I hope to create an entire Series based on this.
This is Book 1 of hopefully a Four book Series.
This will be possible if you like the book and support it.
If by the time we reach 50 chapters, we reach the top 20 in various rankings, then I will confirm the Second book.
Hope you all like this. Do support.
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Diagon Alley was overwhelming—and jarringly different from the world Edmund had read about.
The cobblestones were the same, the higgledy-piggledy shops, but the details were wrong. There was no Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, only a sign advertising *Fletcher's Frozen Delights* that looked decades out of fashion. The posters for Quidditch teams featured players in heavy leather helmets and goggles, their brooms looking more like tree branches than the sleek Firebolts of the future. A line of horse-drawn carriages—genuine horse-drawn, not the enchanted kind—waited at the end of the lane, their drivers shouting fares.
And the people. They moved with a formality Edmund hadn't expected. Men tipped hats to one another; women in high-collared dresses and small, feathered hats walked with measured steps. Even the children, the few he saw, were dressed in miniature versions of their parents' attire—no casual robes or Muggle clothing here. This was a wizarding world still clinging to Victorian propriety, even as the new century hovered at the doorstep.
He stood at the mouth of the alley, drinking it in. His chest ached with something that was not quite joy and not quite grief. He had dreamed of this place as a child, had spent hours on fan forums discussing the finer points of wizarding culture, had read the books so many times the pages had fallen apart. And now he was here, in the body of a pure-blood heir, with a system in his head telling him to build a school.
*Focus,* he told himself. *One step at a time.*
The system icon pulsed, and he summoned the interface with a thought.
---
**TASK 1: Acquire a wand. (0/1)**
**TASK 2: Achieve a passing knowledge of at least three core subjects before arrival at Hogwarts.**
- Charms: 5%
- Transfiguration: 8%
- Potions: 12%
*Note: Reading alone yields limited progress. Practical application required.*
Practical application. He needed a wand first. He looked down the alley, spotted the familiar sign of Ollivanders—*Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.*—and began to walk.
---
The shop was narrow and dusty, just as described. Thousands of wand boxes rose to the ceiling in precarious stacks. A single candle burned on the counter, casting long shadows. Edmund's footsteps echoed on the worn floorboards.
"I was wondering when you would arrive."
He jumped. An old man emerged from the shadows at the back of the shop—not the Ollivander of Harry's era, but a younger version, perhaps in his fifties, with silver hair and eyes the color of winter mist. He studied Edmund with an intensity that made him want to look away.
"Edmund Prince," the man said. "Last of your line. I made your father's wand, you know. Hawthorn, unicorn hair, eleven inches. Rather unyielding, but he was a stubborn man."
Edmund didn't know what to say. "I need a wand."
"Of course." Ollivander moved closer, circling him like a hawk. "Every wizard needs a wand. But the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Prince. Let's see what chooses you."
---
What followed was an hour of trial and error.
Ollivander pressed wand after wand into his hand—oak with dragon heartstring, cherry with unicorn hair, blackthorn with phoenix feather. Edmund waved them, and each time the result was the same: nothing. Or, not nothing, but a faint resistance, a sense that the wand was tolerating him rather than accepting him.
Ollivander's eyes grew brighter with each failure. "Interesting. Very interesting. You have a singular magical signature, Mr. Prince. Not dark, not light, but... old. As if you carry something ancient beneath the surface."
Edmund's heart skipped. *The system? Or the transmigration?* He said nothing.
Finally, Ollivander climbed a ladder and retrieved a box from the highest shelf, coated in a thin layer of dust. He opened it with reverence.
"Hawthorn. The wood of contradiction—healing and harm, life and death. The core is something I have only used twice before. Thestral tail hair. Powerful, elusive, and attuned to those who have seen beyond the veil."
Edmund took the wand. The moment his fingers closed around it, warmth bloomed up his arm, spreading through his chest like sunlight. The candle on the counter flared, and somewhere in the stacks, a box rattled in sympathy.
Ollivander smiled, a rare, genuine expression. "Yes. That one knows you, Mr. Prince. Hawthorn and thestral hair, twelve and three-quarter inches, surprisingly flexible. It will serve you well."
