Regarding his questions about the Daily Prophet, Vincent Wayne carefully flipped through the entire paper, inside and out.
Only after examining every page did he finally discover a tiny vertical line of text near the edge on the back page.
Gringotts suffered an intruder break-in.
Fortunately, the contents of the vault had already been removed by its owner earlier.
Vincent raised a hand and pushed up glasses that didn’t actually exist on his nose.
“Professor…
I think they’re trying to cover something up.”
McGonagall’s expression changed slightly.
“This…”
Pressing her lips together, she immediately took the newspaper from him.
The pages that had originally been filled with praise for the Ministry had now almost entirely become reports about the Wayne family.
And aside from that— the only difference was this tiny line of text that ordinary people would likely never notice.
Gringotts was trusted by wizards everywhere.
So why summarize something this serious with only a few words?
That didn’t fit the Daily Prophet’s style at all.
Instead, it resembled the Ministry’s usual habit of clumsily hiding problems while making them even more obvious.
“Professor?
What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
McGonagall carefully folded the newspaper.
“You really are very intelligent, Vincent.”
The praise sounded slightly unnatural.
After returning the paper to the bookstore employee, she quietly requested a complete set of first-year textbooks.
“Something’s wrong…”
Vincent showed no reaction on the surface.
But when paying, he very deliberately hinted to the young wizards collecting autographs that Eric was his father.
Sadly, they didn’t receive free books.
Only a discount of two Galleons.
As McGonagall became more and more distracted, the Wayne family gradually grew accustomed to attracting attention wherever they went.
By the time they had purchased everything on the list— evening had already arrived.
“Professor, can Hoot really stay at our house?”
“Of course.”
“As long as you bring it back to Hogwarts once school begins.”
Outside the Leaky Cauldron, McGonagall looked worried, yet still carefully reminded them:
“If other wizards come to visit, remember not to interact too much.”
“And if reporters come…”
“You may reject their requests.”
“Especially Rita Skeeter.”
The Wayne family firmly remembered her serious warning.
“Professor, can I write letters to ask questions about schoolwork?”
For some reason, Vincent had an odd feeling this request would be accepted too.
“Only academic questions.”
McGonagall agreed without much thought.
It felt similar to intuition— but also entirely different.
“See you at school, Professor McGonagall.”
“See you then.”
After waving goodbye, the Wayne family climbed into their car and drove away from Charing Cross Road.
Sitting in the back seat, Vincent watched McGonagall’s figure disappear into the Leaky Cauldron.
Yet his thoughts remained on that strange feeling from earlier.
He’d been utterly certain his request would succeed.
Just like confidently writing down the correct answer during an exam.
“This world is real…” You are reading on g.com, the official source.
“There can’t possibly be some ridiculous affection-meter system…”
With his incomplete understanding of the magical world, he began wondering whether this could be some special talent.
The existence of Muggle-born wizards already proved that magical power might once have spread across all humanity.
If hidden magical genes passed down generation after generation— couldn’t mutations or evolution happen too?
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
Seeing his troubled expression through the rear-view mirror, Evelyn asked with concern.
“Don’t tell me that just because Dad became a little famous, you’re planning to apply for leave from Hogwarts too.”
“No.”
Vincent immediately denied it.
“I’m just troubled by fame.”
“Really?”
“I swear on Dad’s allowance this year.”
Evelyn relaxed immediately.
Meanwhile, Eric—still driving—became unhappy.
“Kid, didn’t you say we saved that money?”
“Exactly.”
Vincent nodded seriously.
“Because it doesn’t belong to me, I can use it to swear.”
If not for road safety—
Eric absolutely would’ve beaten him.
Well…
inside his imagination, at least.
…
…
Dinner at the Wayne household remained exactly as usual.
Low oil.
Low salt.
Even though there was a rich variety of dishes, Vincent still found himself thinking about the roast suckling pig from lunch.
A proper British housewife, after all, needed three essential skills.
First— master every technique related to opening cans.
Second— ensure all nutritional requirements for breakfast, lunch, and dinner remained perfectly balanced.
And only third— consider flavor.
Since becoming a full-time housewife after marriage, Evelyn had cultivated these three skills to absolute perfection.
To put it simply— healthy, green, and nutritious food.
The kind you could eat for an entire lifetime…
without ever gaining weight.
“I’m full.”
Having just set a new personal record for the shortest dinner in family history, Vincent Wayne grabbed a pack of biscuits and headed upstairs.
“Whoo—!”
A starving Hoot flapped its little wings and hurried after him.
“Honey, do you think our son has something on his mind?”
Eric, busy stuffing food into his mouth, replied unclearly:
“He’s already eleven.”
“Isn’t it about time for puberty or something?”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes.
“I just have this feeling something’s going to happen.”
“What can a little kid possibly do inside his room?”
“Don’t tell me he’ll chant a couple magic spells and blow up the entire room.”
“…Maybe I’m overthinking.”
…
…
The third floor above the Wayne family department store belonged entirely to Vincent.
His own independent kingdom.
Sitting comfortably on a long black sofa, he slowly opened the snack package in his hands.
“Just endure tonight.”
“Tomorrow I’ll secretly go out and find something better.”
Hoot, carrying a biscuit in its beak, flapped its wings happily.
Smiling, Vincent reached toward the stack of textbooks piled nearby.
As long as they stayed careful around cats on the street— nobody would ever make Hoot “suffer” again.
Field mice?
Dried fish?
Everything had to be arranged.
“Mm.
Professor McGonagall would definitely be happy.”
Opening The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, he tried recalling the proper pronunciation of the Levitation Charm.
“Was it Levi-o-sa…”
“Or Levio-sa…?”
The moment he picked up his wand— understanding suddenly flashed through his mind.
“Wingardium Leviosa—”
The wand pointed directly toward a red-and-white game console nearby.
The machine floated smoothly into the air, rising and rotating according to Vincent’s control.
Following the pronunciation that had suddenly surfaced in his mind— he had actually cast the Levitation Charm correctly.
“Then why don’t other spells give me that same feeling…”
Holding the book in one hand, Vincent slowly stood.
He had begun deeply suspecting his strange magical talent that seemed to work whenever it felt like it.
“Whoo—”
Finished with dinner, Hoot flew over and landed directly atop the game console suspended in midair.
Vincent suddenly lifted his head.
Without blinking, he stared directly at the owl.
“How do you know I won’t cancel the spell?”
Hoot puffed out its tiny chest and widened its eyes.
Its expression clearly said:
Because I trust you.
“You trust me…”
“But why do I believe I’m right?”
Vincent stared blankly at the spellbook in his hands.
If Levitation worked because he’d heard it somewhere before— then what about these spells he had never seen or heard in either life?
The Statute of Secrecy prohibited underage wizards from performing magic outside school.
And there was still an entire month before Hogwarts began.
Strictly speaking— even riding a broomstick right now wouldn’t count as breaking rules.
The Ministry of Magic?
Please learn your place.
He shifted his wand toward the empty snack wrapper and softly recited a spell whose pronunciation he had absolutely no idea about.