Charing Cross Road, London.
Tucked between a large bookstore and a record shop.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Seen from the outside, the pub was entirely unremarkable. It was so inconspicuous that passersby easily walked right past it. Its exterior possessed an ancient and somewhat dilapidated look, as if time had simply stood still here.
Inside a single room overhead, a blond boy was bustling about, busily packing all sorts of bizarre and peculiar objects.
There were glass jars and bottles of every shape and size, filled with colorful powders, liquids, and unidentifiable plant roots. Alongside these ingredients, he was also organizing a set of exquisite yet slightly antiquated tools.
Several heavy leather-bound books lay scattered across the desk.
The boy gently closed the books, arranged them neatly in alphabetical order, and placed them into their designated compartments inside a leather trunk.
"Merlin's beard, I actually have to go to school!"
Devereux let out a sigh of utter despair.
He had been in this world for a full year now, studying potions under such an eccentric and temperamental teacher. That alone had felt like pure torture. The happiest part of every day was when his teacher left for school to teach classes. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected that he would actually have to go to school himself—and to the very same school where his teacher worked.
Even if that school was Hogwarts.
It was still a rather bitter pill to swallow.
Devereux was not originally from this world. A year ago, he had transmigrated here, his soul slipping into the body of this young boy.
He appeared to be of mixed Eurasian descent; despite his blond hair, his eyes were a deep brown, bearing distinct Asian features.
As for how he ended up crossing over?
Don't even ask!
If you ask, the answer is always a runaway truck!
When he had finally regained consciousness, the first thing that met his eyes was a greasy, disheveled mop of hair. A dark-complexioned, gloomy old bat had hauled him straight out of bed by the scruff of his collar with a single hand.
If he had to describe his first impression of this master of his, it was that the man was an absolute, textbook case of an old bachelor. Anyone this violently aggressive was clearly suffering from severe sexual repression.
Rubbing his hand, which was still burning red from being smacked for lingering in bed, and watching that old bat vanish into thin air after barking a mountain of orders, Devereux finally realized that he had transmigrated into a magical world and become the apprentice of a Potions Master—while also miraculously mastering English, a language he had never been able to grasp in his past life.
That very day, Devereux had rummaged through his new living quarters and discovered that his teacher was none other than Professor Snape, the beloved character from the Harry Potter novels he had cherished in his previous life!
This revelation left Devereux feeling a complex mix of excitement and terror.
He was thrilled to have arrived in the magical world of his dreams, but terrified to have landed such a master. While Snape was undoubtedly a hero in the original story, to any student, he was nothing short of a living nightmare.
Subsequent events fully confirmed this suspicion.
Snape was extraordinarily strict. When Devereux had first arrived, his memories hadn't fully integrated, so he had botched quite a few tasks assigned by Snape.
The punishments that followed were simply harrowing. Even now, looking back, Devereux still shuddered at the memory.
Fortunately, by this point Devereux had mastered most of the skills required of a potion assistant, and he rarely crossed paths with Snape or provoked his wrath anymore. Still, remaining in the company of that old bat left him feeling thoroughly ill at ease.
That was precisely why he felt such strong resistance toward going to Hogwarts. Being watched like a hawk by that old bat day in and day out would be absolute agony!
As for why Devereux had ended up apprenticed to Snape in the first place, it seemed his mother's side of the family had entrusted him to Snape's care, after which they had vanished without a trace. Devereux had previously tried to fish for information about his family from Snape, but the moment the topic was raised, the man would immediately start nitpicking and finding fault with him. That quickly taught Devereux not to dare extract any information from him again.
Of course, Devereux hadn't been idle all this time. Shortly after arriving, he had figured out that he was in the exact same year as Harry and his peers, meaning his enrollment would plunge him right into the thick of the main plot.
Sigh. But for now, acting as child labor for Snape meant his days at Hogwarts probably wouldn't be easy either. He just wondered if he would even get a chance to participate in those familiar plot events when the time came.
On the bright side, his current body possessed a rather impressive magical talent. Although Snape hadn't taught him any spells, while brewing potions, Devereux could feel that he had a remarkably keen sensitivity toward magical ingredients. That was the main reason he had picked up the craft so quickly.
Moreover, his looks weren't bad at all—considerably more handsome than his past self, at least. That served as one of the few meager comforts amidst such a miserable plight.
