"If you insist on going to that… Hogwarts," the woman's voice cut through the quiet room, sharp and thin, "then you can pay for the school fees yourself. This orphanage won't be spending a single penny on it!"
"I understand, Matron Anna."
Sean watched the matron walk back into the common room, and he gently closed the office door behind her. If the latch had made too much noise, Matron Anna would have assud it was insolence, and his dinner would have been downgraded from cheap pork sausages to a single slice of bread with baked beans.
Without water, a al like that was a choking hazard.
But the tap water here was never clean; drinking too much of it led to illness. And in this impoverished orphanage in the south of London, getting sick was often a death sentence.
How did Sean know this with such certainty? Because that's exactly how the previous owner of his body had died.
A combination of disease, bitter cold, and malnutrition had claid the boy's life. Sean, who had woken up in his place last winter, took that lesson to heart. He drank the cheapest tea whenever he could, and even fought the older boys for a cup of their instant coffee, trading a good night's sleep for a bit of warmth and hydration.
In the past six months, he had pieced together his new reality.
The date was late August, 1991.
He was in Croydon, a borough in the very real, very Muggle London of the Harry Potter universe, and one of its most deprived areas. The Hollysage Orphanage, his new ho, was the most destitute institution in the borough.
It existed not out of charity, but as a political token, a box ticked on a governnt form. It hadn't received any aningful funding in over five years. As a result, every child was perpetually cold, with only a single thin blanket to see them through the winter, and never enough safe water to drink.
The fallout of the last decade's political shifts was starkly evident here. While the financiers in the City of London saw their fortunes swell, the poor of the inner-city boroughs were left behind, struggling with unemploynt and slashed public services.
Under these conditions, if he couldn't make it to Hogwarts, Sean doubted he would even live to see adulthood. His body was frail, and the slightest cold or fever could be fatal. It wasn't that London's dicine was lacking, but that the callous caregivers here couldn't always be counted on to "notice" a sick child in ti.
"Hogwarts has no tuition," Sean murmured to himself, the thought a lifeline. "And for my books and supplies, Professor McGonagall helped secure a bursary."
He reached deep under his rickety iron-fra bed and pulled out a worn satchel. Inside were one hundred and forty-three golden Galleons, a wand, a set of plain black robes, and his new schoolbooks.
He had purchased only the absolute bare minimum from the first-year supply list. Even so, the trip to Diagon Alley had cost him a staggering one hundred and fifty-seven Galleons. His entire bursary for the year had been three hundred Galleons, and now, with school starting tomorrow, less than half of it remained.
"I have to work fast," he thought, anxiety coiling in his stomach. "If I don't perform well enough to earn a scholarship, I'm done for. These Galleons won't last..."
Professor McGonagall had ntioned the possibility of academic awards for exceptional students when she had delivered his letter.
But would Sean be exceptional? The chances felt slim. He was the kind of wizard who had to practice the Levitation Charm five hundred tis just to get a feather off the ground.
Fortunately, he had a secret.
A panel of faint, ethereal text hovered in his vision, visible only to him.
[Na: Sean Green]
[Status: Wizard]
[Title: None]
[Proficiency]
[Levitation Charm: Apprentice (1/300)]
[Wand-Lighting Charm: Apprentice (1/300)]
[Scouring Charm: Locked (27/30)]
Unlocking three Apprentice-level Charms will grant an Apprentice-level Title.
Next Tier: Unlocking three Novice-level Charms will grant a Novice-level Title.
Sean had a proficiency panel. Its function was simple: every ti he practiced a spell correctly, he gained a point. It took thirty correct practices to unlock an "Apprentice" level spell. It sounded easy, but it had taken him two grueling months to get this far, averaging just over one successful cast a day.
His natural talent for magic was, to put it mildly, pitiful. He sotis wondered if it was a side effect of his transmigration, as if the very fabric of the magical world was rejecting him.
"Tonight," he resolved, his jaw tightening, "I will unlock that title."
Full of determination, Sean drew his new wand. He carefully stepped on a warped floorboard to peer out of the drafty, single-pane window. The old Victorian semi-detached house, slumped in the heart of the impoverished suburbs, was silent and dark.
"Good, everyone's asleep. If I'm careful, no one will notice."
If the original Sean had left him anything of value, it was this small, isolated, single-person room. He'd been quarantined here out of fear his illness would spread. For the new Sean, it was an incredible stroke of luck. It was a private space to practice magic.
"Scourgify!" he whispered, aiming his wand at a grimy poster peeling from the wall. He swished the wand in a sharp 'S' shape.
Nothing happened. The count on his panel remained unchanged.
Sean wasn't discouraged. He tried again. Only after starting did he truly grasp how maddeningly difficult magic could be. For the Scouring Charm, where should the emphasis go? How much force was needed? What was the exact shape of the 'S'—large or small? Where should the movent be fast, and where should it slow?
He knew the etymology—scour to clean, and -ify to make it so. The pause, therefore, should be between the two. The wand movent, however, was pure guesswork.
His only real advantage was the panel. It gave him imdiate feedback, allowing him to analyze his successes and learn from them.
"Scour—g—ify!"
He cast for the fifth ti, mimicking a previous successful attempt from mory. "A bit faster at the start," he muttered, "then slow it down... and a wider arc at the end..."
He moved his wand with painstaking precision. This ti, a jet of light shot from its tip, and the layers of gri vanished from the poster in an instant.
Success!
A series of notifications lit up his panel.
[You have practiced the Scouring Charm once to the Novice standard. Proficiency 3]
[Scouring Charm: Unlocked]
[New Title available in the field of Charms. Please view.]
[A new Wizarding Talent has been discovered. Please view.]
Sean snatched up the newly cleaned poster, marveling at the power of magic. The "Novice standard" was a welco surprise. An Apprentice-level success granted one point, but a Novice-level one gave three. He wondered if there were even higher tiers, but with his abysmal talent, achieving Novice felt like a blessing from rlin himself.
"Let's see the new title."
He eagerly focused on the panel as it refreshed.
[Title: Charms Dabbler]
[Effect: Slightly increases your affinity for Charms. Slightly improves your raw talent in Charms.]
He read the next line, and his breath caught in his throat.
[Wizard: Sean Green]
[Charms Talent: Green (Average)]
Boosted by Title: Charms Dabbler. Original Talent Grade was White.
Sean sucked in a sharp, cold breath.
White? The lowest possible grade? Utter rubbish.
No wonder he couldn't learn any spells. His talent wasn't just bad, it was practically non-existent. Without this panel, his school life at Hogwarts would have been an impossible, humiliating struggle.
After a mont of shock, Sean's expression hardened. The despair was replaced by a steely resolve.
So he had no talent. So what?
If he couldn't be gifted, he would be relentless. He would grind.
Alright, Panel, he thought, a fierce grin spreading across his face. Let's see just how far this can take us.
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