Marvel: Founder of Magic World

Chapter 4: The Day Magic Knocked

Peter Parker

It started with a sound that didn't belong.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Peter looked up from his comic-stuffed science folder. He was curled up on the couch in his favorite hoodie, eating cereal straight from the box and pretending to do homework.

The tapping came again.

Not like rain. Not like wind.

Tap.

He got up and crossed the room. The fire escape window was fogged slightly from the warm kitchen air meeting the cool evening breeze outside. He rubbed the glass and stared.

An owl.

Not a pigeon. Not a hawk. Not any bird that should have been perched on a third-floor Brooklyn apartment fire escape.

A large, brown owl with eyes like polished amber… and something glowing in its beak.

"Uncle Ben?" Peter called over his shoulder, frozen at the window. "There's an Owl. A really big Owl. Holding an envelope."

Uncle Ben didn't even look up from his battle with a crooked lamp. "Tell it to leave a message."

Aunt May was setting plates in the kitchen. "Peter, don't mess with wild Owl! They could be—"

Then she saw it too.

She gasped, dropped the dish towel, and walked toward the window slowly, as if the Owl might vanish if she blinked.

The owl didn't flinch. It tapped the glass again—once—then opened its beak and released the envelope. The moment it left its grip, the envelope glowed golden, floated for a heartbeat in the air, and then gently drifted down into Peter's hands through the cracked-open window.

Peter caught it like it might burn him.

His name was written in ink that shimmered like stardust.

Peter Parker

Third-Floor Apartment, Queens, New York

Uncle Ben was now standing. "Okay, that's... new."

The envelope felt warm. The wax seal was engraved with a strange symbol—four creatures circling a castle, glowing faintly. Runes pulsed along the edge like tiny constellations.

Peter swallowed. "Should I… open it?"

The owl stared at him one last time, gave a slow, deliberate blink—then spread its wings and soared upward, catching the wind like a ghost. It vanished into the clouds with barely a sound.

Peter looked at Aunt May. She looked at Uncle Ben. Nobody said anything for a full five seconds.

Then Peter peeled the seal.

The parchment inside unfurled itself midair, edges glowing briefly with golden light, and began to shimmer with elegant writing—line by line, as if someone were writing it live.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

(Established Long Ago, Hidden in Plain Sight)

Headmaster: Merlin – Founder and Current Principal

Dear Mr. Parker,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You have been identified as possessing magical potential, and your presence is requested for formal education and magical development.

A magical guide will arrive tomorrow at 9 a.m. to meet you and your guardians. They will answer your questions, help you prepare for the journey ahead, and escort you into the hidden world. Please meet them at:

The Ramble, Central Park

(Near the stone bridge, beneath the old willow tree)

Term begins September 1st. Please send your confirmation no later than August 15th using the enclosed reply parchment.

We look forward to welcoming you to a world that has been waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

The scroll held itself in place for a moment, then rolled back up on its own and hovered in front of Peter's face like it expected applause.

Aunt May was the first to break the silence.

"…Okay. Is this a prank? A very elaborate, deeply unsettling prank?"

Uncle Ben took the scroll gently from the air, turning it over in his callused hands. "I've seen holograms. I've seen Stark drones. This… isn't that."

Peter sat back down on the couch in stunned silence. "It said I have… magical potential."

He looked up at them both, eyes wide. "Do I? Is that a thing? Are wizards real? Is this a private school? Is there tuition?"

"Is this a cult?" Aunt May added, suspiciously.

Peter couldn't stop staring at the scroll, now floating neatly into his lap like it belonged there.

He whispered, "They want us to meet someone. A guide… in Central Park."

Aunt May took the letter from his hands again, reading the words as if they might change. "A meeting… under a willow tree," she said softly, almost to herself. "This doesn't feel like a prank anymore."

Uncle Ben stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Peter's shoulder as he looked out the window where the owl had flown. "This isn't normal. But it's not random either. Someone chose you, Pete."

Peter's throat felt dry. "They said term starts September first. That the world's been… waiting."

Aunt May's eyes flicked to him, then to Ben. "What kind of world? What are we walking into?"

Ben didn't answer right away. He was still staring at the letter, at the seal that shimmered faintly with residual magic. He looked at Peter, steady and calm. "Whatever it is… we'll face it together."

