Chapter Text
Mr. and Mrs. Han, hailing from one of the sparse Korean communities in Wales, were unabashed to say that they were perfectly, overwhelmingly normal. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn't appear to bother with such trifling matters.
Mr. Han was a teacher at the local primary school exactly three blocks away from their two-story home, and a very good one at that. He wasn't extraordinarily tall, nor was he extraordinarily handsome—though he did own a cool pair of orange shades he refused to abscond even on rainy days. Mrs. Han was similarly built in all her thinness, shortness, and average countenance which matched with her very ordinary job as a baker at the very ordinary business of "Han's Confectionaries." Together, the Han's raised two sons, Jiwoon and Jisung, and in their opinion, there were no finer, more regular boys out there.
When Mr. and Mrs. Han woke up as they would usually wake up any other weekday morning—singing at the top of their lungs—there was nothing particularly peculiar about the day to suggest that anything strange or mysterious would occur. Mr. Han hummed as he knocked rhythmically on the shared bedroom of his sleeping sons, and Mrs. Han hummed as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan.
As the family gathered around the dining table, none of them noticed as a rugged rust-brown owl pecked at their window except the tiniest of the bunch.
Jisung, with his bed-head and puffy cheeks, rubbed at his tired eyes and pointed at the creature. "Mummy, there's an owl at the window."
Mrs. Han chewed on her bacon obliviously. "Is there? Honey, can you hand me—ah yes, thank you."
The bird pecked more frequently.
"Mummy it's getting angry," he repeated with more urgency, but not too much. This sunny morning was much too mellow to ruin with yelling voices.
Mr. Han raised his head at that, peeking over his newspaper. "Oh," said Mr. Han jubilantly. "Honey, there's an owl at the window."
"Daddy, look, it has a letter in its beak," Jiwoon noted. Eggs were stuffed into his cheeks, willing itself to burst. His mother scolded him for being rude.
Sure enough, when Mr. Han observed the animal jabbing holes into their window, there was a mud-brown envelope trapped between its mouth. This was not a common occurrence in the Han household. Most of their mail was delivered to their post box to be picked up after breakfast, but there was always the chance they may have forgotten their subscription to an owlery. The situation begs to recall one summer where the family had joined a religious cult on accident under the impression it was a country club. They had been offered multiple pamphlets and a couple of visits by the so-called "priest" over the course of the next few weeks as a result.
The bird pecked again, seemingly adamant about the delivery of its parcel.
"Well, someone ought to get the mail," said Mr. Han. "Jiwoon?"
"Make Sungie get it."
"Sungie?"
"I don't want to!"
Mr. Han pushed his chair out and went to get the mail. The owl cooed with a harsh trill as if questioning why it took so long to reach it and with a snubbed hoot dropped the envelope into Mr. Han's waiting hands. It took no time fluttering off. Mr. Han stared—a letter for Jisung. He twisted it around to see the name of the sender and found nothing excluding the golden wax stamp enclosing the letter. Why would an owl have a message for his son? Had his youngest found himself a pen pal in a child from the seventeenth century? How exciting! He had not known that was where Jisung's heart dabbled. Whatever the case was, it was heavy and fancy and for his son.
Mr. Han returned to the table where his family sat expectantly. "Your pen pal wrote back to you!" he said, tossing over the letter without preamble. Now, back to the paper.
Jisung chirped, "Dad."
"Yes?"
"I don't have a pen pal."
"Who'd be writing to you then?" Mrs. Han asked.
"Can I read the letter?" Jiwoon asked. His fingers were already wiggling toward the envelope.
"I'll read the letter," said Jisung, sticking his tongue out. Jiwoon returned the gesture. He cleared his throat and spoke in a dramatic voice befitting the font:
Dear, Mr. Han
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 September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Mr. Han saw as his son's face pinched in confusion the more he read the letter. The furrow of his brow indicated how a series of questions were rapidly popping up in Jisung's head. His other son prodded at the other papers that fell out of the envelope with a scrutinizing glare.
"I wonder what that all means," Mrs. Han mused.
"Well," said Mr. Han, after a moment. "it means that our son is a wizard."
"How wonderful!"
With that settled, the Han family continued their breakfast. What a wonderfully peculiar day.
.
.
.
Jisung's round eyes widened further with a sudden clarity. "Excuse me, I'm a what?"
"A wizard, darling, please keep up."