Rayleigh Stark’s eleven-year-old transmigrated life was completely upended today by a bird.
To be precise, an owl.
Right now, it was frantically tapping its claws against the French window of the Stark home’s second-floor study.
“Bang!
Bang!
Bang!” “Darling, do you think we ought to hire a bird exterminator?” Watson Stark, Rayleigh’s father and the chief director of London’s largest anorectal specialty hospital, held a cup of coffee with a look of utter confusion.
He pointed out the window at the relentless bird.
“This bird doesn’t look particularly intelligent.
What is it trying to do?
Deliver mail?” Rayleigh’s mother, Natasha Liebes, set down her newspaper, her sharp eyes scanning the scene as her right hand instinctively reached for her waist.
“There’s something tied to its leg.” Something clicked in Rayleigh’s mind, and he reached out to open the window.
The owl flew into the room, landed on the desk, and proudly stuck out its leg, revealing a parchment envelope stamped with an intricate wax seal.
An H?
Hogwarts?
Rayleigh took the letter.
The owl cocked its head haughtily, as if silently sneering “bumpkin,” gave Rayleigh a sharp peck, and flapped away.
“What’s this?
A prank?” Watson leaned over, examining the envelope with curiosity.
“To Mr.
Rayleigh Stark, Second-Floor West Bedroom, No.
103 Alan Villa Estate.” He read the address aloud, then froze.
“Wait, that really is our address.
How do they know?
They even know which bedroom Rayleigh stays in!” Natasha walked over as well, her military instincts telling her that this was no simple matter.
Rayleigh opened the letter.
The familiar acceptance letter.
So it wasn’t the Marvel Universe after all.
When he was three, he had wandered into the underground mortuary of his family’s hospital and witnessed a translucent spirit floating around.
In his sheer shock, he triggered his very first accidental magic outburst, shattering half the room’s glass windows.
He had been thrilled at the time.
Ghosts!
Superpowers!
Plus, his last name was Stark!
He was set!
A distant relative of Iron Man!
Maybe in a few years he could even score a spot in the Avengers.
He had even come up with a few superhero aliases for himself, like: The Little Hurricane White-Streak Whirlwind Thunderbolt Tough Guy!
The Crispy Twisting Bloody Overbearing Super Butcher!
All about maximum dominance!
And in the end, what arrived was an owl’s letter.
Rayleigh: “…” Fine, the Harry Potter universe wasn’t bad either.
At least it was safe…
Safe, my foot!
At the thought of having to face that noseless Voldemort in his first year, Rayleigh felt a wave of stomach cramps.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Watson opened the door.
Standing on the porch was a man dressed in long black robes.
The man had a sallow complexion, greasy hair, and radiated a gloomy, somber aura—looking for all the world like a walking corpse fresh out of a coffin.
“Good day.
I am Severus Snape, a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The man’s voice was completely flat.
Rayleigh looked at him.
Ah, deadpan Severus Snape.
Now it was a hundred percent confirmed.
In the living room, the atmosphere was awkward in the extreme.
“Doesn’t the letter say a professor won’t come until tomorrow?” Rayleigh’s mother, Natasha, asked, waving the letter in her hand.
“Yes, but the owl couldn’t enter your house all day yesterday!” Well, hard to argue with that logic.
Severus Snape used the most concise language possible to explain the existence of the wizarding world and the fact that Rayleigh was a young wizard who needed to attend Hogwarts.
Watson was left stunned, taking half a beat before blurting out, “So my son isn’t a mutant, but a wizard?” Severus Snape: “…” Natasha was far cooler and asked the key question directly.
“What happens if he doesn’t go?” “The uncontrollable power inside him will continue to build up until it consumes him, turning him into a creature known as an Obscurus.
He won’t live past sixteen.” Severus Snape’s answer was brutal.
“Of course, you could also choose to let him go, only for him to die under the club of a troll or inside the mouth of a three-headed dog.
And if he miraculously survives all that, there’s a noseless Dark Lord waiting for him.” Rayleigh silently added the last part in his head.
Hearing the word “creature,” Watson and his wife exchanged a look and hesitated no longer.
“We agree,” Natasha said with absolute resolve.
“To ensure you purchase the correct school supplies, I will take you to Diagon Alley.” Severus Snape stood up, looking as if he didn’t want to stay a single second longer.
Disregarding how the family felt, he immediately used Apparition to bring the three of them to The Leaky Cauldron.
Ignoring their aggrieved looks, Severus Snape led the way through The Leaky Cauldron.
When the brick wall automatically swiveled open to reveal a bustling, wondrous alley, Watson and Natasha were stunned speechless.
Meanwhile, Rayleigh was quietly running calculations in his mind.
He had to learn a few spells before school started.
Harry Potter, that trouble magnet, might be in his year.
God only knew what would happen in Year One.
First stop: Gringotts.
When he saw those sharp-eared, long-fingered Goblins, Watson’s innate merchant instincts kicked in instantly.
“Professor Snape, excuse me…
do these Goblin gentlemen offer currency exchange and investment management services?” Severus Snape’s face grew even darker.