Peter nodded, silent. The envelope still pulsed with warmth in his hands, like a heartbeat.

Something was beginning.

Peter leaned back, staring at the ceiling like his entire life had just shifted sideways.

Magic. A school. A hidden world. A letter written in stars.

He clutched the parchment close and whispered to himself, almost afraid of the answer—

"…Why me?"

No one in the room had one.

But far away, magic was moving.

And Peter Parker's name had been chosen.

Gwen Stacy

It started like any other morning.

The TV was murmuring in the background, the smell of eggs and toast lingered in the kitchen, and Gwen was bent over her schoolwork at the table, headphones halfway off, highlighters scattered like confetti.

Her mom, Helen Stacy, moved around the kitchen with a dish towel over her shoulder, still in her work blazer, still on her feet. Captain George Stacy sat across the table in his uniform, going over his precinct's weekly reports with one hand and sipping lukewarm coffee with the other.

Then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

All three of them paused.

Gwen slowly turned her head toward the window.

"That's… not rain," she said.

She stood, moved to the window, and drew back the curtain.

And froze.

An owl—brown, massive, and far too calm—was perched on the windowsill.

In its beak was a thick parchment envelope, sealed with a golden wax crest.

Gwen didn't move.

"Mom?" she called, voice thin. "Dad…?"

Captain Stacy stood immediately. "Gwen, get away from the window."

"It's not doing anything—it's just staring at me!"

George came up behind her, one hand on her shoulder, the other reaching slowly for his sidearm.

Helen was next, staring in utter disbelief. "An owl? At morning? In Queens?"

"It has a letter," Gwen whispered.

"What?" both parents said in unison.

With slow hands, Gwen unlatched the window.

The owl didn't flinch. It tilted its head, studied her, then gracefully leaned forward and dropped the envelope into her hands.

Then it hooted—once—and launched off the sill, disappearing into the sky without another sound.

Gwen stood there, frozen, envelope in hand.

"Is this a joke?" George asked, stepping forward to examine it. "Some kind of prank? Surveillance? Is it from one of your science clubs?"

"Dad," Gwen said, still staring at the gold-lettered front. "It has my name on it."

She turned the envelope so they could all see:

Gwen Stacy

Queens, New York

Captain Stacy took the envelope from her and ran his thumb along the edge. "Heavy. This isn't paper. It's… old. Handmade."

He looked to Helen.

"I didn't order anything," she said quickly. "And no, it's not from Amazon."

Gwen reached for the envelope again, her hands slightly shaking now. She broke the seal.

The parchment inside unfolded itself in mid-air, hovering just inches above the table. Letters formed in glowing ink.

All three of them took a step back.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

(Established Long Ago, Hidden in Plain Sight)

Headmaster: Merlin – Founder and Current Principal

Dear Miss Stacy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You have been identified as possessing magical potential, and your presence is requested for formal education and magical development.

A magical guide will arrive tomorrow at 9 a.m. to meet you and your guardians. They will answer your questions, help you prepare for the journey ahead, and escort you into the hidden world. Please meet them at:

The Ramble, Central Park

(Near the stone bridge, beneath the old willow tree)

Term begins September 1st. Please send your confirmation no later than August 15th using the enclosed reply parchment.

We look forward to welcoming you to a world that has been waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

George grabbed the letter as it gently lowered onto the table. "A school? In New York? Magic? This is insane."

"The owl wasn't fake," Helen said, still staring out the window.

"This has to be a trick," he muttered. "Some new viral marketing thing. Do we know anyone named McGonagall?"

Helen crossed her arms, staring hard at the envelope. "Is this some kind of cult? Gwen, have you been chatting with anyone weird online?"

"No!" Gwen snapped, more out of nerves than anger. "I—I don't know what this is. But the owl… the glow..."

Her dad paced. "This is dangerous. We need to report this. There's got to be surveillance footage—"

"There won't be," Gwen said softly. "You saw the owl. It just… disappeared."

George stared at his daughter, his jaw tight, like he was trying to solve a case he didn't believe existed.

Gwen didn't look away. Her hands were clenched in her lap, the letter resting between them like it might burn through the table.

She didn't feel scared. Not really.

But excited?

Yes.

Terrified?

