On July 24th, Clark finally received the long‑awaited letter of acceptance.
The envelope clearly bore the full address and the words: "To Clark Joseph Carvel."
On the back was a deep crimson wax seal.
On the shield‑shaped crest, a capital H was surrounded by four animals: a lion, a serpent, an eagle, and a badger.
Clark excitedly tore the letter open.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…"
Clark tilted his head.
So the longer the name, the more impressive you are?
By comparison he only had a single middle name, Joseph, which felt utterly lacking in grandeur.
Steadying himself, Clark kept reading.
"Dear Mr. Carvel,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been granted admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment.
The term begins on the first of September. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."
"Yes! I'm going to learn magic!"
Clark punched the air in excitement.
Unfortunately, he misjudged his strength, and the gust from his fist shattered an ornament on the bedside table.
Startled, he hurriedly froze mid‑motion.
After reading the acceptance letter several times over, Clark flipped to the second page, which was the list of supplies required for first‑year students.
"So many things… this must cost a lot of money."
By the time he finished reading, he could not help feeling troubled.
He was young, but sensible enough.
He knew his family was not well‑off.
Clark thought it over, then took the supply list and went downstairs.
Downstairs, only his mother and their neighbor, Mrs. Lipp, were there.
The two women were teasing the owl that had just delivered the letter.
"Clark, perfect timing. Go to the barn and catch a few mice," Mrs. Lipp called out without ceremony. "This little fellow has flown a long way. It must be starving."
"The mice can wait. Mom, and Mrs. Lipp… I don't want to go to Hogwarts," Clark said with a strained smile. "Any ordinary school is fine. If it really comes to it, I can just stay home and help Dad. You both know how strong I am. I'm more useful than a tractor."
At that, the two women forgot all about the owl and turned sharp looks on Clark, speaking almost in unison.
"What nonsense are you talking about!"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
Clark let out a bitter little laugh. "All right, I really do want to learn magic. But we're not rich. Look, first‑years have to buy so many things. I don't know the exact prices, but I'm sure they're expensive. We just can't afford it."
The saying that poor children grow up fast was not an empty one.
Clark understood his parents. He knew they would find a way to scrape the money together and send him to Hogwarts no matter what.
But Clark did not want his parents to wear themselves out for him.
He had more than enough strength. Wherever he went, he would never starve.
As for his magical talent…
According to what Mr. Dumbledore had said, it seemed pretty good.
Even without systematic study, it should not end up too far behind.
Martha's expression grew complicated as she listened.
Mrs. Lipp, however, simply waved a hand. "And here I was wondering what the problem was. It's just Galleons. This old woman has plenty. I've treated you as my own grandson for years. If I don't spend this money on you, who should I spend it on?"
Clark opened his mouth to protest.
He did not expect Martha to speak first. "That won't do. Mrs. Lipp, we can't accept such kindness from you."
Mrs. Lipp glared. "Oh, hush. I am giving it to you, so take it. Are you telling me that all these years of friendship can't compare to a pile of Galleons lying in some vault under Gringotts?"
Her tone gradually softened. "You may not think much of it, but this old woman has not forgotten who tended her vegetable patch for over thirty years, who brought her hot meals, and who invited her over every holiday. You are my family. So little Clark's business is my business. Martha, don't turn me down."
Martha's eyes reddened. She said nothing, only gripped Mrs. Lipp's hand tightly.
Mrs. Lipp remained as forceful as ever. "It's settled, then. Clark, write back to Hogwarts right now. Tomorrow I will take you to Diagon Alley to buy everything you need for school."
Clark looked at his mother.
Martha gave a small nod. "We'll do as she says. Think of the money as a loan from us."
"You and your fussing," Mrs. Lipp muttered, clearly displeased with that wording.
Martha, however, stood firm.
Mrs. Lipp did not argue further. She only urged Clark to hurry to the barn to catch some mice, then come right back to write his reply.
The next day.
The Carvel family and Mrs. Lipp drove to Charing Cross Road in London.
Led by Mrs. Lipp, the Carvels entered the shabby and grimy Leaky Cauldron.
Perhaps it was still early.
There were not many customers in the pub.
