The night air was thick with tension as shadows danced against the alley walls. Suddenly, a small voice trembled through the darkness.
"Please don't!" a girl with bright red hair begged, curling up in the narrow alleyway. "My father will be here soon!"
"Well daddy's not here kid, you're coming with me!" an older man said menacingly, "Oh you'll fetch a good price!"
Before he could say anything, an iron bar smashed into the man's head before falling to the floor and rolling back. The man staggered back as he looked at his attacker, a hooded young boy, seemingly no older than the girl he was confronting.
"Leave the girl alone," the boy said as he picked up his iron bar, "or give me a reason to beat the crap out of you, either way."
"You little runt, come here!" the man snarled, lunging to tackle the boy to the ground, hoping to use his weight to overpower him.
But the boy sprang forward, charging straight at the man. Just before impact, he flipped effortlessly over him and swung the iron bar down onto the back of the man's head. The man stumbled forward, clutching his head in pain. As he spun around to face the boy, the attacker was suddenly right in front of him, striking the man's exposed chin with the rod. The man crumpled unconscious, leaving the girl frozen in stunned silence. That move was far beyond what any ordinary child could pull off, and the fluidity of it made clear the boy had done it more times than he cared to admit.
"Hey, kid, you alright?" she asked, looking up to see the boy standing over her. She crawled back slightly, a flicker of fear crossing her face as her eyes caught the bright blue beneath his hood.
The boy sighed, pulling back his hood and removing his contacts. He met her gaze and asked, "Better?"
She looked up fully, realizing he was barely older than herself. What struck her most were his golden eyes, glowing softly in the dim light.
"Are my eyes that scary?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. "No, they're not... just interesting."
The boy gave her a small smile as he held out his hand, "Come on, I'll take you home."
She hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, cheeks flushing bright red. Despite the darkness, the boy noticed and smiled to himself—she was probably just beginning to notice boys.
"So, where to?" he asked as they walked down the street.
She kept her head down, brows furrowed briefly before she shook her head. "I... snuck out on my own, but I know someone at the Leaky Cauldron who can help me get back."
Then, almost under her breath, "Not even sure why I wanted to sneak out in the first place..."
He glanced over, catching the words. There was a silence before he spoke, voice light but not unkind.
"I could list a dozen reasons why that was a dumb idea," he said.
She winced, her shoulders tensing.
"...But then again," he added with a small shrug, "I'd be a hypocrite if I did."
She looked at the boy with interest as they kept walking, "What about your parents?"
"Don't have any."
"I'm sorry." she mentally kicked herself for even asking
"Don't be."
They walked in silence for a while, every now and then a car would drop by making them hide.
"Well we're here." she said as the Leaky Cauldron appeared before them, "thank you."
"No problem, stay safe," the boy was about to walk off before feeling a tug on his hoodie.
"Umm, I'm Ginny, Ginny Weasley, what's your name?
"Vincent Wong. Nice to meet you, Ginny. See you around." Vincent waved before disappearing into the night, leaving Ginny staring after him with a curious expression.
If Vincent had waited a moment longer, he might have seen a green flash of light burst from the chimney, followed by a swirl of smoke.
...
"Hey, Sister An!"
"Morning, Vince. Busy night?"
A woman in a nun's habit was watering flowers outside the entrance to a modest orphanage.
"Not too bad," Vincent replied with a shrug, stepping in to help her with the watering. "Just some thugs. Saw a girl getting attacked, stepped in, made sure she got home safe."
Sister An ran the orphanage—a place filled with children who, like Vincent, had nowhere else to go. To him, she was more than just a caretaker—she was family. A mother figure. She always made sure he had a warm meal or two each day, and over the years, Vincent had learned to cook by helping her in the kitchen. In return, whenever he came across lost or abandoned kids, he brought them to her doorstep without hesitation.
It might've seemed like he was giving her more work, but Sister An never minded. She had a quiet strength and a heart that genuinely loved caring for children as if they were her own. Vincent had no idea how she managed to keep things afloat financially—and though the question lingered in the back of his mind, he never asked. It wasn't his place.
"Vincent Wong, the Trespasser saving damsels in distress," she teased with a gentle laugh.
The Trespasser.