Also yes.

Something had shifted—and she could feel it deep in her bones, like a door had opened somewhere inside her and light was pouring in.

"I want to go," she said quietly, but firmly. "I don't care how crazy it sounds. If it's real… I need to know what this is."

Helen sat down across from her, shaking her head slowly. Her voice was low, uncertain. "A school for magic. In Central Park. It sounds like something out of a fantasy movie."

"It's not a joke," Gwen said. "That owl looked at me like it knew who I was. Like it's been waiting."

George finally set the letter down, folding it carefully like evidence in a case. "If we're going, we're going as a family. No way you're walking into something this weird alone."

"I wasn't planning to," Gwen said, glancing between them. "I just… I don't think this is going to go away."

Silence settled over the room again. The city outside kept moving, unaware. But in their little apartment, everything felt different now—like they'd crossed a line they hadn't seen until it was behind them.

Gwen reached forward and touched the parchment again, just to make sure it was real.

It was warm.

She looked toward the window, eyes narrowed slightly, still expecting the owl to return.

It didn't.

But the air felt… charged. Like something big was coming.

Something impossible.

For the first time in her life, Gwen Stacy had no logical explanation, no hypothesis, no control.

Just a name written in gold.

A place she'd never heard of.

And a world that, apparently, had been waiting for her.

Mary Jane Watson

Queens, Early Morning

The sky outside was turning that warm, hazy orange—the kind MJ always thought felt too calm for a city like theirs. She sat at the kitchen table, scribbling into a notebook, half her brain still stuck on the weird flicker she'd seen earlier in the alley. A shadow, maybe. A bird. Maybe not.

She didn't say anything. Just kept writing. Like always.

Then she heard it.

Tap. Tap.

She looked up.

An owl.

An owl.

It was perched on the fire escape outside the window—huge, brown, its eyes wide and bright like it had just flown out of a book.

And clutched in its beak was a thick envelope, sealed with gold wax.

MJ's hand froze over her notebook.

"...Mom?" she called, carefully.

Mrs. Watson walked in, holding a folded towel. "What's wrong?"

"There's—uh." MJ pointed. "There's an owl. Outside. With a letter."

Mrs. Watson stopped mid-step. "With a what?"

Before she could get closer, the owl hopped onto the sill and tapped again. Calm. Intentional.

"What the hell?" came Mr. Watson's voice as he entered from the hallway, still holding his coffee. "You said an owl?"

They all gathered at the window.

The owl blinked once. Then leaned forward and dropped the letter through the open crack.

MJ caught it without thinking.

Her full name shimmered across the front in looping gold ink:

Mary Jane Watson

Queens, New York

They all stared at it.

Mr. Watson broke the silence. "That… that better not be some kind of government thing."

Mrs. Watson crossed her arms. "Is this one of those ARGs? Those fake mystery ads you find online?"

MJ turned the envelope over slowly. "It's sealed. Like, wax sealed."

She opened it.

The parchment inside unfolded itself in her hands like it was alive, then settled with a soft glow. The words shimmered just faintly, as if written by light instead of ink.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

(Established Long Ago, Hidden in Plain Sight)

Headmaster: Merlin – Founder and Current Principal

Dear Miss Watson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You have been identified as possessing magical potential, and your presence is requested for formal education and magical development.

A magical guide will arrive tomorrow at 9 a.m. to meet you and your guardians. They will answer your questions, help you prepare for the journey ahead, and escort you into the hidden world. Please meet them at:

The Ramble, Central Park

(Near the stone bridge, beneath the old willow tree)

Term begins September 1st. Please send your confirmation no later than August 15th using the enclosed reply parchment.

We look forward to welcoming you to a world that has been waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

MJ didn't speak right away. Her brain was still catching up.

"This is a joke, right?" Mr. Watson said, taking the letter from her hands and scanning it. "A hidden school? Magic? Is this like one of those summer camps that kidnaps your money?"

Mrs. Watson looked past him, out the window, where the owl was still sitting—watching.

"That's not a prop bird," she said slowly. "That thing is real."

"I know it's real," MJ whispered. "I mean—look at this."

Her dad frowned. "Honey, this isn't real. This is… I don't know. A mistake."

"It has my name," MJ said. "My full name. Our address. It glowed."

