The night had grown deep, and outside, a truck rumbled over the wet pavement, its roar echoing through the streets.
London was turning into a financial hub, with Canary Wharf rising in prominence, but the street where the orphanage stood was still littered with uncollected rubbish bags.
The air inside the orphanage always carried the sharp sting of disinfectant, yet it couldn't mask the stale, musty smell. The staff were exhausted, and the children moved with the wary alertness of wounded animals.
Sean was curled up under tattered, cheap synthetic bedding, fast asleep.
Just moments ago, he had tested his knack for unlocking his green gift.
And all he could think to say was:
"What kind of miserable life was I living before?"
It turned out that three practice attempts could yield one perfect spell.
It turned out wizards had an innate sense for pronouncing charms.
Take "Scourgify," for example. He'd always thought it was pronounced "Scour-g-ify," but just now, a wild idea struck him—what if it was "S-cour-g-ify"?
In some mystical moment of clarity, he earned his first [Skilled Hand].
A full 10 points of proficiency!
What had once taken him five days to achieve—
He'd now mastered in five seconds!
No wonder they called it the magical world—he was starting to get it.
Tomorrow, Professor McGonagall would come to collect him. He hoped he could perform well enough to at least meet the minimum requirements for the scholarship.
Speaking of, what was the scholarship standard for first-year witches and wizards at Hogwarts?
Sean didn't know, but he was determined to meet it.
No grand reason—just sheer will.
As long as he kept studying magic relentlessly, he was certain he'd rise to the top of the wizarding world.
With dreams of a brighter future swirling in his mind, Sean drifted into a deep sleep.
---
September 1, 1991.
It was a special day—Sean was finally leaving the orphanage behind.
He quickly packed his belongings: just two usable shirts and two pairs of trousers. The rest were either too big or too small.
As he dragged his cheap suitcase to the door, it hit him how little he actually owned in this place.
"Sean, you'd better not come crawling back here when you can't pay your school fees! You'll regret it if you do!"
Nurse Anna, her bulky frame twisting, spat the words with her usual venom.
"No need to worry about me, Square Aunt! I hope you don't get sacked in the next round of layoffs! But with your track record, you're definitely out of a job!"
With that, Sean darted to the door, leaving behind Anna's shrill curses.
He didn't understand her slang, but he assumed she was insulting him.
Phew—finally, he'd gotten a chance to clap back at that human cylinder. She was the one who'd ignored the original Sean's illness, one of the reasons the boy had died.
In this world, no one knew about the original Sean's death. The Sean who'd crossed over from another world was the only one who did.
Giving Anna a piece of his mind was like collecting interest on behalf of the original Sean.
Normally, he wouldn't have dared, but now? He just went for it.
Merlin's beard, Sean, how did you pull that off? You're incredible, mate!
Grinning, Sean jogged to the peeling, painted door. The faded sign reading "Oak Children's Home" hung crookedly, shedding dust in the breeze.
Below the sign stood Professor McGonagall, her square spectacles perched on her nose, her black hair swept into a tight bun. Her deep green robes paired with a tartan blouse gave off an air of stern authority.
But when she saw the scrawny Sean running toward her, the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
"Professor McGonagall, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."
Sean came panting up to her. His frail body made even a short run exhausting, but he always sprinted to meet Professor McGonagall.
The last time they'd gone shopping, she'd asked him why. In a barely audible voice, the boy had mumbled:
"Important people are worth running to."
The old cat animagus didn't say anything, but her heart melted completely.
"You can take your time, Mr. Green. We have plenty of it," she said.
Her voice wasn't as stern as her expression. She gently took Sean's hand.
Then she noticed the scrawny boy staring at her, cautious but focused.
"S-cour-g-ify."
With a flick of his wand, the dust vanished from Professor McGonagall's hair.
"No dirt… should be on your head," Sean said, still catching his breath. His voice was soft but stubborn.
Professor McGonagall stared at him, momentarily stunned, her eyes flickering with surprise and pride.
"An excellent Cleaning Charm, Mr. Green. How long did it take you to learn it?" she asked as she gently led him forward.
"Only yesterday, Professor," Sean replied, his head lowered, his tone tinged with hesitation and uncertainty.
"You've done well, Mr. Green. It looks like you might just secure that scholarship," Professor McGonagall said, noticing his nervousness and offering a warm smile.
Sean stayed quiet, lifting his bright, shining eyes to meet hers before quickly looking away.
Inside, though, he was popping champagne corks.
Knowing Professor McGonagall's character, that comment meant the scholarship was halfway in his pocket. Sure, playing the pitiful orphan card felt a bit dodgy, but to escape the deadly orphanage and survive, Sean had no other choice.
His health still needed time to recover, and the scholarship was his best shot at earning money.
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall's next words confirmed it.
"Headmaster Dumbledore has approved it. If you can achieve Outstanding marks in all seven subjects within your first month, you'll be awarded a scholarship of six hundred Galleons."
She delivered the news calmly, but it sent Sean's heart soaring. She glanced at the boy beside her, expecting a smile.
Instead, Sean lowered his head even further.
After a long pause, his voice came, faint but sincere:
"Thank you, Professor. I read in a book that Hogwarts doesn't offer scholarships to first-years. Thank you for making this possible so I can study magic."
He fell silent after that.
Those were his true feelings.
Professor McGonagall paused, her heart softening as her smile grew.
"You've earned it, Mr. Green. There's no need to thank me for something like this."
Her eyes flicked toward him, catching his cautious glance for the third time.
"How long have you been practicing that charm?" she asked as they neared the platform.
"Thirteen hours, Professor," Sean answered honestly.
"Total?"
Her gaze wavered, carrying a hint of concern.
"Every day."
---
The train station buzzed with noise as Sean dragged his heavy suitcase through the bustling crowd.
"Behind that platform is the Hogwarts Express. Don't be afraid—just charge right in, Mr. Green," Professor McGonagall's words echoed in his mind.
Staring at the solid wall, Sean felt a twinge of worry, even though he knew it would be fine. But thinking of Professor McGonagall possibly watching, he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and melted into the wall.
To a certain cat animagus, it looked like Sean didn't hesitate for a second before charging at the barrier.
"That boy trusts you, Minerva," an aged voice said beside her.
"Outstanding in all seven subjects is no easy feat. Do you think he can do it?"
For some reason, a certain white-bearded wizard asked with a chuckle.
"Albus, even if only one person in all of Hogwarts could do it, I'd bet it would be Sean," Professor McGonagall said firmly, still struck by his "thirteen hours a day" comment.
Even at her most obsessive, she couldn't have studied with that intensity for two months straight.
Let alone the usual Hogwarts rabble of mischievous young witches and wizards.
"Sean's a poor child, but he's also… a good, thoughtful boy. He deserves that scholarship," Professor McGonagall said after a pause, her voice resolute.