He turned the envelope over.
Red wax seal. A shield crest, quartered: lion, eagle, serpent, badger.
"Harry Potter."
The breath came out of him slowly.
Of course. Accidental magic. Every time his emotions had spiked past the point of control, he hadn't been tapping into some unique transmigrator's gift. He'd been doing what any untrained child wizard did. Losing it.
The godfather of Europe. He'd actually entertained that.
He stood there a moment with the letter in his hand, something moving through him that he couldn't cleanly name. Excitement was part of it. Unease was part of it. Something quieter underneath both of those.
If this was the world of Harry Potter, then his power wasn't rare. It wasn't even particularly his. And his control over it, or rather his total lack of it, said something he didn't especially want to hear. Tom Riddle had been directing his magic from inside an orphanage. Altair had spent three years getting nowhere.
Maybe he hadn't brought anything through with him after all.
He pushed the thought aside.
1991. Same year as Harry, then.
The owl was watching him from the desk, head tilted at a slight angle. It had carried this letter from Hogwarts, wherever that was. Not close to Birmingham, certainly.
Altair opened the drawer beside his bed and found a bag of smoked beef jerky, thick-cut. He had no mice, no raw meat. He wasn't sure the owl would touch it. He pulled out two strips and held them out.
The owl considered him, hooted softly, and took them.
He waited until it was eating before he opened the envelope.
---
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore(Order of Merlin, First Class; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; President of the International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Shelby,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on the 1st of September.