold fake Iron Man amulets that supposedly "shielded you from dark curses."
That evening, with rumors still swirling in both worlds about the identity of Iron Man, Eliot's grandfather leaned back in his armchair and turned to Clark—Eliot's father.
"So… are you Iron Man?" he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.
Clark smiled and looked at his son with pride.
"In my son's… and others' imagination," he replied warmly.
Eliot beamed. In some eyes, his dad really was a hero
Still, the attention was overwhelming. I was just a kid—even if I didn't always feel like one.
---
My grandfather made the decision for me.
> "No more novels for now, Eliot. You've stirred the pot enough."
He handed me a thick, ancient-looking book.
> *"Standard Book of Runes – Year 1 through 5."*
> "This," he said, "is what you focus on now."
---
Then he told me about Hogwarts.
A school for magic. A castle filled with secrets. Classes on Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and—most importantly—**Ancient Runes**.
And suddenly, something clicked in my head.
**I remembered the entire Hogwarts plot.**
Harry, Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape, and even the Triwizard Tournament—it all came rushing back. All those late-night binge sessions, the forums, the theories, the memes. I knew how this world played out—or at least, how it did once.
> "The real story starts in my fifth year," I whispered to myself. "That's when the chaos begins."
---
But I wasn't going to wait for chaos.
Runes fascinated me.
To my mind, runes felt like **alphabets** of the magical world—building blocks like logic gates. And **alchemy**? That was **programming with elements**. Combine magic and engineering, and you don't need a wand to change the world.
So I got to work.
With Grandpa's help, I took a handful of regular AA batteries and magically enhanced them—compressing and expanding their storage to **100x** their normal capacity. The end result? A **Magic Battery**.
> "Still technically Muggle tech," Grandpa muttered. "But enchanted. Clever."
Using these batteries and a series of runic circuits, I created my first alchemical device:
> **The Air Controller** – a compact unit that could cool or heat an entire room with near-zero magical drain.
---
Grandpa was impressed.
He had a magical company registered under the **Clarke family name** by the next week and launched the product in both the Muggle and magical markets under the brand:
> **"DHD Inventions"**
> *"From the mind of DSK the Author… comes DHD the Inventor."*
The dual identity amused me.
I'd gone from writing Iron Man to *becoming* him, in a way.
And then came the money.
Gold. Galleons. Muggle cash. Royalties. Orders piling up.
> "How are we manufacturing this?" I asked one day, curious.
Grandpa just sipped his firewhisky.
> "House-elves," he said. "Efficient, tireless, and loyal."
---
I had read about them, but now I finally asked:
> "Grandpa, what exactly is a house-elf?"
He gave a long explanation—servants bound to families, gifted with powerful magic, often treated as lesser beings by wizardkind.
By the end, he seemed ready to see pity or guilt on my face.
But I asked something else.
> "If they represent our family status… why do they wear rags?"
He blinked.
> "What?"
> "If they serve the Clarke name," I continued, "then make them look the part. Tailored uniforms. Suits. Dresses. Like butlers and maids in noble houses. I don't want anyone thinking we're too poor to give our elves proper clothes."
Grandpa stared at me for a long moment.
And for once, he had nothing to say.
Not because he was angry.
But because he realized I was thinking on a level even he hadn't expected.
---
That night, he summoned the elves.
When I walked into the manor the next morning, they wore fitted waistcoats, polished shoes, and little crests stitched with the Clarke family sigil.
They bowed when I passed—but this time, with pride in their eyes.
---
My life was changing. My identity was evolving.
From overworked coder to noble heir.
From fanboy to bestselling author.
From dreamer to inventor.
But I knew the real story hadn't begun yet.
That would happen the day I stepped through the gates of Hogwarts.
And I would be ready.