The following month was sheer bliss for Avada.
With a wand in hand and guided by the knowledge in his textbooks, his understanding and control of magic skyrocketed. What had once been a chaotic, indistinct mass of magical power in his perception gradually became clear and well-defined as he studied theory and verified it against practice.
The doors to the magical world had well and truly opened to him.
In truth, most of the material taught in first year had already been explored during his past few years of ignorant trial and error; even quite a bit of upper-year knowledge was roughly the same. What he had been lacking was a systematic structure and consolidation—and Hogwarts' textbooks were, without question, the perfect remedy.
As for his current strength…
"Protego."
With a flick of his wand, a translucent barrier glowing faintly blue appeared silently before him. Under normal circumstances, this was a spell mastered only by at least fifth-year students, and many incompetent adult wizards struggled to cast it at all. Yet by relying on memories from his previous life and his Magical Perception, Avada had forcibly pieced the spell together on his own.
Beyond that, every charm and Transfiguration recorded in the first-year curriculum had already reached the level of wandless and nonverbal casting.
Of course, spoken incantations and wand usage were still stronger.
Still, he had weaknesses. Potions and Herbology, for instance—without actual ingredients to experiment with, progress was painfully slow, relying almost entirely on rote memorization. Worse yet, his memory was merely average; he didn't possess the overpowered "photographic memory" privilege so many transmigrators seemed to enjoy…
"Alright. Today's the day I officially head to Hogwarts!"
Suppressing the turbulence in his chest, Avada bid farewell to the friends and teachers at the orphanage, picked up his luggage, and took a taxi to King's Cross Station.
It was September 1st, 1990. In other words, he was one year older than the so-called Chosen One, Harry Potter. That meant his first year should pass quietly—no unexpected chaos.
More importantly, it meant more time and better preparation.
Voldemort's resurrection was still five full years away. As someone who knew every plot development and hidden detail—and who possessed his own advantages—how much could he accomplish in five years?
The diadem and the Vanishing Cabinet hidden in the Room of Requirement.The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in the abandoned bathroom.The Gaunt House.Peter, still masquerading as a rat.The ring hidden beneath the floorboards…
If nothing went wrong, and everything was handled properly, he was confident he could drown Voldemort in his own springwater before he ever resurfaced.
And all those who had died—those regrets left behind.
Lupin. Tonks. Snape. Dumbledore. Fred…
The ravaged magical world ruined by Voldemort's tyranny. The innumerable fallen warriors and innocent victims.
He could save them all.
Lost in thought, Avada realized he had already reached the space between Platform Nine and Platform Ten.
"It should be there… the pillar closest to Platform Ten." He took out his Hogwarts Express ticket and held it tightly. According to Dumbledore, the ticket functioned as a temporary authentication key, ensuring that no Muggle would stumble into the platform by accident.
Just as he approached and prepared to enter, he noticed a family of redheads standing ahead. Several of them carried trunks, and one was holding an owl.
He could've guessed who they were with his knees.
"Watch closely, Ron. I'm only showing this once."
"That's fine, George. If you don't teach him properly, I can demonstrate again."
"After all, you'll be using this knowledge yourself next year, so watch carefully, learn carefully."
"Take out your ticket, hold your luggage tight, and then stride forward with elegance…"
The one who was probably George exaggerated his steps like a flamenco dancer and boldly walked straight into the pillar, vanishing from sight.
"Did you see that?" The remaining twin—Fred—patted the shoulder of the red-haired boy who was half a head shorter than him. "If you're nervous on your first try, you can also do a light jog like this…"
With deliberately loud, quick footsteps, Fred and his luggage merged into the pillar as well.
"…?"
Avada stood there utterly baffled. Ever since reading the books, he hadn't understood this part.
If you're afraid of hitting a wall, why would you run?
Wasn't that just making the collision hurt more?
So only after the entire Weasley family had gone through did Avada cautiously approach the pillar and poke it with a finger.
No resistance. Passable.
Only then did he step forward with confidence. In an instant, the scenery around him changed.
