The three weeks following the owl's visit were the quietest Billy had ever seen Arthur . Usually, Arthur was a whirlwind of focused energy—scrubbing floors, helping the younger kids with their sums, or tucked away in a corner with a book on engineering. But now, Arthur seemed to be looking through the world rather than at it.
Every morning, after their shared chores were finished, Arthur would head to the public library. He didn't just go to read; he went with a hunger that seemed almost desperate. He sat in the back of the reference section, surrounded by heavy, musty volumes on old English folklore, medieval legends, and dusty accounts of strange happenings in the countryside.
He was looking for something. He didn't know what the "rules" were yet, but he knew that if a school like Hogwarts existed, there had to be a logic to it. He spent hours reading about Merlin, about the druids, and about the "witches" of the villages.
In his mind, the interface sat like a silent observer.
[{Knowledge: Magical Lore}: Beginner (45%)]
The bar was moving, but it felt hollow. It was all stories, no substance. He needed to see it for himself.
.....
"You're doing it again," Billy said, dropping onto his bed. The iron springs groaned under his weight. "Staring at nothing. You look like you're trying to see through the wall."
Arthur blinked, pulling his gaze away from the empty space where his status bar floated. He looked at Billy. His friend was the only one in the orphanage who didn't think he was a freak—or if he did, he didn't care. Billy was the one who shared his bread when the kitchen ran low and the one who stood by him when the older boys got too rowdy.
"I'm just thinking, Billy," Arthur said softly.
"About that letter?" Billy whispered, his eyes darting to the door. "The one from the owl?"
Arthur nodded. He had shown Billy the letter the very night it arrived. He couldn't help it. Billy had been awake when the owl tapped on the glass, and there was no hiding a giant white bird in a room the size of a closet. Besides, Billy was the only person Arthur trusted.
"D'you really think it's real?" Billy asked for the hundredth time. "A school for... well, for people like in the stories?"
"The owl was real, Billy. The parchment was real," Arthur said. He reached under his pillow and pulled out the yellowed envelope. "And the way it's written... it doesn't feel like a joke. It feels like an invitation."
Billy leaned in, looking at the emerald-green ink. "Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sounds like something out of a comic book. But if anyone's a wizard, it's you, Artie. You always know things before they happen. You catch balls without looking. You're... different."
"I just pay attention," Arthur countered, though he knew it was more than that. He could feel a strange tension in the air lately, a kind of static that prickled his skin whenever he got frustrated or focused too hard.
"Well, if you go off to this posh school and become a famous wizard, you can't forget us," Billy said, trying to sound brave, though his voice wavered. "You've got to send an owl back. Tell me if they really have dragons."
Arthur looked at his friend. The orphanage was a lonely place, and the thought of leaving Billy behind felt like a cold stone in his stomach. "I'll write every week, Billy. I promise."
.....
The following Tuesday, the "specialist" arrived.
Mrs. Cole, the matron of the orphanage, was in a state of high anxiety. She had spent the morning straightening her hair and shouting at the boys to stay in the courtyard. A woman was coming to discuss a "scholarship" for Arthur, and Mrs. Cole was desperate for the orphanage to look respectable.
Arthur waited in the small, cramped office that smelled of stale tea and old dust. He sat perfectly still, his hands folded in his lap.
When the door opened, a woman stepped inside who looked like she had walked straight out of a different century. She was tall and wore a long, emerald-green cloak that swept across the floor. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun so tight it looked painful, and she wore square spectacles that caught the light.
"Arthur Pendergast?" she asked, her voice crisp and carrying a slight Scottish burr.
"Yes, ma'am," Arthur said, standing up.
"I am Professor McGonagall," she said. She turned to Mrs. Cole, who was hovering in the doorway. "If you would be so kind as to give us a moment, Mrs. Cole? I have much to discuss with the boy regarding his placement."
Mrs. Cole nodded quickly and backed out, closing the door behind her.
The Professor sat across from Arthur. She didn't waste time. "I suspect you have found yourself capable of doing things that other children cannot. Things that happen when you are angry, or perhaps when you are very focused?"
