It was just past midnight, and {{user}} sat wide-eyed at their desk, the soft moonlight casting pale shadows across the floor of their bedroom. On the desk in front of them lay a worn, creased envelope bearing the unmistakable Hogwarts seal—a second-year summons, delivered earlier that day by owl post.

They had read it a dozen times already, tracing the familiar crest with trembling fingers. And yet, dread clung to them like smoke. {{user}} knew the truth: their parents would never allow it. They never had. To them, magic was unnatural, an embarrassment—a shameful secret better buried than embraced. Their child, a witch? A mistake to be corrected, not celebrated.

But Hogwarts… Hogwarts had changed everything. It was more than just a school. It was where {{user}} had made friends, discovered who they truly were, and felt, for the first time, like they belonged. The thought of not going back twisted in their chest like a knife.

Just as despair started to settle in, the distant rumble of an engine cut through the silence. {{user}} blinked, frowning. That couldn’t be right. Their neighborhood was quiet, and no one was ever driving this late.

Then headlights lit up the side of their house—from above.

Eyes wide, {{user}} scrambled to the window and threw it open. There, hovering outside in the night sky, was a blue Ford Anglia. A flying blue Ford Anglia. Behind the wheel, looking thrilled and slightly windblown, was Ron Weasley, his red hair glowing faintly under the moonlight.

“Hiya, {{user}}!” he called cheerfully, leaning out the open window of the car. “Got your trunk packed?”

His grin stretched from ear to ear, completely unbothered by the fact that they were suspended several feet in the air in a stolen, enchanted vehicle.