HP:Prodigal Wizard

Duke Carter had never felt like he quite belonged—not in school, not among other kids, not even at home sometimes. He was too quiet, too observant, too… different. Strange things had always happened around him, little things he could never explain. Doors unlocking by themselves, books sliding off shelves into his hands, streetlights flickering when he walked past.

His father, a quiet, logical man named Jonathan Carter, never made a big deal out of it. Whenever Duke asked, he would just offer a small, thoughtful frown and say, "Some people see the world differently, Duke. Maybe you're one of them."

Then, on a quiet morning in July, an owl changed everything.

It swooped in through the open kitchen window, scattering napkins across the floor as it landed on the table. Duke's fork clattered onto his plate. His father nearly spilled his coffee.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The owl stared at them expectantly before extending its leg, where a thick envelope was attached with a piece of twine.

"…That's not normal," Duke said slowly.

Jonathan set his mug down carefully. "No, I don't believe it is."

With cautious fingers, Duke untied the letter and turned it over. The parchment was thick and slightly rough under his fingertips, sealed with a wax crest of four creatures surrounding a bold 'H'.

Duke Carter bedroom, Second Floor 12 Hawthorne Lane London

He swallowed. His hands felt oddly steady as he broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Dear Mr. Carter,

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

Please find enclosed a list of necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duke read it three times, his brain refusing to process what his eyes were seeing.

Finally, he lowered the letter and looked at his father. "…Dad?"

Jonathan took the letter from Duke's hands, scanning it with careful eyes. "Well," he said after a long pause. "That's… unexpected."

The owl hooted impatiently, making them both jump.

Duke leaned forward. "This is a joke, right?"

Jonathan didn't answer right away. He glanced at the owl, then at the parchment, then back at Duke. "I don't think it is."

That was the strangest part. His father didn't laugh. He didn't dismiss it outright. He just looked… thoughtful.

Duke frowned. "You don't seem that surprised."

Jonathan sighed, setting the letter down. "Your mother… she had a way of seeing the world differently, too. I never understood it. And she never explained it." He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against his coffee cup. "But I always had a feeling there was more to it."

Duke's chest tightened. He barely remembered his mother—she had passed away when he was just a baby. His father rarely spoke about her.

"So, what does this mean?" Duke asked, voice quiet.

Jonathan exhaled slowly. "It means you have a choice to make."

A choice.

Duke looked at the letter again. A school for magic. A place where he might finally understand why he was different.

"Do you think it's real?" he asked.

His father studied the letter one last time. Then, to Duke's surprise, he smiled—just a little.

"I think," he said, "we should find out."

That afternoon, there was a knock at the door.

A tall woman in emerald-green robes stood on their doorstep. She had a stern face, sharp eyes, and a presence that seemed to command the air around her.

"Mr. Carter?" she addressed Duke's father. "My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall. May I come in?"

Duke and his father exchanged a glance. Jonathan stepped aside. "Of course."

Once inside, McGonagall wasted no time. She explained everything—Hogwarts, magic, the wizarding world that Duke had never known existed.

Duke swallowed hard, gripping the edge of his chair.

Jonathan listened carefully, nodding slowly. "So, what happens next?" he asked.

McGonagall folded her hands. "If Duke wishes to attend Hogwarts, we must take him to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies."

Jonathan glanced at his son. "Duke?"

Duke's mind was still spinning. This morning, he had woken up thinking he was just a normal boy. Now, he knew he was a wizard.

And yet, somehow… it felt right. Like a missing piece sliding into place.

He met his father's gaze, then nodded.

"I want to go."

Jonathan smiled, ruffling Duke's hair. "Well, then," he said, "I suppose we'd better go shopping."

And with that, Duke Carter's journey into the wizarding world truly began.

Duke Carter followed Professor McGonagall through the busy streets of London, his mind still reeling from the letter that had changed everything. He was a wizard. His mother had been one too. And now, he was about to step into a world he had never known existed.

McGonagall stopped in front of a small, shabby-looking pub wedged between a bookshop and a record store.

Duke frowned. "This is it?"

The sign above the door read 'The Leaky Cauldron', though most of the people walking by didn't seem to notice it at all.

