The moment Rayleigh stepped onto the train, the clamor of voices and the hiss of steam filled his ears.
He expertly sidestepped an upperclassman barging through with a massive trunk, then cast a Levitation Charm—spending 2 Mana Points—to effortlessly float his own luggage onto the overhead rack.
“Rookies.” He watched the flustered, sweating freshmen with a silent, critical evaluation.
He started down the corridor in search of an empty compartment.
Most compartments were packed to the brim, chattering away so loudly it gave him a headache.
Just as he was losing patience and preparing to hole up in any random corner, he spotted a compartment that was almost empty.
There was only one boy inside.
The boy had messy black hair and wore round-framed glasses held together with tape.
He looked thin, frail, and thoroughly awkward.
He was pressed against the window, staring out wistfully at the parents on the platform.
*Perfect,* Rayleigh thought.
A loner meant far less trouble.
He had no interest in squeezing into a compartment with a bunch of overly friendly kids.
He slid the compartment door open.
“Anyone sitting here?” The black-haired boy startled and turned around.
When he saw Rayleigh, he visibly froze for a second.
Rayleigh was dressed in a well-tailored set of Muggle casual clothes.
While not a designer brand, the quality and cut far surpassed anything from an average family.
He wore a polite, businesslike smile that was impossible to fault, yet conveyed little actual warmth.
“N-no,” the boy stammered.
“Great.” Rayleigh sat down across from him without invitation, pulled a thick, ledger-like book from his pocket, and began flipping through it.
An awkward silence fell over the compartment.
The boy opened his mouth several times as if to say something, but seeing Rayleigh’s clear “do not disturb” demeanor, he swallowed his words each time.
In reality, Rayleigh wasn’t reading a ledger at all—it was just a notebook he had grabbed from home on a whim.
He was actually taking inventory of his personal assets in his mind.
[Name: Rayleigh Stark] [Class: Sorcerer (Level 4)] [EXP: 87/500] [HP: 48/48] [MP: 65/65] [Skills: Fireball (Level 5), Warmth (Level 1)] [Equipment: Short Staff, Quilted Armor, Cap, Boots, Muggle Revolver (6 rounds)] [Attribute Points: 10 (Remaining points put into Energy)] [Cash: 500 Gold Galleons] Don’t ask why he only learned Fireball.
Who could have known that after becoming a Class Change character through his Diablo cheat system, his specialization would be assigned based on his innate potential?
In his case, he was a Sorcerer (Fire).
When using Fire Magic, power increased by 150%.
When using Lightning or Cold Magic, cost increased by 200% and power decreased by 50%.
So Rayleigh had no choice but to become a pure fire spec mage.
*Sigh, I’m still way too poor,* Rayleigh lamented silently.
Five hundred Galleons sounded like a decent sum, but for someone like him who aimed to become the Tony Stark of the Wizarding World, it was barely a drop in the bucket.
Not to mention his painfully slow leveling rate.
After grinding in the Blood Moor for nearly a month, he hadn’t even reached Level 5, and he hadn’t even found Corpsefire’s cave yet.
This map was way too massive—easily dozens of times larger than in the game world!
Just then, the compartment door was pulled open again.
A freckle-faced, red-haired boy poked his head in, with a smudge of dirt on the tip of his nose.
“Sorry, everywhere else is full.
Is it…
okay if I sit here?” He looked a bit nervous.
The black-haired boy immediately nodded.
Rayleigh raised his head and gave him a quick once-over.
The faded, second-hand robes and the battered trunk in his hand practically screamed “I’m broke.” *A Weasley?
High probability.
Then this skinny kid next to him…
don’t tell me he’s Harry Potter?
Damn it, talk about bad luck!* “Take a seat,” Rayleigh said succinctly, shutting his notebook.
What else could he do?
He might as well roll with it.
Relieved, the red-haired boy quickly squeezed in and sat down beside the black-haired boy.
“I’m Ron, Ron Weasley,” he offered by way of introduction.
“Harry.
Harry Potter,” the black-haired boy said softly.
Ron’s mouth instantly formed an “O.” “Really?
Are you really…
Harry Potter?” He leaned in and lowered his voice.
“So on your forehead…
do you have the…” Resigned, Harry lifted his bangs to reveal the lightning-bolt scar.
Ron gasped.
Rayleigh watched cold-eyed from the side, utterly unmoved.
The Savior, Harry Potter?
Now that was a major thigh to cling to.
But at the same time, he was a giant magnet for trouble.
He would need to carefully assess the risks and rewards of hitching his wagon to this star.
“I’m Rayleigh Stark,” Rayleigh spoke up, breaking the whispered exchange between the other two.
“Stark?” Ron frowned, thinking hard for a long moment.
“Never heard of that surname…
Which magical family are you from?” “My dad’s a Muggle,” Rayleigh answered frankly.
