August 1991, London.
The sun broke free from the clouds, piercing through the thick fog and illuminating the damp, glistening streets below.
A tabby cat crouched at a street corner, staring intently at a road sign for a moment before vanishing into thin air.
“Thank you for the divination, Mr.
Prewett.” A man sat huddled at a makeshift fortune-telling stall on the street corner, his shoulders slumped.
“My wife…
she really is cheating on me…
Oh, right, here is the agreed payment.” “I am deeply sorry.” Silan Prewett sighed with an expression of manufactured grief, though he pocketed the money with swift efficiency.
“If I may ask, how do you plan to handle this?
If you need any divined advice, I can help you.” “No need, Mr.
Prewett.
I intend to forgive her,” the man said, rubbing his hands together.
*Tsk.* *What a doormat.* Silan sneered inwardly, though his face remained a picture of deep sympathy.
“Best of luck to you, sir.” Watching the man walk away, Silan retracted his gaze and counted the cash.
It was roughly 25 pounds.
Adding that to the loose change he had earned earlier, he now had 28 pounds and 17 pence on him.
The money, however, was secondary.
What truly mattered was the notification box popping up right in front of him.
Silan’s gaze locked onto a virtual screen floating in his vision: [You have successfully completed a scam] [Silver-Tongued: Level 1 (34/100) —Proficiency +1] [Description: Oh, sir.
Go speak to them, about anything at all, and they will believe you.
Of course, guard your tongue, for loose lips sink ships.] [Effect: Your words pierce straight to the heart, making it easier for others to believe you.] He didn’t actually know a thing about divination; this was entirely a scam he had orchestrated.
Silan had used his little network of orphans to uncover the fact that the man’s wife was having an affair.
Afterward, he purposely lured the man to his stall and revealed the truth under the guise of tarot reading.
Silan was too young–only eleven years old–so the man hadn’t believed him at first.
That was until the harsh reality aligned perfectly with everything Silan had said.
Still, this wasn’t the ideal outcome Silan had planned.
He had originally wanted to milk this situation three times over: first, charge the husband to reveal the affair; second, charge him for advice on how to handle it; and third, turn around and charge the cheating wife for advice on how to handle her husband.
He hadn’t expected the guy to just take her back.
*Is she really that irreplaceable?* “Silan!
I knew I’d find you here.” A familiar voice reached Silan’s ears, cutting through his train of thought.
“Miss Granger…” Silan quickly concealed the money, the calculating look vanishing from his face instantly.
It was replaced by an expression of humble politeness.
In front of Hermione, he always maintained the persona of a gentle, kind-hearted boy.
“Call me Hermione.” Hermione Granger sat down across from Silan, propping her chin on her hands as she looked at him.
“How was business today?” “Not bad.” Silan shuffled the deck of tarot cards on the table.
“Would you like a reading?” Looking at Silan’s slightly pale and thin face, a flash of pity crossed Hermione’s eyes.
“Alright, let’s do one.
I want to know which school I’ll be attending.” She was eleven this year, old enough to enter secondary school, and the matter had been weighing on her mind for the past few days.
Besides worrying about which school she would get into, she also didn’t want to be too far away from the boy who had been her classmate for the last six years.
Silan was different from the other kids.
He never mocked her bushy hair, and whenever she rambled about things she read in books, he never turned away impatiently.
Instead, he listened to her with absolute sincerity.
*Even though he grew up in an orphanage, he is such a gentle, kind boy.
And he never lies,* Hermione thought to herself.
The tarot cards, their backs adorned with painted stars, were shuffled under Silan’s hands and reassembled into a neat pile.
“With yourself as the focal point, draw a card.” Silan held the deck with four fingers, fanning it out slowly in front of Hermione.
Under his deliberate control, the spacing between each card was perfectly even.
He used this brief moment to carefully observe the young girl.
Bushy brown hair, brown eyes, and a distinctly earnest, bookish aura.
Of course, none of that mattered.
What mattered was her name: Hermione Granger.
She looked almost exactly like her counterpart from the *Harry Potter* movies.
It was precisely because of her that Silan, a few years after being reincarnated as a baby, finally realized he was in the Wizarding World.
Hermione drew a card from the middle of the deck and flipped it over.
It depicted an elderly man holding a staff and a lantern, standing atop a snow-capped mountain.
“Ah, The Hermit,” Silan murmured, taking the card to look at it closely.
“This represents your pursuit of wisdom and your love for reading, though it often leaves you feeling lonely…” Hermione nodded.
This perfectly described her current life.
“However, I believe…
the core meaning of this card is that you will pursue hidden, secret knowledge.
