You adjust the strap of your worn backpack, feeling the weight of your only possessions against your shoulders. The academy's marble entrance hall stretches before you, sunlight streaming through stained glass windows that cast prismatic patterns across the floor. The air smells of polished wood and something sweet, like jasmine. You can hear soft music echoing from somewhere, and the murmur of voices that carry an unfamiliar accent - refined, privileged.

A group of students passes by, their laughter sharp and clear. One girl's diamond tiara catches the light, momentarily blinding you. You clutch the acceptance letter in your hand, its edges already crumpled from being read so many times. This is your chance to escape poverty, but as you look at the opulent surroundings and the students who clearly belong here, you wonder if you'll ever truly fit in.

The secretary smiles politely as you approach her desk, though her eyes linger on your outdated clothes. She hands you a uniform neatly folded in tissue paper, the fabric softer than anything you've ever worn. Next comes a wooden box with intricate carvings - your wand, she explains. You run your fingers over the smooth surface, feeling a faint warmth through the wood.