The morning sunlight streamed into the room on the second floor of 86 Eastley Road, facing east.
The time was frozen at 6:59 a.m. A boy who looked about twelve or thirteen lay in bed under a cotton blanket, snoring softly.
He was slim, with neat dark brown hair and a pair of gray eyes. His features still carried a hint of childishness.
The southern coast of England is considered the mildest region in the UK, and Southampton Harbor—shielded by the Isle of Wight—is one of its most temperate spots. At least on this mid-July morning, there wasn't the slightest trace of heat.
Eighty-one years ago, the "unsinkable" ship with a displacement of 46,000 tons chose Southampton for its maiden voyage precisely because of this pleasant weather... only to collide with an iceberg four days later and split in two, sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic in just over two hours.
At the corner of the boy's bed lay a newspaper—The Daily Prophet dated July 11—opened to page three.
The headline read: "Ministry of Magic Employee Wins Grand Prize."
Below it were a few lines: Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won The Daily Prophet's Annual Galleon Award. A delighted Mr. Weasley told a reporter, "We're going to spend the money on a summer trip to Egypt. Our eldest son, Bill, is working there for Gringotts as a Curse-Breaker."
The most eye-catching part was a moving photo taking up nearly half the page.
In it, the nine members of the Weasley family stood in front of the pyramids, all smiling and enthusiastically waving at the camera. Mrs. Weasley appeared short and plump, while the balding Mr. Weasley was tall. Their six sons and one daughter all had flaming red hair—though it wasn't visible in the black-and-white photo.
The only girl among the seven children was in the same year as the room's occupant. She stood on the far right, her right hand resting on her youngest brother's shoulder, holding a rat perched there.
Next to it on the floor was a copy of The Quibbler.
The magazine lay open to page 24, showing a tall, thin, and distinctly wizard-like elderly man.
The headline read: "Shocking: The Real Reason a Certain Hogwarts Headmaster Loves the Color Purple!"
The article was written by The Quibbler's editor-in-chief, Xenophilius Lovegood.
Unfortunately, the rest of the magazine was obscured by the bed and couldn't be seen...
Finally, the nameplate on the bedroom door clearly displayed the room's owner:
"Jon Hart."
...
"Ring, ring..." With the sharp ring of the alarm clock, Jon Hart quickly got out of bed.
Throwing on his shirt, he kicked the days-old Daily Prophet off the bed and headed to the bathroom.
After a few minutes of washing up, Jon came downstairs.
The staircase and hallway were decorated with balloons and streamers, and the dining room walls bore a big "Happy Birthday" banner.
"Happy birthday!" Eric Hart emerged from the kitchen, holding a chocolate cake and smiling. "Your mother and I both took the day off especially for today!"
"Ah..." It took Jon a second to react before he accepted the cake. "Oh, thanks, Dad!"
Today was July 15, 1993—his twelfth birthday.
In other words, he had been in this world for exactly twelve years. Sure, there were a few rough patches, overall, these twelve years had been very happy.
"Want to check out your presents? I picked up about a dozen from the mailbox this morning..." Eric asked.
"No need, I'll look later!" Jon had already caught sight of the mountain of gifts stacked in the living room. Carrying them all upstairs would take serious effort, so he quickly shook his head.
The mailbox outside clicked.
"More mail?" Eric chuckled and stepped outside.
He returned shortly with an envelope in hand.
"Just one. It's for you!"
"Another birthday card?" Jon was about to start breakfast. "Just put it with the others. I'll grab it all later."
"No," Eric shook his head. "Look—it's clearly your report card!"
...
Sending a report card on someone's birthday? That's just cruel, Hogwarts!
Grumbling inwardly, Jon dropped the idea of eating and opened the envelope.
The first page listed his grades and rankings.
He got full marks in Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts.
To his surprise, he also received full marks in Potions... He'd expected Professor Snape to deduct at least a few points.
Astronomy and History of Magic weren't perfect, but he still ranked first in class for both.
He also scored high in Charms and Transfiguration.
Only Quidditch bore a glaring red "D" (Dreadful).
"At least it's not a 'T' (Troll)," Jon muttered.
Still, despite Quidditch dragging him down, his overall grade was the highest in his year.
That was something to be proud of.
Grinning, Jon slipped the report card into his pocket, then glanced at the second page.
"Mr. Hart,
We regret to inform you that due to your failing grade in the final exam of Quidditch, you are required to retake the course next semester alongside incoming first-years.
Please submit the retake form to your Head of House by September 15.
Rolanda Hooch"
The smile on his face froze instantly.
"What the hell? No one told me that failing at Hogwarts meant repeating classes!" Jon couldn't help but curse.
In truth, Hogwarts wasn't that strict. Failing most subjects just meant more homework and scolding next term. The problem was, Quidditch was only offered in first year. Fail it, and you had to retake it. No wiggle room. None.
In Hogwarts' thousand-year history, barely anyone had ever failed Quidditch class.
With a bitter expression, Jon turned to the third letter. It was even shorter:
"Dear Jon,
If it's convenient, I will visit your home on Eastley Road at 7 o'clock this evening.
Yours faithfully,
Albus Dumbledore."