Minerva McGonagall drew a sharp breath.
The boy standing in front of her was eleven years old and almost painfully striking.
Pale gold hair hung loose around a face that looked as if it had stepped out of a painting.
Ash streaked his cheeks.
His clothes were ragged and too big.
None of it mattered.
The delicacy of the features still cut through the dirt and the grime.
He was too young to be handsome—more endearingly pretty than anything else—but it was the kind of prettiness that made most women soften on sight.
Pale green eyes met hers, wary and startled.
“You… who are you?”
The accent was odd, but clear enough.
“I am Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
I teach Transfiguration.
My name is Minerva McGonagall.” Her gaze dropped.
One eyebrow twitched.
“And Mr.
Grey, would you please let go of that unfortunate owl?”
Cedric Grey’s hands were locked around a thoroughly miserable owl.
The bird stared at McGonagall with pure desperation, wings thrashing against a grip that looked far stronger than a skinny child’s should be.
Scattered at his feet were wild garlic, basil leaves, a rusty knife, and a small fire already burning.
The intent was unmistakable.
A few more minutes and the school’s mail owl would have been dinner.
McGonagall felt a cold wave of relief.
Given the boy’s circumstances she had followed the owl almost immediately after releasing it.
Otherwise Hogwarts would have been short one long-serving messenger.
She spotted the letter on the ground, still intact.
Small mercies.
“Child—” she began, already weighing whether to reason with him or simply free the bird by force.
Cedric flung the owl away like a hot coal.
It hit the dirt, rolled twice, scrambled upright in a cloud of dust, and fled without a single sound.
Wings beating hard, it vanished into the trees as if the devil himself were after it.
Cedric wiped sweat from his forehead and stared at the severe woman who claimed to be Minerva McGonagall.
So that was why the damn bird had been so hard to catch.
Hogwarts mail owl.
He had transmigrated into the world of Harry Potter.
In this life he was an orphan.
He had walked out of the orphanage at ten because the watery meals weren’t worth staying for.
A full year of living rough in the woods.
Alone.
A half-grown kid surviving the wilderness only because of the standard transmigrator cheat: a system.
The Gourmet System.
On activation it had given him a full-body physical enhancement.
Without that he would have been dead months ago.
The real power was simpler.
Eat food.
Gain enhancement points.
Eat special creatures and there was a chance to inherit their abilities.
Even ordinary food worked, though the returns dropped the more you repeated the same thing.
That was why he had left the orphanage.
Meat was rare there.
Points would have been impossible.
In the past year he had eaten rabbits, wild birds, stray dogs—anything he could catch.
Ordinary animals gave almost nothing.
No special abilities yet.
He had been wondering what counted as “special” when McGonagall appeared and kicked the door wide open.
This was the wizarding world.
And he was one of them.
The first thought that hit him was not about spells or flying broomsticks.
It was: Finally.
I know what special creatures look like.
The second thought followed hard on its heels: High-end ingredients.
Real ones.
McGonagall watched the boy’s eyes glaze over and decided not to ask.
She had never dealt with a child quite like this.
Orphan.
Ran away at ten.
Living feral.
Caught trying to cook a school owl on first contact.
Any one of those traits would have been a problem.
He had all of them.
Perhaps he had been bullied and was too stubborn to stay.
She softened her voice.
“Mr.
Grey?
Mr.
Grey?”
He wiped the corner of his mouth—nothing there—and focused.
“Yes, Professor McGonagall?”
“Are you ready to come with me?
To the magical world that belongs to you?”
Cedric’s eyes lit up.
“Absolutely, Professor.
I can’t wait to see everything the magical world has to offer.”
Especially the ingredients.