The moon hung low over the quiet suburban street, casting long, skeletal shadows across the pavement. Outside the humble residence where Timothy lay sleeping, six figures draped in dark robes moved with practiced, lethal silence. Their hands gleamed with the cold steel of daggers and wands as they converged on the front door, their intent unmistakable.
Suddenly, the air grew unnaturally cold. The very shadows at their feet seemed to detach from the ground, rising like ink in water to engulf them. The group's leader halted, his breath hitching as he looked around at the pitch-black prison that had materialized out of thin air.
"A trap?" he hissed, his voice trembling.
Before his companions could respond, the shadows struck. One by one, the robed individuals were jerked backward into the gloom, their muffled cries cut short as they were dragged into the abyss. Within seconds, the leader stood alone, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
A feminine whisper, cold as a winter gale, drifted into his ear. "Now... who is the mouse?"
A dagger pierced him from behind, the blade sliding through his heart with surgical precision. Before his nerves could even register the pain, a second blade swept through the air, and his world tilted into darkness as he was beheaded.
Silence reigned within the shadowy dome for a heartbeat before it vanished. On the pristine road lay six beheaded bodies, a gruesome scene of spilled viscera and carnage. Standing amidst the remains was a woman whose presence commanded the very night: Ms. Rose.
The teacher who had visited Timothy just that afternoon looked down at the bodies with an expression of pure disdain. However, when she turned her gaze toward Timothy's bedroom window, her features softened instantly into a look of protective warmth. With a flick of her wrist and a low, melodic chant, she cast a powerful cleansing spell. The bodies, the blood, and the stench of death evaporated into nothingness. The street returned to its peaceful, undisturbed state.
Ms. Rose tucked her daggers away, smoothed her robes, and vanished into the night as if she had never been there at all.
—----------
The next morning, Timothy woke to the chirping of birds, completely unaware of the shadow war fought on his doorstep. He went through his routine with a sense of disciplined calm—freshening up, enjoying a hearty breakfast with his family, and then diving straight back into his studies.
As the weeks passed, Timothy found a rhythm that balanced his thirst for knowledge with his love for his family. He spent hours in the garden with Molly, teaching her how to identify different birds or simply playing tag until they were both breathless and laughing. These were the moments he cherished most; he knew that once he left for school, life would never be quite this simple again.
When it came to his magical education, Timothy was nothing short of a prodigy. "I have to admit," he muttered to himself one afternoon, flipping through a dusty tome, "the wizarding world is a bit... backwards in its logic, but the mechanics are fascinating."
By mid-August, he hadn't just learned the Grade 1 curriculum—he had mastered it. He could perform every charm and spell in the book without a second thought. His curiosity led him further, and he began memorizing advanced topics from his other textbooks, cross-referencing theory with the practical applications of his unique abilities.
His wandless magic grew more precise, and his telepathic reach expanded, allowing him to sense the emotions of those around him with startling clarity. But it was his beast-related magic that provided the biggest surprise of the summer.
He was in his room, training his owl, Yo-Yo, by having the bird fly through a series of complex hoops he had suspended in the air.
"Come on, Yo-Yo, focus on the flight path," Timothy encouraged, reaching out with his mind to guide the bird.
Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him—a pulling at his very essence. It felt as though his bones were softening and his perspective was shifting. In a blur of motion, the room grew massive. He let out a startled cry, but it came out as a sharp hoot.
Timothy flapped his arms—now wings—wildly, nearly crashing into a bookshelf before he managed to stabilize himself. He was an owl. He looked at Yo-Yo, who blinked back at him with what could only be described as bird-like amusement.
After several minutes of frantic flapping and mental exertion, Timothy managed to trigger the transformation back. He collapsed onto his bed, gasping for air but grinning ear to ear. "Are you kidding me? I can transform into animals?" he whispered, his eyes bright with excitement. "That is so fucking cool!"
However, his excitement was later tempered by a very practical realization: he needed money. While his family was comfortable, he wanted his own capital to fund his research and future endeavors.
After finding out about the magical world, Timothy wanted to explore it, along with several possible researches and ingredients. So yes, money will become a problem in the future.
That's why he decided to turn to the one resource he had in abundance—knowledge from his previous life in the 21st century.
He spent the next 10 days hunched over a desk, writing feverishly. He chose to adapt a story that had been a sensation in his past life: a sweeping, intricate web novel titled 'Lord of the Myths'. It was a tale of gods, cosmic horror, and mystery that he felt would captivate the wizarding public.
Once the manuscript was complete, he approached his father during dinner. "Dad, I've finished a project. It's a book—a novel. Do you think you could help me find a publisher?"
His father looked surprised but took the stack of parchment with a proud smile. "A writer at eleven? Well, I do have an old friend in the publishing business. I'll send it over and see what he thinks."
The process was steady, though Timothy knew it would take time for the book to hit the shelves. He wasn't in a hurry... or at least, that's what he told himself as he checked the mail every morning with an eagerness he couldn't quite hide.
Finally, the calendar turned to the date he had both anticipated and prepared for with every fiber of his being.