Arthur didn't lie. "Yes. I've noticed a... change. Things don't always follow the rules when I'm around."
"That is because you are a wizard, Arthur," she said, as plainly as if she were telling him it was raining outside. "Hogwarts is a school where you will learn to control that power. To use it properly."
Arthur looked at her. He wanted to believe it, but his mind demanded proof. "Can you show me? I've read the stories, but I've never seen anything I couldn't explain."
McGonagall's lips twitched into something that might have been a small smile. She reached into a pocket of her cloak and pulled out a thin, tapered piece of wood. She pointed it at the half-empty teacup on Mrs. Cole's desk.
With a tiny flick of her wrist, the teacup didn't just change—it transformed. In the blink of an eye, the porcelain turned into soft, ginger fur. The handle became a tail, and the rim became a pair of twitching ears. A small, confused-looking kitten sat where the cup had been, letting out a tiny mew.
Arthur felt his breath hitch. In his vision, the interface flared.
[Skill Detected: Transfiguration]
[Status: Beginner (0.00%)]
It wasn't a trick. He could see the kitten's whiskers. He could hear its breathing. The world hadn't just changed; it had been rewritten.
"I believe that is explanation enough?" McGonagall asked, tapping the kitten with her wand to turn it back into a teacup.
"Yes," Arthur whispered. "When do we start?"
The trip to Diagon Alley was a blur of wonder. They arrived to a small, grimy-looking pub called the Leaky Cauldron. Arthur noticed that none of the people on the street even looked at it. It was as if their eyes simply slipped past the building.
"Muggles—non-magical people—cannot see our world unless they are looking for it," McGonagall explained as they walked through the dark, narrow pub and into a small courtyard at the back.
She tapped a specific brick in the wall with her wand. For a second, nothing happened. Then, the brick quivered. It shivered and began to move, folding away to reveal a wide archway.
Arthur stepped through and stopped.
The street was filled with people in robes, shops selling bubbling cauldrons, and windows packed with jars of strange glowing ingredients. There were owls hooting from a shop called Eeylops, and the air smelled of woodsmoke, parchment, and something metallic.
"First, we must visit Gringotts," McGonagall said. "The school has a fund for those who require assistance with their supplies."
They walked toward a towering, snowy-white building. At the doors stood a creature that made Arthur's eyes go wide. It was shorter than him, with a clever, swarthy face and a pointed beard.
"A goblin," McGonagall said quietly. "Highly intelligent, and not to be trifled with."
Inside, the bank was made of polished marble. Arthur watched the goblins weighing gold coins on scales and scribbling in ledgers. He felt a familiar itch in his mind—the desire to understand how their economy worked, how the gold was moved, and how the magic protected the vaults.
Once they had a small bag of coins, they moved to the shops.
At Flourish and Blotts, Arthur felt like he had found his home. The shelves were packed to the ceiling with books. He touched the spines of The Standard Book of Spells and A History of Magic, feeling a strange hum in the paper.
[Skill: Magical Theory]
[Rank: Beginner (0.10%)]
"Don't get lost in there, Arthur," McGonagall warned. "We still have your robes and, most importantly, your wand."
Ollivanders was a tiny, dusty shop that felt older than the rest of the street. It was quiet inside, and the walls were lined with thousands of narrow boxes.
An old man with pale, silvery eyes drifted out from the shadows. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice like a rustle of leaves. "I've been expecting you, Mr. Pendergast."
"How do you know my name?" Arthur asked.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold," Ollivander said, his eyes scanning Arthur's face. "And I remember the families. But you... you are a first. Let's see."
He began pulling boxes down. "Try this. Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy."
Arthur took the wand and gave it a wave. A drawer on the far wall flew open, spilling papers everywhere.
"No, no! Not that one."
They tried another, then another. Arthur felt a strange sense of frustration. Each wand felt like a dead stick in his hand, or worse, like something that wanted to jump out and bite him. He watched the interface, waiting for something to change.
