Hogwarts: They Tore Up My Acceptance Letter, So I Laughed!

The summer the Wizarding World cheered for The Chosen One, a castle deep in the North Sea was tearing apart the only letter addressed to an eleven-year-old boy. Rog Travis had grown up surrounded by Dementors, without records or an identity, with only a name his mother had taught him and a data panel only he could see.

Paul's black handprint remained on the edge of the shredded parchment. The man needed Galleons, and the boy needed a scandal big enough to rock all of Britain. He waited in a dark room for an owl to fly in the direction of the Daily Prophet, while the silver light of Expecto Patronum in his palm had yet to fully take shape.

Dumbledore and Malfoy were both on their way to Azkaban, and admission invitations from Ilvermorny in America and Beauxbatons in France had already crossed the Channel. Rog fitted the scraps of parchment back together and watched the button for Simulated Life glow faintly.

The Wizarding World thought this was just another pawn in a political game, but the true heir of the Travis family wanted something else: for every Dementor in the entire prison to taste despair.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.