McGonagall gave a small, approving nod. "Yes. To the untrained eye, it's hardly worth a glance." She turned to Duke. "But to those who belong, it is the gateway to our world."

She pushed open the door, and immediately, the air changed.

The dimly lit pub was warm, filled with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. The scent of old wood, firewhiskey, and something rich and buttery hung in the air.

Wizards and witches sat at rickety tables, dressed in long robes, talking in hushed tones or reading moving newspapers. A squat, bald man behind the bar beamed when he saw McGonagall.

"Professor McGonagall! A pleasure, as always."

She gave him a curt nod. "Good afternoon, Tom. Just passing through with a new student." She gestured toward Duke.

Tom's eyes lit up. "First year, eh? Welcome to the wizarding world, lad!"

Duke muttered a quiet "Thanks," still taking in the bizarre surroundings.

A few of the pub's patrons had paused their conversations to glance at him. Some gave polite nods. Others just looked curious.

"Come along," McGonagall said, leading him toward the back of the pub.

Duke followed, weaving past a cloaked man stirring a mug with his finger instead of a spoon, and a tiny old witch who was speaking to a large, talking toad.

They stopped at a brick wall in the back courtyard.

McGonagall pulled out her wand and tapped a specific brick three times.

For a second, nothing happened. Then—

The bricks began to shift and fold away, twisting like a puzzle until a wide, arched entrance appeared before them.

Beyond it lay a street unlike anything Duke had ever seen.

"Welcome," McGonagall said, stepping forward, "to Diagon Alley."

And with a deep breath, Duke followed her inside.

As Duke Carter stepped through the archway into Diagon Alley, he felt as if he had walked into a dream.

The street was alive with magic—wizards and witches bustled from shop to shop, owls hooted from their cages, cauldrons of every size gleamed in storefronts, and shop windows displayed everything from self-stirring quills to bottles of bubbling, color-changing potions.

Duke barely knew where to look first.

McGonagall led him through the crowd with practiced ease. "We have a number of things to collect," she said briskly. "Robes, books, potions ingredients, and of course, your wand, but first a visit to Gringotts."

Duke followed Professor McGonagall through the winding, cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, his gaze flitting between the strange and wonderful sights around him. At the far end of the alley, a massive white marble building loomed over the bustling crowd—Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Its grand columns gleamed under the sun, and perched beside the tall, bronze doors stood a pair of sharp-eyed goblins, their expressions unreadable.

As they stepped inside, Duke's breath caught. The ceiling stretched high above them, with gold chandeliers casting flickering light over the polished stone floors. Dozens of goblins sat behind long counters, scribbling away on parchment or inspecting stacks of gleaming coins. The sound of clinking gold and scratching quills filled the air, an odd mix of wealth and bureaucracy.

McGonagall strode purposefully toward one of the counters, where a thin goblin with a hooked nose and piercing eyes regarded them with mild impatience.

"Professor McGonagall," the goblin greeted smoothly before turning his sharp gaze on Duke. "And you are?"

"Duke Carter," Duke answered, shifting slightly under the goblin's scrutiny.

The goblin gave a curt nod. "Business?"

"He needs to exchange Muggle currency for wizarding money," McGonagall stated. She glanced at Duke expectantly. "Show him what you brought."

Duke pulled out an envelope, carefully extracting the British pounds his father had given him. The goblin took the stack of notes with long, clawed fingers, his face betraying a hint of distaste as he weighed them on a set of golden scales. After a few swift calculations, he nodded and reached beneath the counter.

"Your exchange," he said, sliding a small leather pouch forward. "That amounts to fifty Galleons, thirteen Sickles, and three Knuts."

Duke hesitated before picking up a heavy gold Galleon, running his fingers over its cool surface. "And how much is this in pounds?"

The goblin arched a thin brow. "One Galleon is roughly five Muggle pounds. A Sickle is worth twenty-nine Knuts. If you wish for precise figures, you may calculate them yourself."

Duke glanced at McGonagall, who gave him a small, knowing smile. "It may seem confusing now, Mr. Carter, but you'll learn quickly enough."

Tucking the pouch securely into his coat, Duke followed her back through the massive marble hall, still trying to process the strange new currency. As they stepped outside into the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley, he gripped the pouch tightly, the weight of the coins suddenly making everything feel a lot more real.

