July 15th, 1981
POV: Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts
A tall, stern-looking witch with black hair drawn into a tight bun is sitting in a small room. The room has a sparse, stone floor and a large fireplace, with windows overlooking the Training Grounds and the Quidditch pitch. She is currently drinking butterbeer while overseeing a levitating quill and a book.
Another year at Hogwarts is approaching, and the names of new students are being written by the Quill of Acceptance in the Book of Admittance. Normally, overseeing this task would be Albus's responsibility, but he's busy with his peculiar obligations. Honestly, I think I have more responsibilities than he does these days. But I can't really blame him. He's lived through two wars in his lifetime—one of which is still ongoing—and as a powerful wizard, a great deal is expected from him.
After my husband's death, I dedicated my life to Transfiguration, and it gave me the opportunity to not only be a professor at Hogwarts but also to rise to the position of Deputy Headmistress. However, life here comes with its own set of challenges. Handling children is no easy task, especially when certain groups of students bully others, and I am often unable to intervene as much as I'd like. All these incidents have only made me stricter as the years go by.
The war has affected everyone deeply. Daily reports of Muggles disappearing, the deaths of wizards, and various illegal activities just fuel the fire. I've seen students leave for vacation and never return. I sigh, thinking about a few of my former students.
Scribble, scribble. While I reminisce, the quill begins writing names and addresses of new students. I wait a few minutes, taking another sip of butterbeer and gazing out the window. After a few minutes, the quill finishes its task, and I review the list of names, only to sigh again. I've been sighing a lot since I started teaching.
"The numbers have decreased again. There are only twelve names this year." All I can do is hope for the war to end and for Wizarding Britain to begin healing. It's the same thought I have every year. Shaking my head, I clear my mind and begin writing the letters to the new students.
Charles Weasley, Ottery St Catchpole, Devon...
Nymphadora Tonks, St Gilles, Northampton...
( I know she is not supposed to be in this this year I changed it)
"What a strange name to give a child..."
Alecto Carrow, Sprowston, Norwich...
Amycus Carrow, Sprowston, Norwich...
(Some more names....)
Simon Riley, Wool's Orphanage, London...
Sigh. "Another orphan. I'll have to take personal responsibility for overseeing this one. Just one more task to add to the ever-growing pile."
Now, I just have to wait for the replies to arrive.
Meanwhile: In London, Wool's orphanage.
( Few months prior )
Beneath Big Ben's towering figure, the clock's face gleamed in the darkness, ticking away the minutes with a solemn echo. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly along narrow alleyways, accompanied by the distant murmur of a passing car or the soft splash of water against the river's edge. The cool breeze carried a faint scent of rain, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea that wafted from a nearby café, its windows glowing warmly—a safe haven from the night outside.
Yet, amidst the tranquil beauty, there was a certain unease—a sense that beneath London's calm exterior, secrets lingered in the shadows. There were untold stories, ones that would make the weak tremble, for such are the harsh realities of war. But where there is darkness, there is also light to be found—such was the case with the orphanage.
Wool's Orphanage had never seen better days. People were surprised by the changes it had undergone in such a short span of time. The children now had good clothing, better education, and improved health, but it was most famous for its food! A few years earlier, some of the children had begun setting up food stalls offering different cuisines like fries, burgers, curry, and more. The stalls drew attention not only from passersby but also from the authorities, who noticed the orphanage's poor condition. As a result, more funds were allocated, bringing about the positive transformation.
And who is the originator of all the mayhem?
well he's...." shishishishishishi"
Ahem he's.... "SHISHISHISHISHISHISHISHI"
Inside a room in the orphanage stood a handsome young boy, around 11 years old, laughing in an oddly exaggerated manner. Suddenly, he bent his knees, placed his hands on his thighs, and shouted, "GEAR SECOND!" His skin immediately started to pulse, turning bright red as if something was coursing through his veins.
Without warning, the boy took off running, moving at an impossibly fast pace, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground. He zipped around the room, faster than any human could. Then, as abruptly as he started, he stopped and burst into maniacal laughter once more.
"GURARARARARARA! TAKE IT BI*HES, I AM GONNA BE PIRATE k...i...n....g"
And as such the future pirate king suddenly falls with a gaint thud seemingly never to wake from his sleep.