Two

April 14th, 1987

"Atlas, would you like to go to school?"

Atlas, a shockingly articulate eight-year-old, didn't even look up from the complex circuit board he was sketching. "No, Dad. I wouldn't. It seems… inefficient. They'd be teaching things I already know." His tone held a bored, matter-of-fact confidence that Chris Thorne had grown accustomed to.

Chris chuckled, a low, proud sound. "I figured as much. Well, how about we skip the theatrics then? Let me arrange for your GCSE exams directly."

Atlas finally lifted his startlingly bright blue eyes. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips. "Okay, Dad. A direct challenge. I accept."

The day of the exam arrived like a formal duel.

"Get ready, Atlas. We need to leave in two hours."

At the Examination Center, Chris crouched down, placing his hands firmly on his son's shoulders. His eyes were earnest. "Listen to me, son. Don't get nervous, but don't get over-confident either. Both are paths to failure. Go in there, read every question twice, and give your absolute best."

"I will, Dad." Atlas's voice was steady, the picture of composure. He walked into the hall without a backward glance.

When he emerged later, two hours later than anticipated, his father was waiting, a picture of paternal anxiety leaning against the car.

"Dad, let's go back home," Atlas announced simply. "I've completed the examination."

At home, Lyra, his mother, rushed him with a hug. "How was your exam, baby? Tell Mummy all about it."

"It was good, Mum. It was genuinely easy, but I made sure to look at every question carefully before answering. No rushing."

Lyra beamed. "That's my sensible boy. Go rest for today. Tomorrow, we start your art and calligraphy lessons. Balance, Atlas, remember?"

A few tense days later, Chris arrived home from work, a formal envelope clutched in his hand. "Well, Atlas," he said, trying to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice gave him away. "I have your examination result."

"Open the letter, Dad," Atlas instructed, an unnerving calmness about him.

Chris carefully sliced the envelope and began reading. His eyes widened, and a grin split his face. "Atlas! Listen! 'Congratulations on passing the examination with an A grade.' Here are the details..."

"Dad, give me the letter," Atlas demanded, his calm finally cracking with genuine curiosity. He snatched the paper, devouring the specifics of his perfect score.

Chris placed a proud hand on his son's head. "Now that you've passed the basics, I think you should complete a bachelor's degree next. We need to keep you challenged."

"Okay, Dad," Atlas agreed instantly, his mind already spinning new plans. "By the time I'm ten, I would have completed my degree in Computer Science, Electrical Engineering, and a specialization in Robotics."

Inside their home lab—a place that smelled of ozone and hot solder—Atlas was completely engrossed. He was working on what looked like a rudimentary smartwatch and a pair of spectacle frames.

He was using a secret technique he called Technomancy—the subtle, magical manipulation of technology. With a focused blue glow in his hands, he began to fundamentally alter the silicon integrated circuits, changing them into the framework for a future processor, giving his device more processing power than some of the supercomputers of that time.

His 'smart glasses' were a marvel. They used a camera and an embedded Lidar system to scan the surrounding area, run a basic facial recognition model, and keep automatic records of everyone he met.

Atlas's Glasses Specs:

Storage: 20TBMemory: 128GB of Unified MemoryProcessing: Sixteen-core CPU, Thirty-core GPU, and One-hundred-twenty-eight Core Neural Engine.

"Right," Atlas muttered to himself, leaning back on his stool. "Pyromancy is solid—Fireball and Flame Arrow are working well enough. Now, I need to work on Spatial Magic. That could solve multiple problems. A stable, inventory-like space for my work, and, more importantly, long-distance travel without relying on clumsy Muggles."

The day of college arrival felt anticlimactic. "Good luck, my young genius," Chris had whispered.

Classes and lectures instantly became monotonous to Atlas. He already knew everything the professors were droning on about.

As time passed by, his obsession shifted fully to Spatial Magic, but the results were non-existent. He tried every permutation of incantation and wand movement he could devise (practicing secretly with a carved stick).

"Hmph," he grumbled one evening in the lab. "Looks like space magic has to wait until I go to Hogwarts. It must require a specific kind of ambient power I can't generate here."