Mrs. Watson sat down. "What kind of school sends a magical guide to pick you up? This doesn't sound safe."

"Or normal," Mr. Watson added.

MJ didn't argue. She was still staring at the letter. Her fingers traced the golden signature at the bottom.

"I don't think it's fake," she said quietly. "But I don't think it's dangerous either."

"How can you know that?" her mom asked, not unkindly.

"Because if it was dangerous," MJ replied, "why would it come with this much warning?"

The silence stretched.

"I'm not going alone," MJ added. "They said to bring guardians. That means you'd come. It's just a meeting, right?"

Her parents still looked unsure. But now they were looking at each other, not the owl.

Finally, her mom sighed. "If we do go, it's just to listen. No signing anything. No saying yes."

MJ nodded. "That's all I want. Just to know."

The owl gave a single hoot—sharp, as if it approved—then launched into the air and vanished behind the rooftops.

MJ sat down again, eyes never leaving the parchment.

For the first time in her life, her notebook was blank.

And that, to her, was the most terrifying—and exciting—part of all.

Harry Osborn

The breakfast room at Osborn Tower was all glass and cold light. The kind of place that looked expensive but never felt warm.

Harry sat in silence, barely touching his toast. Norman Osborn, seated at the head of the long table, scrolled through tablet reports and news briefings, barely glancing at the plate in front of him.

Bernard, ever composed, set down a fresh cup of coffee with the precision of a man who'd been doing this his entire life.

No one spoke.

Then—

thump.

All three of them turned. A shadow shifted at the edge of the window.

A large brown owl stood on the stone balcony rail, wings stilling against the wind, a cream-colored envelope in its beak.

Harry slowly rose to his feet. "...Is that an owl?"

Norman stood sharply, eyes narrowing. "What kind of joke is this?"

"It's not a drone," Bernard said calmly. "Not with that wingspan. And not delivering... that."

The owl stepped forward, talons clicking softly on the balcony tile. It leaned in and dropped the envelope onto a silver tray—the one Bernard had just polished that morning—then stared at them with unblinking amber eyes.

Then, without a sound, it launched back into the sky and vanished.

Harry moved first.

He reached for the envelope, fingers trembling. His name was written in gleaming gold script, curved and elegant:

Harry Osborn

Osborn Tower, Manhattan

He glanced up at his father, half-expecting him to tear it away.

But Norman didn't move. He just watched, jaw tight, suspicion in his eyes.

Harry broke the seal.

The parchment unfolded on its own, rising lightly from his hands and then lowering itself as if gravity was negotiable. The ink glowed faintly as he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

(Established Long Ago, Hidden in Plain Sight)

Headmaster: Merlin – Founder and Current Principal

Dear Mr. Osborn,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You have been identified as possessing magical potential, and your presence is requested for formal education and magical development.

A magical guide will arrive tomorrow at 9 a.m. to meet you and your guardians. They will answer your questions, help you prepare for the journey ahead, and escort you into the hidden world. Please meet them at:

The Ramble, Central Park

(Near the stone bridge, beneath the old willow tree)

Term begins September 1st. Please send your confirmation no later than August 15th using the enclosed reply parchment.

We look forward to welcoming you to a world that has been waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry lowered the letter, eyes wide. "It's… a school. A real one. For magic."

Norman stepped forward and took the parchment. He scanned it quickly, then held it up to the light, inspecting every fold, every mark.

"This is either an elaborate scam," he said coldly, "or something very dangerous."

Bernard spoke up, quiet but firm. "Sir, I've seen fakes. That letter isn't one."

Norman didn't respond right away. His expression had darkened—not with fear, but with calculation. "They want you to go into some hidden world. With strangers. Without oversight. Without regulation."

Harry looked at him, something rising in his chest that he hadn't felt in years—hope.

"Maybe it's not a scam," he said quietly. "Maybe it's real."

Norman turned to him, voice low. "You're an Osborn. Your path is already set."

"No," Harry said, lifting his chin. "You set it. But this… this could be mine."

For a moment, the room was dead silent.

Then Norman said, "You're eleven. You don't get to decide your future."

Harry took the letter back, clutching it to his chest. "Maybe not yet. But I want to see it."

