Chapter 1: The Boy Who Gifted
Blackmere was a city that forgot its own heart. The streets were cracked, the buildings leaned like drunks, and the sky always seemed choked with smoke. In the ruins behind Mervin's Junkyard, a boy named Elias Thorn crouched beside a half-rusted bin, pulling out a half-eaten sandwich from last night.
He sniffed it. Not fresh, but edible.
He sat quietly against the cold wall, pulling his threadbare jacket tighter. His eyes—sharp and calculating—scanned the alley. It was quiet, too quiet. Then came the footsteps.
Three of them. Bigger boys. Mean ones.
"Oi," one of them called. "That your sandwich, rat?"
Elias knew better than to answer. He stuffed the rest into his mouth and stood.
"Don't run," growled the tallest. "You think you're clever, hiding back here? That bakery's ours."
They closed in. Elias backed up, heart thudding. His mind raced for a route out, a ledge to climb, a fence to vault. But they were too fast.
One of them shoved him hard, and he hit the wall. Pain bloomed down his shoulder.
And then—it happened.
The magic twisted.
A gust of wind howled down the alleyway—but there was no wind that day. Garbage flew up like a storm had been born between the bricks. The bullies stopped cold. The air turned thick, charged with something strange, like static just before lightning strikes.
The magic moved.
They reached out, like long black hands from the corners of the alley, swirling around Elias. His eyes widened. He didn't understand, but he wasn't afraid. The others were.
"What the hell—!?" one of them shouted. "Run!"
They fled in panic, tripping over themselves.
Then, silence.
The magic slowly slithered back into their places, as if nothing had happened. The wind stopped. Elias stood alone, breathing hard. His hands tingled. His heart pounded—not just from fear, but something else.
He looked down. The wall behind him—where his shoulder had slammed into—was cracked, like a small shockwave had burst from him.
He didn't know what it meant.
But it wasn't the first time.
There had been little things before. Lights flickering when he was angry. Locks clicking open without keys. Dreams that felt like glimpses of other worlds.
He pushed it away, like always. Survive now, question later.
But when he returned to his shack behind the junkyard, the world shifted again.
Waiting for him was a letter.
An elegant envelope sat untouched by dirt or wind, like it had just appeared from thin air. No one could have delivered it—not through the junkyard fence, not without him seeing.
And on it, in green ink:
Elias Thorn,
Behind Mervin's Junkyard,
Old District, Blackmere.
A name only his mother used. A place only he knew.
His hands shook as he opened it, and magic, once hidden in shadow and fear, now stepped into the light.
The city of Blackmere was a maze of cold stone, flickering streetlamps, and alleyways that swallowed people whole. In one of its darkest corners, amidst the rusted pipes and crumbling brick, lived a boy named Elias Thorn. Eleven years old, thin as a rail, and sharper than most, Elias had survived on scraps and wits ever since the night his world burned.
His parents had been kind—his mother a seamstress with calloused hands and soft lullabies, and his father a mechanic with grease under his nails and laughter in his voice. One rainy night, a robber had taken everything from him. Since then, Elias had trusted no one, kept his distance, and watched the world through wary eyes.
He lived in a broken-down shed behind a junkyard, patched up with old blankets and salvaged wood. Rats were his neighbors, hunger his constant companion. But Elias was a fast learner—he picked up tricks quickly: reading street signs to find places that threw away edible food, figuring out which people to avoid, and how to climb rooftops unseen.
Despite everything, there was a spark in him—something unbreakable. He still helped other street kids when he could, giving up his bread or warning them of danger. Brave, kind, but never foolish.
One gray morning, as Elias returned from the back of a bakery where he'd scored a stale roll, he found something impossible.
His breath caught in his throat. No one knew his name. No one knew where he lived.
With trembling hands, he opened it.
> Dear Mr. Thorn,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have been identified as a student of extraordinary magical potential.
Term begins on September 1st. Please find enclosed a list of required materials. A representative will meet you shortly to assist with preparations.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Elias stared at the letter. Magic? It sounded like a cruel joke. But something deep inside stirred—an echo of strange things he couldn't explain. Times when he wished for safety and shadows moved. Times when he leapt impossibly far, or doors unlocked without a key.
Maybe this wasn't a joke. Maybe, just maybe... he was something more than a slum rat.