Having packed everything away, Devereux prepared to head downstairs. Today, he and Snape had arranged to go to Diagon Alley to purchase the various supplies and books needed for the term.
For reasons unknown, Snape had suddenly brought Devereux to The Leaky Cauldron ahead of schedule yesterday, letting him settle in early with the promise that they would go shopping the following day—which meant today.
Dragging a leather trunk that was two-thirds his own size, Devereux made his way downstairs.
Inside The Leaky Cauldron, Tom the innkeeper was bustling about, preparing for the day's business.
Hearing the soft patter of footsteps descending the stairs, Tom looked up and saw Devereux, his blond hair gleaming brightly in the morning light.
"Good morning, Mr. Devereux!" Tom called out cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"
Devereux offered a faint smile. Though he felt somewhat nervous, he nodded politely.
"Good morning, Mr. Tom. Thank you for your hospitality; I had a very good rest last night."
Noticing the large trunk in Devereux's hand, Tom couldn't help smiling.
"Looks like you've brought quite a lot of things! Professor Snape didn't tell me much when he settled you in here yesterday, but he did mention he'd be coming by today to take you out to buy some supplies."
Devereux nodded, relaxing a fraction.
"Yes, Professor Snape said he'd take me to Diagon Alley. It's my first time going there, so I'm a bit nervous..."
In truth, he was mostly nervous about seeing Snape.
"Don't worry," Tom said with an encouraging smile, clearly fond of the handsome lad—who was entirely unlike Snape. "Diagon Alley is a magical place, and you're going to love it. Besides, with Professor Snape accompanying you, everything will go smoothly."
He paused for a moment before continuing, "However, before you two head out, would you care for some breakfast? I can whip up some freshly baked bread and hot tea for you."
Hearing this, Devereux's eyes lit up, clearly tempted by the offer.
"That would be wonderful, thank you, Mr. Tom."
Watching Tom head toward the kitchen, Devereux couldn't help marveling at how nice it was to be a kid; out in the world, people always looked after you.
He wondered if Snape had given Tom any special instructions, though upon second thought, he realized that old bat was entirely incapable of such thoughtfulness.
Just as he was waiting for his breakfast—
*Crack!*
Every hair on Devereux's body stood on end. That all-too-familiar feeling washed over him.
He turned his head to look.
A tall, thin man with sallow skin, clad in a billowing black cloak, was standing at the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron.
Snape.
Devereux's living nightmare for the past year.
He gave a slight wave to catch Snape's attention. To be honest, he really didn't want to do it, but he had no choice.
A moment later, Snape strode over. His greasy, unkempt black hair fell in strands around his forehead and cheeks, shadowing a portion of his face and giving him an aura of perpetual gloom.
"Devereux, let's go. We have a very long shopping list to get through today."
Devereux gave a slight nod, standing up to grab his trunk and leave with Snape.
Just then, Tom emerged carrying two portions of breakfast and set them on the table.
"Professor Snape, have some breakfast first. I've prepared a portion for you as well."
Devereux stared longingly at the food, knowing full well that Snape wasn't the type to indulge in such luxuries. He prepared to leave.
"Fine. Eat up, quickly."
Devereux was utterly stunned to hear this. Snape actually pulled out a chair and sat down to eat breakfast.
Dawning comprehension momentarily froze him in place. Figuring the man must be in a rare good mood, Devereux hurried to sit down and started eating.
At that moment, Snape retrieved a letter from out of nowhere and handed it to Devereux.
Devereux was initially puzzled, but upon closer inspection, his eyes widened—it was his Hogwarts acceptance letter!
The moment he saw it, Devereux eagerly reached out and took the envelope. Although his dread of dealing with Snape dampened his enthusiasm for going to Hogwarts a little, holding the very acceptance letter he had once only dreamed of still filled him with immense excitement.
Yet the instant Devereux opened the letter—
[Ding!]
[Qualified host detected, trait system is binding...]
[Binding successful!]
What on earth?!
Before Devereux could even process what was happening, another voice rang out in his mind.
[This system is known as the Trait System. Every living person possesses their own exclusive traits, which represent their potential, talent, destiny, and more. This system allows the host to view the traits of anyone within a three-meter radius, as well as copy and load their traits!]
[Traits are categorized by color, ascending from lowest to highest: white, green, blue, purple, gold, red... In addition, special traits exist that cannot be classified by color, and their strength varies.]