As Duke and Professor McGonagall stepped out of Gringotts, the weight of the coin pouch in his pocket felt heavier than it should have. Every jingle of gold, silver, and bronze was a reminder—this was real.

McGonagall adjusted her hat and glanced down at him. "Now that you have your funds, we can begin gathering your supplies." She gave a small nod toward the bustling street ahead. "First, your robes. Madam Malkin's is just down the way."

Duke barely had time to process her words before she was already leading him through the crowd of shoppers. The colorful storefronts blurred past him—apothecaries with cauldrons stacked in pyramids, shops selling enchanted telescopes, an old, musty store cluttered with second-hand broomsticks—until McGonagall stopped outside a purple-and-gold shopfront.

The sign above the door read:

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions

Through the large glass windows, Duke could see rows of neatly displayed black robes, a few witches browsing, and a handful of students standing on stools while enchanted needles adjusted their robes.

McGonagall opened the door and motioned for him to enter. "Inside, Mr. Carter. You'll need at least three sets of standard school robes."

Taking a steadying breath, Duke stepped inside. The soft chime of a bell announced his arrival, and the scent of freshly pressed fabric and enchanted thread filled the air. The shop was lined with rows of deep black robes, and a few students stood on small platforms as measuring tapes zipped around them, taking precise measurements.

A plump, kindly-looking witch in mauve robes bustled over. "Hogwarts, dear?"

Duke nodded, and without another word, Madam Malkin led him to an empty platform, where she immediately set to work, draping black fabric over his shoulders and pinning it into place.

As she adjusted the hem, the door chimed again, and another boy stepped onto the platform beside him.

He was pale, with sharp features and slicked-back blonde hair, standing with an air of effortless confidence, as if the world already belonged to him. His cold gray eyes swept over Duke with a mixture of disinterest and mild curiosity.

"First year, I assume?" the boy asked lazily.

Duke met his gaze. "Yeah."

The boy sighed as if this conversation were already beneath him. "Draco Malfoy. You've probably heard of my family."

Duke raised an eyebrow. "Can't say I have."

Draco's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he scoffed. "Well, that's hardly surprising. Some people just don't know what's important." He straightened his robes. "The Malfoys are one of the most respected pure-blood families in Britain. My father—Lucius Malfoy—has connections with the Ministry. We know how things work in the wizarding world."

Duke wasn't sure how to respond to that, but Draco wasn't finished. He eyed Duke critically. "What's your surname again?"

"Carter."

Draco frowned slightly. "Carter… Never heard of it. Are you from a wizarding family?"

Duke hesitated before saying, "My dad's a Muggle."

Draco's smirk turned sharper, more condescending. "Ah. Half-blood, then." He said it like it was some sort of condition. "Well, at least you're not a Muggle-born."

Duke felt irritation creep up his spine, but he kept his expression neutral. "Does it matter?"

Draco snorted. "Of course, it does. You'll learn soon enough. Bloodlines are important. You don't want to associate with the wrong sort." His grey eyes gleamed. "You should stick with the right people—like me. You wouldn't want to end up in Hufflepuff or something."

Duke wasn't sure if he liked the idea of anyone telling him who to associate with. "And who says I want to be in Slytherin?"

Draco let out a short laugh. "Trust me, you do. Slytherin produces the most powerful witches and wizards. The smartest, the most ambitious. People who actually get somewhere." He glanced at Duke again. "You don't look like a Gryffindor—too serious. You might do well in Slytherin, if you're lucky."

Madam Malkin finished pinning Draco's robe, and he stepped off the platform. "Maybe I'll see you at Hogwarts," he said airily. "Just try not to embarrass yourself."

Duke watched him go, jaw tightening.

He had barely met the guy, and he was already getting the feeling Draco Malfoy thought the world belonged to him.

The next stop was Florish and Blotts

Duke moved carefully through Flourish and Blotts, balancing the required Hogwarts books in one arm while scanning the shelves for anything else that caught his interest. He had already collected The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and Magical Drafts and Potions, but the moment he spotted a section labeled "Advanced Theory and Spellcraft," curiosity pulled him toward it.

