Blake stared at me, grey eyes wide and trembling.
"What—what was that?" she whispered, voice cracking. "Alastair, what's going on? What just happened to you?"
Before I could answer—Before I could even breathe—
POP. POP.
Two sharp cracks split the air like gunshots.
Two figures appeared out of thin air in the middle of the orphanage hallway.
Blake screamed.
I grabbed her hand on instinct.
The matron gasped, stumbling backward, while the younger children burst into frightened cries.
The two strangers didn't hesitate.
They raised long, polished wooden sticks—wands—and flicked them in practiced motions.
"Somnus."
A wash of soft blue light swept across the corridor.
The matron collapsed first, slumping gently against the wall. The younger kids followed, one after another, drifting into sudden, peaceful sleep as if they'd simply decided nap time had come early.
Within seconds, Blake and I were the only ones awake.
My heart hammered in my chest.
Magic.
Real magic.
They Apparated.
They cast spells.
Sleep charms.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't imagination.
This was the wizarding world I'd spent another lifetime reading about.
And one of the two figures turned toward us, lowering his wand just enough to seem non-threatening.
I knew him instantly.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Bald head gleaming faintly under the flickering hallway light. Dark robes. An aura of controlled power. A gold hoop earring in his left ear. Calm, level eyes that read everything in front of him.
Kingsley Shacklebolt.
My breath caught.
One of the most competent Aurors in the series. Future Minister for Magic. A man known for calm authority.
He knelt down on one knee to meet our eyes.
"No need to be afraid," he said, voice deep and steady.
"We're not here to hurt you."
Blake pressed herself closer to me, shaking. I squeezed her hand gently.
Kingsley pointed toward the warped metal lamp, the cracked floor tile, the scattered books still hovering faintly.
"Can you tell us," he asked, "which one of you did this?"
My stomach dropped.
The magical riot.
Of course.
It had been too massive, too uncontrolled. Half the building shook, energy blasted outward—noise, lights, raw magical pressure. There was no way the Ministry hadn't noticed. .
A surge like mine would've been a blaring alarm.
Blake moved first.
"I-It was me—" she began, stepping forward on trembling legs.
"No," I whispered, grabbing her sleeve.
Kingsley's sharp eyes tracked every movement.
I swallowed hard.
"Sir," I said quietly, "it… it was me."
Blake tried again.
"Sir, don't arrest him, it was an accident. He didn't mean—"
Kingsley held up a calming hand.
"No one is being arrested," he assured softly. "Accidental magic can be dangerous, but it isn't a crime. We only came to make sure everyone was safe."
His tone was so steady, so professional, that Blake slowly relaxed—just a little.
Kingsley reached into his robe and took out two small vials containing a pale blue potion.
"Here," he said, offering them. "Calming Draught. Helps settle nerves after a magical surge."
We hesitated.
Both of us.
Potions were… well, potions.
But Kingsley's gaze was firm, reassuring, and leaving little room for refusal.
He nodded encouragingly.
"It's safe. I promise."
Blake looked at me.
I looked at her.
We both swallowed our fear and drank.
Warmth spread through my chest and limbs. The tightness in my muscles loosened. The tremors in Blake's hands eased. Her breathing steadied.
Kingsley gave a small, approving nod.
"There we go. Much better. Now…" He rested his arms on his knee and leaned forward slightly. "Can you tell me your names and your ages?"
I answered first.
"Alastair Caelum… S-P."
Saying the full name felt strange. Heavy. Real.
"I turned eleven today, sir."
Blake spoke next.
"Blake Smith. I'm ten, sir."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow at me.
"Eleven, you say? Today?"
"Yes, sir."
A thoughtful expression crossed his face.
"Ah," he murmured, "that explains it."
Blake blinked. "Explains what?"
Kingsley's lips twitched in a faint smile.
"Your first major magical maturity often occurs around eleven years old—when magical cores stabilize for the first time. But your… reaction," he glanced around at the damage, "was much stronger than average."
I stiffened.
Blake stared.
Kingsley straightened slowly, voice low and serious.
"This isn't ordinary accidental magic. Something about today triggered a major awakening."
He didn't know how right he was.
He didn't know I remembered everything.
Two lives.
A destiny.
Death and rebirth.
Magic older than he could imagine flowing in my blood.
He only knew what he could see.
A boy who'd just unlocked something huge.
And a girl who refused to leave his side.
Kingsley's eyes softened again.
"Don't be frightened," he said gently.
"You're both going to be all right. But for now, I need you to sit tight while we secure the area and speak with the Ministry."
Once Kingsley finished questioning us, he rose smoothly to his feet. The second wizard—tall, sandy-haired, and wearing deep navy robes—returned with hurried steps, wand still in hand.
"Kingsley," he whispered, "the Ministry's been notified. They want a full report. Apparition trace confirms the surge originated here. Magical Accidents is on standby."
Kingsley nodded once.
"Good. Help me clean the area before Memory Modifications."
The other man gave us a brief, curious glance—his eyes lingering on me a little longer—then turned to the wrecked hallway.
The two Aurors got to work.
And "got to work" didn't do justice to what we saw.
With graceful sweeps of their wands, they:
Repaired the snapped bed frames
Straightened the bent lamp
Returned books to shelves with perfect precision
Swept away glass shards in spirals of light
Fixed cracked floor tiles
Closed fissures in the walls
Wiped scorch marks from the ceiling
It was like watching reality re-knit itself.
Every spell was efficient, controlled, elegant—pure magic in motion.
Blake gripped my sleeve so hard her knuckles turned white.
When the hallway looked exactly as it had before my magical outburst, the sandy-haired Auror approached the sleeping matron and pointed his wand at her temple.
"Obliviate."
Silver-white mist swirled around her head, then faded.
He moved to the next sleeping child.
"Obliviate."
Then the next.
Memory Modification—clean, practiced, frighteningly effective.
Blake pressed closer, whispering, "They're erasing memories… they're actually erasing memories…"
"Standard procedure," Kingsley said calmly as he approached us again, overhearing her. "We never leave Muggles—non-magical people—with dangerous magical memories."
Blake swallowed hard.
I stood silent, hands clenched.
When his partner finished, Kingsley turned back to us, expression softening.
"All right," he said gently. "Everything is fixed. No harm done."
He crouched down again, meeting our eyes with that same calm authority.
"But before I leave, I need to tell you something important."
Blake froze.
I held my breath.
Kingsley spoke the words that would change both our lives:
"You are a wizard," he said to me,
"and you are a witch," he said to Blake.
We stared at him.
He continued, tone steady and instructional—as if he'd given this speech before, but rarely to children so young and so stunned.
"Magic is an innate talent. It appears in a rare number of people. You didn't choose it. You didn't cause this deliberately."
Blake leaned forward, gripping every word.
"But you need to understand something else," Kingsley added, voice deepening. "Using magic in front of Muggles—that is, ordinary non-magical people—is strictly forbidden by Wizarding law."
Blake's breath hitched.
"But we didn't mean to—" she began, trembling.
Kingsley lifted a hand.
"You don't need to worry. Accidental magic is perfectly normal for magical children. What happened today was… powerful, yes, but still accidental."
I exhaled slowly.
Blake sagged in relief.
"There is a school," Kingsley went on, "where young witches and wizards learn to control their magic safely. To cast spells properly. To live among our world without putting yourselves—or others—in danger."
His eyes softened.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The name shot through me like a jolt of electricity.
Blake blinked. "Hog…warts?"
A faint chuckle escaped Kingsley. "It sounds stranger than it is. Someone from the school will come within the next few days to explain everything in more detail—your enrollment, supplies, expectations, and how to keep yourselves safe until then."
He rose to his full height—tall, commanding, comforting in a way only someone like Kingsley Shacklebolt could be.
"For now," he said gently, "both of you should rest. You've been through something overwhelming today."
With a bow of his head, the Aurors stepped back.
Then he paused—looking right at me.
"Happy birthday, Alastair."
Then—
POP.
POP.
They vanished.
Just like that.
Gone.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
We just stared at the empty space where two wizards had stood seconds earlier.
And then, slowly—
Blake turned toward me.
Her expression started confused… then shocked… then delighted.
Then Blake erupted.
She grabbed both my hands, eyes sparkling brighter than Christmas lights.
"WE'RE MAGIC!" she squealed.
I blinked.
"We are magic! We are magic, Alastair—we're actually MAGIC!"
She started jumping up and down, dragging me with her until I stumbled and nearly fell forward.
Part of me—my adult mind—wanted to stay calm, to think, to analyze the consequences.
But the other part—the eleven-year-old boy with a heartbeat racing like thunder—felt something warm swell in his chest.
I laughed.
Blake froze mid-jump, staring at me with astonished joy.
I couldn't help it.
I laughed again, breathless and disbelieving.
"We're magic," I whispered.
Blake grinned like the sun.
"We're magic!"
And the world—my new world—finally felt real.
Everything had changed.
And I wouldn't face it alone
_________________________________
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