“He runs a hospital.” An imperceptible hint of disappointment and disdain flashed across Ron’s face.
*Oho, pure-blood superiority?* *Isn’t this kid supposed to represent the pro-Muggle side of pure-bloods?
How could he show an expression like that?
Guess you can’t blindly trust everything in books—after all, Harry Potter was originally written as a children’s book.* Rayleigh found the whole thing mildly amusing.
Just as the atmosphere turned awkward again, a woman’s voice chimed from the corridor: “Snacks!
Anything from the trolley?” Rayleigh’s eyes lit up.
Opportunity called.
He stood up, opened the door, and gave the middle-aged witch pushing the cart a brilliant smile.
“Ma’am, I’ll take the lot.” “What?” The witch froze.
Inside the compartment, Harry and Ron stared in shock.
“I said, I’m buying everything on your trolley,” Rayleigh repeated.
He pulled a heavy coin pouch from his pocket and scooped out a massive handful of Gold Galleons.
“Is this enough?
If not, I’ve got more.” The glittering gold coins dazzled the eyes under the dim corridor lights.
The witch’s mouth opened and closed before she finally found her voice.
“It’s enough!
More than enough!” Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He looked at the huge pile of gold in Rayleigh’s hand, then down at the pitiful handful of Sickles in his own pocket, his face flushing beet-red.
And just moments ago, he had been secretly looking down on the guy for being Muggle-born.
Soon, under Harry and Ron’s dumbfounded gazes, a small mountain of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and Cauldron Cakes was hauled into the compartment, taking up almost every inch of free space.
Rayleigh clapped his hands in satisfaction, sat back down, and held out his hands to the stunned duo.
“What are you standing there for?
Help yourselves.” He unwrapped a Chocolate Frog first, pulled out the card, and glanced at it.
“Albus Dumbledore.
Him again.” He tossed the card aside nonchalantly and popped the Chocolate Frog into his mouth.
“Did the old man pay to boost his drop rate?
Why do I keep pulling him?” Harry had never seen so many sweets in his life.
He tentatively picked up a Pumpkin Pasty.
“Can we…
really eat these?” “Of course,” Rayleigh said, crossing his legs casually.
“Consider it an investment in our new friendship.
Please look after me once we’re at school.” *Investment?
Friendship?* Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, mutual confusion written across their faces.
Why did this Rayleigh guy talk so strangely?
Ultimately, Ron couldn’t resist the temptation of food.
He grabbed a Cauldron Cake, stuffed it into his mouth, and mumbled around a mouthful, “Stark…
you’re loaded.” “It’s alright,” Rayleigh said modestly.
“My family just runs a hospital in London.
Small business, really.” Ron choked on his cake and began coughing violently.
Harry hurriedly patted his back.
*A hospital?
A small business?
Is this guy serious?* Just then, the compartment door slid open for the third time.
A girl with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth stood at the door, wearing brand-new Hogwarts robes and an air of slight arrogance.
“Has anyone seen a toad?
A boy named Neville’s lost one.” Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on the mountain of sweets, before landing on Ron, who was holding his wand as if to cast a spell.
“Oh, are you doing magic?
Let’s see it then.” She sat down without ceremony.
Ron’s face turned even redder.
Rayleigh watched the scene with keen interest.
Miss Know-it-all, Hermione Granger, had made her entrance too.
Ron cleared his throat, raised his battered wand, and pointed it at his rat, Scabbers, who was lying in his lap.
“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!” The tip of the wand sparked once, and then…
nothing happened.
Scabbers remained sound asleep in Ron’s lap.
“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” Hermione said, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“Well, it’s not very good, is it?
I’ve tried a few simple spells myself for practice, and they’ve all worked for me.
For instance…” She pulled out her wand and pointed it at Harry’s damaged glasses.
“*Reparo!*” The glasses immediately mended, looking as good as new.
“Holy cow!” Harry took off his glasses, crying out in pleasant surprise.
“I’m Hermione Granger.
Who are you?” she asked briskly.
“Ron Weasley.” “Harry Potter.” “Hermione Granger,” Rayleigh mimicked her tone, repeating her name before pointing to himself.
“Rayleigh Stark.
Pleasure.” Hermione’s attention was instantly drawn to Rayleigh.
“Stark?
Are you the one who bought out the entire sweets trolley?” Her tone held a hint of disapproval.
“That’s a very irrational spending choice.
Besides, excessive sugar intake is terrible for your health.” “Oh?” Rayleigh raised an eyebrow.
“My apologies, then.
But sometimes, irrational choices yield unexpected returns.
For example, now I know who Harry Potter is, who Ron Weasley is, and who…
Hermione Granger is.” He paused, letting a meaningful smile spread across his face.
“Trading the cost of a cart of snacks for the names and first impressions of three future classmates—I’d say that’s a bloody good bargain.”