The morning sun streamed through the tattered curtains, casting light on the floor, and a faint smell of mildew hung in the air.
Moen opened his eyes, staring at the cracked ceiling, his brows slightly furrowed.
"Where am I?"
He instinctively sat up, his gaze quickly sweeping around.
It was a simple room: a low ceiling, a wooden floor covered in scratches, and a windowsill piled with old clothes and toys.
The sunlight made the room seem messy and lonely.
Looking down at his tender hands, his heart skipped a beat.
He quickly got up and walked to the broken mirror in the corner of the room; reflected in the mirror was a completely unfamiliar face.
Soft black hair hung down, and silver-white eyes gleamed with a cold light.
Even with a youthful face, there was a hint of sternness and heroism.
His features were so exquisite they seemed unreal, as if every line was a meticulously carved work of art.
The boy in the mirror, though thin, possessed the aura of a priceless treasure.
"This... is me?" He touched his face, the cold sensation confirming that this was not a dream.
"I'm too handsome, aren't I?" Moen's mouth twitched, and he couldn't help but mutter, "With this face, even Leonardo DiCaprio and Justin Bieber from my previous life would have to step aside."
But his calm nature quickly brought his attention back to the main point: "I transmigrated?"
Pushing open the door, he heard children's laughter from downstairs.
Moen slowly walked down the stairs, the creaking of the steps echoing with his footsteps.
The air was filled with a faint scent of milk, and several children were gathered around a long table in the dining room, eating breakfast.
"Good morning, Moen." A kind old woman poked her head out from the kitchen, greeting him gently.
"Good morning, Matron." Moen responded gracefully and sat down at the long table.
He picked up a piece of bread from his plate and took a bite, then paused—it was as hard as a brick.
"Is this meant to train your teeth?" he silently grumbled, but maintained a polite smile on his face.
While eating the bread, he looked around. Several children were scrambling for a worn-out leather ball, their joyful laughter filling the entire room.
The sunlight fell on their faces, highlighting their innocent smiles.
"This is an orphanage, and I am clearly a member here." Moen analyzed the situation while continuing to gnaw on the "brick bread."
Although he had the body of an eleven-year-old, Moen's mental age was clearly much more mature.
After quickly assessing the situation, he came to a conclusion: "Next, it's time for the golden finger to appear, isn't it?"
Early the next morning, sunlight streamed into the dining room through the window. As Moen sat down, the Matron walked in with a letter.
Moen looked down at the envelope, made of rough parchment, sealed with a wax stamp bearing a large "H."
His gaze slightly narrowed, and a faint anticipation arose in his heart. He quickly tore open the envelope, pulled out the letter inside, and familiar handwriting jumped into view:
Dear Mr. Moen White:
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a first-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please refer to the enclosed list of items, prepare the necessary supplies, and take the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station, London, by September 1st.
Yours sincerely,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
"Hogwarts?" Moen read the name in the letter, his pupils slightly contracting.
He placed the letter on the table, his gaze falling out the window, a huge wave stirring in his heart.
"Hogwarts!"
"So, I transmigrated into the world of 'Harry Potter'…"
As a reader familiar with the "Harry Potter" series, he quickly realized he was in a world full of magic and miracles.
He gripped the letter, a complex emotion welling up in his heart, unsure of where the plot was currently.
As he was processing this information, a cold, mechanical voice suddenly sounded in his mind:
"Key item detected: Hogwarts acceptance letter."
"System activating... Loading complete."
Moen was slightly startled, then quickly calmed down.
He quickly looked around, confirming that the voice was directly in his mind and not coming from outside.
"Welcome to the 'infinite talent system.'"
"System function: By completing tasks, you are rewarded with talent replication attempts, which can be used to extract the target's characteristics for your own use."
A translucent interface appeared before him:
["Host Information
• Name: Moen White
• System Level: 1
• Age: 11 years old
• Character magic: 55
• Character Talent: None
• Talent Replication Attempts: 0
Task List
• Current Task: Go to the Leaky Cauldron and successfully enter Diagon Alley.
Reward: White Replication Talent × 1."]
Moen carefully scanned the panel, his gaze lingering on the words "White Replication Talent," and he silently thought, "Replication Talent... What does that mean?"
Immediately after, the system's mechanical voice sounded, explaining:
"White Replication Talent function description: White Replication Talent allows the host to extract one basic characteristic of a target within a 10-meter radius. The range of characteristics includes attributes of magical items or creatures. After extraction, the host will permanently gain that characteristic."
Moen narrowed his eyes, countless possibilities quickly forming in his mind.
"For example, if it's a broom, can I replicate its flying characteristic?" he asked tentatively.
"Correct answer."
"If it's a cat, can I replicate its night vision ability?"
"Yes."
Moen's lips slowly curved into a smile: "Indeed, it's a very interesting ability."
Following the address indicated in the letter, Moen soon set off for London
He stood at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, watching the Muggles passing by without seeing it, then looked up at the sign that read "The Leaky Cauldron," and softly said, "This is it."
Pushing open the door, a rich scent of butterbeer wafted out.
The pub's lighting was dim, and several Wizards in robes gathered in small groups, conversing in low tones. The walls were adorned with strange magic items.
Moen slowly walked in, his silver-white eyes particularly striking in the dim light, drawing side glances from some Wizards. He paid no attention to these gazes and quietly walked towards the counter.
"You're a new Hogwarts student too, aren't you?" A deep, gruff voice came from behind him.
Moen turned around and saw a giant man squeezing into the pub.
He had a scruffy beard and was accompanied by a thin, black-haired boy wearing round glasses, with a long, thin lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Hagrid... and Harry Potter."
Moen's lips curved slightly, a meaningful smile in his eyes.
"It seems the plot is just beginning."