The stooped barman was wiping down a table. When he saw them come in, he greeted them automatically. "Good morning."
"Morning, Tom." Mrs. Lipp smiled. "Long time no see."
"Hmm?" Tom blinked, then recognition dawned on his face. "Vena, is that you? Merlin's beard, it has been far too long."
"All right, Tom, this is no time to reminisce. This is my grandson, Clark. I'm taking him to get his school things today." Mrs. Lipp spoke as she walked toward the back courtyard. "The way to open the wall is the same as ever, isn't it?"
"Of course, Mrs. Lipp," Tom replied cheerfully, giving the Carvels a friendly wave.
They passed through the pub and into the small, enclosed courtyard behind it.
Mrs. Lipp rummaged in her handbag for a moment and pulled out an old, chipped wand with the paint peeling.
"Remember, Clark. Remember exactly which brick it is. Three up, two across…"
She tapped the brick wall lightly a few times with her wand.
The bricks seemed to come alive, shifting out of place one by one.
In no time at all, a wide archway opened up before them.
A bustling street came into view. Mrs. Lipp extended an arm. "Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Unbelievable.
Even though they had tried to prepare themselves.
Seeing such an extraordinary sight with their own eyes still left Martha and Jonathan speechless.
Clark stared, wide‑eyed, drinking it all in. A flicker of longing shone deep in his gaze.
This was the wizarding world.
The wizarding world he had dreamed of.
"Come along. We have a lot to buy today. But before we start shopping, this old woman needs to go to Gringotts, the wizards' bank, to withdraw some money."
Mrs. Lipp strode ahead with a spring in her step, not looking like an old lady at all.
Jonathan hurried to keep up, clutching his briefcase nervously and lowering his voice. "Mrs. Lipp, yesterday you mentioned that Gringotts can exchange pounds as well. I brought some money."
"Keep your money for now. The amount you can exchange is limited, and the process is a headache. We will use this old woman's savings today." Mrs. Lipp gently pushed Jonathan aside, then turned to Clark and winked. "Don't let the country‑bumpkin act fool you. This old woman has quite the nest egg. To put it bluntly, it is more than enough to see you and your children through school."
Clark did not know what to say. He could only respond with a grateful smile.
Withdrawing the money took very little time.
Even so, the wrinkled goblins still made a huge impression on the Carvels.
After that, under Mrs. Lipp's guidance, Clark bought school robes, textbooks, a brass scale, a cauldron, a set of crystal phials, dragon‑hide gloves, and various other items.
And of course, a pet.
Besides buying Clark an owl for carrying post, Mrs. Lipp also bought him two hamsters.
In her words, kneading a hamster when you have nothing to do is very good for your mood.
Clark remained skeptical.
They walked the length and breadth of Diagon Alley, seeing all manner of strange and wonderful objects.
At last, they stopped in front of an inconspicuous little shop.
"All right. Time for the final stop of the day: Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands." Mrs. Lipp gave Clark a kindly smile. "Barring accidents, a wizard's first wand will be with him for life. Go on. Let us see what your destined wand looks like."
Clark took a deep breath and nodded gravely.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The shop was crammed with narrow boxes of all shapes and sizes, stacked high on every surface, making the place feel very cramped.
When he saw Mrs. Lipp, the owner, Mr. Ollivander, came forward at once, his eyebrows dancing. "Ms. Delos, if I recall correctly, cedar and unicorn tail hair?"
Ms. Delos?
Clark could not help glancing at Mrs. Lipp beside him.
Sensing his look, she smiled faintly. "Delos is my maiden name."
"Oh."
Clark understood.
After exchanging a few pleasantries with Mrs. Lipp, Mr. Ollivander moved on to business.
He was first astonished by Clark's size, then quickly became excited. He disappeared into the back room and returned with an armful of boxes, muttering as he sorted through them. "A sturdy young fellow, healthy, resilient, brimming with energy. Oak would be the best choice, with a certain length, of course. As for the core… ah yes, dragon heartstring. Of course, dragon heartstring. There is no other answer."
The Carvels could not get a single word in.
Only when a pale yellow wand was pressed into Clark's hand did Mr. Ollivander's eyes light up with anticipation. "Give it a try."