A black-and-red vintage steam train lay stretched across the tracks, exhaling white steam. Beside it stood countless witches and wizards in black robes—or first-years who hadn't had time to change—along with cats and owls weaving through the crowd.
The front carriages were already packed. Some students leaned out the windows chatting with their families; others roughhoused inside the compartments. Upper-year students, freed from a summer of restraint, waved their wands and let magic fly, while unlucky souls buried themselves over parchment, writing furiously at the tables.
Avada squeezed through the crowd with some difficulty, found an empty compartment near the rear of the train, stowed his luggage, and sat down. Enjoying the rare calm, he pulled out his Potions textbook and continued grinding through it.
His peace didn't last long.
"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"
As the compartment door slid open, a handsome face with light brown hair peeked in. His voice was gentle and reserved.
"No. If you want the seat, come in."
Avada shook his head and gestured for him to enter.
Just as the boy stepped inside, his gaze fell on the book in Avada's hands. "Ah—am I interrupting your studying? I'm terribly sorry."
"It's fine. There'll be plenty of time to study later," Avada replied with a smile, feeling a bit of goodwill toward him.
"Thank you for your courtesy." The handsome boy sat down and extended his hand. "Baron Shafiq. It's a pleasure to travel with you."
"Likewise, Mr. Shafiq." Avada shook his hand. "You can call me K for now."
"Hm?"
Baron frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"
"Unfortunately…" Avada sighed, suddenly feeling that the Department of Mysteries' compensation had been a bit stingy. "Professor Dumbledore advised me not to share my true name easily. As for what I'll be called at school—I don't know yet."
What exactly had Dumbledore put his name down as on the student list?Surely it wasn't really 'Mr. K', right?
"Professor Dumbledore personally came to see you?!"
Baron stared at Avada with an odd expression, hesitated, then asked cautiously, "Forgive me for being blunt, but… your real name wouldn't happen to be 'Voldemort', would it?"
"Not quite…"
Avada's face twitched as he was about to deny it, then he froze. "—What did you just call him?"
"Oh, perhaps I should say 'the Dark Lord' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'?"
Baron snorted coldly. "Slytherin's disgrace. A coward without a shred of honor. What right does he have to make people fear his name? Not just now—even back when he was alive and that Taboo was active, the Shafiq family never bothered avoiding it!"
"The Shafiq family?" Avada raised a brow. "One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"
"Correct."
Baron puffed out his chest, then explained, "But don't misunderstand. Though the Shafiq family is pure-blooded, we are true Slytherins—completely different from an unhinged madman like Voldemort!"
"Well…" Avada chose his words carefully. "If I recall correctly, Vold—right, Voldemort—was also a Slytherin, wasn't he?"
"That's exactly why I say he's Slytherin's shame!"
Baron was clearly angered. "Salazar Slytherin founded the school to protect witches and wizards from persecution—to give them a place to live and learn safely and happily! And what did Voldemort do? He plunged the entire magical world into fear and chaos!"
"And that damned—cough—despicable 'pure-blood supremacy' doctrine. The honor of pure-bloods comes from standing up to protect wizards and defend the magical world—not from riding on their heads and ruling over them!"
"What kind of Slytherin is he?"
Avada couldn't help but look at him anew. By that standard, about ninety percent of Slytherin House could probably be expelled.
"…Alright."
Unable to withstand Avada's questioning gaze any longer, Baron turned his head away awkwardly, his face flushing slightly. "My father did say that today's Slytherin House has… strayed somewhat. But that's only because its former glory was so great that those who forgot their mission grew lazy under its protection and became arrogant."
"If any of them do something excessive to you in the future, please allow me to apologize on their behalf in advance."
As he spoke, Baron suddenly lowered his head and bowed lightly toward Avada.
Avada was stunned. He hadn't expected Baron to go this far to defend Slytherin's honor—especially before sorting had even happened.
"There's no need—" He reached out to help Baron straighten up, but his motion was interrupted by a crisp voice.
"Excuse me, is there still room in here—eh? What's going on?"
Avada and Baron turned toward the door together, where a beautiful Asian girl stood, looking at them curiously.
(End of Chapter)