His fingers brushed the spine of Practical Hexes & Jinxes when McGonagall's voice called from behind him.

"Mr. Carter, we mustn't dawdle."

Duke hesitated before pulling the book down and adding it to his stack. Just in case.

Before he could rejoin McGonagall, a deep, booming laugh rang through the store, cutting through the hum of conversation. Duke turned toward the counter, where a giant of a man stood, his wild mane of hair and thick beard making him instantly noticeable.

"Hagrid," came a sharp but composed voice.

Duke watched as Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as she regarded the massive man.

"Professor McGonagall!" Hagrid greeted with enthusiasm, giving a hearty chuckle. "Didn't expect to run into yeh here. Gettin' supplies for the new students?"

"As always," McGonagall replied, adjusting her spectacles. "And I assume you are escorting Mr. Potter?"

Duke's gaze shifted slightly, landing on the boy standing beside Hagrid—thin, messy black hair, round glasses, and the faintest trace of a scar on his forehead. The boy glanced in Duke's direction for half a second before turning his attention back to the books stacked in front of him.

Hagrid nodded proudly. "Aye, got 'im all sorted at Gringotts. Thought we'd stop by 'ere before headin' to Madam Malkin's." He patted Harry's shoulder with a hand so large it nearly knocked him forward. "Boy's got loads ter learn, but he's takin' it all in well."

McGonagall gave Harry a brief but approving look before turning back to Hagrid. "See that he gets everything he needs. And do try not to overwhelm him."

Hagrid chuckled, scratching his beard. "Aye, I'll do me best."

McGonagall exhaled, then turned back toward Duke, who had been standing quietly by, observing the exchange. "Come along, Mr. Carter. We still have much to do."

Duke cast one last glance at Harry, who was now deep in conversation with the shopkeeper, before following McGonagall through the crowd. As they stepped out onto the bustling street, he couldn't help but wonder—

Who exactly was Harry Potter?

Their final stop was Ollivanders, the legendary wand shop.

The moment Duke stepped inside Ollivanders, a hush fell over him. The air smelled of aged wood and dust, and the towering shelves stretched so high he wondered if they ever ended.

From the shadows emerged an old man with wispy white hair and piercing silver eyes. He studied Duke with quiet curiosity.

"Ah… another first-year," Ollivander murmured. "Duke Carter, is it? Let's find your wand."

Duke barely had time to nod before a wand was pressed into his hand.

"Beechwood, unicorn hair, 10 inches. Try it."

Duke gave it a hesitant wave—

BANG!

A stack of boxes exploded, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

Ollivander snatched the wand away, completely unfazed. "Not that one."

He handed Duke another.

"Hawthorn, phoenix feather, 11 ½ inches. Quite refined, should be excellent for—"

The wand barely touched Duke's palm before a rush of cold air blasted through the shop, scattering papers off the counter.

Ollivander quickly took it back, his eyes narrowing with intrigue.

"Curious…" he muttered, scanning the shelves. He pulled down another box, tilting his head. "Perhaps… this?"

He handed Duke a sleek, dark mahogany wand, 13 inches, dragon heartstring.

Duke gripped it—

CRACK!

A lightbulb shattered in the corner.

Ollivander chuckled. "Most certainly not."

Duke swallowed. Was it possible he didn't have a wand?

The old wandmaker suddenly stopped, his gaze settling on a high, dust-covered shelf. Slowly, he retrieved a slender, long box and opened it with care. Inside lay a wand of polished ebony, its dark surface almost gleaming under the shop's dim lighting.

Ollivander's voice was quiet but firm.

"12 inches. Ebony. Dragon heartstring. Unyielding."

Duke reached for it—

And the moment his fingers curled around the handle, warmth spread through his arm like a pulse of energy. The dust in the air seemed to settle, and the light overhead flickered, then steadied, as if sensing something had clicked into place.

Ollivander's sharp gaze met Duke's. "Ah… there it is."

Duke barely breathed, running his thumb along the smooth wood.

"A powerful wand," Ollivander said softly. "Ebony chooses those with strong convictions—wizards who do not bend easily to the will of others. And with dragon heartstring… you will have great potential for magic."

Duke tightened his grip, feeling something he hadn't felt since stepping into this world—

Belonging.