It was the name whispered by those who'd caught glimpses of him during his nightly patrols—a moniker born from his habit of slipping through the city's cracks, meddling in things no ordinary boy should. Though Sister An had covered for him more times than he'd like to admit, remaining completely unseen was nearly impossible. There was always someone watching.
The most she could do was help obscure his identity—an enchanted hood and a pair of colored contacts to hide his face and those unmistakable golden eyes.
"I really do owe a lot to her though," Vincent thought as he stared at the woman. "Who else would put up with what I do..."
A quiet guilt tugged at him whenever he thought about how much she'd done for him. They'd argued countless times over his late-night escapades. But when it became clear he wouldn't back down—even if it meant leaving her care—she chose a different path. If she couldn't stop him, then she'd do everything in her power to keep him safe.
"Brother Wong!"
Vincent turned as the familiar voice rang out—high, light, and full of mischief.
He turned to find Nim running toward him, her arms spread wide, eyes bright with that same joy she always carried.
"Are you here to play with us?!" she grinned.
Vincent knelt down, his expression softening. "Hey, you lot," he said, as a small crowd of children gathered around—each face one he knew too well. He reached out and pulled Nim into a hug.
"I'd love to," he said, holding her a little longer than needed, "but I've got things to prepare for tomorrow."
"You got a girlfriend or something?" she asked with mock suspicion.
Vincent smirked, ruffling her hair. "Nah. Just some people who need a good punch in the face."
Smack!
Sister An appeared with her ever-precise aim, tapping the back of his head with a light swat of her watering can.
"Don't go filling their heads with that kind of talk, Vince," she said, shaking her head. "I still don't approve of your late-night hobbies."
Vincent winced playfully and rubbed the spot she'd hit, while the children giggled and darted behind him, shielding themselves from her scolding.
She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, kids—inside. I need a word with our wandering stray here."
"Okay!" they cheered, running toward the orphanage steps.
Nim lingered at the doorway, her eyes catching his one last time. She ran back, wrapped her arms around him tightly, and whispered, "Come visit us again soon, Brother Wong."
"I will," he murmured.
She beamed—and was gone.
Sister An watched the empty yard for a moment longer before speaking. "They're quite fond of you, you know."
Vincent smiled faintly, his eyes still on the place where Nim had been.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
He took a moment to collect his thoughts before turning to Sister An.
"So... Sister An, do you think Dumbledore will let me attend Hogwarts?" Vincent asked suddenly.
She sighed, raising a hand to her forehead. "Vincent, in the entire history of wizardkind, there has never been a Muggle admitted to a wizarding school. Just because you want to go, doesn't mean that you can."
Vincent's gaze remained fixed on the ground as he listened—words he'd heard before, a conversation they'd revisited more times than he could count. Still, it never lost its weight. That moment of magic hadn't just saved his life—it had opened his eyes. Even in a world as broken as theirs, there was still beauty to be found.
After a quick glance to ensure they were alone, Sister An pulled out her wand and gave a gentle wave over a patch of wilted plants.
Before Vincent's eyes, the brittle leaves shimmered, turning green again—vibrant and alive.
"No matter how many times I see it... magic really is something else," he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Sister An returned the smile, but only for a heartbeat. Her expression shifted, becoming firm again.
"That may be true," she said, "but on that note—there's never been anyone immune to memory-erasure spells."
Vincent gave a quiet, dry laugh, his thoughts drifting back to a night long past—a memory that, by all rights, shouldn't still be his.
...A flash of white light briefly illuminated the dark alley before fading just as quickly. Dumbledore watched closely as Vincent's eyes glazed over—a sign his memories were being erased and rewritten.
At least, that was supposed to happen.
"Albus Dumbledore."
Dumbledore's eyes widened as Vincent's golden eyes suddenly sharpened again. The boy blinked, confused, trying to collect himself.
"Um, Mister Dumbledore, my memories... they're still intact," Vincent said, shaking his head slowly as a faint headache passed.
Did I make a mistake? Dumbledore wondered, raising his wand again. "Obliviate!"
Another flash of white light flickered. Dumbledore watched carefully as Vincent's eyes glazed over once more.
"Albus Dumbledore."
Shock flickered across Dumbledore's face as the golden glow returned to Vincent's eyes. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he mused, Interesting. It seems he subconsciously used my name as a trigger to recover his memories. How best to handle this...?
