CH4 - You're a Wizard

Edmund woke up from the force of his own teeth chattering from the cold, his whole body shivering uncontrollably. Except he wasn't in the body he had memories of at all.

Gone were Tom's long strands of silky black hair that draped over his eyes and needed to be pushed back constantly. Reaching up to touch his face, he realized it was no longer so ovular, his chin no longer so pointy.

Tossing aside the ratty blanket placed upon him, Edmund jumped up and took two steps forward before faceplanting.

'Ow, ow, ow,' he thought before getting up and racing forth once more. 'New body, I need to get used to balancing in it properly,' he realized as he threw open the door to his tiny room.

'Bathroom, I need to find a bathroom,' his heart raced as he dashed down a hall littered with doors that he presumed housed other children.

Reaching the sign that read 'WC,' he opened the door before realizing it was arranged in a manner that contained many individual bathrooms.

Picking the door closest to him, he slammed it open, entering and immediately locking the door behind him. In a flash, he stood before a mirror.

Big, hazel eyes greeted him, but it was about the only delicate feature on him. A big nose sat centred in his squarish face, thankfully made to look less so with his overgrown messy hair, a commonality with less well-off orphanages. Only a small smattering of pimples dotted his face, accentuated by whispy facial hair, making him seem a bit older than he actually was.

His body was thin, but tall, a lanky build through and through. His arms were weirdly long, which would have made him seem like a noodle if it weren't for the small beginnings of muscle on his biceps, and rough callouses on his hands.

'Probably from manual work helping around the orphanage,' Edmund decided, before continuing his self-inspection.

His chest, unfortunately, was not as developed, and several ribs could be seen poking through, a clear sign of the subpar standards of care he had received.

Basically, Edmund was an early bloomer and had clearly been hit with puberty by a truck.

'Hey, early puberty has some benefits,' he comforted himself before looking at the area below his chest.

'More than just a few,' he thought wide-eyed, before slapping himself. 'Focus.'

Quickly tidying himself up, he returned to his room and made his bed, ensuring the rest of his private space was spotless.

'Tom had some bad memories with Mrs. Cole. Who knows how strict the matron here is,' he thought to himself as he followed the throng of kids leaving their rooms as they headed to what he hoped was breakfast.

He was correct

Long tables, each with 20 chairs next to them were placed within one big central eating area. With eight tables present, the orphanage was home to around 150 kids.

Upon entering the room, Edmund was greeted with a cacophony of noise. After grabbing some of the leftover food from the buffet table, he grabbed one of the few remaining empty seats.

No one paid attention to him, yet no one shunned him either. He listened for his name closely, but Edmund never heard anyone calling for him.

'Not an unapproachable loner, not a popular kid, nor someone with any close friends. I'm an extra. Someone that can fit in anywhere but no one pays any mind to,' Edmund concluded.

Looking at the calendar hung up on the wall which showed the date as August 22, 1993, he decided that was just fine with him.

It was a Sunday, which meant most kids planned to spend their day outside in the sun, a rarity in the British summer.

Edmund was one of the few to hastily return to his room, where he fell onto his bed. Grabbing the pillow, he buried his face in it, before screaming loudly, hoping his sounds would be muffled.

'C'mon Edmund, get it together,' he tried to convince himself. 'This is a chance, a chance at a new life. I may not remember much from my past life, but I know that I don't want to die.'

He let out a determined huff, before he got to planning.

'My number one problem is Voldemort. I can't give him any reason to doubt me or use legilimency. If he does, it's game over,' he began listing his priorities.

'Dumbledore shouldn't be a big issue, especially considering that I'm not actually Tom, and it'll be easy not to act like him,' he reasoned.

'The dementors are another worry,' he thought, trying not to get scared. 'My worst memory. Who the hell actually knows that?'

It was reasonable enough. It's mostly children who have bad memories of singular objects like specific creatures or specific people. How does a dementor affect a person whose worst memory is the mortgage payment they failed to pay, or seeing their children starve when they couldn't make ends meet? A meeting with a banker or seeing your hungry children produces more of a permanent sense of dread than the paralyzing anxiety that Harry Potter experienced when he regained the memory of his mother's death.

'Maybe it won't be so bad,' he tried to comfort himself, knowing full well he was lying.

He let out a deep breath.

'The trouble will be power. I need power to explore the Forbidden Forest to find the Chamber of Secrets, power to ward off dementors, and power to eventually be free of Voldemort's clutches,' Edmund listed off.

'If I show my strength, I'll have to deal with Dumbledore's increased interest, and anger from the blood purists. If I don't show my strength, it'll be another thing I'll have to conceal constantly. If I get into a dangerous situation —which is inevitable, because, Hogwarts duh!— showing off my power will make me seem much more suspicious,' he considered the pros and cons.

'Issues with blood purists seem like they'll occur regardless; it's just the extent to which I'm targeted that will change. As for Dumbledore, I'll have to demonstrate that I have a good reason to pursue power. Maybe I could show interest in becoming a magical researcher, or I can pick up a 'Light' power-intensive passion project to divert his attention,' Edmund thought, basically having decided already.

'Well, if I'm going show off, then I might as well be the best,' he smirked.

*-*-*-*

- (Scene Break) -

*-*-*-*

Edmund sighed for the tenth time within the hour as he sat on his bed.

'If my eleventh birthday is this very week, who knows when I'll get my owl, reply back, and be escorted to Diagon Alley,' he thought. 'It'll be a tight squeeze for September 1, that's for sure.

He was broken from his musing by a quick set of three knocks on his door. Without waiting for his reply, the door swung open, and a woman that Edmund recognized from breakfast as the portly matron entered his room. Taking a quick glance around, presumably to check everything was clean, she gave a satisfied nod before stepping outside once more.

