This was the world of Harry Potter!?
He hadn’t simply been reborn.
He’d been transmigrated and reborn, thrown into the fantasy world of a children’s novel!?
Wait…
was this even real!?
His mind buzzed.
Soren’s feelings were mixed.
On one hand, he’d soon learn magic systematically, standing on the shoulders of giants.
On the other, he’d lost his “sole practitioner” uniqueness and would have to compete fairly with an unknown number of wizards worldwide.
Worse still, every life plan he’d painstakingly crafted was now useless.
In a world where magic actually existed, geopolitical trends from his previous life were meaningless.
Whether Bitcoin would even be invented was anyone’s guess.
And to top it all off…
this was 1991.
The year the famous Harry Potter would start school.
He’d be entering Hogwarts the same year as the Boy Who Lived.
Maybe they’d even become friends, turning the Golden Trio into a Golden Quartet.
…Yeah, right.
Self-preservation rule number one: stay far away from Harry Potter.
Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the wizarding world.
In over a thousand years, barely any students or staff had died there.
During Harry’s seven years?
The body count skyrocketed to around fifty.
Terrifying just thinking about it.
Soren had absolutely no intention of getting anywhere near Harry.
He had too many secrets of his own and zero desire to be scrutinized by both the Dark Lord and the Chief Warlock in turns.
Countless thoughts swirled through his mind.
If there hadn’t been other people present, he would’ve opened the system and interrogated it on the spot, demanding to know why it hadn’t revealed the truth about this world sooner.
But now wasn’t the right time.
He forced the spiraling thoughts to a halt and managed his expression, careful not to let Director Brent, sitting right across from him, notice anything amiss.
Once his emotions settled slightly, he picked up the envelope, feeling the solid weight of parchment between his fingers, and turned it over.
Unsurprisingly, the wax seal had already been broken.
That was normal.
This was an orphanage, after all.
As the “legal guardian” of all the children, Director Brent had the right to inspect their private correspondence, protecting them from harmful outside influences.
The fact that she’d managed to open this “magical letter” meant Hogwarts had tacitly approved of her doing so.
Soren steadied himself, then drew out the letter with a mix of nervousness and anticipation, reading it word by word.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(A long string of titles, which Soren’s brain automatically replaced with “the Chief Warlock” and “the Grand Sorcerer”…)
Dear Mr.
Reed,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1.
We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Deputy Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall
The handwriting was neat, the wording elegant.
No room for misinterpretation.
Soren read it once.
Then he flipped back to the beginning and read it again.
And again.
And again.
A few short lines of text, and he pored over them for a solid five minutes, until the last trace of doubt finally dissolved.
Fine.
Hogwarts wasn’t so bad.
Free magic lessons, free room and board.
That was considerably easier than his original get-rich scheme.
After finishing the letter, he quickly scanned the book and supply list.
All perfectly standard items.
This was, without question, a standard Hogwarts acceptance letter.
He’d read the original books in his past life, watched the movies, played Hogwarts Legacy.
Never imagined he’d one day hold a Hogwarts acceptance letter in his own hands.
While he’d been lost in thought, Director Brent had waited with patient silence.
Only when he folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope did she speak, her tone complicated.
“As you can see, Soren, this is a very…”
She hesitated, searching for the right word.
“…special letter.”
She straightened in her chair, fingertips tapping the desk unconsciously.
“When I first received it, I thought it was some prankster’s idea of a joke.
I almost threw it away.
But for some reason, it gave me the strangest feeling, as if…
my own subconscious was telling me it was real, and stopping me from tossing it or destroying it.”
Soren kept his face neutral, but inwardly he could see right through it.
Of course the Director can’t figure it out.
This is the power of magic!
He was fairly certain his treatment wouldn’t compare to the prophesied Chosen One’s.
Hogwarts wasn’t going to send him a hundred letters and bombard his mailbox.
One enchanted letter was all it took.
From the look on her face, Director Brent was already half-convinced.
One meeting with Hogwarts staff would push her the rest of the way.
Soren was confident he’d kept a low profile over the years, not revealing anything too unusual.
But he was equally sure that the woman who’d raised him for eleven years had noticed something.
Maybe not everything, but something.
After all…
He’d never been a “child” mentally, and he’d refused to put on an act of wide-eyed innocence to please others.
That had to stand out at least a little.
Now, to make sure nothing went wrong with getting to Hogwarts, he didn’t mind a small demonstration.
She’d learn about the magical world soon enough anyway.
“Director Brent, please, have some tea!”
Soren pointed at the teapot on the desk.
His telekinesis flowed smoothly…
No.
Now that he knew the truth, it wasn’t telekinesis at all.
It was the innate magic every wizard was born with.
