Chapter 3: The Tutorial
The glowing interface hung in Adam's vision like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. Three in the morning, and the dormitory was tomb-quiet except for the wheeze of sleeping children and the distant drip of a broken radiator. Adam sat cross-legged on his narrow cot, staring at words that shouldn't exist.
[MISCHIEF SYSTEM ACTIVATED. HOST: ADAM WRIGHT. MISSION: SURVIVE AND GROW STRONGER.]
He waved his hand through the floating text. Nothing. His fingers passed through blue light as if it were smoke. The other boys slept on, undisturbed by the impossible display crackling just inches from their faces.
"Okay," he whispered to the empty air. "Either I'm insane, or this is real. Let's find out which."
"Please be real. Please, please be real."
The interface responded to his thoughts like a living thing. Tabs materialized across his vision: Status, Skills, Shop, Missions. Everything except the Shop appeared locked behind gray barriers, but that single accessible option made his heart stutter with possibility.
Adam focused on his Status tab. The gray barrier flickered, then dissolved.
[HOST STATUS:] [NAME: ADAM WRIGHT] [AGE: 11] [LEVEL: 1] [HP: 100/100] [MP: 200/200] [SP: 500] [ACTIVE EFFECTS: NONE]
Five hundred System Points. A starting gift from whatever cosmic force had decided to interfere with his miserable existence. His hands trembled as he navigated to the Shop tab.
The catalog that opened before him was impossible. Hundreds of entries scrolled past his mental touch: Lumos - 100 SP, Alohomora - 300 SP, Expelliarmus - 800 SP. Spells from the Harry Potter universe, priced like items in some demented video game. But it went deeper than that. Magical items: Training Wand - 500 SP, Invisibility Cloak - 15,000 SP, Felix Felicis - 50,000 SP. Knowledge packets: Potions Theory - 2,000 SP, Ancient Runes - 5,000 SP, Dark Arts Recognition - 10,000 SP.
Everything. Every scrap of magical knowledge, every spell, every item he'd ever read about in those stolen moments with contraband books. All of it was here, waiting to be purchased.
His breathing quickened. This was it. This was his way into the magical world—not through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, not through Dumbledore's nonexistent mercy, but through his own power. His own choices.
But as his excitement peaked, a warning message flashed across his vision:
[CRITICAL PROTOCOL: SYSTEM EXISTENCE MUST REMAIN SECRET. SKILLS AND KNOWLEDGE CAN BE OBSERVED BY OTHERS. SYSTEM INTERFACE CANNOT. VIOLATION OF SECRECY RESULTS IN IMMEDIATE TERMINATION.]
Adam's blood chilled. The message pulsed red for emphasis, then faded. The System would give him magic, but only if he could hide its existence. One slip—one moment of carelessness—and it would all disappear.
"Like everything else in my life."
His finger hovered over the first entry: Lumos - 100 SP. The simplest spell. The first one Harry had learned properly. The one that had made magic real for a generation of readers.
One hundred points. He could afford it five times over.
Heart hammering against his ribs, Adam selected the purchase.
Knowledge exploded behind his eyes like a dam bursting. Not memories—something deeper than that. Muscle memory, magical theory, the precise sensation of channeling energy through flesh and will. He felt the wand movement as if he'd performed it a thousand times: a simple flick of the wrist, clockwise, with the incantation spoken soft but firm.
But more than technique—he felt the essence of the spell. Light called forth from darkness. Hope made manifest. The fundamental human need to push back the shadows that pressed in from every side.
Adam raised his trembling hand, palm facing upward. The dormitory was black as pitch around him, the other children lost in shadow.
"Lumos."
Soft white light bloomed from his palm like a flower opening to the sun. It painted the walls in silver, cast dancing shadows across the ceiling, turned his small corner of hell into something touched by wonder.
Adam stared at the light, and his vision blurred with tears.