Feeling a little nervous, Clark did as he was told.
But nothing happened.
Mr. Ollivander did not look disappointed. He simply placed another wand in Clark's hand. "How about cherry this time? It is an exceedingly rare wood. Wands made from it possess a mysterious power. The students at the Far Eastern School of Magic rate this wood very highly."
Clark gave the cherry wand a tentative flick.
Again, nothing happened.
Mrs. Lipp smiled reassuringly. "Do not worry, Clark. It is not easy to find the wand that suits you best. It took me over forty minutes to find mine back then."
Hearing that, Clark relaxed. He cast aside his misgivings and tried again and again.
Time ticked by.
From dawn till dusk.
They opened box after box, of every size and color.
Clark still had not found his destined wand.
Even Mr. Ollivander began to doubt himself. He paced back and forth, agitated, gnawing on his thumbnail and muttering, "It should not be like this. It makes no sense. Something must have gone wrong somewhere…"
After a dozen laps around the shop, he suddenly stopped and peered at Clark suspiciously. "Forgive the question, Mr. Carvel, but are you quite sure you are a wizard?"
Before Clark could answer, Mrs. Lipp bristled, eyes wide. "What is that supposed to mean? Of course Clark is a wizard. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore tested him. There is no way they made a mistake."
Realizing his rudeness, Mr. Ollivander apologized again and again.
Clark felt both disappointed and uneasy. In a small voice he said, "How about this. I close my eyes and pick one at random. Whatever I grab, that will be the one."
"Let fate decide, is it? Aha, so that is how it is." Mr. Ollivander suddenly brightened. "I see. I understand completely."
Understand what, exactly?
Clark wanted to complain, but he had already spent far too long here.
He drew a deep breath.
Closed his eyes.
Walked a few steps, guided only by instinct.
Then he bent down and picked a wand up off the floor.
Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands in delight. "Poplar, selfless, upright, dependable. Paired with unicorn tail hair, famed for its stability. Flawless."
The poplar wand lay quietly in Clark's hand. Still no shower of sparks, no gusts of wind, no sign at all.
Clark did not mind.
Fate had led him to this wand.
Which meant that this wand had chosen him in turn.
Besides…
Clark gave it a few experimental swings.
He discovered that the poplar wand was far tougher than it looked.
Its length felt exactly right in his grip.
If he combined it with that peculiar force field he had been training recently, it should make an excellent tool for casting.
Physical spellcasting was still spellcasting.
No need to fuss over the details.
A month was neither very long nor very short.
In the blink of an eye, September 1st arrived.
That morning, the Carvels and Mrs. Lipp arrived punctually at King's Cross Station.
"Do you remember what I told you? Do not be nervous. Fix the platform number firmly in your mind, then ignore everything else and head straight for it," Mrs. Lipp said gently to Clark at her side. "Simple enough, yes?"
Clark chuckled.
Just then, Martha and Jonathan, still full of worry, spoke almost at the same time.
"Clark, are you sure you do not want us to come onto the platform with you?"
"Maybe we should walk you in, just in case."
Clark hastily waved his hands. "That is enough. I am not a ten‑year‑old child anymore. I am an eleven‑year‑old. If I still needed you to help with something this small and the other students saw, they would laugh at me for sure."
Children on the cusp of adolescence had a strange sense of pride.
Martha and Jonathan knew that, although Clark was sensible, he also had a streak of stubbornness. Once he decided on something, he would not change his mind easily.
There was nothing they could do. The Carvels and Mrs. Lipp could only watch as Clark, dragging his suitcase and carrying the owl cage, disappeared into the station.
"Nine and three‑quarters, nine and three‑quarters… there it is."
After walking for quite a while, Clark finally found the entrance said to lie between platforms nine and ten.
He took a deep breath.
He repeated Mrs. Lipp's instructions in his head.
Ignore everything. Do not hesitate.
He lengthened his stride and charged straight at the barrier.
Then—
Thud.
With a dull crash, Clark smashed a solid chunk out of the stone pillar.
Would you like future chapters translated in the same straightforward, novel‑style English, or would you prefer a slightly more localized Harry Potter tone?