That evening, Albert unveiled his Hogwarts uniform to his family in the cozy living room of their Tibe Avenue home. The black work robe and pointed hat were plain, almost disappointingly ordinary, lacking the flair one might expect from a magical school.
Albert couldn't help but think the ensemble looked ridiculous—especially that pointed hat. Wearing it in public would surely turn heads, and not in a good way. He imagined himself strolling down a London street, drawing stares and stifled laughter.
Nia, however, was thrilled with her gift. The oversized black cloak and pointed hat Albert had ordered for her swamped her small frame, but she twirled delightedly in the living room, striking dramatic poses as if she were a witch casting spells.
Herbert, chuckling, snapped a photo of the siblings—Albert in his Hogwarts robe, Nia drowning in her cloak, both grinning despite the absurdity. The camera's flash lit up the room, capturing a moment of rare family levity.
Daisy sat on the sofa, her expression a mix of curiosity and unease, as she leafed through A History of Magic, one of Albert's new textbooks. She was determined to understand the world her son was about to enter, even if she still harbored doubts about its legitimacy.
The book's dense prose and strange terms—wandlore, goblin rebellions—only deepened her skepticism, but she pressed on, hoping to find something reassuring.
"Mom, look! A living chocolate frog!" Nia squealed, opening a box from their Diagon Alley haul. The frog, molded from rich chocolate, sprang from the package and landed on the coffee table with a soft thud. Nia giggled as it made a feeble attempt to hop away.
Herbert, now accustomed to the peculiarities of magical confections, swiftly caught the frog and handed it to Nia. "Careful, they're quick," he said with a grin.
He opened another box, revealing a second chocolate frog. This one he offered to Daisy, who was still engrossed in her book. She glanced up, eyeing the wriggling sweet with suspicion. "Is this… safe to eat?" she asked, her lawyer's instinct kicking in as she studied the lifelike chocolate.
"It's delicious, Mom!" Nia said, already nibbling the head off her frog. Melted chocolate smeared her cheeks, giving her the appearance of a mischievous kitten. "Try it!"
Albert handed Nia his handkerchief. "Wipe your face, you little mess," he teased, then turned to see Tom, their tabby cat, eyeing the new owl with a predatory glint. The snow owl, perched in its cage, ruffled its feathers nervously. Albert scooped up Tom and set him on the sofa's edge. "No bullying, Tom."
He poured a handful of owl nuts onto a plate in the cage, murmuring, "What should I name you?"
"Jerry," he decided after a moment, amused by the thought. Though the Tom and Jerry cartoon didn't exist in this world, the irony of naming his cat and owl after the iconic duo tickled him.
The owl, however, seemed unimpressed, fixing him with a haughty stare as if sensing the mischief behind the name.
"Jerry? That's awful!" Nia protested, reaching into the cage to stroke the owl's soft feathers. "Call her Shira. It's prettier."
"Shira, huh?" Albert smirked, tempted to suggest "Shiraby" just to tease her, but he let it go. "Fine, Shira it is."
"Albert, the picture—it's empty!" Herbert exclaimed, holding up a card from the chocolate frog box. The image, which had briefly shown a wizard's face, was now blank, as if the figure had wandered off.
Albert leaned over. "Maybe wizard photos move? If chocolate frogs can hop, why not people in pictures?"
"Move?" Herbert repeated, baffled, turning the card over to inspect it.
Daisy snatched the card, curious about the sender of Albert's Hogwarts letter. The back revealed a familiar name: Albus Dumbledore. She read aloud, "Dumbledore's notable achievements include defeating the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, discovering twelve uses for dragon's blood, and significant contributions to alchemy alongside his partner, Nicolas Flamel."
"Dragon's blood?" Daisy's eyes widened, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Dragons are real? And Nicolas Flamel—I know that name…"
"He's a famous alchemist from the fourteenth century," Albert supplied, recalling his research from his previous life. "He created the Philosopher's Stone, said to turn base metals into gold and grant immortality. If Flamel's still alive, the Stone must work."
Daisy's expression hardened. The idea of dragons and immortal alchemists was too much. "This world is absurd," she muttered.
"Daisy, let's not jump to conclusions," Herbert said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We don't know enough about this magical world yet. Albert's a genius—he'll thrive anywhere. Let's trust him."
Nia, undeterred by the tension, tugged at Albert's sleeve. "Can you do magic yet?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Show me!"
Albert hesitated. "I need to study first. I don't know how it works yet." He ruffled her hair, earning a playful scowl.
"Stop it!" Nia swatted his hand away and flounced to Daisy, offering her a piece of pumpkin pasty from their Diagon Alley purchases.
Albert settled onto the sofa with The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk. He opened the wand box, revealing the redwood and phoenix feather wand that had chosen him. The memory of its warm tingle in Ollivander's shop bolstered his confidence. "Let's try this," he murmured.
"Don't, Albert!" Herbert interjected, his face twitching as he recalled the shattered vase in the wand shop. "Not in the house!"
"Have some faith, Dad," Albert said with a grin. He raised the wand, focusing on the simplest spell he'd read about. "Lumos," he whispered, giving the wand a gentle flick.
A faint spark flickered at the tip, then fizzled out. Daisy blinked. "Did it… flash?"
"It did!" Herbert's face lit up with pride. "That's my boy!"
"What was that?" Nia asked, bouncing with excitement.
"The Lumos charm," Albert explained. "It's supposed to create light. It's one of the easier spells." He glanced at his interface, a mental overlay only he could see.
The Lumos spell had appeared in his skill list at Level 0, with 7 experience points gained from the attempt. Reaching Level 1 would require 100 experience points, but Albert wasn't ready to spend his precious reserves on such a basic spell.
"Let me try again," he said, clearing his throat. He focused, picturing a steady glow. "Lumos."
This time, a soft, pale light bloomed at the wand's tip, wavering but holding longer than before. Albert tried five more times, each attempt strengthening his control.
By the fifth, the light was steady, illuminating the room with a gentle glow. He found that concentrating on the wand's warmth helped maintain the spell.
The family erupted into applause. Though it was just a simple light, to the Anderssons, it was a marvel—a tangible sign of the magic now entering their lives.
"Albert, let me try!" Nia pleaded, lunging for the wand.
"No way," Albert said, quickly tucking it away. "Wands are dangerous. Remember how I nearly blew up the wand shop? I need to practice more before I let you anywhere near it."
"Stingy," Nia huffed, crossing her arms.
"It's not about being stingy," Albert said, adopting a mock-stern tone. "Wands can be risky if you don't know what you're doing. If you keep pouting, I won't teach you magic later."
Herbert nodded. "He's right, Nia. Let Albert get the hang of it first."
Nia pouted but relented, her disappointment tempered by envy. "Fine," she muttered, snuggling next to Daisy with her pumpkin pasty.
Albert smiled, twirling the wand between his fingers. The magical world was daunting, but the spark of Lumos had ignited something in him—a curiosity to master this strange new power and carve his own path, however lazy or unconventional it might be.