“They only offer currency exchange.” “Oh!
Marvelous!” Rubbing his hands together, Watson walked up to a Goblin counter with his warmest, friendliest smile.
“Hello, sir.
I’d like to exchange some Gold Galleons.
What is the exchange rate between British pounds and Galleons?” The Goblin didn’t even raise his head.
“Five pounds per Galleon.
Non-negotiable.” “Alright.
Then I’ll exchange…
one million pounds to start,” Watson said nonchalantly.
*Clatter.* The scale in the Goblin’s hands dropped onto the counter.
The entire hall of Gringotts instantly fell dead silent.
Every single Goblin stopped what they were doing and turned in unison to stare at this muggle in a finely tailored suit.
Even Severus Snape showed a rare moment of bewilderment.
Rayleigh covered his face.
He knew his family was rich, but he hadn’t realized they were *this* rich.
His father’s proctology hospital really was a pillar industry of London, wasn’t it?
However, to ensure the currency system of the wizarding world didn’t collapse, the Goblins still refused the massive exchange, allowing him to convert only 500 pounds—a mere 100 Gold Galleons.
After that, no matter how Watson explained, the Goblins held their ground, refusing to exchange even a single Gold Galleon more.
That was until Natasha silently pulled out two 1-kilogram gold bars and a dozen gemstones the size of dollar coins from her handbag.
Then, things took a dramatic turn.
In the end, under the almost sycophantic service of the Goblins, Watson walked away with a heavy bag full of Gold Galleons and successfully scheduled a meeting with Gringotts’ account manager for next week to discuss the possibilities of “interdimensional investment.” When they left Gringotts, Severus Snape’s expression when looking at their family had completely shifted.
From “foolish muggles” to “walking Gold Galleons.” The rest of the shopping went much smoother.
Under Severus Snape’s lead, they quickly bought their robes, cauldrons, and other gear.
As they passed Flourish and Blotts, Rayleigh stopped in his tracks.
“Dad, Mum, I’d like to go in and take a look.
I want to buy a few extra books to prep ahead of time.” The image of a good student was never a bad thing to project.
“Oh, my dear boy, you’re so studious!” Watson was moved to tears.
He shoved a fistful of Gold Galleons into Rayleigh’s hand.
“Buy whatever you like!
If it’s not enough, just ask Dad for more!” Holding the money, Rayleigh dove into the bookstore.
His target was clear: the second-hand section.
New books were too clean—where was the fun in that compared to the “surprises” hidden in used books?
He rummaged through a remote corner and quickly found a few old textbooks covered in hand-written notes.
*The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1*, *Magical Drafts and Potions*…
These notes were exhaustive, and some sections even included modified steps.
At a glance, they were clearly written by a top-tier student.
Score.
Just as he was about to leave, his foot bumped into something.
He looked down and saw a tattered book with half its cover missing, carelessly stuffed at the very bottom of the bookshelf.
Out of curiosity, he pulled it out.
The book was very thin—or rather, only a few pages were left.
Most of its contents had rotted away or been torn out.
He flipped open the remaining pages.
Written in a strange script was a single spell: The Bowel-Plucking Curse.
A sinister piece of Dark Magic that could rip the target’s intestines directly out of their body.
Rayleigh: “…” Well…
talk about…
matching the family business.
He could almost picture the future slogan for Stark Anorectal Hospital: “Stark Hospital: Whether stuffing them back in or plucking them out, we are the ultimate professionals.” It was practically a family heirloom spell tailored specifically for him!
He casually slipped the book between his other second-hand textbooks and prepared to pay.
The moment he turned around, he bumped into someone.
“Don’t you have eyes when you walk?” an arrogant, sharp voice snapped.
Rayleigh looked up to see a boy with platinum blond hair, chin held high, his face filled with disgust.
Draco Malfoy.
“Sorry,” Rayleigh offered insincerely, attempting to bypass him.
“Hold it!
Who are you?
I’ve never seen you at any Pure-blood family gatherings,” Draco Malfoy barred his path.
“A Mudblood?” Before Rayleigh could activate his inner villain mode, his sharp eye caught another figure not far away.
A skinny boy wearing round-framed glasses with messy hair, looking utterly bewildered as he stared at the books on the shelf, completely out of place with his surroundings.
Harry Potter.
Rayleigh’s mind worked at lightning speed.
The protagonist had appeared.
Trouble wasn’t far behind.
He looked down at the tattered Dark Magic book in his arms, then looked up at the arrogant, domineering Draco Malfoy in front of him, and then at the meek Savior a short distance away.
A brilliant idea sprang to life in his mind.
Looking at Draco Malfoy, he suddenly offered a bright, harmless smile.
“Hello, Mr.
Malfoy.
My name is Rayleigh Stark.
Pleased to meet you.
Perhaps we could be friends?” Draco Malfoy was thrown off by his sudden warmth.
Meanwhile, Rayleigh’s inner voice was snickering wildly.
Friends?
No.
You’re going to be my very first—and most perfect—clinical test subject for the Bowel-Plucking Curse.