"You are a difficult one," Ollivander whispered, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "A very specific mind. Very... structured. Ah! Let's try this."
He pulled a box from the very back of a shelf. "Vine wood. Phoenix feather core. Eleven inches. Rather unusual."
The moment Arthur's fingers touched the vine wood, the air in the shop seemed to go still. A warmth, as sharp as a bolt of lightning but as gentle as a summer breeze, surged up his arm. It felt like a circuit had been completed—like he had been walking through the world with one eye closed and had suddenly opened both.
A shower of gold and blue sparks erupted from the tip of the wand.
[Wand Synchronization: 98%]
[Skill: Spellcasting]
[Rank: Beginner (0.00%)]
"Perfect," Ollivander breathed. "Vine wands are often attracted to those with great hidden depths, those who seek more than what is on the surface. I suspect you will do very well, Mr. Pendergast."
The return to the orphanage was bittersweet. Arthur carried his heavy trunk up the stairs, his mind racing with everything he had seen.
Billy was waiting on his bed, his eyes nearly popping out of his head when he saw the trunk. "You got it! You actually got the stuff!"
Arthur opened the trunk, showing Billy the heavy robes, the brass scales, and the stack of books. But the most important thing stayed in his hand.
"This is it," Arthur said, holding up the vine wood wand. "This is how they do it."
"Can you do it now?" Billy asked, his voice full of awe. "Can you make light? Or turn the bed into a pig?"
"I don't know," Arthur said. "The Professor said I shouldn't practice until I get to school, but..."
He looked at the interface.
[Current Goal: Reach Intermediate stage in one spell before September 1st]
Arthur didn't like being behind. He didn't like not knowing how things worked. He sat on his bed and opened The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. He read the first chapter three times, memorizing the wrist movements and the Latin pronunciation for the Wand-Lighting Charm.
"I'm going to try," Arthur said.
He stood in the center of the room. The sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows across the floor. He gripped the wand the way the book described—firm but not tight.
"Lumos," he said.
Nothing happened.
Billy leaned forward. "Maybe you said it wrong? Try it again."
Arthur frowned. He thought about the feeling he'd had in the wand shop—that spark of warmth. He tried to find that feeling again, deep in his chest. He visualized a tiny point of light, like a star, at the very tip of his wand.
"Lumos," he said again.
A tiny, microscopic flicker of white light appeared, then vanished.
[Lumos]: Beginner (0.01%)
"Did you see that?" Billy shouted, jumping up. "It worked! It actually worked!"
"It wasn't enough," Arthur said, though his heart was pounding. "It was too weak. I need to practice the movement. The book says the flick has to be exactly right."
For the next four hours, Arthur didn't stop. He stood in the dark room, his arm aching, repeating the same word and the same movement over and over again.
Lumos. Lumos. Lumos.
Billy watched him for a while, eventually curling up in his bed and falling asleep. But Arthur stayed awake. He watched the bar move.
[0.05%... 0.12%... 0.40%...]
Every time the light flickered, he felt a little more of the static in the air answer his call. He learned that if he breathed out as he said the word, the light stayed for a second longer. He learned that if he held the wand a certain way, the sparks were brighter.
By the time the moon was high in the sky, Arthur was exhausted. His head throbbed, and his wrist felt like it was on fire. He slumped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He pointed his wand upward one last time. He didn't think about the rules or the interface. He just thought about the light.
"Lumos," he whispered.
A soft, steady glow erupted from the tip of his wand. It wasn't a flicker this time; it was a clear, white light that illuminated the entire room, turning the gray walls into something beautiful. It stayed there, shining brightly, as Arthur watched it with a tired, triumphant smile.
[Lumos: Beginner (5.2%)]
Arthur closed his eyes, the light still shining. He had a long way to go to reach the Intermediate stage, and even further to reach the Mastery he craved. But as he drifted off to sleep, the wand still clutched in his hand, he knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't just a boy in an orphanage anymore. He was a wizard. And he was going to be the best one they had ever seen.