Norman started to object—but Bernard put a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Sir," he said. "He's not asking to run away. He's asking for a chance."

Norman looked from Bernard to his son. His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And finally—slowly, reluctantly—he nodded.

"If we go," he said, voice clipped, "we go together. I'll speak to this guide of theirs myself."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He turned back to the window, where the owl had vanished into the clouds.

He didn't know what waited for him in that hidden world.

But for the first time in his life, it didn't feel like he was just inheriting something.

It felt like he was about to discover it.

Felicia Hardy

The morning air filtered through the apartment— soft, quiet, almost too delicate for a home like theirs.

Felicia sat at the kitchen table, twisting a silver coin between her fingers. She hadn't touched her cereal. Her mother, Lydia Hardy, stood near the stove, immaculate in a tailored blouse and pearl earrings — like someone ready for a courtroom even before breakfast. Her father, Walter Hardy, leaned against the window frame with arms crossed, sipping his coffee in silence, half-shadowed, half-watchful.

 "You didn't finish your French homework," Lydia said, not looking up. "If you want to get into St. Brielle's next term, that attitude won't cut it."

"I'm eleven," Felicia muttered.

Walter's eyes flicked toward her. Lydia turned sharply.

"Don't start with that tone, young lady."

Then—

tap. tap.

Felicia froze, spoon halfway to her mouth.

Walter turned his head slightly.

There, perched on the fire escape outside the window, was an owl. Large. Brown. Calm. Its wings tucked tightly, talons gripping the railing like it belonged there.

In its beak was an envelope. Heavy. Cream-colored. Wax-sealed.

"…Is that a real owl?" Felicia whispered.

Lydia followed her daughter's gaze and went completely still. "That's not funny. If this is one of your father's games—"

Walter didn't move. But his voice was low and certain. "I didn't bring it."

"Because if you think this is funny, Walter—"

"I said I didn't," he snapped, gaze locked on the owl. "And I've never seen an owl fly that clean in New York."

The owl didn't flinch. It stepped forward, leaned in—and dropped the envelope onto the table in front of Felicia before leaping into the air and disappearing with a single silent flap of its wings.

The three of them stood there. Frozen.

Felicia reached for the envelope with slow fingers. Her name shimmered across the front in gold script:

Felicia Hardy

Queens, New York

She turned it over. The wax seal was deep red, stamped with an intricate crest.

"Don't open that," Lydia snapped. "This could be dangerous. It could be some criminal organization—"

"It's not," Walter said quietly.

"You don't know that," she hissed.

"I know forged paper. This isn't one."

Walter nodded once. "Let her read it.

Felicia's heart thundered. She looked between them. Then—broke the seal.

The parchment unfolded in the air, glowing faintly. Letters scrawled themselves across the surface in molten gold.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

(Established Long Ago, Hidden in Plain Sight)

Headmaster: Merlin – Founder and Current Principal

Dear Miss Hardy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You have been identified as possessing magical potential, and your presence is requested for formal education and magical development.

A magical guide will arrive tomorrow at 9 a.m. to meet you and your guardians. They will answer your questions, help you prepare for the journey ahead, and escort you into the hidden world. Please meet them at:

The Ramble, Central Park

(Near the stone bridge, beneath the old willow tree)

Term begins September 1st. Please send your confirmation no later than August 15th using the enclosed reply parchment.

We look forward to welcoming you to a world that has been waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Felicia finished reading.

Silence stretched.

Lydia snatched the floating letter as it drifted lower. Her eyes scanned it with surgical precision. "A hidden school? A magical guide? This sounds like the start of a scam or a cult."

Walter took a step forward. "A school. For magic."

Lydia crossed her arms. "It's an elaborate hoax."

Felicia looked at them both. "It doesn't feel like a hoax."

Lydia opened her mouth, then shut it. Uncertain. Angry.

Walter was still staring at the letter.

"I've broken into vaults that were less secure than this parchment," he muttered. "That seal? That ink? This isn't forged. Whoever sent this knew exactly what they were doing."

"Oh, wonderful," Lydia snapped. "Now you're impressed?"

Felicia looked at her father. His expression was unreadable — but his eyes held something at least… intrigued.

"Do you think it's dangerous?" she asked him.

He exhaled. "I think it's unusual. But not dangerous. If they wanted to harm you, they wouldn't have sent an Owl."

