Immortal Bird

In the dimly lit room of St. Mary's orphanage, a place known for its cold stone walls and narrow, fogged-up windows, Alexander Ambrose Ravenwood sat quietly by the window. His raven-black hair fell messily over his forehead, a stark contrast to the pale, almost ethereal tone of his skin. His iceberg blue eyes, piercing and distant, seemed to absorb every detail of the world outside, yet his thoughts were far away from the cold view of the orphanage grounds. His gaze occasionally flickered over the pages of the book in his hands — Social Animal by Elliot Aronson — but his mind wandered, lost in thoughts that had little to do with the text.

The boy was only eleven, but his gaze seemed far older, as if the weight of the world rested on his young shoulders. His ice-blue eyes, sharp and piercing, rarely seemed to blink, as though nothing could escape his attention. He wasn't like the other children in the orphanage, who often ran through the halls laughing or fighting over the smallest things. He preferred solitude, the quiet of his room, and the company of books. The other children found him strange, distant even, and he didn't mind. He wasn't interested in their games or their conversations.

As the boy read, the words on the page blurred in his mind. His thoughts were far from the book in his hands. The orphanage, with its cold stone walls and narrow windows, felt like a cage. The world outside the glass seemed so distant, so unreachable. And yet, he couldn't help but be drawn to it. There had to be something more out there, something beyond the confines of this place.

The sudden gust of wind that rattled the window shook him from his reverie. The pages of his book fluttered, and he glanced up, his ice-blue eyes locking onto the dark sky outside. He didn't flinch as the cold air filled the room. It was a feeling he had grown accustomed to. The orphanage was cold, and so was his heart — at least, that's how it felt sometimes.

A soft voice called from the doorway, snapping him back to the present.

The matron's voice broke the silence. "Someone's here to see you," she called from the doorway, her voice soft but urgent. "They've come to invite you to a school."

The boy's eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned his gaze toward the door. The matron stood there, a mixture of concern and curiosity on her face. "A school?" he repeated, his voice calm but with a trace of something deeper, something uncertain.

"Yes," she said, her hands clasped in front of her. "They say you've been chosen. It's a... special school. I don't know much more, but they're here to talk to you."

His heart skipped a beat, and his mind raced. A school? Chosen? The words felt strange, out of place, yet they stirred something within him. Something had always felt different about him, about his life here, but he had never been able to put it into words. This... this invitation felt like an answer to something he hadn't even known he was asking.

He stood up slowly, placing the book down on the windowsill. His ice-blue eyes met the matron's gaze, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something unknown in his expression.

As the boy stood and set the book aside, the matron stepped aside, gesturing toward the doorway. "They're waiting for you," she said softly, as if hesitant to disturb the quiet calm of his solitude.

The boy's heart beat a little faster, though he kept his expression neutral. His ice-blue eyes flickered toward the door, and then, without hesitation, he walked toward it. He had always felt like there was something waiting for him beyond the walls of the orphanage, something that would pull him away from this place — and now it seemed that something was here.

As he stepped into the hallway, the boy noticed the woman standing in the foyer, her posture straight and commanding, yet somehow warm. She was tall and dignified, with a regal air that seemed to carry her presence. Her dark green robes hung neatly on her frame, their fabric crisp and formal, but there was a certain softness to her that softened the stern lines of her face. She had a mass of graying brown hair, swept back into a neat bun, though a few strands had escaped and now framed her sharp features. Her eyes, a piercing shade of amber, were focused and calculating, as if she could see through the boy, studying him, yet there was something gentle in her gaze.

Her face, though often set in an expression of seriousness, was surprisingly kind, the lines of age only adding to her presence. She exuded an air of authority and wisdom, as if she had seen much of the world and learned its hidden secrets. Her square glasses sat atop her nose, perched just so, and as she looked at the boy, she gave a small, almost imperceptible smile — one that hinted at the knowledge of something important, something beyond this moment.

"I believe you are the one I've come to see," she said, her voice firm yet warm, carrying the weight of someone who had spent years in positions of power and respect. There was no hesitation in her words. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I have come to offer you an invitation."

The boy studied her with a quiet intensity, his ice-blue eyes not giving away any emotion. "An invitation?" he repeated, the word foreign yet intriguing on his lips.

McGonagall nodded slightly, her expression softening as she looked him over. "Yes. You have been chosen to attend a very special school — Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, as if she could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes.

She took a step closer, holding out a small, sealed envelope with an elegant flourish. "Everything you need to know is inside," she said, her voice lowering slightly

Alexander took the envelope from Professor McGonagall's outstretched hand, his sharp ice-blue eyes lingering on the unusual seal pressed into the wax. It bore an ornate emblem, rich with detail, unlike anything he had seen before. A shield was at its center, divided into four quadrants, each holding a unique creature: a lion, bold and proud; a serpent, coiled and cunning; a badger, sturdy and strong; and a raven, elegant and wise. Surrounding the shield was a large letter H, standing as the centerpiece of the design. Below it was a ribbon unfurling with Latin words: Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. The intricate design made it look ancient, yet alive, as though the badge held secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Alexander traced his fingers over the wax seal briefly before breaking it open with a decisive motion. Inside was a parchment unlike the crisp white paper he was used to — it was thick, rough to the touch, and tinged with a faint yellow, giving it an air of timelessness. The letters, written in deep green ink, curled elegantly across the page, as though the words had been crafted with care and purpose.

He read quickly, his sharp eyes scanning the formal invitation.