Two weeks. Two weeks he'd spent believing he was losing his mind, that the memories in his head were delusions brought on by trauma. Two weeks of gray despair, of Mrs. Brennan's suspicious glances, of knowing that magic existed somewhere beyond his reach.
But this—this was real magic. Not the desperate fantasies of a broken child, but actual power flowing through his veins like liquid starlight.
"I'm not crazy," he whispered to the light in his palm. "I'm not powerless. I'm a wizard."
Even if the world said he wasn't. Even if Dumbledore had tried to erase him. Even if the magical community had rejected him without a second thought.
The light pulsed brighter, responding to his emotions. Adam practiced the spell again, watching his MP drain by five points each time. The System tracked everything: MP: 195/200... 190/200... 185/200. Twenty casts brought him down to 100 MP, and exhaustion crashed over him like a physical weight.
His head throbbed. His hand shook with palsy. Mental fatigue clawed at his consciousness, making it hard to think clearly.
[WARNING: LOW MP. REGENERATION RATE: 1 MP/MINUTE.]
Adam did the math through his exhaustion. Two hundred maximum MP, regenerating at one point per minute. Three hours and twenty minutes to recover fully. Magic had limits—real, measurable limits that couldn't be ignored.
But as he watched his palm glow one final time before the fatigue overwhelmed him, Adam realized he didn't care about the cost. He'd drain himself to zero every day for this feeling. This proof that he wasn't as powerless as everyone believed.
The System chimed softly in his mind:
[DAILY MISSION AVAILABLE] [OBJECTIVE: CAUSE A MUGGLE TO QUESTION REALITY] [REWARD: 10 SP] [ACCEPT? Y/N]
Adam's lips curved into his first genuine smile in two weeks. The expression felt strange on his face, like a muscle he'd forgotten how to use.
He accepted the mission.
Over the next three days, Adam discovered that small-scale mischief was remarkably easy. A whispered Lumos during breakfast made the overhead lights flicker, sending Mrs. Brennan into a fury about "bloody wiring." A careful gesture when her back was turned levitated a book from her desk—she stared at the floating object for a full five seconds before convincing herself she'd imagined it.
Ten SP here, ten SP there. The points accumulated slowly but steadily, each mission success building his confidence. The other children noticed nothing. The staff noticed nothing. His magic was subtle enough to escape detection while still earning him precious System Points.
By the end of the third day, Adam's SP total stood at 530. Enough for his next purchase, the one he'd been dreaming about since that first night.
Alohomora - 300 SP. The spell that opened locks.
The spell that would open his cage.
September twentieth arrived with autumn rain drumming against the dormitory windows. Adam lay in his cot, listening to the steady rhythm of water on glass and the soft breathing of sleeping children. His escape bag sat hidden under his bed: stolen food wrapped in newspaper, a change of clothes, every pound coin he'd managed to pilfer over the years. Seventeen pounds and thirty-six pence. His entire fortune.
Tonight, he stopped being a victim.
Adam opened the System interface and navigated to the Shop. His finger—metaphysical though it might be—hovered over the Alohomora entry. Three hundred SP. It would leave him with 230 points and no safety net.
But safety was an illusion anyway. Mrs. Brennan's suspicious glances were growing more frequent. The other staff whispered when they thought he couldn't hear. Even if Dumbledore believed his memory modification had worked, the orphanage itself was becoming a trap.
Better to be free and poor than wealthy and caged.
Adam confirmed the purchase.
New knowledge flooded his mind—the precise wand movement (counter-clockwise spiral), the incantation (spoken with authority, not pleading), the sensation of magical tumblers yielding to his will. He felt the lock mechanism as if he could see through solid metal, understanding exactly which pins to touch, which springs to release.
He tested it immediately on his footlocker. "Alohomora," he whispered, focusing on the cheap padlock.
Click.
The lock fell open in his palm. Adam stared at it, momentarily overwhelmed by the simplicity of it all. A word and a gesture, and barriers that had confined him for years simply... ceased to matter.
His euphoria lasted exactly thirty seconds. Then reality reasserted itself with mathematical precision.