Who knows, perhaps you’ll end up attending a secret magic school that nobody knows about.” Silan delivered the answer in a joking tone.
“Haha!
If only you could come with me.” Hermione assumed he was just teasing and didn’t take it to heart.
She blinked at him, finally revealing the real reason she had come to find him.
“I didn’t bring any money when I left the house, so…
come to my house for dinner tonight.
We’ll count it as the divination fee.” When a young girl wants to show her care, she always finds an excuse.
Ever since she found out Silan was an orphan whose parents had passed away, she frequently invited him over for dinner.
Partly because she liked him as a friend, and partly because she wanted to look after him.
Because Silan looked so thin, she was always worried he was malnourished.
“Then I must thank you, Miss Granger.” “Just Hermione is fine,” she emphasized as she stood up from the stall.
“Silan, you’re always so formal.” The Granger residence wasn’t far.
Packing up Silan’s things, the two of them quickly walked over.
“Mr.
Granger, Mrs.
Granger, good evening.
Sorry to intrude.” “Young Mr.
Prewett, welcome, welcome!” “Come on in.” The Granger family was already well-acquainted with this polite, sensible boy and liked him a great deal.
“Go on up and play for a bit, dinner will be ready soon.” “Come with me, let’s go upstairs,” Hermione led Silan toward her bedroom.
“Don’t eat too many sweets, it’s bad for your teeth,” Mr.
Granger, a dentist, called out habitually without looking up from his newspaper.
“My dad bought me a picture book last week, but I actually read it back in the third grade.
He can never remember which books I’ve already read.” “I think it’s just because you read too fast.” “It’s because I never have anything else to do, and you never come to play with me.” “I’m sorry, I…” “No, I should be the one apologizing,” Hermione said, slightly embarrassed as she tugged at her unruly hair.
“I forgot you have to earn a living with your divination.” “It’s fine.
Trading a reading for a nice dinner once in a while is a pretty good deal.” Hermione giggled at his remark and enthusiastically began showing him the dense rows of books lining her shelves, introducing them one by one until Mrs.
Granger knocked on the door.
“Is it time for dinner, Mum?
It feels a bit early.” “No…” Mrs.
Granger looked somewhat hesitant, her gaze landing on Silan.
“I’m so sorry, Silan, but I’m afraid we can’t host you for dinner tonight.” “Why?!” Hermione’s voice went up an octave, completely bewildered.
“An important guest has arrived downstairs, and we have something very critical to discuss regarding your schooling, Hermione,” Mrs.
Granger explained helplessly.
“It’s completely fine.
I’ll take my leave then.
See you around, Hermione.” Silan walked over to Hermione with a polite smile and said his goodbyes.
As he reached the door, he deliberately turned back to give Hermione a look, letting just the right amount of reluctance show on his face.
It made Hermione feel incredibly sad and guilty.
“Goodbye, Mrs.
Granger.” Watching Silan walk downstairs, Mrs.
Granger couldn’t help but feel a twinge of remorse.
The boy lived such a hard life, yet he was always so well-behaved and understanding.
It was precisely his maturity that made one’s heart ache for him.
But they took the words of the guest downstairs very seriously, so they had no choice but to slight him for now.
“Goodbye, Mr.
Granger,” Silan greeted as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes inconspicuously landing on the other person in the living room.
She was a severe-looking woman wearing square glasses.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore an emerald-green cloak.
*This must be Professor McGonagall, here to escort Hermione into the wizarding world,* Silan deduced, drawing from his memories of *Harry Potter*.
“Please wait a moment, young Prewett.” Mr.
Granger felt terribly awkward; turning away his daughter’s friend like this really wasn’t his style.
“Hermione made these sandwiches earlier, please take them with you.” *Prewett?* McGonagall paused.
It was a common enough surname.
There was nothing inherently strange about it; there were plenty of people named Prewett across London.
However, hearing that name instantly brought back memories of the Prewett brothers, who had sacrificed themselves during the Wizarding War.
The Prewett family was an ancient, highly respected pure-blood house and staunch supporters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Sadly, during the fight against Voldemort, the Prewett name had practically died out.
Molly Weasley had been a Prewett before she married Arthur Weasley.
McGonagall cast a curious glance toward Silan.
*Dark brown hair and brown eyes…
surely it couldn’t be such a coincidence?* Despite her skepticism, McGonagall kept her eyes locked on him.
As the boy turned his head to look in her direction, she finally got a clear view of his face.
That brief glance made McGonagall’s heart skip a beat.
The boy’s features actually bore a striking resemblance to Fabian Prewett!