Years flew past. Atlas, a child who looked perpetually out of place in university lecture halls, began working on solid-state batteries for palm-sized drones that could be controlled via his watch or glasses.

Now, in his last semester, he had worked on countless projects and, most audaciously, written a replacement kernel for Linux. "Sorry, Linus," he had mentally apologized to the unknown future creator, "but I need it now."

The Atlas-Kernel Project was a spectacular hit. He was called for an interview with the BBC media.

Following the interview, headlines were splashed across every paper: "Young Genius Changes the Computer World Forever."

While the world was buzzing about the child prodigy, Atlas calmly completed his last semester and received his degree. He was now ten years old, with six months to go before his letter arrived. He decided to focus on his parents' demands: Latin, calligraphy, and art.

During the day, he meticulously worked with his mother on art and calligraphy. In the evening, he coded on his new Macintosh Classic—a machine he'd secretly managed to connect to the burgeoning internet using a basic text-only web browser called Line Mode.

This year, he created a fly-sized drone: a nearly invisible marvel with a camera, a mic, and 64GB of storage.

It was, of course, created with advanced Technomancy to ensure it could function perfectly even in the presence of strong magical interference.

Atlas had made excellent progress in Pyromancy and Aquamancy, but his true passion remained in the practical applications of Technomancy.

The day everyone had been anticipating arrived: Atlas's eleventh birthday.

At noon, the bell rang. Lyra, Chris's wife, opened the main door.

Standing there was a tall, severe-looking woman in emerald-green robes. "Hello, Mrs. Thorne," the woman said, her voice crisp and no-nonsense. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Can you call Mr. Atlas Chris Thorne, please?"

Lyra's jaw dropped. "Chris! Atlas! Come to the main door!" she called, sounding completely bewildered.

Chris rushed over and, ever the gentleman, welcomed the woman inside. While waiting for Atlas, he asked politely about the letter in her hand.

"Please wait, Mr. Thorne. I will explain everything to you and young Mr. Thorne together."

Atlas arrived, saw the robes, and immediately understood. His calm demeanor returned, accompanied by a small, triumphant smile he quickly masked. "Good Afternoon, Madam," he said with a perfect, polite inflection.

McGonagall smiled thinly and handed the heavy parchment envelope to Atlas.

He opened it and read the words that confirmed everything he had been working towards:

To Mr Atlas Chris Thorne,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary equipment and books.

The term begins on September 1st. We await your reply via Owl, and do not hesitate to contact us if you need to do so.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

Silence descended on the room. Lyra looked at Chris, then at McGonagall, then back at the letter.

"Is this… is this a new kind of joke?" Lyra finally managed, her voice laced with shaky disbelief. "We know our kid is famous, but magic? Really?"

McGonagall's expression hardened. "This is most certainly not a joke, Mrs. Thorne." She drew a slim, dark wood wand from her sleeve, pointed it at the small, mahogany side table, and with a sharp, whoosh of air, the table twisted and grew into a magnificent, roaring lion.

Lyra shrieked and jumped back, covering her mouth. The lion gave a deafening, realistic roar before the Professor waved her wand again, and it snapped back into a perfectly normal, unmarked table.

"Magic is real," McGonagall stated firmly. "The reason you don't know about it is the Statute of Secrecy. We keep our world hidden from Muggles."

Chris, though pale, managed to ask, "Muggles?"

"The non-magical People," she clarified.

Lyra's eyes immediately went to her son, who was watching the exchange with an unnerving, satisfied intensity. "Is… is my son magical too?"

"Yes, Mrs. Thorne. Highly so, I suspect."

"Where… where on earth do we buy the things on this list?" Chris asked, clutching the dense list of required items:

First-year students would require:

Uniform: Three sets of plain work robes (black), One plain pointed hat, protective gloves, and a winter cloak.Books: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.Other Equipment: 1 Wand, 1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), 1 set of phials, 1 telescope, 1 set of brass scales.Students may also bring an Owl, a Cat, OR a Toad.

(PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.)

McGonagall smiled, a genuine, if brief, expression of warmth. "In the magical world, Mr. Thorne. I will take you there tomorrow."