Night deepened, and outside, trucks rumbled along the wet road.
London was in the midst of financialization, Canary Wharf was rising, yet the street where the orphanage stood still had rubbish bags piled up, uncollected.
Inside, the air always smelled faintly of disinfectant, but it never quite covered the staleness. The caregivers were exhausted, and the children moved about like wary, wounded creatures.
Sean was curled beneath a worn, cheap synthetic quilt, sleeping soundly.
Just earlier, he had tested his newly awakened green talent.
About that, he could only say one thing:
What kind of miserable life did I live before?
It turned out that three attempts could yield one correct practice.
It turned out that a wizard could perceive the precise pronunciation of Charms.
For instance, Scourgify he had always thought the syllables went Scour-g-ify, but a sudden thought struck him: why couldn't it be S-cour-g-ify?
And in that mysterious moment of clarity, he gained his first Proficient.
A full ten points of proficiency!
It was progress that would have taken him five days to achieve done in five seconds!
No wonder people called this a world of talent. For the first time, he truly understood.
Tomorrow Professor McGonagall would return to collect him, and he hoped he could perform well enough, at least to meet the minimum standard for the scholarship.
Speaking of Hogwarts, what was the actual standard for first-year scholarships?
Sean didn't know. But he was certain he would achieve it.
Why? Because of persistence.
As long as he persisted in learning magic, one day he would stand at the pinnacle of the wizarding world.
With bright dreams of the future, Sean drifted into deep sleep.
September 1st, 1991.
A special day. Sean was leaving the orphanage.
He folded his clothes neatly: only two undershirts and two pairs of trousers were still wearable. The rest were either too large or too small.
Dragging a cheap suitcase to the doorway, he was struck by how few belongings he truly had from the orphanage.
"Sean, you'd better not come crawling back when you can't pay your tuition! You'll regret it then!"
Caregiver Anna twisted her plump body, her tone sharp and cutting.
"Don't trouble yourself, Square Auntie! I hope you don't get tossed out after the recent layoffs! With your performance, you'll definitely be unemployed!"
Sean dashed away even as her shrill curses echoed behind him.
He didn't really understand the slang, but he took it as swearing.
Still, phew he had finally managed to give that cylindrical woman a proper retort. She had been one of the culprits behind the boy's original death, ignoring his grave illness.
In this world, no one knew of that death only Sean, who had transmigrated here.
So this little burst of insolence felt like interest collected on behalf of the one who came before.
Normally, he would never have dared. But today, he had done it.
Oh, Sean Green, what's come over you? You're truly incredible, you are!
Smiling, Sean jogged to the weathered front gate. The paint was peeling, and the faded plaque reading Oak Children's Home hung crookedly, shedding dust when the wind blew.
Beneath the plaque stood Professor McGonagall. She wore her square spectacles, her dark hair pulled into a high bun. A dark green robe over a Scottish plaid shirt gave her the familiar, serious air.
But when her eyes fell upon the thin boy running toward her, the corners of her mouth softened into the faintest smile.
"Professor McGonagall, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
Sean ran all the way to her. His body was weak, and even a few steps left him out of breath, but he always ran when it was to meet her.
He had done the same on their last trip to Diagon Alley. When she asked him why, the little wizard had replied in an almost inaudible voice:
"Important people should be met by running."
Though she hadn't said a word in response, the older witch's heart had melted.
"You may take your time, Mr. Green. We have plenty of it," Professor McGonagall said gently, her voice softer than her stern expression. She reached out and lightly took Sean's hand.
Then she noticed the boy gazing up at her intently, as if savoring the incantation in his mind.
"S-cour-g-ify."
Sean raised his wand, and the dust clinging to Professor McGonagall's hair vanished.
"Dirty things shouldn't be… on your head."
He was still panting; the spell had left his breathing uneven. His voice was soft but stubborn.
Professor McGonagall gazed at him, surprise and relief flickering in her eyes.
"A qualified Scouring Charm. How long did it take you to master it, Mr. Green?" she asked, gently holding his hand as they walked forward.
"I only learned it yesterday, Professor."
Sean's breath steadied, but his head stayed bowed. His tone was cautious, unsure.
"You did very well, Mr. Green. It seems you truly can earn that scholarship."
Noticing his hesitancy, Professor McGonagall allowed herself a rare smile.
Sean said nothing, only lifted his eyes briefly to her bright, sparkling before glancing quickly away.
Inside, however, he was already celebrating.
With Professor McGonagall's character, words like that meant half the scholarship was already his. Playing the part of the pitiful orphan might not be the noblest tactic, but to secure the scholarship, to escape the deadly orphanage, to survive… he had no choice.
His body still needed time to recover, and this scholarship was his one real chance.
Sure enough, her next words carried the news he longed for.
"Headmaster Dumbledore has approved it. If all seven of your subjects achieve excellent marks within the first month, you will be awarded a scholarship of six hundred Galleons."
She said it calmly, but the words made Sean's heart surge. She watched the thin boy beside her, waiting for his smile.
Instead, he lowered his head further.
After a long silence, his voice came out faintly:
"…Thank you, Professor. Actually, I know from books that Hogwarts doesn't usually offer scholarships for first-years. Thank you for your efforts… for giving me the chance to learn magic."
He said no more.
They were his true feelings.
Professor McGonagall blinked in surprise, then her heart softened along with her smile.
"This is what you deserve, Mr. Green. You needn't thank me for it."
She stole a glance at him and caught his cautious eyes on her for the third time. This time, she met them squarely.
"How long have you been practicing Charms?"
Before they reached the platform, she posed her final question.
"Thirteen hours, Professor."
Sean answered honestly.
"In total?"
Her gaze flickered, suddenly heavier.
"Every day."
…
The train station was bustling with life. Sean dragged his heavy suitcase, struggling to push through the crowded masses.
The Hogwarts Express is behind that platform. Don't be afraid, just walk straight through, Mr. Green.
Professor McGonagall's words echoed in his mind.
He eyed the solid wall. Even knowing it was safe, worry prickled. But the thought that Professor McGonagall might still be watching stiffened his resolve. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and plunged through.
And to the older witch watching from behind, he showed not a flicker of hesitation he simply ran straight at the wall.
"That child trusts you greatly, Minerva."
An aged voice spoke beside her.
"Achieving excellent marks in all seven subjects is no easy feat. Do you truly believe he can?"
There was an amused chuckle in Albus Dumbledore's voice.
"Albus, even if only one person in all of Hogwarts could do it, I would believe it to be Sean."
Professor McGonagall's eyes were firm, her thoughts still lingering on that single phrase: thirteen hours every day.
Even at her most dedicated, she had never managed such discipline for two months straight.
And certainly not the mischievous little wizards filling Hogwarts' halls.
"Sean is a pitiful child," she said at last, her voice soft, "but also a… well-behaved and sensible one. He deserves that scholarship."