Professor McGonagall never touched the door of the Leaky Cauldron.
She simply seized Cedric’s wrist and Apparated straight into Diagon Alley.
“This is Diagon Alley,” she said.
“The largest gathering place for wizards in Britain.
Of all the streets in Europe, this one is the liveliest.”
She glanced down, finally noticing the green tint on his face.
“Oh.
First time Apparating, I take it.
How do you feel?”
“Ugh… still alive.” Cedric forced down a dry heave, dragged in two slow breaths, and fixed her with a flat look.
“A warning next time would be nice.”
“My fault.”
An apologetic crease touched her brow.
She smoothed his pale gold hair with one hand, then drew a small bottle from her pocket and held it out.
“Euphoria elixir.
A small sip will settle you.”
Cedric eyed the pale golden liquid, then took the tiniest sip from the rim.
A clean rush of warmth rolled up from his chest.
The spinning nausea vanished as if it had never existed.
“Don’t gulp it,” McGonagall warned, pocketing the bottle once his color returned.
“We have a great deal to do today.
Walk with me.
Your situation is different from most, and there are things you need to understand.”
“Different” meant orphan.
For a young wizard without family, the Ministry of Magic provided a modest relief fund—nowhere near enough to cover tuition.
Students in Cedric’s position still had to visit Gringotts and arrange a loan.
The school acted as guarantor for an interest-free advance from the Ministry.
After graduation he would have seven years to repay it.
McGonagall lowered her voice.
“The sum is generous.
Provided you don’t throw it away, what’s left after tuition will cover living expenses for the full seven years.”
Cedric listened to every word about the money.
Survival was survival.
He could not afford to be careless.
Once the loan details were settled and she began explaining the wider magical world, his attention drifted.
He had already torn the original books apart years ago.
Dry lectures bored him.
He preferred to see for himself.
They walked the slate paving of Diagon Alley side by side, her hand firm around his.
McGonagall patiently named the shops and pointed out the sights that would have stopped any Muggle cold: wizards in robes of every color, house-elves hawking goods from street corners, sweets that hopped and danced in shop windows, leaflets that leapt straight into passing hands.
The street unrolled like a bright, respectable scroll of the magical world.
Cedric barely glanced at any of it.
He called up the system interface instead.
Host: Cedric Grey
Hunting Level: 1
Enhancement Points: 7
General Enhancements:
[Constitution Enhancement E-]
[Neural Reflex Enhancement E-]
Special Enhancements: Locked
Exclusive Skills:
Eye of Insight
Hand of the Artisan
Stomach of Taotie
That was the entire picture.
Hunting Level was simply combat power.
Level 1 sat at the bottom; ordinary people lived there.
Enhancement points came only from food he prepared himself, and the yield scaled with his Hunting Level.
The rabbits and stray dogs he had lived on for a year had never given more than a fraction of a point.
After countless meals in the woods his total still refused to climb past ten.
The two general enhancements had activated the moment the system came online, dragging his thin frame up to adult strength and reaction speed.
Raising either from E- to E would cost ten points.
He knew exactly how hard those ten points were to earn.
He had never tasted an upgrade.
Special enhancements required eating special creatures.
He had never seen one.
The three exclusive skills were the real prizes—all passive.
Eye of Insight let him locate prey in the wild and read any target’s Hunting Level.
The higher the number, the more dangerous the fight.
Hand of the Artisan made his fingers impossibly precise.
Even a rabbit roasted with nothing but salt came out dripping with flavor.
Stomach of Taotie digested anything—poison included—and turned it into clean nutrition.
Of the three, Eye of Insight was the one he valued most.
It worked on living people as easily as animals.
Ordinary humans, wizards—same difference.
He turned it on the woman holding his hand, the one whose face was as stern as iron yet whose voice stayed soft.
Hunting Level: 89.
Eighty-nine.
The number was so large it had no frame of reference.
The first time he had seen it he had frozen solid, convinced every wizard must be a monster of the same rank.
Only after sweeping Eye of Insight across the entire length of Diagon Alley did the truth settle in.
Most of the wizards around him hovered between twenty and thirty.
The terrifying one was not the wizarding world.
It was the professor walking beside him.