The letter
The past never rested in Wool's Orphanage. It clung to the walls, soaked into the floorboards, lingered in the cold drafts that prowled the halls at night. There was something inescapable about the place, as though the lives of all those who had passed through it had left an imprint too deep to fade.
Adela had learned to live with its ghosts.
Lips bloody, she sat on the windowsill, picking at her lips and staring out at the sliver of London visible between the buildings. The city vibrated beyond the orphanage gates, vast and indifferent. She traced idle patterns against the cold glass, her breath fogging the window as she exhaled slowly. The light summer night breeze played with strands of her dark hair, which danced in front of her eyes.
She was frozen in place, trying to decide if going to bed was a good idea. She didn't want another night of strange dreams. Another morning with the gnawing certainty that something had shifted, unseen but irrevocable.
Beyond her door, the orphanage stirred. The dull murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs against wood, the clatter of dinner being served. Life, droning on in its unyielding monotony. And yet, beneath it all, something pressed against the edges of her mind, an unease, insidious and lingering.
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
She turned, half-expecting one of the younger children coming to pester her about dinner. But it was Mrs. Cole.
"Something came for you," the matron said, her voice unusually measured. In her hands, a letter, thick and yellowed, out of place against the tired gray of the orphanage.
Adela hesitated. Something about Mrs. Cole's stance, the stiffness of her shoulders, the flicker of unease in her gaze, sent a prickle down her spine.
She reached out, fingers brushing the parchment. It was heavier than mere paper should be. Her name was inked in curling script, stark against the aged surface:
Miss A. Benson
First room on the left
Wool's Orphanage, London
No one wrote to her. No one beyond these walls even knew she existed.
Mrs. Cole lingered. "I don't know who sent it," she admitted. "But the owl wouldn't leave until I took it."
"Owl?" Adela repeated, her voice quieter than she intended.
"Yes. An owl delivered it."
The words hung in the air, unnatural, as though they did not belong in the world she knew. Mrs. Cole studied her, waiting for something, recognition, understanding, but Adela only nodded, fingers tightening around the letter. Without another word, she turned away, retreating into the solitude of her room.
She held the letter for a long time before breaking the seal.
She couldn't be reading it right, she just couldn't be. She eyed the envelope curiously, turning it around to check the green ink once more. First room on the left.
She chuckled lightly in disbelief, sure it had been a prank by one of the children. But she had no way of knowing how on earth they had managed to get an owl and train it to deliver a letter, although she knew Victor had a weird obsession with animals and neat skills to train them. Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she started peeling the hard, red wax seal from the parchment.
Dear Miss Benson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Students shall be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival, the dates for which shall be duly advised.
Please ensure that the utmost attention be made to the list of requirements attached herewith.
We very much look forward to receiving you as a part of the new generation of Hogwarts's heritage.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" her face twisted up in confusion and she folded the letter back neatly. she stall sit for a few seconds, eyeing the letter, before jumping off the windowsill and taking long strides to leave her room.
She closed the door behind her and headed downstairs, towards the movement of warm, flickering firelight. She quickly skipped some steps and made her way into the kitchen, a small and cold room which was dimly lit by a few candles that stood crooked and melted in chipped teacups. The air in the room felt cramped and smelled of boiled porridge, and a long, dark, handsome wooden table stood in the middle of it, hosting six white, empty porcelain plates framed by neatly polished cutlery. Two small girls and four skinny boys were sat in front of them, apparently bored, waiting for dinner to be served.
"Look who has decided to come down today!" Adela needn't turn her head to know who had spoken. She ignored the sarcastic remark.
"I'm not staying, Isaac. I just came to ask who thought it was funny to send this-by owl- no less" she pronounced as she held up the letter, an enquiring look on her face.
The children glanced at the letter briefly, shrugged and went back to their own things. Lucas was absently playing with the string of his yoyo while the two small girls, Annie and Aimee, fought over a delicate, pale porcelain doll. Isaac had abandoned any pretense of interest and was lying over his arms, face down on the table, while Joseph, another skinny boy, was poking his arm in the attempts to reanimate him. Victor was paying no mind to the scene, his eyes focused on a small spider that was crawling up one of the legs of the table.
"Alright, thanks." Adela turned around and headed for the stairs, climbing back up to her room. After seventeen long years in this orphanage, she had learnt everything about the six other kids living there, knowing exactly how to read their expressions, including guilt and innocence, and after her brief interrogation, she didn't believe it had been one of them who had sent the letter.
She reached the top of the stairs and turned left, groping around for her door handle in the darkness. As she walked in, she was greeted by the dim, bluish, calming light coming from the open window, that reflected on her off white walls and made the room look so much more interesting than what it really was. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to the single bed, which slightly sank under her weight. She sat down and looked at the windowsill, where a black owl sat, staring at her, unmoving.