"Vincent," Dumbledore said firmly, "you must promise not to tell a single soul about magic. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Vincent nodded, then looked sheepish. "But... is there a chance I could be a wizard?"
Dumbledore's expression softened with regret. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you show no sign of magical talent."
Vincent looked down, disappointed but not surprised. Then he met Dumbledore's gaze again. "If I can't learn magic, can I at least learn about wizards?"
Dumbledore sighed, scratching his beard. "The person I'm going to introduce you to is a witch—a rather gifted one at that. She'll welcome your questions, if you're willing."
"Sure!" Vincent nodded eagerly. Dumbledore sighed quietly, pondering what he had just set in motion.
"Though to think a mind as clear as his remains so strong after what's been done... it's a terrifying thing," Dumbledore muttered under his breath as they walked into the night, Vincent clutching the two metal rods tightly at his side. "Perhaps it's precisely because of that strength that it endures."
...
"Well, it's not like I could help it," Vincent gave small chuckle while Sister An just held her forehead and sighed, "I wish I could see Hogwarts someday."
"As a muggle, you have qualities and skills that wizards don't possess," Sister An said while still tending to her plants, "if it's you, then maybe you'll see it one day. That reminds me, Hogwarts students start school tomorrow."
"Well I'm heading back, I'll see you later Sister!" Vincent gave a wave as he ran before leaping up onto a wall. He then walked across it before jumping on a nearby roof and running off, leaving Sister An to sigh.
"There is a front gate," she muttered before levitating a broom towards her to which she caught. She then started sweeping up the pathway.
...
"Well, home sweet home."
Vincent gave a wry smile as he stepped inside the ruined house. It had been abandoned ever since he was a child, and once he discovered it, he quietly made it his refuge. Remarkably, no renovations or developers had disturbed the place yet—something he suspected owed to Dumbledore or Sister An quietly keeping an eye on it.
The house was simple: a single room with a clean bed that Sister An had insisted on providing. A small dresser sat in one corner for his clothes, and a doorway at the far end led to a surprisingly functional bathroom. The plumbing still worked, though Vincent had to refill the water tank himself.
He pulled out a worn map from beneath the bed and settled on the floor, tracing the city of London spread before him. Red crosses marked several locations across the map.
"Last night was the thirteenth," he muttered, crossing another off. "Just one more to go—an abandoned building next to King's Cross Station, the last known drug den. If I can gather enough evidence there and get the cops involved, it'll be over."
Though a vigilante, Vincent stayed mostly within the law—except for occasional minor arson attacks on warehouses holding illegal drugs and some trespassing. His usual routine involved running rooftops and dark alleys at night, intervening when he came across muggings or kidnappings. When he discovered drug operations, he'd call the police first. If law enforcement didn't act fast enough, he took matters into his own hands.
In such cases, he would sneak in and gather as much of the drugs into an open space so the cops would have clear evidence when they arrived. In the worst-case scenario, he'd incapacitate the perpetrators one by one while waiting for backup.
Though he planned carefully, he'd had more than a few close calls. More than once, he'd been shot or stabbed but managed to escape and patch himself up with Sister An's help—something he owed her deeply.
The gang he'd been hunting recently was notorious: the kingpin of London's drug trade. Most of the city's drugs funneled through them. After uncovering that they targeted children, they became Vincent's primary focus. Over the past few months, he'd helped shut down nearly all their operations.
"Well, I'd better get some rest," he said, glancing at the bright sunlight streaming through the window. "Big night ahead."
He carefully folded his hoodie and placed it on the dresser beside his two metal rods, smiling softly at them. Then he climbed into bed, determined to sleep through the day.
...
He tossed a coin into the slot of a nearby payphone and dialed. "Hello, police? Yeah, it's the vigilante—the Trespasser. I found a spot with a lot of drugs and idiots for you to round up. Think you can help? Isn't it every citizen's right to call the cops in situations like this? It's the abandoned building next to King's Cross."
Without waiting for any questions, Vincent hung up. After all, he was just doing his part as a good citizen.
