Three days after returning to London, Arthur’s phone rang. The landline in his house worked perfectly fine—the whole "electronics failing around magic" issue only affected magic-saturated areas like Hogwarts. His ho, with just a few simple wards, posed no problem for telephone signals.
"It’s arranged," Aurora’s voice announced when he answered. "Next Tuesday, 9 AM. A private examination center in Westminster."
Arthur leaned back in his chair. "That was quick. Given the reputation of governnt institutions, I was expecting a wait of at least a month."
"Apparently a wizard owing MI6 a favor is worth cutting through red tape." Her voice carried that particular blend of professionalism and skepticism he’d co to recognize. "Though I fail to see how you’ll be useful in your current condition."
"My brain works perfectly fine." Arthur traced a finger along the edge of his desk. "And the injury is temporary."
"The exam will be strictly monitored," Aurora warned. "Any sign of cheating and you’ll fail on the spot. If I were you, I’d start studying now."
Arthur laughed. "I don’t need magic for A-levels. You should know I could have passed them when I was ten." He tapped his fingers against the desk. "Your investigation file must have details on my grade-skipping and academic performance."
"That was eight years ago. You still rember all that material? I certainly don’t recall what I studied in school."
"That’s why I’m the genius."
"Narcissist," Aurora shot back. Papers rustled in the background. "A car will collect you at eight. Don’t be late."
The line went dead before he could deliver a retort. Typical Aurora—always needing the last word.
—
With the examination scheduled, Arthur turned his attention to preparation. He retrieved the Ravenclaw diadem from its hidden compartnt in his trunk. The tiara remained in its original form. He hadn’t found ti to modify it with everything that had happened at Hogwarts.
Arthur briefly recalled the three rare magical books he’d been forced to return to Dumbledore, part of his bargain for participating in the Triwizard Tournant. The Headmaster had insisted on reclaiming all three volus, even though Karkaroff hadn’t stuck around to collect his contribution, claiming the dark magic they contained was "too dangerous" for Arthur.
"As if I hadn’t already morized every useful page," Arthur muttered to the empty room.
He placed the diadem carefully on his head. The effect was imdiate—a cooling sensation across his temples followed by crystalline clarity. His thoughts, always organized, now aligned with supernatural precision.
Perfect for reviewing five A-level subjects in a matter of days.
—
For the next week, Arthur divided his days between academic review and attempts to strengthen his magical pathways. The latter remained frustratingly slow. No visible progress to show his thod was working.
His chosen A-level subjects ford a strategic selection: Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry, Further Mathematics, and Computer Science. The foundation for his technological ambitions.
Much of the material he already knew, either from his previous life or from his parallel studies during Hogwarts years. Since he already had plans to learn about the advanced tech in MCU, he had maintained his interest in Muggle technology, regularly reading relevant books when magical studies beca tedious.
While he could have used magic to simply bypass the entire university admission process, that would have created suspicion in his academic record. Such inconsistencies might flag him for monitoring by organizations like SHIELD since Arthur was sure universities were completely monitored by governnt agencies and villain organizations to find bright minds for their use.
No, better to build his credentials properly. Besides, MIT would demand actual knowledge, not just the appearance of it. Why did he choose MIT? If the institution had been good enough for Tony Stark, it would serve Arthur’s purposes nicely.
—
Tuesday arrived with rare London sunshine. The governnt car—black, unmarked, and unmistakably official—pulled up precisely at eight o’clock. The driver held himself with military bearing despite his civilian clothes.
"Mr. Hayes," he nodded, opening the rear door without further conversation.
The testing facility occupied three floors of an unremarkable building near Westminster. After passing through multiple security checkpoints, Arthur was escorted to a sparsely furnished room where his examiner awaited.
She rose from behind a massive desk, extending a firm hand. Tall and imperious, with silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun, she carried herself with the confidence of soone who had never been successfully deceived.
"Mr. Hayes," she said, her grip surprisingly strong. "I understand you’ll be attempting all five examinations today."
"Yes," Arthur replied simply.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Most candidates require months of preparation for each subject."
"I’m not most candidates."
"Evidently not." She gestured to an adjoining room visible through an observation window. "You have six hours. I’ll be watching."
The examinations themselves proved almost boring—challenging for an ordinary student, perhaps, but routine with his enhanced cognition. By late afternoon, he had completed all five subjects.
The examiner collected his final papers, leafing through them with clinical precision. "Impressive timing, Mr. Hayes. Five A-levels in six hours."
