Scanning the crowd, he noticed a giant escorting a young boy with rounded glasses. Without hesitation, he followed.
Based on his observations, he was within Central London, near Charing Cross Street. Also, RAFT provided him with information regarding his identity.
William James Hunter.
Son of James Hunter and Silvia Rose, both of whom had died when he was three, leaving him with no living relatives and an alright life in a mediocre orphanage.
He was currently eleven years old and had received his letter to attend Hogwarts a short while ago, managing to leave only now.
'The Leaky Cauldron.'
The old, weathered sign swung faintly in the breeze. To the unknowing eye, it was a forgettable spot nestled between two larger buildings. Passersby walked by without a single glance, as though it didn't exist at all.
Entering the dimly lit building, the bustling chatter of voices greeted William as he stepped inside. It was packed with men and women dressed in unsaturated robes, all focused on a small boy at the center of the room.
"Harry Potter!" someone exclaimed, shaking the confused boy's hand enthusiastically.
Others crowded around, each eager to introduce themselves or simply catch a glimpse of the famous child. William stayed by the doorway, observing from afar.
'So, the legend begins,' he thought.
The energy of the room buzzed, a mixture of awe and excitement centered entirely on the boy. Hagrid, the giant accompanying the dwarfed child, engaged in simple conversation with the boy—after introducing him to a man with a turban.
Eventually, Hagrid ushered Harry out, his booming voice urging the boy to follow him. William slipped out behind them, keeping a respectful distance.
William observed closely as the half-giant led Harry into a small, walled courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. Pulling a pink umbrella from his coat, he tapped the bricks in a specific pattern.
The wall shifted and rearranged itself, forming an arched gateway into a bustling, magical street.
After the duo disappeared into the crowd, William stepped forward, similarly merging into the chaos.
Diagon Alley was alive with activity. The bright shop windows displayed everything from potion ingredients to enchanted brooms, while witches and wizards bustled about, carrying packages or haggling over goods.
'Catalog everything,' he instructed.
[Cataloging… Magical artifacts detected. Enchanted tools and books identified.]
He wandered through the alley, absorbing the sights and sounds. While the allure of magical tools and potions was tempting, he had come here for a reason.
After receiving his letter, he was offered a sum of money to purchase what he needed to attend Hogwarts.
He had denied an escort when he received a second letter, instead opting to explore freely—after confirming where things were, of course. With nothing but 70 galleons and his "young" self, it was surprising that they accepted his rejection.
They did offer him temporary housing, however, to make sure he was taken care of.
Standing before a particular shop, he read, "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
The bell above the door chimed softly as William entered the shop. It was quiet inside, the air heavy with the scent of aged wood and something faintly electric. Rows of narrow boxes lined the walls, stacked nearly to the ceiling.
'Harry must be visiting Gringotts now, catching sight of the philosopher's stone.'
It was an interesting experience, living inside a once fictitious world.
An elderly man with pale eyes and a shock of white hair emerged from the back, a knowing smile on his face. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice smooth and welcoming. "Looking for a wand, perhaps?"
William nodded, returning the smile.
"Well, then. Let's see what we can find for you." Ollivander moved swiftly, pulling down boxes and muttering to himself.
"It's rare to meet someone with such…an unusual feel," he said, handing a curious William his first wand. "Try this one—yew, eleven inches, phoenix core. Supple."
William took the wand, feeling the faint vibration in his hand. A spark of energy flickered at the tip, but it quickly fizzled. He handed it back with a shake of his head.
The short interaction with magic fueled his interest in the world further, exciting him.
"No, no, that won't do," Ollivander muttered, already reaching for another. "Perhaps something with more…potential."
After several more attempts, Ollivander's eyes lit up. He pulled down a dusty box from the highest shelf. "Ah, this might be the one. It's rather odd, from a recent international shipment."
He opened the box to reveal a wand of dark ebony wood with faint, swirling patterns etched into its surface. "Ebony, thirteen and a half inches. Core of a thunderbird tail feather. Stubborn, but incredibly powerful for those with the will to master it."
The moment William held the wand, a surge of energy coursed through him, powerful and resonant. The room filled with a soft buzz, the wand acknowledging its new owner.
Ollivander's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Ah, yes. A wand for one who seeks knowledge…and power. It will serve you well, so long as you remain its equal."
As William admired the wand, he turned back to Ollivander. "May I know the price, kind sir?"
The old man smiled warmly, welcoming the rare formality from a kid his age. "Generally, a wand would go for seven to ten galleons. However, your wand has a sparse core, and I'm afraid I require at least thirteen to avoid a loss."
Without hesitation, William took out thirteen galleons from a small pouch at his side, then placed them on the dusty desk. Ollivander bid him farewell, accepting the payment.
"Have a good day, sir." William spoke, leaving the stuffed shop.
His next stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The shop was well-lit and smelled faintly of fabric and parchment. A plump witch greeted him at the door.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, eyeing his shabby pouch and sizing him up in a glance.
"Yes," William replied.
"Up you go, then," she said, guiding him to a short platform where she quickly set about pinning his measurements.
The fitting went smoothly. No other customers interrupted the process, and William appreciated the quiet focus. In ten minutes, he had been fitted with three sets of standard school robes, a pointed hat, gloves, and a warm cloak. The total came out to 8 Galleons.
"Payment up front, please," Madam Malkin added kindly. William handed over the coins without complaint, keeping mental track of his balance.
Next was Flourish and Blotts. Bookshelves rose higher than his head, filled with titles ranging from basic spellwork to thick tomes on magical theory.
He picked up everything listed on his school letter:
1) Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1
2) Magical Theory
3) A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
4) One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
5) Magical Drafts and Potions
6) Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
7) The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
Most were reasonably priced—between 1 to 2 Galleons each, totaling 12 Galleons. William considered grabbing a few extras but decided against it for now. His trunk would already be heavy enough.
