"Minerva McGonagall?"
Andrew froze for a second. The name sounded familiar, but he wasn't entirely sure. After all, "McGonagall" wasn't exactly a rare surname.
"I'll put this name aside for later, but right now I need to deal with the school application issue."
There wasn't much he could do. Although the manuscript royalties were decent, the money was really a bit... hot to the touch. He wasn't familiar enough with British law—in fact, no one at the orphanage really was.
Officially, there were definitely professional authors. But would a minor participating in writing attract scrutiny? Could he even be taken to some kind of "special school"? That uncertainty still made him uneasy. After all, how many normal people would know the legal nuances of something like this?
If it really was a special school, how would he pass any potential audits?
Blame the authorship on someone else?
He believed someone might be willing to take the fall, but rushing it could lead to disputes over money later—especially since his pen name was already gaining traction and the royalties were starting to add up.
Trustworthy people were too hard to find. The kids in the orphanage weren't exactly known for keeping secrets, and the adults… well, they already did him a favor by not asking questions about his writing. Expecting them to take responsibility for his pen name? Out of the question.
And looking for outsiders...
Wait a second. Andrew suddenly realized he was stuck in the wrong mindset.
Why was he so afraid of a "special school"?
Even if there were other students and staff, based on his current understanding of psychokinesis, he wouldn't be at a disadvantage among students. As for the staff—if they weren't horrible people, there was nothing to worry about. And if they were horrible? Well, his royalties brought enough value that they'd be replaced quickly. And if they were worse than that—well, then he'd just have to see what came first: "accidents" or "tomorrow."
With that in mind, there was really nothing to be afraid of.
Let it come, then.
"Written in by the Quill of Acceptance three months ago..."
Minerva McGonagall walked along a poorly maintained street, giving the name on the list one final glance.
Every child born within the British wizarding world was monitored by the Quill of Acceptance from birth until age twelve. But the Book of Admittance only allowed a name to be written once a child had demonstrated sufficient magical ability.
Unless unusual circumstances intervened, that child would receive an acceptance letter to Hogwarts. If the child came from a Muggle family, a professor from the school would visit in person to explain everything.
This was Hogwarts' time-honored admission process. The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance had been working since the days of the Founders, and Hogwarts had never admitted a student whose name wasn't listed.
"No Ministry officials were triggered—meaning the child's magic wasn't too flashy... but at least we're still in time..."
Professor McGonagall even felt a bit happy for the boy. If a child's magic didn't manifest until after twelve, even wizarding families couldn't offer a proper education. Many such late bloomers ended up as Squibs.
Considering this boy had grown up in the Muggle world, missing out on Hogwarts could have meant missing out on magic altogether.
"This is the place," she murmured, eyeing the worn wooden sign. Before her stood a secluded property surrounded by high fences, with an old building at its center.
After knocking on the door, she was quickly greeted by a woman in an apron who ushered her into the hallway.
"You must be Miss McGonagall?"
Madam Camille came rushing in, holding a solid-looking switch in her hand. Judging by the damage to its surface, some unlucky child had recently had a "close encounter" with it.
"Yes, Mrs. Camille. I wrote to you yesterday explaining my purpose. I'm here for Andrew Taylor."
"Very well. Please, this way."
Only when she extended her hand did Mrs. Camille notice the switch still in her grip. She looked at it, then let it hang at her side.
"Apologies, it's been a chaotic day. The boys are even more mischievous than usual," she sighed. "The nannies are far too gentle—you always need someone the children are afraid of."
"Indeed," Professor McGonagall nodded, her expression softening. "They do tend to make the most unimaginable mistakes."
The mood between the two women immediately became less tense. In this newfound camaraderie, McGonagall was led into a fairly tidy office—though the mismatched furniture and bare-bones décor clearly spoke of poverty.
"Please sit, Miss McGonagall. You mentioned this visit is about young Andrew, but as far as I know, he hasn't applied to any schools. I've only just written his recommendation letter for public school."
"That's correct. He hasn't applied anywhere. But our school has discovered that he possesses certain qualities we're looking for. I'm here to invite him to enroll."
"Your school?"
Mrs. Camille gave McGonagall a sharp, appraising look.
"Yes. Our school. I'm a professor there."
"Then..." Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of school is it?"
"It's called Hogwarts. We specialize in students with... unique talents."
"I really don't think that's necessary," Mrs. Camille's tone suddenly turned cold. "Andrew is a gifted boy. Although he's too old to be adopted, his knowledge and manners are exemplary. He'll do well in public school, then go on to a good university and make us all proud."
"So, no—I won't allow him to attend some special school, Professor McGonagall," she said firmly. "You should leave."
McGonagall was briefly surprised, but then she quietly took out a blank piece of parchment, tapped it lightly, and handed it over.
"A formal document? Not a special school, but one with official procedures and paperwork?"
Mrs. Camille studied the blank parchment like it bore several seals of authority.
"This is..."
She hesitated. "It does look like your Hogwarts is a legitimate institution. In that case, I suppose it's best to let Andrew decide for himself."
This turn of events was a little unexpected for Professor McGonagall, but she had intended to meet the boy anyway. Given his background, she needed to personally guide him through Diagon Alley, help him understand the magical world, assist in purchasing his supplies and wand—and, of course, provide him with his Hogwarts Express ticket.
"Very well then, Madam. Let's go meet him. I think he'll like Hogwarts."