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HP: Infinite Talent, Ch 1-2
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 19:12:22 +0000 UTCChapter 1: The Owl We Waited For
July 1991, Britain.
In this oceanic, temperate broad-leaf climate, England was already past the worst of the heat as August drew near. The air had begun to grow moist; even when it was dry, it was no longer unbearable.
Sunlight poured down across the open land, reaching even the most remote corners and driving back the shadows.
A broad lake lay under that light, its surface rippling and throwing back blinding flecks of glare.
An owl cut abruptly through the scene. The glitter stabbed at its eyes; it paused, gave its head a discontented shake, and only after a moment resumed its flight toward the lakeshore.
Its destination was a timber house—or rather, the plank pier beside it.
The pier jutted out into the lake as if waiting for a boat to draw alongside, standing like a spine over the water.
A boy in a straw hat sat there with fishing tackle in hand, so perfectly at ease with the landscape around him that the whole scene turned quietly beautiful.
He was handsome and fair-skinned. Though young-faced, he didn't look childish; his eyes were gentle, almost speaking on their own, as if smiling. Paired with his fine features, that gentleness lent him a calm, trustworthy air that made people feel safe without knowing why.
"Hm?"
Sensing something, the boy lifted his head toward the horizon—and saw the owl winging straight for him.
"Hoo—hoo."
Fearless of strangers, the owl dropped beside him once it reached its goal and let go of what it had been clutching in its talons.
"A letter?"
He caught it easily. It was made of heavy parchment.
There was no stamp—only an address written in emerald-green ink, and sealing wax impressed with a shield crest.
Around a large capital "H" were a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent.
"…"
He stared at the envelope. He wasn't surprised that "an owl had come to deliver a letter," nor puzzled by how unusual the letter seemed. Instead, he fell quiet for a long time.
At last he broke the seal and drew out the parchment inside.
The words met his eyes.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus (Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)
Dear Mr. Ark Byrne,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely, Minerva, Deputy Headmistress
[Uniform]
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all student's clothes should carry name tags.
[Course Books]
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
[Other Equipment] 1 wand; 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2); 1 set of glass or crystal phials; 1 telescope; 1 set of brass scales.
Students may bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
First-years are not allowed their own broomsticks.
As his brain processed the letter's contents, the boy… Ark's expression became distant.
In that daze, he seemed to see another world—one that had long since faded away, a world he had said goodbye to.
In that world, countless children who had just turned eleven had once harbored hopes, both in reality and in their dreams, yearning to see an owl descend from the sky with just such a letter, arriving at their windowsill to open the door to another world.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Founded around 990 A.D., renowned as one of the three great magical schools of Europe, and widely acknowledged as the premier institution of magical education among the eleven known magical schools worldwide.
Only when the acceptance letter from this school, which had captivated the dreams and fantasies of countless young boys and girls, was delivered right into his hands, did Ark finally confirm it.
"I really have entered the Harry Potter world."
He had been here a year, and until this letter arrived, he had never fully believed it. He didn't dare be certain this was truly that world.
After all, until now he had never encountered anything actually tied to "magic."
No—that wasn't quite right.
There had been one time.
It was the day he first arrived.
Without warning he had simply appeared in this world—as if drifting from one dream into the next. One blink, and he was a ten-year-old again, standing in a lonely stretch of wilderness he didn't recognize.
Then, a voice sounded directly in the depths of his mind.
[World transfer complete. Beginning collection of local data… collection successful!]
[To prevent disorder in the fabric of rules, initiating localization.]
[Detected a local power system. Commencing physique adjustment and identity implantation for the host.]
[Adjustment complete. Implantation complete. Welcome to the world of magic—Harry Potter.]
When the voice fell silent, he realized he had not only gotten younger—back to ten—but his looks and bearing had shifted as well. A new name surfaced in his heart, unforced and natural, as if he truly belonged here.
And then the impossible happened around him: stones, grit, grasses, trees—everything nearby rose into the air.
Looking back, that must have been the awakening every magic-born child goes through—the so-called outburst of magic.
Nothing like it had happened again. He didn't awaken any strange powers afterward. Even the little wooden house he lived in, he had built himself, no better off than a castaway on a deserted island. If not for the fish in the lake, he might have starved.
Thinking of the hardships of the past year, Ark felt no triumphant "at last." What came was release.
"Enough. Living alone out here can't go on."
He had come to a world with magic and been given the chance to wield it—he couldn't let it pass.
He packed up his bucket and tackle, returned to the cabin, and wrote back to Hogwarts.
After he fed the patiently waiting owl and tied on the reply, he let it spread its wings and go the way it had come.
Ark stood at the window and watched until the owl vanished from sight. Only then did he hear that voice again.
[Event triggered: First Contact with the Wizarding World.]
[Event details: Upon receiving the Hogwarts acceptance letter, you agreed to enroll.]
[Event reward: Special Talent — Mind Guidance. (Completed)]
Chapter 2: Diagon Alley Through the Pub
The next morning, the air was still crisp and cool when a visitor arrived at the lakeside cabin.