The cashier, a pale wizard with thin spectacles, gave him a brief nod and bagged the books without a word.
In the apothecary, the scent of herbs and strange minerals hit him like a wall. He collected the standard potions kit: scales, vials, and a basic ingredient starter pack. 5 Galleons.
After that came a standard pewter cauldron (2 Galleons), a collapsible telescope (7 Galleons), and a set of brass scales (3 Galleons) from nearby shops.
Finally, he entered Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shop echoed with soft hoots and rustling feathers.
"I'd like a reliable, average owl. Nothing flashy," he told the shopkeeper.
The woman considered him for a moment, then pointed to a calm-looking gray owl perched on a lower stand.
"Not the fastest, but steady. Trained for message delivery. 5 Galleons."
"Perfect," William replied. He paid and had the owl caged gently and attached to the top of his trunk.
By the end of it all, he'd spent roughly 42 Galleons, leaving him with 28 Galleons from his original 70.
He returned to his designated lodging by evening—Ashcombe Row, a short side street just off Charing Cross Road. The entrance was nestled between a shuttered tailor shop and a locksmith, marked only by a barely visible brass plaque that read "Temporary Housing—Provided for orphaned and Muggle-born students. Courtesy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Inside, a brief spell confirmed his name and identity. He was given Room 11—modestly sized but clean and charmed for comfort.
A single bed adjusted to his preferred firmness, and an enchanted lantern responded to hand gestures. A desk sat by the window, where magical quills and parchment were replenished weekly.
Without hesitation, he began to skim through his books—absorbing their contents at an absurd rate. He had waited till the end of time, inventing something none had ever before. This much was ridiculously simple.
After an hour or two of light reading, he readied himself for the night's sleep. His body was that of a child and needed plenty of it to stay healthy.
A Month Later
The weeks had passed in calm routine.
By day, he read through his textbooks, taking one each week and covering the basics—terminology, spell theory, potion classifications, and herbology properties. He didn't practice wandwork, just in case the Ministry's Trace was already applied.
But with RAFT's flawless retention and his supreme learning, he could memorize the structure of spells, the pronunciations, and the logic behind transfiguration rules—even if he couldn't cast them.
He made quick work of the curriculum from each book. He would still need to refine everything through actual experience at school, but he preferred not to stumble like a fool when classes began, and he also had many more things to do in this world, so the apparent rush was fine.
The way magic worked was fascinating in this verse. Every being had a sum of magic that they could manipulate, only increasable through repetitive use of magic.
The spells were governed by the precise wand gestures, pronunciation, and intent behind every cast. More so, it seemed the intent and physical gestures mattered more than the pronunciation, allowing incantationless magic given enough experience. Even more interestingly, the intent and memory of a spell mattered the most, finally allowing wandless magic with enough skill.
The creatures of the world were also intriguing. Their cultures, magical characteristics, alchemical potential, and simple forms were all so fascinating.
'Now, where was it…' William thought, stumbling through a crowd.
It was September 1st, and he had arrived at King's Cross Station with his luggage trolley and caged owl.
He finally moved past platforms 9 and 10, finding his target. The area between the pillars seemed ordinary enough, though slightly less busy.
He looked ahead, gauging the appropriate moment. Once the flow of people gave him enough space, he stepped forward with a steady pace—and disappeared through the barrier.
Steam filled the air. The Hogwarts Express, gleaming red and humming with life, sat waiting under the arched roof of Platform 9¾. The crowd bustled with excitement—families hugging, younger students gripping their tickets nervously, and older ones chatting confidently with their friends.
Without wasting time, he boarded swiftly, navigating through several packed compartments before stopping at one near the end—only one boy sat there, looking out the window.
Rounded glasses, untidy hair. A thin, lightning-shaped scar was just barely visible on his forehead. William nearly smirked, finding this reality's "chosen one."
"Mind if I sit here?" He asked.
The boy blinked, then nodded. "Go ahead."
William sat down, placing his owl by the window and trunk beneath his seat.
"I'm Harry," the boy said. "Harry Potter."
"William," he replied, offering a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
The child seemed confused for a few moments, as though expecting a different reaction.
Shortly after, the door slid open. A red-haired boy stuck his head in. "Everywhere else is full. Can I join you?"
Harry nodded, and William didn't object.
"Ron Weasley," the boy introduced himself as he pulled in his trunk. Then, after a second or two of staring at the scar on the child to his front, he spoke. "Are you really, you know, Harry Potter?"
Harry nodded again.
Noticing William to his side, Ron quickly addressed him. "Oh—didn't see you there! I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."
Harry seemed to visibly wince, feeling a tad uncomfortable from the situation. But William didn't care.
"William, William Hunter." He replied, shaking his hand.
Before the conversation could go far, the door opened once more. A bushy-haired girl appeared, looking slightly out of breath.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
They hadn't. But noticing Ron about to take out his wand, she stepped in.
"Are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."
Ron seemed visibly awkward. "I was just going to do a trick my brother taught me…"
The girl waited before noticing that she hadn't yet introduced herself. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."
A round of introductions resumed immediately after.
Ron tried his spell but failed. Hermione went on a rapid rampage of unknowingly outing herself as a somewhat arrogant bookworm. Harry was just going with the flow, attempting to make sense of all that was happening.
The train began to move, the scenery shifting to green countryside as they left the city behind.
William sat quietly, listening to them talk—about Hogwarts, about chocolate frogs, about spells they'd read or imagined.
He watched the landscape pass.
Every odd moment or two, when he was asked, he would provide some minor input, but that was it.
The kids didn't care all that much though, happily engaged in their own conversations.
And so, soon enough, the train came to a stop.