Wow, did the years just fly by! One minute I was this tiny, gurgling baby, all about milk and keeping my nappy in one piece. The next, boom! I was an eleven-year-old, not gurgling much anymore, and definitely way more sneaky. Honestly, it felt less like just growing up and more like one of those cool anime montages where the main character suddenly gets awesome powers and a new look. Which, come to think of it, wasn't far off the mark for me.
Life at Greengrass Manor? It had its own weird, fancy rhythm. Like trying to play a serious concert on a kazoo. Astoria, our youngest, went from this pink, crying bundle to a surprisingly chill toddler. Her huge, serious eyes were always watching, soaking everything in, probably cataloging all our family's odd habits. She was like the calm eye in our very own Greengrass storm.
Daphne, my twin, she was my rock, my go-to, and honestly, my clueless straight man a lot of the time. While I saw an old tapestry and thought, "Hmm, how strong are these threads for climbing?" she was all about its history and worrying over dust. We're total opposites, but we stick together, no matter what. And get this: we'd sneak off to quiet, overgrown spots in the manor, far from the Ministry – whose "Trace" system, thankfully, couldn't tell who was doing magic in a wizard house. There, we'd mess around with our accidental magic. Daphne's magic was like a perfectly brewed tea – smooth, controlled. She'd think about a wilted rose, and poof! it'd get a fresh petal. Mine? Oh, mine was more like a firecracker. A little annoyed, and suddenly, a stack of rare books would zip across the room, then crash with a big thud. A casual wave could make leaves swirl into this cool pattern before they just... vanished. In those secret moments, I really started to get how amazing my magic was – not just "oops," but "whoa!" This hidden, growing power? It really tied us together.
Me? I was still the quiet mastermind of subtle tricks. My humor was super dry, often missed by folks who weren't paying close enough attention which, let's be real, was most adults. If a garden gnome ended up temporarily frozen by a stinging hex, you can bet I'd calculated the exact shot and made sure nobody was looking. I was always planning, always thinking. Every quiet moment, every hidden corner, was a chance for a little 'accident' or a carefully planned 'experiment.'
And the System? That amazing, mysterious thing was always there, like my personal, uncorruptible RPG quest-giver. Every single day for the past six years, I'd do its dull, sometimes totally weird, tasks. Reading tons of old books until my eyes swam, or doing intense exercises that actually made me pretty fit for a guy who mostly just thought. Each time I nailed a task – whether it was truly grasping a tough chapter, silently perfecting a mental exercise while pretending to sleep, or even sneaking a super tasty treacle tart from the kitchen undetected – I'd get this quiet, but super satisfying, 'System Point' notification. Points came in slow, sure, but they were always, always there. As of this morning, I had a sweet 2,500 points. I'd spent some on boosting my Shadow Clone Technique – too useful to pass up! Now I could have five identical, totally studious Lucians devour the whole Greengrass library. But most of my points? Nope, still sitting there, a fantastic secret weapon, just waiting for the perfect moment to totally blow everyone's minds. And yeah, true to Greengrass style, absolutely no one knew.
Trips to Diagon Alley became a regular thing, though a bit annoying. I'd gotten really good at pretending not to care about the singing cauldrons or the candy that glowed weirdly. All the while, I was mentally listing every single item for future purchase. And Draco Malfoy? Oh, bless his always-sneering, perfect-hair little head. He was just so predictable, so endlessly entertaining with his pure, unfiltered snobbery. You could literally set your watch by his attempts to act superior.
Then came the summer we turned eleven. The air in the manor practically buzzed with this strange, almost thick excitement. I knew exactly what was coming. I'd been waiting for it, planning for it, ever since I woke up in this wild new world.
One really sunny morning, I was deep in a serious mental debate: was it ethical to send a shadow clone to grab biscuits from the kitchen? (High-risk, high-reward, obviously.) That's when a sharp, unmistakable rapping started at my window.
It wasn't some polite little bird with a note. Nope. It was an owl. A massive, tawny one with golden eyes, holding two thick, cream-colored envelopes in its strong claws. It tapped so demandingly, like it expected to be let in immediately, and maybe get a free snack. And at the exact same time, from Daphne's room across the hall, I heard the same thwack-thwack-thwack from another owl.
"They're here," I whispered, a slow, kind of sly grin spreading across my face.
I yanked the window open. The owl, clearly a creature on a tight schedule, flew right in, dropped the letters on my bed with a soft thud, then hooted – like, "Hurry up!" and "I'm bored!" all at once – and stuck out its leg.
"Oh, right," I mumbled, digging for a Knut. My heart was doing this silly, bouncy dance. This was real. This was really, truly, happening!
As the awesome bird soared off, I grabbed the envelopes. The paper felt super nice, and the ink was a rich, almost glowing green. My name was written in fancy, swirly letters, way nicer than my messy homework:
Mr. Lucian Greengrass
The Smallest Bedroom,
West Wing Greengrass Manor Hogsmeade,
Scotland
The second envelope was for Daphne, just as perfectly addressed. I tossed it to her as she came into my room. Her usual calm face had this rare, almost shocking, flash of excitement. She wasn't exactly hovering, but you could tell she was super eager.
We ripped them open in exact same moment. Inside, tucked away with the boring school supply lists and stern warnings about forbidden spells, was the familiar, utterly magical crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Well?" she whispered, her voice barely there, totally different from the thumping excitement now filling the air.
"It's… for real."
"It says," I announced, putting on my most dramatic voice (the one I usually saved for my best magic 'accidents' or beating Dad at wizard chess), "that the Greengrass twins are officially going to Hogwarts!"
Daphne let out this tiny, barely noticeable sigh of relief, a quick, real smile touching her lips. It vanished fast, back to her usual serene look, but I'd seen it. Even the perfectly poised Daphne Greengrass couldn't totally hide the pure, awesome thrill of it all.
I looked at the letter again, then out the open window, feeling a soft breeze ruffle the curtains. Hogwarts. A real, actual castle, full of magic. A place where I wouldn't have to keep my... special talents a secret. Where the 'grind' would be actual spells, not just mental exercises.