Edmund held the wand up, watching the light play along its length. It felt like an extension of himself, a missing piece finally clicked into place.
---
**TASK 1: Acquire a wand. (1/1) – Complete!**
**Reward:** Skill Tree Unlocked – **Warding (Basic)**
*New tasks added to queue.*
He paid Ollivander—seven Galleons, a sum that made him wince—and stepped back into the alley with his wand in his pocket. The weight of it was a comfort. He was a real wizard now, not just a boy with borrowed memories.
---
His next stop was Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shop was smaller than he expected, wedged between a bookseller and a shop selling ornamental cauldrons. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of feathers and straw, and the soft rustle of wings filled the space like a whispered conversation.
The shopkeeper, a thin woman with spectacles perched on her nose, appeared from behind a curtain. "First owl, dear?"
"Yes," Edmund said, looking at the rows of cages. Great horned owls glared at him from the top shelves; tiny screech owls blinked from lower perches; in the corner, a magnificent snowy white owl regarded him with disdain.
"We have a fine selection," the woman said. "This one here—a Eurasian eagle owl, very loyal, excellent eyesight—"
Edmund shook his head. He had already decided. He wanted something unassuming, something that wouldn't draw attention. He moved down the rows until he found a cage near the floor. Inside, a barn owl sat on a wooden perch, its heart-shaped face tilted as it studied him with dark, intelligent eyes. Its feathers were a soft gold and white, a little rumpled, as if it had just woken up.
"That one's been here a while," the shopkeeper said, a note of apology in her voice. "Barn owls aren't as fashionable as the larger breeds. But she's clever. Caught more mice than any two of the others."
Edmund reached out and the owl nipped his finger gently, not hard enough to break skin, then leaned into his hand. A low, contented trill escaped her.
"I'll take her," he said.
The shopkeeper's eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. A few minutes later, Edmund walked out with a leather perch strap over his shoulder and a cage in his hand. The barn owl, whom he had already decided to name Perseus—*she* was a *she*, but the name felt right—swiveled her head to take in the alley with calm curiosity.
The system pinged softly.
**New Task Acquired: Companion Bond**
*Successfully bond with your familiar.*
*Reward: Enhanced perception at night; small bonus to observational tasks.*
Edmund smiled. So the system acknowledged pets, too. He scratched Perseus under her chin and continued down the alley.
---
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was busier than he expected. When he pushed open the door, a bell chimed, and a plump witch with kind eyes appeared from behind a rack of dress robes.
"Hogwarts?" she asked, already pulling out a measuring tape.
"Yes," Edmund said.
"Lovely. We have several young ones today. Step up here, dear."
He climbed onto the footstool, and the tape began to measure him—around his neck, down his arm, inside his leg. It was as undignified as he remembered from the books, and he tried to stand still while Madam Malkin worked.
He was not alone. Two other children were already being fitted at the neighboring stools. The first was a boy about his age, with pale hair and a sharp, angular face that would one day be handsome but was currently merely pinched. His robes were already being tailored with a care that suggested money and status. Beside him stood a dark-haired girl, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on the wall ahead.
"Father says the Ministry's gone soft," the boy was saying, his voice carrying. "Allowing half-breeds into the Department of Magical Cooperation. It's a disgrace."
The girl said nothing, but her jaw tightened.
Edmund recognized the type immediately. The casual bigotry, the confidence of inherited wealth—this was a pure-blood family, and the boy was parroting what he heard at dinner. Edmund's stomach turned, but he forced his face neutral. He was Edmund Prince, pure-blood heir. He had to play the part.
"First year as well?" the boy asked, noticing Edmund.
"Yes," Edmund said.
"I'm Sebastian Greengrass," the boy announced, with the air of someone offering a great favor. "You're a Prince, aren't you? I've heard the name. Potions people."
Edmund nodded. "Edmund Prince."
"Prince." Sebastian considered him. "Thought your family was nearly extinct."
The words were blunt, almost careless, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. Edmund understood: the boy was testing him, seeing if he was worth knowing.
"The last," Edmund said calmly. "But not extinct yet."
Sebastian laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Good answer. You're all right, Prince."
Edmund filed the encounter away. This was the world he had to navigate. And he would need allies.
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