She was an older woman with square glasses perched on her nose, black hair pulled back into a severe bun, and a plaid blouse beneath a deep green robe. A tall pointed hat crowned her head, and a slender wand rested in her hand. Her sharp, hawk-like gaze radiated authority, carrying with it an almost tangible sense of discipline.
“So this is the place?”
Her brows knit slightly as she studied the modest wooden house. It wasn’t shabby, but it wasn’t elegant either. She stepped forward and knocked firmly on the door.
“Coming.”
A boy’s gentle, youthful voice answered from within.
The door swung open moments later.
“And you are…?”
The same warm tone, now tinged with curiosity.
Minerva McGonagall found herself staring at the boy before her, and despite her usual severity, a flicker of admiration crossed her eyes.
What a remarkable presence for someone so young...
“Good morning, Mr. Byrne. I’m Minerva McGonagall. I believe you already know that name.”
She looked down at Ark, her voice clipped and stern even though her expression betrayed a spark of approval.
“Yes, Ms. McGonagall. Of course I know you—you’re the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You’re the one who sent me the letter.”
Ark bowed politely, all the while sizing her up, comparing this woman to the image burned into his memory.
Hmm… not quite like the movie version. But exactly as the novels described.
“Thank you for being so polite. But from now on, you may call me Professor. After all, you’ve already chosen to attend Hogwarts.”
She hadn’t the faintest clue what was running through his mind, but his manners and composure clearly pleased her. Between his looks, his bearing, and his courtesy, he had already earned the silent label of “a good child.” If only half the pranksters in her own House could behave this way, her life would be far less exhausting.
With a private sigh, she pressed on briskly.
“I should also tell you—I’m Head of Gryffindor House and the professor for Transfiguration class. For the next seven years, I’ll be teaching you Transfiguration.” She wasted no time before adding, “Now, the reason I’ve come… For children like you, raised by Muggles or unfamiliar with the Wizarding World, Hogwarts sends a faculty member to explain matters to your guardians and help you purchase your school supplies.”
Her eyes flicked past Ark into the small cabin.
“But from the looks of it, I doubt I’ll be meeting any parents or guardians today, am I right?”
It was obvious she had realized the boy lived alone.
Ark’s guardians… gone, most likely.
She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to.
“Sorry you had to see this, Professor.” Ark smiled faintly—too faintly for a child—as he answered, “It’s just me here. You only need to talk with me.”
“Poor child.” McGonagall couldn’t help herself. She reached out and rested a hand on his head. “Don’t worry. At Hogwarts you’ll have plenty of young wizards your own age. You won’t be lonely.”
“I’m already looking forward to it.” Ark shifted uncomfortably under her touch and tilted his head away. “Would you like to come inside for a bit, Professor?”
“No.” McGonagall shook her head firmly, all business again. “If I don’t need to speak with your guardians, then we won’t waste time. Let’s head straight to Diagon Alley to buy your things.”
“Diagon Alley?”
“It’s the shopping street of the Wizarding World. You can find just about every magical item a wizard could need there.”
She explained patiently, easing his curiosity.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Byrne. I’ll take you there myself. After that, you’ll be able to visit on your own—assuming you have enough money.”
At that, Ark nodded. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills—everything he had managed to save over the past year.
After fixing up this abandoned cabin and surviving on fish from the lake, he had eventually discovered a village nearby. Selling his extra catch there had given him just enough to scrape by, with some left over to store away. Originally, he’d planned to save enough to move into the village or even a town. But now? That plan no longer mattered.
It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
“Good.” McGonagall nodded in approval. She set her hand firmly on his shoulder. “I intended to guide you there on foot, but this place is far too remote. Walking would be a terrible waste of time.”
Her eyes met his.
“So remember this, Mr. Byrne—we’re about to Apparate to London, to a pub hidden in Westminster on Charing Cross Road. It’s called The Leaky Cauldron.”
The instant her words faded, a thunderous pop split the air. Ark’s stomach lurched as if he’d been flushed through a giant whirlpool. His whole body spun violently, inner ear screaming in protest.
But just as suddenly as it began, it ended. His feet steadied, sound rushed in—voices, bustling and loud. A crowded street.
When his vision cleared, he stood between a bookstore and a record shop.
“Follow me, Mr. Byrne.”
McGonagall smiled faintly when she saw he’d recovered quickly, unshaken by Apparition. She led him forward, closer to the two shops—until, as though forced into existence, another building slid between them.
Ark’s eyes widened in awe.
“The Leaky Cauldron?”
He trailed her inside, glancing around at the dim, shabby room. Old tables huddled in the shadows, the bar was grimy, and the place was empty—too early for customers. The faint clatter of someone moving about behind the bar suggested the owner preparing to open, but McGonagall didn’t so much as pause. She swept Ark through to a walled courtyard out back.
The space was bare but for a rubbish bin and a few weeds.
“Watch closely. Next time, you’ll need to do this yourself.”
She pointed with her wand. “Count three bricks up from the bin, two across, then tap three times.”
She demonstrated—up three, across two, tap-tap-tap.
The brick shivered. Then a hole yawned open, growing wider until it stretched into a stone archway.
Through it, a bustling, crowded street appeared.
Ark’s eyes lit up.
At last. The Wizarding World, revealed before him in the most vivid, undeniable way.
