Adrian silently set down Magical Events of the Past Century, unsure whether to lament having arrived in a world on the brink of war—or to rejoice at the chance to study magic in the most famous school in wizarding history.
He was no native of Britain. Adrian Blackwood was a transmigrator who had just arrived in the world of Harry Potter.
Adrian, male, born in 1987 to a wealthy family in a fourth-tier Chinese city, had always been sharp-minded. Yet due to a playful nature, his academic record throughout school was mediocre. In his third year of high school, he buckled down and, through sheer grit, earned a place at the mathematics faculty of a top-tier normal university. After graduating, he became a high school math teacher—a respected "iron rice bowl" profession.
By his seventh year of teaching, Adrian had refined his talent and experience into a set of effective learning strategies. His notorious "pants class"—a euphemism for an underperforming group—ended up outperforming parallel classes in the national college entrance exam, nearly catching up with even the school's top-tier "sharp knife" elite.
That brilliant life came to an abrupt halt on what should have been a joyful day: house hunting.
Driving his first car—a gift from his parents in his first year of work—Adrian hummed a tune, his mood as bright as the fire inside him. Snow blanketed the world outside, but nothing could dim the warmth of his anticipation.
Then, disaster struck. While sitting in the parked car, a massive dump truck swerved out of nowhere from the left. The pain was sudden—and then, nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, Adrian Blackwood was no longer the same man.
He should feel grateful. When applying for a joint credit card between his school and the bank, he had opted in for personal accident insurance with Daliu Insurance. The beneficiary: his parents.
Thankfully, Adrian had a younger half-brother from his mother's second marriage. His parents would not be alone in their grief.
And, perhaps most incredibly, he had a second chance at life.
The past drifted away like wind-blown snow. Now, it was the present that mattered.
The boy Adrian's soul had merged with was also named Adrian—Adrian Harris Blackwood, a pure-blood wizard and the youngest child in a well-established magical family.
Little Adrian had been mischievous. After discarding his toy broomstick, he sneaked onto his older brother's Cleansweep Seven and tried to fly. The result? A tragic fall from the sky that cost him his young life.
The current Adrian awakened in that broken body, inheriting both the child's memories and the sensations of his still-developing magical core. Though he often found his new way of thinking a bit immature—thanks to the body's hormones and mental residue—he was fortunate not to have lost his knowledge of the Harry Potter storyline.
Adrian returned home in a daze, spacing out for hours. His new parents attributed it to a head injury and brushed it off.
After all, with so many children and household concerns, a little oddness was easy to overlook.
"Adrian, come down to eat!" called a gentle female voice from below.
He closed the book and placed it on the desk, inhaling deeply and psyching himself up.
"Come on… most teachers are good at acting. And I used to deal with high school students, didn't I?"
Now equipped with young Adrian's memories, he was confident he could blend in seamlessly.
The stairs creaked as he descended. Before he reached the bottom, the voice called again, "Adrian, wash your hands! Your father will be back any moment."
His father, Irving Blackwood, worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the Ministry of Magic. That department consisted of three subdivisions: the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, the Obliviator Headquarters, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.
Irving often dreamed of transferring to the Obliviator team. He believed he had a natural talent for Memory Charms.
In reality, however, he served in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, crafting absurd yet plausible explanations to cover up magical mishaps—like the time Sirius Black allegedly blew up a street in 1981.
Over the years, Irving had indeed become quite adept at Obliviate spells. But since he wasn't technically authorized to use them regularly, he was required to file a report every time he did.
"I'm home! The weather is dreadful," he declared as he stepped through the door, brushing snow off his Ministry robes. "We had to break up two idiots brawling in the open park during a blizzard. One witch tried to cast an Infatuation Charm on a Muggle girl, but her father thought she was being assaulted. A duel broke out, and the wizard lost his wand. Merlin, that Muggle hit harder than a troll… Oh, thank you, Daisy."
He accepted a large brush from his eldest daughter, Daisy, and dusted snowflakes from his shoulders.
"I swear, I have to talk to Fudge again. I'm tired of not being in the Obliviator team, yet every single time I cast Memory Charms, I end up buried in paperwork."
"Drink your tea before it goes cold," said Morgan Lefey Blackwood, Adrian's mother.
With a graceful flick of her wand, a cup of steaming black tea floated onto the table and landed softly in front of Irving.
Morgan worked in the reception hall of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Though she was stationed far from the surgical wards, she was still a gifted healer by heritage. As a proud descendant of the Rozier family, she grew up surrounded by refined magic and tradition.
She was so skilled in healing charms that she could treat minor injuries without even drawing her wand.
But the Rozier family could no longer support her. After enduring the fallout from both Grindelwald's and Voldemort's reigns, their once-proud lineage had dwindled drastically. Their downfall was sealed when their last British male heir, Evan Rozier, a known Death Eater, was killed in 1980—just a year before Voldemort's first defeat. The Rozier family had been forced to pay substantial public and secret reparations to retain any status at all.
