Chapter 33 – Whisper Between Worlds
Thomas stood by the mirror in the hallway, fixing the collar of his shirt. The conversation with Professor McGonagall was still fresh in his mind, and not just her words—but the weight behind them. An invitation to a different world, yes, but also a reminder.
That world would have rules. People. Power.
And Thomas? He was bringing something into it that didn't quite belong.
Blink was only the beginning. He had moved objects across space with Reach, listened to hidden rooms with Echo, and swapped items midair using Switch. No wand. No spellbooks. No mentor. Just instinct and raw will.
He was sure of it now. His magic was different—maybe too different.
If even Sister Mary had sensed the strangeness of it, then others might as well. And unlike her, not everyone would respond with warmth.
So he would hide it.
Until he knew how the wizarding world worked—who its enemies were, how its rules were written—his magic would stay under lock and key. Not out of shame. But survival.
From the other side of the hallway, Sister Mary stepped out of her office, adjusting the strap of her purse. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun, and despite the tension in her eyes, her expression softened when she saw Thomas.
"You ready?" she asked.
Thomas nodded, lifting his small satchel onto his shoulder. "As I'll ever be."
Professor McGonagall was already waiting outside, standing at the front steps of the orphanage like she belonged there—stern, composed, and almost statuesque in her deep emerald cloak.
Thomas and Sister Mary approached together.
"There are no special carriages or portals for Muggle-born students," McGonagall explained matter-of-factly. "For today, I've arranged a regular taxi. Simple, discreet."
Thomas appreciated that. No spectacle. No awkwardness. Just movement between two worlds on quiet wheels.
The ride into the city was filled with a tension that neither Thomas nor Sister Mary put into words. Occasionally, she glanced at McGonagall, as if trying to read the woman behind the robes and clipped diction. At one point, Thomas noticed the faintest ghost of a smile pass between them—two educators from worlds apart, silently acknowledging their shared purpose: raising a child into something more than the world expects.
They got off near Charing Cross Road. Nondescript storefronts lined the street, and nothing about the location screamed "wizarding gateway." It was, Thomas noted, exactly the kind of place you'd never notice unless someone pointed.
Professor McGonagall led them to what looked like a neglected old pub, sandwiched between a bookstore and a record shop.
"This is the Leaky Cauldron," she said.
Sister Mary blinked. "Where?"
Thomas squinted, and suddenly, the building came into view. The bricks settled into place in his vision, and the grimy windows became obvious—like they had been hidden behind a veil and now, someone had drawn it back.
"I can't see anything," Sister Mary said, taking a cautious step forward.
McGonagall turned to her calmly. "That's to be expected. Magical locations are hidden from Muggles using a variety of enchantments—perceptual wards, primarily. Unless guided by a witch or wizard, your eyes will simply skip over it."
Sister Mary pressed her lips together, but gave a short nod.
Inside, the pub was dim but warm. A few patrons—cloaked and curious—glanced their way, but most quickly returned to their drinks. McGonagall offered only a nod to the bartender before leading them through to a small, walled courtyard out back.
She raised her wand and tapped the bricks in a precise sequence.
Three up. Two across. Then a curved line.
The wall rumbled and clicked. One by one, bricks slid backward, folding inward like clockwork machinery until an archway opened into a world unlike any Thomas had ever imagined.
The light was different there. Brighter. Fuller. And everything in motion—owls swooping overhead, cauldrons stacked outside shops, robes fluttering from enchanted hangers.
Diagon Alley.
"This is it," McGonagall said. "Shall we begin?"
Gringotts loomed white and strange at the far end of the alley, with goblins stationed like sentinels. Sister Mary eyed them with a guarded stare, but followed without hesitation.
Inside, a goblin behind a polished counter counted her Muggle notes with sharp claws and sharper eyes. In return, she was handed a small pouch of golden coins—wizarding currency.
McGonagall offered a simple explanation. "These are Galleons. Your exchange rate was fair, though the goblins never offer generosity."
Sister Mary looked at the pouch as if it were glass. "I've never held money like this."
Thomas leaned over. "Let's not spend it all at once."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Back outside, they stood just off the main walkway as McGonagall handed Thomas a folded list.
"Here is everything you'll need. Uniform, books, wand, cauldron, potion supplies… the basics."
Sister Mary's brow furrowed. "What about cost?"
McGonagall paused. "For children under the care of Muggle institutions, the Ministry provides partial subsidies. It will cover only second-hand items. Essentials, not luxuries."
Thomas's heart sank slightly. He didn't mind old things. But he had lived with "old" for so long.
Sister Mary, however, didn't hesitate.
"Then I'll cover the rest."
Thomas turned to her. "You don't have to. Really. I'm used to—"
"I know what you're used to," she interrupted gently, but firmly. "But you're not going into a new world in someone else's shoes again. Not this time."
He hesitated. "Just… don't overdo it, okay? Maybe just… the robes."
McGonagall arched a brow. "A reasonable compromise."
Sister Mary looked like she wanted to argue further, but finally nodded. "Fine. One new robe. The rest… we'll find what's best."
Thomas gave a quiet, thankful smile.
And so, they turned toward the row of shops—curved windows glittering with the promise of strange tools, curious tomes, and future wonders.
But as they walked, Thomas remained silent.
Because even here—in the middle of magic—he felt the tension in his chest.
This world doesn't know what I can really do.
And maybe it's better that way.