He glanced up at the building before slipping inside. The floors were riddled with holes, and the stairs, though cracked and worn at the edges, still held firm. By the fifth floor, he spotted a group laughing and drinking around a fire burning in a metal bin. Nearby, stacks of drugs were piled in a corner, guarded by a watchful lookout.
Vincent stayed hidden in the shadows, watching quietly as the mood shifted.
"This is the last batch we've got, and you idiots are all wasted! And you—weren't you supposed to be watching the front?"
The men tensed at the sharp voice, and Vincent's eyes settled on a bald, well-built man in a black tee-shirt. Not the tallest, but there was something dangerous in his presence that made Vincent's skin prick.
"So he must be the leader," Vincent thought.
"B-boss, the Trespasser won't dare come here—look at all the men we've got!" one of the men stammered. Before he could finish, a rough hand grabbed him and threw him across the room. Vincent's eyes widened at the brutal show of strength.
"We need to move all this out by tonight," the leader growled. "The fact that he knows all our locations means one of our men talked. If that's true, he'll know about this place too. Understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Crap, the police won't get here in time!" Vincent was hoping that he wouldn't have to deal with all of them, but it looks like he would have no choice, "Well, here goes nothing."
...
"Hurry up you buffoons!" the muscled man was getting impatient seeing his crewmates not taking the job seriously. They were all lugging drugs into the cars outside.
"Hey, what happened to Jerry and Mike?" he asked noticing that one was missing
"Jerry went to take a leak sir,"
"Mike went to check something on the roof,"
"Useless goons," he muttered
As the night grew on, he knew that something was wrong. The moment one of the crewmates went off on his own, he would disappear and not return. Soon it was just him and four others.
"Where the hell is everyone?!" he said frustrated
The rest of the members were all huddled together with the boss as they realized that they were the only ones left. Even though they were slow, they still knew that something was very wrong.
"Everyone, guards up, we're not alone!" the boss readied his pistol and looked around with his flashlight, the other members did the same.
One of the members walked towards the staircase when something dropped from the ceiling hole. He yelled and took a step back before shining his flashlight on the object. It turned out to be the unconscious form of a fellow goon.
"Guys over he-?!" an iron bar smashed into the side of his head knocking him unconscious.
"Mathew, what happened?!" the boss came to the unconscious form of the goon.
He frowned before hearing the rest of his men shout in pain before a few gunshots resounded and then silence. He kept his awareness up and walked very slowly around each corner.
All of a sudden he felt a chill on his neck and managed to duck out of instinct. He felt the wind pass over his head before replying with a roundhouse which would have worked if the target was bigger. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the hooded figure.
"A kid?!" he thought incredulously before the figure dashed straight at him, an iron bar in each hand.
...
"He's strong," Vincent thought as the man dodged another strike, "he's stronger than me, but I'm faster!"
Vincent struck at the man's legs with his rods. The man managed to block one but not the other. When it connected with his knee cap, he cried out in pain before falling to the ground.
Vincent was about to knock him unconscious before having his eyes widen at the gun barrel at his face. He barely managed to block with his rods before being kicked in the stomach. With the man's strength, Vincent flew back across the ground before sliding to a kneeling position.
Vincent felt an intense pain in his stomach and knew that it would leave a nasty bruise. He forced himself to dodge behind a wall for cover as sparks went off right from where he just was.
"I never would have guessed that the Trespasser was just a kid!" the man called out, "what, playing hero wasn't enough for you?!"
Vincent sat there recovering whatever stamina he had. He grimaced slightly as he looked at his whereabouts. There was a window in front of him which he considered using as an escape route. He had a wall to his back and a doorway to his right which led to the man.
"It's nearly morning now," the man muttered as he tried to get up only to fall back on his bad leg, "you sure gave us a lot of trouble kid—"
He fell short as soon as he heard sirens go off in the distance. At that moment of distraction, Vincent threw a rod at the man's face. It connected with his jawbone with enough force to send his head back with a jerk. His eyes turned white as he fell down knocked out.
Vincent gasped for air hard. He exhausted himself completely taking out all of those gang members. The kick probably broke a couple of ribs, but apart from that, he was ok.
He made his way over to his rod which he picked up and placed in his homemade sheaths on the side of his pants.
"Well," Vincent coughed as he leaned against the door, "that could definitely have gone better."
He groaned as he heard footsteps behind him.