The System Shop offered a Basic Training Wand - 500 SP. Five hundred points—far beyond his current means. Without a focus, his spells would cost double the MP. Alohomora normally required 20 MP; wandless casting would demand 40. With his maximum pool of 200 MP, he could manage five casts before exhaustion.
Five locks. That's all he had.
Adam sat up in his cot and began planning his route with the cold calculation of a general preparing for war. The dormitory door—that was one. The stairwell access—two. The office hallway—three. The back entrance—four. The gate to the street—five.
No room for error. No margin for mistakes. Either his plan worked perfectly, or he collapsed from magical exhaustion in the middle of his escape attempt.
"Better than staying here until I rot."
At two in the morning, when even the night staff had settled into their routines, Adam slipped from his cot. He'd practiced this movement for three days—how to shift his weight without making the springs creak, how to place his feet to avoid the squeaky floorboards, how to breathe so quietly that even the boy in the next bed wouldn't stir.
His escape bag went over his shoulder. The stolen money went in his pocket. Everything he owned in the world, ready to be carried into the unknown.
Adam crept to the dormitory door and placed his palm against the lock. The metal felt cold beneath his skin, but underneath that surface chill, he sensed the mechanism waiting to yield.
"Alohomora," he breathed.
MP drained like water through a broken dam—40 points gone in an instant. The lock clicked with mechanical obedience. The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing the shadowy corridor beyond.
Three more doors fell before him in quick succession. The stairwell access (40 MP). The office hallway (40 MP). The back entrance (40 MP). Each spell left him weaker, more drained, but every lock that yielded brought him closer to freedom.
By the time he reached the back gate, Adam's MP had dropped to 80 points—enough for two more casts. Fatigue clouded his thoughts like fog, making it hard to focus on the task ahead.
Twenty feet from the gate, Mr. Davies sat in his usual chair beneath the security light. The night guard had his back to Adam, but any sound would make him turn. The Alohomora incantation wasn't loud, but in the pre-dawn quiet, even a whisper might carry.
Adam found a loose stone near the fence and threw it as hard as he could toward the opposite end of the courtyard. It clattered against the brick wall with satisfying volume.
Davies turned toward the sound, muttering curses about "bloody cats."
"Alohomora," Adam whispered, focusing every scrap of remaining concentration on the gate lock.
The final barrier fell open with a soft click. Adam slipped through the gap and ran.
Freedom tasted like exhaust fumes and garbage. Like rain on concrete and the ozone charge of city air. Like everything terrible and wonderful about the world beyond institutional walls.
Adam ran until his lungs burned and his legs trembled with exhaustion. Three miles from St. Catherine's, he finally collapsed in an alley behind a shuttered bakery. His magical reserves sat at 40 MP—enough for one more spell if absolute desperation required it.
But he was out. He was free. He was—
[MISSION COMPLETE: LEAVE ORPHANAGE PERMANENTLY] [REWARD: 1,000 SP]
Adam started laughing. Hysterical, desperate laughter that echoed off the alley walls and probably woke half the neighborhood. One thousand System Points! He was rich! He was—
Eleven years old. Homeless. Alone in London with two spells and the clothes on his back.
The laughter died in his throat.
"What the hell have I done?"
But as dawn broke over the city, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Adam Wright smiled. He'd chosen this. For the first time in his short, miserable life, he'd made a choice that mattered. Whatever came next—starvation, freezing, getting caught by police—it would be on his terms.
The System chimed softly:
[NEW DAILY MISSION AVAILABLE] [OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE 24 HOURS ON THE STREETS] [REWARD: 50 SP]
Adam accepted without hesitation. He found an abandoned building with broken windows and the lingering smell of squatters, claimed a corner room on the second floor, and began planning his next move.
Because he hadn't escaped just to survive on the streets. He'd escaped to reach the wizarding world.
And nothing—not Dumbledore, not the Ministry, not the entire magical establishment—was going to stop him.
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