Invisible magical energy poured forth like water, wrapping around the English teapot with practiced ease.
The teapot lifted as if cradled by an unseen hand, tilting to refill the Director’s cup with warm black tea.
Not stopping there, an empty cup hopped forward of its own accord and poured Soren a cup as well.
He met Director Brent’s wide-eyed stare without flinching, picked up his cup, and took an elegant sip.
“Mmm.
Not bad.
Very pure.”
A bit bitter, though.
Could use a few sugar cubes…
Having witnessed magic with her own eyes, Director Brent’s materialist worldview crumbled, and with it, her skepticism about the letter’s contents.
There was a school called “Hogwarts,” and it was inviting Soren to attend.
And if it was a “school of magic,” naturally it would teach…
magic.
The Brent family had run this orphanage for years.
Who would’ve thought they’d produce a wizard?
She stared into space for a moment, then seemed to remember something.
Her gaze snapped to Soren.
“I didn’t expect you to actually be a ‘wizard.’ You haven’t been using your ‘dark magic’ to bully the other children, have you?”
Facing the combined glare of “parent” and “headmistress,” Soren instinctively pulled his neck back.
Then he straightened up and protested, conviction outrunning innocence.
“I’ve been wronged, Director Brent!
I only stepped in when older kids were picking on younger ones.
Nipping bad behavior in the bud!
They couldn’t beat me, so they ran and tattled.
A bunch of cowardly rats, the lot of them!”
Director Brent sighed.
She didn’t know what to say.
She’d been running this orphanage for nearly thirty years.
She’d raised entire graduating classes of children, and Soren’s cohort was by far the most headache-inducing.
When facing the unknown, people often found themselves at a loss.
Director Brent had absorbed too much in too short a time.
She had no idea what to do next.
Just then, the sound of wings fluttered from the window.
A shadow, august with intelligence, fell across Soren’s upper body.
Both occupants of the Director’s office turned to look.
An enormous, magnificent eagle owl perched on the windowsill, fixing Soren with sharp, piercing eyes.
Soren racked his memory and identified it: an eagle owl, one of the largest owl species in the natural world.
If I could keep one as a pet, perch it on my shoulder when I went out…
I’d be the coolest person on the street.
Hogwarts’s “messenger” tilted its head, studying Soren for a moment, apparently verifying his identity as a new student.
A muffled “Hoo” rumbled from its throat.
Seemingly feeling that wasn’t impressive enough, it arched its neck, opened its beak, and swallowed the small mouse it had been carrying whole, as smoothly as if it were eating a French fry.
Finished with its snack, it opened its beak again and let out an even louder “Hoo,” striking a rather majestic pose.
Soren was genuinely impressed.
The wizards must have given the magical creatures some kind of intelligence-boosting potion to make them this spirited.
Director Brent chimed in, “I tried to feed it some nuts earlier, but it refused and flew off.
Must have been hunting.”
“Most owls are carnivorous birds of prey,” Soren said, who actually knew this particular fact.
“There are plenty of mice around the barn.
Consider it pest control.”
The eagle owl watched them talk in silence.
When they paused, it extended one leg and made a grasping motion with its talons.
No explanation needed.
It was waiting for Soren’s reply.
Soren knew it too.
Fighting down his excitement, he asked Director Brent for paper and pen.
The Director’s office was not short on writing supplies.
Soren quickly had a fountain pen in hand and began composing his reply on standard stationery.
Dear…
no, that doesn’t feel right.
Scratch that.
Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,
I am Soren Reed.
I am honored and eager to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I have indeed experienced certain inexplicable phenomena around me that science cannot account for.
However, as an orphan without parents, I know nothing about Hogwarts.
My guardian, Director Brent, also has many concerns.
If possible, could the school provide further explanation and assistance to address our questions?
I look forward to your next letter.
Prospective Student: Soren Reed
Soren modeled his reply on the official acceptance letter, matching its format, and slipped it into a fresh envelope.
He rolled the letter into a cylinder and tied it to the eagle owl’s extended left leg, taking the opportunity to stroke its fluffy body.
The feathers were soft yet firm beneath his fingers, carrying that pleasant, clean scent of plumage.
Delightful.
The eagle owl seemed to sense his affection.
It dipped its head and rubbed against him in return.
Soren’s mood soared.
He wanted to tip it.
He didn’t have any magical currency on him, but he had other forms of compensation.
“Are you full?
If not, I’ve got a few more mice back at my room.
All yours.”
The eagle owl blinked slowly, shifted its gaze as if embarrassed, let out two soft “Hoo”s, and took wing into the sky.
Soren didn’t speak owl, but judging by its behavior, that last “Hoo” probably meant “no thanks.”
What a good owl.
Delivering his mail for free.