Merlin stared at the letter in his hands, his mind struggling to process the words written on it. He reread it—once, twice, thrice—each time expecting that he had read wrong. But nothing changed. The contents on the parchment remained the same.
"...Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he murmured under his breath. "Is this… the world of Harry Potter?"
The thought itself made Merlin want to dismiss it as some sort of prank, but he doubted anyone would bother pranking a nobody like him. Moreover, logic told him it was simply too high-effort to be a prank.
Setting the letter down, Merlin slumped onto his bed, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling as his thoughts spiraled.
He had asked himself countless times over the past eleven years—why him? Why was he living two lives in two completely different worlds? He had speculated endlessly—magic, divine interference, parallel existence—but every line of reasoning only led to more questions.
Eventually, he had stopped asking. He had realized it was better to live than chase an answer he might never find. But now… now he couldn't help but revisit that question.
It wasn't that he couldn't accept magic—after all, the other world he lived in wasn't normal either—but this was different. This was a world from a storybook, and the idea that he was living inside it… it was even harder to believe than reincarnation itself.
For a long while, he simply sat there in silence, the letter resting on his lap. Then he sighed softly, a wry smile touching his lips.
"Well… it's not like I can do anything about it, can I?" he muttered to himself, accepting the fact—not out of understanding, but exhaustion. It was just like his reincarnation; no amount of thinking would provide him with answers.
Besides, the letter said a teacher would be visiting on the 28th of July—which was today.
He turned his gaze toward the cracked clock on his bedside table. The hands pointed to twelve.
Merlin exhaled, put away the letter, and began tidying up his small room. When everything looked neat enough to satisfy his restless mind, he sat back down on the bed, facing the door.
And then he waited.
...
Merlin was jolted awake by a knock on the door, realizing he had dozed off. Adjusting his clothes, he quickly went over to answer it.
The next moment, Merlin found himself staring at a tall, stern-looking woman clad in a long, dark green cloak and a pointed hat.
The woman gave him an appraising look as she adjusted her square spectacles. "Merlin Graves?"
"That would be me," Merlin replied politely. "And you are…?"
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Professor of Transfiguration. You may call me Professor McGonagall."
Professor McGonagall? Merlin blinked. That wasn't an unknown name. He hadn't expected her to show up. As the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, didn't she have more important matters to attend to than personally visiting new students?
"May I come in?" she asked.
"Of course!" Merlin said quickly. "Forgive my manners, Professor. Please, come in."
He guided her inside, offering the only seat in the small room—the edge of his bed—before handing her a glass of water he'd prepared earlier.
"I'm sorry, there's no tea," he said apologetically. "I can only offer you water."
"That's alright," McGonagall waved her hand dismissively, showing she didn't mind. "I imagine you've already read the letter?"
"Yes, Professor. It's just that… I don't quite understand it."
"You may voice your doubts, Mr. Graves," she said calmly. "That's precisely why I'm here."
"I saw that your school teaches magic, but I'm not sure what that means exactly. Could I… perhaps have a demonstration?" Merlin asked, feigning an expectant expression.
Professor McGonagall didn't seem surprised. Without a word, she drew her wand and pointed it at the empty cup in her hand.
With a flick, the cup shimmered and turned into an ornate silver snuffbox. Another wave, and it became a crystal wineglass that caught the dim light beautifully.
Merlin stared at it in a daze.
"Incredible," he breathed after a few moments, his eyes shining with awe and longing. This time, his reaction was genuine.
The only magic he had ever seen before was his mother's. She could make objects float, light the fireplace, or summon a gust of wind to sweep away dust. Useful, yes. But this… this was on a completely different level.
Although he had expected something like this after realizing he was in the wizarding world—after all, he had watched the films, and Transfiguration was one of the core branches of magic here—witnessing it with his own eyes was nothing like seeing it on a screen.
No matter how much he had prepared himself, the sight still left him stunned.
McGonagall seemed pleased by his reaction. Her tone softened slightly as she explained, "This is Transfiguration—a branch of magic devoted to changing the form and nature of things. I'm sure that with proper study, you'll be able to accomplish this and much more, Mr. Graves."
"Professor," Merlin said, "may I ask a few questions about the wizarding world?"
"Of course, Mr. Graves," she replied, inclining her head.
She went on to explain the history of Hogwarts, its four Houses, and general information about the wizarding world. Merlin listened attentively, occasionally asking questions. He remembered bits from the movies he'd seen, but decades had passed since then, and most of the details were blurry.
Eventually, he brought up the issue that had been bothering him most. "Professor… I don't really have any money. I'm not sure I could afford something like Hogwarts."
McGonagall's expression softened. "You needn't worry about that. Hogwarts does not charge tuition. Food and accommodation are also free. Students only need to purchase their school supplies each year. And for those who cannot, the school provides interest-free loans, repayable only after graduation."
This greatly relieved Merlin. He really had nothing aside from a few dollars, and he had no delusions that the orphanage would help him.
He knew the director well enough after all these years. If not for the annual inspections, the woman would likely have starved the children just to pocket more donations. And for some reason, she seemed to dislike him in particular—though Merlin had never figured out why.
After answering all his questions, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet. "If you're ready, Mr. Graves, we can purchase your school supplies now."
Merlin agreed without hesitation. The sooner he set foot in the wizarding world, the sooner he could begin learning magic—and perhaps gain a head start on his peers. Well, except for the pure-bloods, who had always been in contact with it.
About an hour later, they stepped out of a taxi in front of an old, narrow pub squeezed between two modern buildings. Its faded sign read The Leaky Cauldron.
"So this is the legendary Leaky Cauldron," Merlin muttered, raising an eyebrow. There was nothing particularly impressive about it—if anything, it looked like it hadn't been renovated in decades. Dust streaked the windows, and the paint had long since peeled from the door.
Merlin speculated that the place was enchanted with some sort of magic, as the passersby on the street didn't seem to notice it, unconsciously avoiding it as though the place didn't exist.
'Even if they could see it, I don't think anyone would want to step inside something this filthy', Merlin grumbled inwardly.
Professor McGonagall pushed open the door, and he followed her in. The interior was just as he had expected—dim, cramped, and smelling faintly of old ale and smoke. All eyes turned to them the moment they entered.
The crowd of cloaked figures fell quiet for a moment before several greeted politely, "Professor McGonagall."
She gave a curt nod in acknowledgment and continued without stopping, leading him through the narrow pub and out into a small brick courtyard at the back.
"Now then," she said, taking out her wand. "Remember this spot, Mr. Graves." She pointed to a particular brick. "Three up from the bin, two across, then tap it three times with your wand."
As her wand tapped, the wall shuddered, and the bricks began to rearrange themselves as if guided by invisible hands. In an instant, they twisted apart, forming a wide archway—and a rush of sound spilled out from the other side.
"Incredible," Merlin whispered.
Before him stretched a winding cobbled street lined with shops of every kind. Wizards in robes bustled about—haggling, laughing—while children darted between them, their eyes wide with excitement. The whole place hummed with life.
McGonagall's lips curved in a faint, rare smile. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Graves," she said as she stepped forward. Merlin followed closely behind her.