Morgan Le Fay Blackwood had one particularly old cousin, Druella Rosier, with whom relations were far from warm. Druella had married Cygnus Black, uncle to Sirius and Regulus. Word had it that Cygnus's health was failing fast. He was rarely seen in public, and private evaluations by St Mungo's healers suggested he wouldn't live much longer.
"Mom! Tell Adrian to come downstairs already! No need to call him ten times!"
The voice belonged to the second son, Renn Blackwood, who grumbled as he tapped the kitchen table impatiently with a roll of parchment.
Renn had earned twelve Outstanding grades on his N.E.W.T.s the previous year. With his exceptional results, he'd secured a position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Currently still in his post-study probationary period, he had more free time than most Ministry workers.
"Oh, sorry, dear—hospital habit," Morgan replied apologetically. "You know how those poor patients always drift off."
She gave her hair—a shade of glossy golden-blonde—a quick shake and spoke gently to her most accomplished son.
"Adrian, go wash your hands first!" she added, turning toward the boy who was already seated at the dining table.
Adrian jumped to his feet, startled. Without daring to argue, he dashed to the sink and turned on the faucet.
Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out near his ear: "Sloppy! Sloppy! Sloppy and smudged!"
Startled, Adrian looked up and found that the talking mirror above the sink was scolding him.
Flustered, he tried smoothing out the wrinkles on his robes. Maybe this kind of enchanted mirror is standard in magical homes, he reasoned, trying to keep calm.
When he returned to the table, the entire seven-member Blackwood family was seated—an uncommon but welcome sight.
"Thanks to the blessings of Christmas, we're all together today," said Irving Blackwood, lifting his goblet with a warm smile. "That alone is cause for joy."
The eldest son, Albert, raised his own glass and clinked it with his father's. He was the only one allowed to drink wine.
Albert worked in the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic. Calm and dependable, he had always been a pillar of strength for the family.
Renn took a slow sip of his sea buckthorn juice, swirling it like a connoisseur savoring fine wine.
The eldest daughter, Daisy, smiled as she caught the longing gaze of her younger sister, Emily, who was staring hungrily at the fat, roasted chicken in the center of the table.
"A family filled with love," Adrian thought. He genuinely felt lucky to be in this household.
As the fourth child, he was neither the eldest nor the most favored. Albert and Daisy had earned their parents' admiration, while little Emily was the beloved baby of the family. Adrian—or rather, the young Adrian whose memories he had inherited—had always been a bit naughty, a touch average, and not particularly clever. But he was a good listener, and that had earned him quiet affection.
"Tomorrow, we'll visit Diagon Alley for some supplies," Morgan announced.
Renn immediately put down his knife and fork. "Mum, I need a new pair of dragon-hide gloves—and I'm running low on potion ingredients."
"Again? Renn, your gloves are already ruined?" Morgan raised an eyebrow at her normally careful son.
Renn pursed his lips, unwilling to explain.
Daisy seized the chance. "Mum, when Renn's brewing potions for magical creatures, he always gets distracted—and ends up melting his gloves!" She stuck her tongue out at Renn, making him scowl.
"I'm done!" Adrian announced, cutting off what was sure to become a full-blown lecture, and shoveled his last few bites of food into his mouth.
"Don't rush off, Adrian," Irving said quickly. "It's a family gathering—let's enjoy each other's company. Tell us your New Year's wish."
Morgan, ever efficient, had begun portioning roast chicken for Emily while raising an eyebrow at her husband's attempt to keep the peace.
Little Emily, too focused on the food to notice the sibling bickering, stuffed her cheeks gleefully.
"I hope I pass the Auror qualification tests this year," Albert said, answering his father's call first.
"I want a proper set of dress robes before my apprenticeship starts," Daisy added, wasting no time.
"I hope I get a doll that can talk, sing, and host tea parties!" Emily said brightly. "My old doll, Annabelle, ran away!"
"Your wishes will all come true," Irving said, beaming. "What about you, Renn?"
"There's no doubt his wish is for dragon-hide gloves that don't melt!" Daisy teased.
"No," Renn replied with dignity. "I hope to complete my internship and become a full Ministry employee."
Irving turned to Adrian. "And how about you, son?"
Renn grinned. "His wish is probably to fly a broom high enough that his head doesn't drag on the ground this time!"
"No teasing, Renn," Morgan scolded, gently. "Adrian, all I want is for you to be safe."
"I know, Mum," Adrian said. "I just hope everyone stays safe and happy."
After dinner, Adrian lay in bed, thoughts drifting. What will the next Dark Lord care about most? Will the Chosen One truly rise again?
He clenched the blanket and made a silent vow: I need to grow stronger—to protect this family in the chaos that lies ahead.
As thoughts of Diagon Alley danced in his mind, Adrian slowly drifted into sleep.