"Freeze, this is the police!"
Vincent didn't even spare them a glance as he ignored the pain and jumped through the window.
...
"He got away again!"
"Send some men to catch him."
"Roger that, sir. Let's move!"
Half the police squad took off after Vincent, while the rest stayed behind to secure the gang members.
"Hey, boss, isn't this guy Frank Merlin? Military-trained and known for taking fights head-on."
The lead officer knelt beside the unconscious bald man, scanning the scene.
"He was ambushed. The Trespasser must have used the dim lighting to his advantage. Early on, he took out Frank's leg, which slowed him down," the officer said, tapping the indent on the man's chin. "And the accuracy—throwing whatever it was—probably an iron bar or one of those rods he carries around—was insane."
The younger officer watched, impressed by the deductions made from so little evidence.
"What puzzles me," the lead officer continued, "is that Frank must have made a mistake or misjudged something during the fight." He paused, considering Frank's extensive record—someone like him wouldn't be caught off guard easily. "What exactly did he misjudge?"
...
Vincent lay stretched out on a bench near King's Cross Station, dressed in his white hoodie and having removed his contact lenses. He had been resting for a couple of hours, trying to recover.
"Sister An's going to give it to me now," he muttered with a grimace. "Man, this really sucks."
The clock read nine o'clock. He'd spent the entire night dealing with those dealers—constantly dragging heavy bodies to avoid suspicion, a feat few kids his age could manage.
Suddenly, he spotted police officers walking down the street, searching and questioning anyone and everyone.
"Crap, the police," he whispered, eyes narrowing. "If they come to me, they'll notice my injury."
His gaze landed on a nearby car with its window rolled down. He stared at it for a moment.
"Well, that's convenient," he muttered, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before slipping inside. "Seriously, who just leaves their window open?"
...
"ACHOO!!" Mr. Weasley looked rather confused which was noticed by Mrs. Weasley.
"You getting a cold dear?" she asked worryingly
Mr. Weasley just waved it off, "I'm fine, but that's beside the point. Where's Ron and Harry, they should have crossed here by now?"
"They missed their train, I hope they're alright." Mrs. Weasley said worryingly
"They'll be fine, they wouldn't voluntarily get into trouble will they?"
...
"Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron
The only way to get on the Hogwarts Express was to get through an invisible barrier at platform nine and theatre quarters.
For whatever reason, the barrier wouldn't let them in.
"It's gone," said Ron sounding stunned, "the trains left."
"I think we better wait by the car," Harry said nervously as all the pedestrians were looking at them weirdly, "we're attracting too much aren't—"
"Harry!" said Ron, his eyes gleaming, "The car!"
"What about the car?"
"We could fly it to Hogwarts!"
Twenty-four hours later, people would tell Ron that this was the dumbest and most stupid thing he had ever thought of.
...
"Someone's coming in," thought Vincent as he heard the boot of the car open. He hid in the backseat under a mat hoping that they wouldn't pay enough attention.
He heard the back door open before closing. Whoever opened it must have put something in the back while rushing. He took a peek out and his eyes widened.
"No way," he saw a white owl in a cage just staring at him curiously
He remembered that Sister An has an owl as well. When he asked why it was because wizards use them as their main form of communication.
"Are these guys wizards?" he thought in excitement before looking at the driver's seat.
As soon as he saw two boys the same age he felt like something bad was going to happen, "...they don't look old enough to have a license."
...
"Ok, Harry off we go!"
Ron started up the car in their invisibility mode. They took off in the air a second later although it was a bit rough.
Harry was horrified at Ron's driving skills and he watched as Ron nearly crashed into Big Ben
"RON TURN LEFT, TURN LEFT!!"
"BLOODY HELL HARRY, YOU DRIVE THEN!"
Vincent was watching with a blank expression at what was happening before him. It took a moment before he lost it with the bickering.
"WHY THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS CAR FLYING?!"
Silence came over the car as soon as Harry and Ron realized they weren't alone. They both turned around at the same time to see Vincent looking sheepish.
"Hi." Vincent gave a small wave before Ron had a horrified look on his face
"We're taking a muggle to Hogwarts," he said in disbelief as he turned back around to see where he was going, "we're taking a muggle to Hogwarts, oh man Harry, we are so done."