"I’ve always been efficient."
"So I see." She tapped the papers against the desk. "Results will be available in August alongside the standard releases."
"Thank you for the accommodation."
Her gaze sharpened. "Your governnt connections must run quite deep."
Arthur offered a asured smile. "They’re investing in potential."
—
With the A-levels behind him and months before SAT examinations and university applications, Arthur found himself with sothing unfamiliar: free ti.
His daily routine included exercises to strengthen his magical pathways and so physical training. But these consud only a few hours. The remainder stretched empty before him, a blank canvas he hadn’t faced since childhood.
The London townhouse, despite its elegance, beca stifling. Only Winky’s cheerful presence and rcury’s occasional hooting broke the silence. And while the house elf’s cheerful efficiency was appreciated, conversation remained limited.
One morning over breakfast, Winky placed a perfectly arranged plate before him, then fixed him with an unexpectedly direct stare.
"Master Hayes should go outside more," she declared, hands on her tiny hips. "Being always inside makes wizards pale and grumpy."
Arthur lowered his newspaper. "I’ve lived in London my entire life. There’s nothing new to see."
"Living sowhere isn’t sa as seeing it," Winky insisted. "Always studying, training, working. Never exploring the world for all its joys."
He considered objecting, then realized she was right. Since his parents’ murders, he’d rarely ventured out except with specific purpose. The city beyond his windows might as well have been theoretical.
"Perhaps you have a point, Winky. Thanks," he conceded.
Winky bead. "Winky is happy to help Master Hayes."
—
London in 1995 existed in an interesting technological transition. The internet was erging but remained primitive—most people still relied on physical maps and payphones. Smartphones were years away, and cash was king. Architecture blended centuries of history with post-war brutalism and erging glass-and-steel modernism.
Arthur walked for hours each day, rediscovering a city he’d technically never left. Westminster Abbey’s soaring arches echoed with whispered prayers and shuffling tourists. The British Museum’s endless galleries displayed treasures gathered (or plundered, depending on perspective) from every corner of the empire. The collection’s vastness occupied many days of Arthur’s wanderings.
On his fifth day of exploration, sothing extraordinary tingled at the edges of his awareness. An energy signature unlike anything in the wizarding world—ancient, profound, and distinctly non-human.
His altered magic had dramatically expanded his magical perception. Energies that would have been invisible now registered clearly.
Arthur followed the sensation carefully, maintaining his distance. It led him to an elegant woman examining a shop window display. To ordinary observers, she appeared perfectly normal—just another Londoner going about her day.
But Arthur knew better.
’Sersi,’ he said silently in his mind, recognizing the Eternal imdiately.
He considered approaching her but couldn’t predict her reaction. His knowledge from his previous life might not perfectly align with this reality’s characters. What if she perceived him as a threat? In his current weakened state, he would be hopelessly outmatched.
Better to wait. The events involving the Eternals lay years ahead. There would be ti enough to et them when he could do so from a position of strength.
Arthur retreated quietly, filing the encounter away for future reference.
—
Two days later, he was exploring an unfamiliar neighborhood when sothing else tickled his enhanced senses. This energy felt different—not cosmic vitality but sothing structured, almost mathematical in its precision.
Following the mystical pulse led him to an imposing building with a distinctive circular window near its peak. The address plate read "177A Bleecker Street."
Arthur stopped cold, recognition flooding through him. The London Sanctum Sanctorum—one of three primary bases used by the Masters of the Mystic Arts to protect Earth from mystical threats.
He stood across the street, calculating his options. The Ancient One and her disciples represented both opportunity and risk. Unlike Sersi, whom he had no imdiate reason to contact, the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj practiced a form of magic that genuinely interested him.
But would they welco him or perceive him as a threat—a disruptor to the natural flow of the universe?
"They haven’t moved against yet," Arthur reasoned quietly. "That suggests either acceptance or ignorance."
As he debated his next move, the Sanctum’s massive wooden door creaked open slightly—just enough to be unmistakably deliberate. No person appeared in the gap, yet the invitation seed clear.
"Well," Arthur murmured, "that’s certainly direct."
Every instinct warned caution. In his current state, with magic barely functional, he would be at a severe disadvantage if this proved hostile. Yet opportunity rarely arrived without risk.
Arthur crossed the street and paused at the threshold. Finally, with a deep breath, he stepped through the doorway into the shadowed interior. The massive door swung closed behind him with a resonant thud that seed to echo between dinsions.
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