---

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Ravenwood,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

---

When he finished, Alexander lifted his head, his expression carefully neutral, though curiosity burned behind his eyes. He tilted the parchment slightly, glancing back at the bold heading: Albus Dumbledore. The name seemed important — it carried weight even in print, and his gaze lingered on the title "Headmaster."

"This... Albus Dumbledore seems quite important," he said finally, breaking the silence. His tone was steady, but there was a note of intrigue, as though he were testing the waters of what he had just read. His eyes flickered back toward Professor McGonagall, searching her face for answers.

Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze softened slightly at Alexander's words, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as though she appreciated his keen observation. She folded her hands neatly in front of her, her posture as composed and regal as ever.

"Albus Dumbledore," she began, her voice steady and filled with quiet reverence, "is far more than just important. He is one of the most accomplished and respected wizards of our time." Her amber eyes gleamed as she spoke, as though recounting something both personal and extraordinary.

"He is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, as you have read," she continued, "but his titles and honors barely scratch the surface of who he truly is. Dumbledore is a man of immense wisdom and kindness. He has devoted his life to the protection of both the magical and non-magical worlds."

There was a weight in her tone, as if she carried deep respect for the man she spoke of. "He holds the Order of Merlin, First Class, an honor bestowed upon only the greatest witches and wizards. He is Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot — our most esteemed court — and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Yet," she added, her expression softening further, "his true greatness lies in his character. He is a man who values fairness, compassion, and knowledge above all else."

Alexander's gaze remained fixed on her, his sharp blue eyes absorbing every word. McGonagall paused briefly, then added with a slight lift of her chin, "Albus Dumbledore has guided Hogwarts through many difficult times. Under his leadership, the school has become not just a place of learning, but a place of safety, where young witches and wizards, like yourself, can discover who they are and what they are capable of."

Her voice dropped ever so slightly, almost as if she were letting him in on a secret. "You would do well to remember this, Mr. Ravenwood: Albus Dumbledore sees potential in those whom others might overlook. If you have been invited to Hogwarts under his watch, it is because he believes you are meant for something far greater than the confines of this orphanage."

She straightened once more, her gaze meeting his. "And I would not lightly dismiss his judgment."

Alexander's ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly as he processed McGonagall's words, his gaze sharp and questioning. "If magic is real," he said calmly, though there was an edge of curiosity in his voice, "why haven't people seen it? You'd think something like that would be impossible to hide."

Professor McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, as though she had been waiting for this question. Her expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of pride in her amber eyes, as if she appreciated the boy's sharp mind.

"That, Mr. Ravenwood," she began, "is because of something known as the Statute of Secrecy — a law that governs the entire magical world. It ensures that magic remains hidden from Muggles—non-magical people like those you've lived with all your life."

She clasped her hands behind her back as she continued. "The Statute was established centuries ago, in 1689, after a period when witches and wizards faced persecution from fearful Muggles who didn't understand magic. Humans have always feared what they cannot explain, and during that time, many magical people suffered greatly."

Alexander's gaze didn't waver, absorbing every detail of her explanation.

"To protect our kind," McGonagall went on, her voice firm but calm, "wizards across the globe agreed to conceal their existence. Entire systems were put in place: spells to hide magical creatures, enchantments to disguise magical buildings, and laws to punish those who risk exposing our world."

Her eyes flicked to the Hogwarts letter still clutched in Alexander's hand. "Even Hogwarts is hidden. To Muggle eyes, the castle appears as little more than ruins with a 'Danger — Keep Out' sign posted at its gates."

She paused for emphasis, giving Alexander time to take it all in. "It is a wizard's duty to uphold this secrecy — to ensure magic remains hidden from the non-magical world. Without it, there would be chaos, fear, and an unrelenting pursuit of power. The magical and Muggle worlds must remain separate, for the safety of all."

Alexander tilted his head slightly, considering her words. "So… you're saying wizards choose to live in secret?"

McGonagall nodded. "Yes. It is not always easy, but it is necessary. Wizards and witches thrive best when free to explore magic without fear of persecution or exploitation. That freedom, Mr. Ravenwood, is protected by the Statute of Secrecy — a law that every witch and wizard must respect."

Her gaze lingered on him, sharp yet expectant, as though waiting to see how he would react to this newfound knowledge.

Professor McGonagall gave Alexander a pointed look, her sharp gaze softening just slightly as she spoke. "Now, enough questions for today. Tomorrow, we shall go to Diagon Alley to purchase your school supplies."

"Diagon Alley?" Alexander repeated, his brow furrowing as he turned the unfamiliar name over in his mind.

"Yes," McGonagall replied with a faint smile, her tone shifting to one of reassurance. "It is a hidden marketplace for witches and wizards, located in the heart of London. There, you'll find everything you'll need for your first year at Hogwarts — robes, books, cauldrons, and even a wand."

"A wand?" Alexander echoed, the first hint of intrigue flickering in his otherwise calm demeanor.

"Indeed," McGonagall said with a nod, her voice brimming with a quiet certainty. "A wand is essential to every witch and wizard — it is the conduit for magic, and it will become an extension of yourself. Tomorrow, you will have one of your own."

She turned slightly toward the door, her posture once more straight and formal. "Now, I suggest you get some rest, Mr. Ravenwood. You have a great deal ahead of you. Tomorrow will be the beginning of an extraordinary journey."

As Alexander stood silently, still processing her words, McGonagall gave him one last glance. "I trust you'll find it… illuminating." With that, she swept out of the room, her green robes trailing behind her, leaving the boy with thoughts that buzzed like sparks in the quiet of the orphanage.