Lydia turned on him. "So that's it? We just send her off to… to wizard school?"

"We don't know what we're doing yet," Walter said calmly. "But we're not ignoring this."

 "We're not sending our daughter off with strangers," Lydia snapped.

"I never said we were," Walter said calmly. "But we'll meet them."

Felicia swallowed. Her hands were still shaking. "I want to go."

Lydia's face darkened. "You want to disappear into a fantasy."

"I want to know why an owl knew my name."

That shut everyone up.

Walter gave the letter one more long look. "We go with her. This guide — we meet them."

Felicia nodded slowly. For once, she had no clever remark.

Just questions.

For the first time in her life… she didn't feel like she was on the outside of something.

Missy Kallenback

Missy Kallenback was color-coding her science flashcards when the tapping began.

Tap. Tap.

She looked up, frowning. "Mom? Dad?"

Her mom, drying dishes, didn't turn. "What, sweetheart?"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Missy stood, walked slowly to the living room window. Her dad had just stepped in from the balcony with a newspaper.

She pulled back the curtain.

And stopped.

An owl—a real, live owl—was perched on the fire escape. Huge, brown-feathered, calm. It stared directly at her with bright golden eyes. In its beak was a thick cream envelope sealed in red wax.

"Mom!" she called louder now. "There's a—uh, an owl. At the window."

Her dad came over first, squinting. "What the hell…"

Then her mom, still wiping her hands on a dish towel, froze. "That's not a pigeon."

The owl tapped the glass again.

Cautiously, Missy slid the window open.

The owl leaned in, extended its beak, and dropped the letter right into her hands—then spread its wings and took off without a sound.

All three of them watched it vanish into the Brooklyn sky.

"…That didn't just happen," her mom whispered.

Missy stared at the envelope. Her name shimmered in gold:

MISSY KALLENBACK

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

Her hands trembled slightly.

"Wait, don't open that yet," her dad said quickly. "This could be some scam. Or—what if it's some elaborate stalker thing?"

Missy looked up. "A stalker with an owl?"

"That doesn't make it less weird," her mom snapped. "Is this from someone at school? Did you sign up for something online?"

"No! I didn't sign up for anything!" Missy shouted, voice cracking.

Her dad hesitated, then gently said, "Okay. Let's… let's just read it first. Carefully."

Missy broke the wax seal. The parchment unfolded on its own with a shimmer of faint light.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

(Established Long Ago, Hidden in Plain Sight)

Headmaster: Merlin – Founder and Current Principal

Dear Miss Kallenback,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You have been identified as possessing magical potential, and your presence is requested for formal education and magical development.

A magical guide will arrive tomorrow at 9 a.m. to meet you and your guardians. They will answer your questions, help you prepare for the journey ahead, and escort you into the hidden world. Please meet them at:

The Ramble, Central Park

(Near the stone bridge, beneath the old willow tree)

Term begins September 1st. Please send your confirmation no later than August 15th using the enclosed reply parchment.

We look forward to welcoming you to a world that has been waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Missy read it aloud, barely breathing. The room went silent.

Her mom stared. "Magic school? Meeting the Guide in Central Park?"

Her dad looked at her, face tight. "Missy… what kind of joke is this?"

"It's not a joke!" she snapped, frustrated. "I didn't make it up, I swear. I don't even know anyone who could pull off something like this."

Her mom sat down slowly. "Honey. Magic? Come on. That's—that's fairytales."

"Then how do you explain the owl?" Missy fired back. "The paper? The letter glowed! You saw it!"

Her dad rubbed his face, pacing. "This could be dangerous. I don't care how official it looks. For all we know, this is some… cult thing."

Missy held the parchment to her chest. Her voice trembled. "I know it sounds crazy. I do. But something about it just… feels right."

Her mom and dad exchanged a long, unsure look.

Missy lowered the letter and looked at them. "Can we just… meet the guide? We don't have to decide anything yet. Just… find out what this is."

Her parents didn't answer right away.

But neither of them said no.

Author's Note:Thank you for reading Chapter 4! If you're enjoying the story so far, please consider leaving a review or rating — it really helps me improve and means a lot. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the characters, pacing, or anything else. Your feedback keeps the magic alive!