She didn't know how, but she was certain that was the owl that had delivered the letter. She froze and stared back, almost as if she was daring it to move, to do something. Her fingers drifted to the locket at her chest, cold and familiar against her skin. It had been hers for as long as she could remember, older than memory itself. She had never questioned it, never wondered why it was the only thing she had ever called her own.
Now, in the heavy hush of her room, she swore she felt it pulse.
A trick of the mind, surely.
After a few seconds of intense eye contact, she stood back up and walked towards a small desk, the only other piece of furniture in the room apart from the shabby brown closet.
"Long trip?" she asked as she opened one of the desk's drawers and pulled out a half-eaten bag of crisps. Opening it, she jumped up on the windowsill and placed a couple of crisps next to the black bird. "Don't you tell, birdie. I'm not supposed to have these here" but the owl paid no mind to her as he pecked on the food.
"So, ever gonna tell me where you come from and who sent this?" she asked, as she reread the letter. At this, the owl finally moved. Better said, it suddenly spread his long wings and flew into the room, landing on her desk. Adela flinched in surprise. "I don't think you can be in here birdie, I'm afraid I'll have to escort you out", but the owl had sat on the pile of white paper sheets and turned its beak toward them.
Adela narrowed her eyes at the owl, stilling as it nudged the stack of paper with its beak. The movement was deliberate. Purposeful.
She exhaled, her breath shaky, and took a cautious step toward the desk. The owl blinked once, tilting its head as if waiting for her to catch up with some unspoken instruction.
"You want me to write something?" she asked, feeling ridiculous the moment the words left her mouth.
The owl remained perfectly still.
She rubbed her temples. This was absurd. Completely insane. She was supposed to be the rational one in this place, the one who solved problems, not the one talking to birds about magical invitations. And yet, here she was.
Adela hesitated, then dropped into the wooden chair, her hands ghosting over the blank paper. Her fingers found a pen, tapping it against the desk as she tried to push away the wave of uncertainty crashing in her mind.
What was she even supposed to say?
She turned back to the letter. It had to be a joke. It had to be. But the weight of the parchment, the official tone, the strange, antiquated language, it didn't feel like a joke. No one in the orphanage had ever pulled off something this elaborate. And an owl? A real, living owl had delivered it.
Maybe it was some kind of club, she reasoned. A weird, elaborate, medieval-sounding club for illusionists or performers, the kind that kept old traditions alive. Maybe Hogwarts was some underground academy for gifted children who liked magic tricks. Yes. That made sense. More sense than actual magic existing.
She leaned forward, pressing pen to paper, her handwriting neat but hesitant.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I received your letter today, though I must admit I don't fully understand what this is about. I have never heard of Hogwarts before, and I certainly don't recall applying to any school of magic. I would appreciate it if you could clarify what exactly this entails and how you found me. Additionally, if this is some kind of misunderstanding, please let me know.
If this is real (which I highly doubt), could you explain exactly what kind of institution Hogwarts is? And how, after seventeen years, you've only now decided to send me this letter? It seems rather late to be inviting someone to a school, doesn't it? Most schools are having their students graduate around this age.
Also, if this is some kind of club, I would like to know who recommended me. I have never heard of anything like this before, and I am not in the habit of receiving letters from owls.
Sincerely,
Adela Benson.
She pulled back and read over her words. It was cautious but polite. She didn't want to sound like she was making fun of them, whoever they were, but she also wasn't about to accept this whole thing without question.
Adela folded the letter, feeling another surge of absurdity as she looked at the owl. "What now? Do I just... give it to you?"
The owl, apparently satisfied, flapped its wings once before extending a leg, revealing a small leather strap tied around it.
"Oh. Right. Of course," she muttered, carefully slipping the letter into the small loop. The moment it was secure, the owl took off, flying straight out of the window and disappearing into the night.
Adela watched it get smaller and smaller in the distance, her arms crossed over her chest. A cool breeze whispered through the window, making her shiver. She had a feeling that, whatever this was, she wasn't going to get a simple answer.
She sat back down on the edge of her bed, staring at the empty space where the owl had been. The night suddenly felt very quiet. Too quiet.
Then, she started smiling, which turned into chuckling, which turned into straight up laughing. What had just happened? An owl had come into her bedroom delivering a letter to a magical school. She laughed harder thinking about how she had actually answered the letter and sent it tied to the owl's leg. She kept laughing until she needed to wipe her tears and sighed as she calmed down. I need some sleep, I'm way too tired for this, she thought, and laid back down on the bed, attempting to relax.
Shaking her head, she exhaled sharply and played with a strand of her long, dark hair. "Magic school," she muttered to herself. "Right. And I suppose next someone will tell me dragons are real."
Still, despite her humorous approach to the subject, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was no common prank. It was too odd to be just that. Curiosity chewed at her brain as she wondered and wondered what on earth had just happened.
And for the first time in years, she wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring.