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 it 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. He didn't find any cameras around him either.
Setting the letter down, Merlin slumped onto his bed, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling as his thoughts began to wander.
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 intervention. Some kind of parallel existence. But every theory only led to more contradictions, more unanswered questions.
Eventually, he had stopped asking.
He had decided it was better to live—better to move forward—than to waste his time chasing 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 swallow 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.
In the end, it was no different from 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.
"O—of course," Merlin said quickly, stepping aside. "Forgive my manners, Professor. Please."
He led her inside, offering the only available seat in his room—the edge of his bed—before handing her a glass of water he had prepared earlier.
"I'm sorry, there's no tea," he said apologetically. "I can only offer you water."
"That's all right," Professor McGonagall waved her hand dismissively, showing she didn't mind. "I imagine you've already read the letter?"
"Yes, Professor. I have. It's just… I don't really understand it."
"That's to be expected," she said calmly. "Which is precisely why I'm here. You may ask whatever you wish, Mr. Graves."
He hesitated for only a moment.
"It says your school teaches magic," Merlin said carefully. "But I'm not sure what that actually means. Would it be possible to… see a demonstration?"
Professor McGonagall didn't look surprised in the slightest. 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 movies, and Transfiguration was one of the core branches of magic in Harry Potter—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.
Professor McGonagall seemed pleased with 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 guidance, you'll be able to achieve this and much more, Mr. Graves."
"Professor," Merlin said, "may I ask a few questions about the wizarding world?"
"Of course," she replied, inclining her head.
She then 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 many 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."
Professor 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 pounds he had saved from festivals, 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 funds. 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, I can take you to purchase your school supplies now."
Merlin agreed without hesitation. The sooner he set foot in the wizarding world, the earlier 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 doubt anyone would want to go inside,' Merlin grumbled inwardly.
Professor McGonagall pushed open the door, and he followed her in.
The interior was dim and cramped, smelling faintly of old ale and smoke. A handful of cloaked individuals sat scattered around the room, their conversations dying down the moment they entered.
Behind the bar stood a thin, slightly hunched man with wispy white hair and a toothless grin. His sharp eyes lit up the instant he spotted Professor McGonagall.
"Professor McGonagall!" Tom said cheerfully, wiping his hands on a rag as he leaned over the counter. "It's been a while."
"Good afternoon, Tom," she replied with a nod. "I assume the business is doing well?"
"Same as ever," he chuckled, then glanced at Merlin. "And who's this young friend?"
"A new student," McGonagall said. "It's Mr. Graves first visit here."
Tom smiled broadly. "Muggle-born, then? Welcome to the wizarding world, lad."
"Thank you, sir," Merlin replied politely.
With that, Professor McGonagall led him through the 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. A rush of noise spilled out from the other side.
"Incredible," Merlin whispered.
Before him stretched a narrow cobbled street lined with shops of every kind. The buildings were crammed closely together. Wizards in robes passed by—haggling, laughing—while children darted between them, their eyes filled with excitement. The whole place was bustling with activity.
Professor McGonagall paused beside him, and a faint smile appeared on her face. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," she said, stepping forward.
Merlin drew in a deep breath and then slowly followed after her, committing the scene to his memory.
This was the beginning of his journey into the wizarding world!