"You have a visitor," she said shortly before she vanished from his view.

Edmund was confused. Who would come to visit him?

A tall elderly woman stepped through the door before it closed behind her seemingly without any cause. That, combined with her distinctive features and clothing, gave away her identity immediately.

'McGonagall,' he thought to himself. 'Odd. Why no owl for me?'

"Hello Mr. Cole, my name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I have come here today to offer you a spot in a rather prestigious school in the Scottish Highlands," she introduced.

"I don't recall ever applying for your school, nor have I been recognized for anything in the past that might explain your interest in me," Edmund asked, trying his best to portray a look of wary confusion.

"Oh?" McGonagall asked as her lips quirked upwards.

'I have a feeling she enjoys this part of the introduction,' Edmund thought excitedly. 'I can't blame her. Reactions to magic are probably amazing to witness.'

"Usually we send out owls with letters of invitation to students who turn eleven," she seemingly inexplicably segued. "But with your birthday so close to the start of term, I decided to come here directly to hand it to you. I suppose it's good that I did, for you strike me as someone who would probably consider the letter a bad prank," she said amusedly as she produced a long, wooden stick from within the sleeves of her robes.

Without a word and with the smallest flick of her wand, she conjured a plush leather club chair which she sat on, still maintaining her perfect posture. With another flick, she levitated an envelope with an intricate seal with the letter 'H' over to his hands.

Closing his gaping mouth, he reached out to grab his Hogwarts letter, breaking the seal and retrieving the parchment within.

"Tell me, Mr. Cole, are you interested in learning magic?" McGonagall asked.

Edmund looked up at her with gleaming eyes, before beginning to pepper her with questions.

*-*-*-*

- (Scene Break) -

*-*-*-*

Once Edmund finally closed his mouth, McGonagall asked for permission from the matron to bring him with her on an excursion and led him outside. Darting her eyes back and forth to check that no one was paying them any attention, she pulled on Edmund's arm and tugged him into the back street, empty save for a few rats feasting on the orphanage's dumpsters.

"This may feel a little uncomfortable," she said sympathetically, still holding onto his arm, "but it is quite a bit faster than the alternative."

From his feet upwards, Edmund felt his entire body being sucked into a straw, compressed to a fraction of its original size. He heard a loud pop from the air filling the space they were previously occupying, and in the next instant, he was bent over, heaving, in a tiny brick-walled enclosure.

"Was that—," he sucked in a deep breath, "—teleportation."

"Apparition is the correct term Mr. Cole," McGonagall corrected, before passing him a handkerchief.

She waited a few seconds for him to recover before speaking again.

"Closely observe the pattern I will show you now," she said as she pulled out her wand and tapped on several sections of the wall.

The bricks began to move, rearranging and sliding harshly across one another, forming a large gateway where there was only a wall.

"Welcome.... to Diagon Alley," she said happily, watching Edmund's face.

As they began to walk forward, Edmund looked around wildly at the mismatched buildings and the casual use of magic by those around him.

A short man with a long beard was using his wand to levitate a massive trunk double his size behind him. An older woman used her wand to heal her crying daughter's scraped knee as she comforted her. Hawkers on both sides of the street used light shows and other charms to attract potential customers.

As he calmed down and the sights began to feel a bit more normal in his mind, Edmund asked a question he had been thinking about for a while.

"There clearly aren't that many wizards out there compared to the muggles," he commented, "especially considering there's only one proper marketplace in all of magical Britain.

"Still, why is there no magical orphanage? If Britain's wizarding and muggle worlds are really so different, that seems like it should be a priority," he tried to understand.

McGonagall winced. Although Edmund seemed to have spoken calmly enough, she had witnessed the displeasure of orphaned muggle-borns who had felt abandoned countless times in the past. The issue was further compounded when these often malnourished and mistreated children arrived at Hogwarts and witnessed the lavishness of its halls and feasts.

'Better to nip this in the bud than to let it fester,' McGonagall decided.

"Unfortunately the capabilities of the Ministry to detect the existence of magical children are extremely limited. Occasionally, as this is an uncommon occurrence, children are discovered through bouts of strong accidental magic. Additionally, Hogwarts houses a book and quill enchanted by one of the founders of Hogwarts that tells us the names of magical children when they are born, and their location at age 11," McGonagall explained with sympathy.

"The Book of Admittance and Quill of Acceptance have been replicated many times by other magical communities for detecting magical children within their own borders. However, these replicas are not based on any understanding of the magic used by Rowena Ravenclaw to design them. Think of it as using an original sketch, and tracing over it with transparent paper to create another identical one. Modification of the two artifacts is something that no one has cracked, though many people continue to try each year," she spoke, slipping into a clearly rehearsed lecturing tone.

"I've gotten off track," McGonagall berated herself as she shook her head.

"The point is, since the children in need of care are rarely found before they are Hogwarts-aged, funding for a magical orphanage never receives enough support to proceed," she petered off.

"Or at least that's how the Wizengamot members who vote against it justify themselves," she grumbled under her breath.

'Interesting. So that means there's rampant corruption, racism, and blood supremacy all the way up the ladder of power,' Edmund concluded. 'Honestly, that's more comforting than the entirety of wizarding Britain just being braindead. It also explains why someone like Arthur Weasley who doesn't even know what electricity is, proposes something like the "Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Law," when any muggle-born would be far more qualified than him.'

Edmund grimaced.

'Things like this are just minor cute oddities to read about, but they translate into signs of a horribly broken system,' he thought, displeased. 'If things are so bad, I'm going to have to watch my back at Hogwarts. I can't afford to offend someone until I'm powerful enough to deal with the backlash.'