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Chapter 1: The Acceptance Letter

 Luke stared out the window at the silver-gray tabby cat, lost in thought for a long time. 

If nothing unexpected happened, after spending eleven years growing up in England, he was about to enter high school. 

 As a transmigrator, being a bit smarter and skipping a grade or two wasn’t that unusual, right? Especially considering that in his previous life, he had excelled in notoriously competitive college entrance exams, earning a place at a prestigious university.  

In this life, Luke worked just as hard. The entire school knew about the prodigy named Luke Mountbatten. At the age of eleven, he had already completed middle school and become the standard against which all other students were compared. Teachers often used him as an example, saying things like, “You can’t even compare to half of what Mr. Mountbatten has achieved.” 

 Yes, his last name was Mountbatten. He had won last year’s essay contest with his piece titled *“My Grandfather, the Marshal.”* 

 Old London nobility, with roots as solid as the Union Jack itself.

 Combined with the high cheekbones and striking looks from the Mountbatten genes, he was undeniably handsome—at least a match for a young Leonardo DiCaprio. 

Carrying such dazzling looks at such a young age? Honestly, it was exhausting. 

 Today was particularly muggy. Feeling irritable, Luke leaned on his hand, gazing absentmindedly at the tabby cat outside the window. Scattered on his desk were several letters adorned with little hearts—notes from his female classmates, no doubt. 

 As a gentleman among gentlemen, Luke, despite his young age, was never rude to girls. He replied politely to each note before absentmindedly twirling a pen on the desk. His thoughts, however, were on the email he’d received from a new friend yesterday. 

 “Flap, flap, flap…” The sound of wings caught his attention, and Luke turned to see an owl fly in through the open window.

 Living in a castle as his family did, it wasn’t unusual for wildlife to wander in. Just two days ago, a squirrel had made its way inside, and last night, a seagull had stolen his French fries. 

 He still couldn’t figure out how a seagull found its way to a forested estate.

 The squirrel had been released unharmed, but the seagull, which had dared to steal from the young lord, wasn’t as lucky. It had spent the night in a cage before being set free—only to return moments later and make off with his fish and chips again.

 Speaking of food, Luke had to admit that British cuisine, aside from some infamous dishes, wasn’t as bad as its reputation suggested. The French chef employed by his family did wonders with tomato-braised chickpeas, and even everyday fare like fish and chips was perfectly fine. The bad rap for British cooking probably came from the strange, unappealing dishes that occasionally made an appearance.

 —Oh, and why hire a French chef? Go ahead and guess.

 The owl landed on Luke’s desk, meeting his gaze with what seemed like mutual curiosity. 

“Hey there, little one. Are you lost?” Luke reached out to scratch under the owl’s chin, only to find its neck buried under a thick layer of feathers. After an awkward pause, he lightly tapped the owl’s beak as a friendly gesture.

 It wasn’t so much overweight as it was impressively fluffy.

 The owl tilted its head, as if to say it didn’t understand. 

 Luke picked up on its confusion and switched to Mandarin. “What brings you here, little one?”

 The owl tilted its head further, looking just as puzzled. 

Switching to a thickly accented English, Luke quipped, “You there, what’s your business here!” The voice could’ve passed for a World War II battalion commander’s.

 If his grandfather, vacationing in France, had heard that, he’d have flown back immediately to lecture him.

 This time, the owl seemed slightly more responsive—or maybe it was just annoyed. It gave Luke’s finger a light peck before flapping its wings and flying off, leaving behind an envelope.

 Only then did Luke realize the owl had been delivering mail.

 And if it delivered mail... shouldn’t he at least reward it with some nuts or fruit?

 Ah, Luke was the master of playing dumb. 

 An owl delivering mail had its perks—no postage required. Idly musing, Luke opened the envelope.

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**  
*Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore* 

**(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, First Class of the Order of Merlin, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)**  

 Dear Mr. Mountbatten,  

 We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of required books and equipment.   

The term is scheduled to begin on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.  

 Yours sincerely,  
**Minerva McGonagall**  
Deputy Headmistress  

 ---

 Luke: Subway, old man, cell phone.  

 Whose prank is this? He casually tossed the letter onto the nearby table.  

 Then it hit him—Rowling hadn’t even started writing *Harry Potter* in 1991.  

 He quickly retrieved the letter, flipping through it as he muttered to himself, “No way...”   

“Where would magic even come from in this world?”  

 Just then, a familiar sound echoed in his mind, eerily identical to the achievement sound from playing *World of Warcraft* in his previous life.  

 A notification box, much like the ones that appeared for achievements, popped up before his eyes:  

 **Enrollment Invitation (10)**  
(*Received the Hogwarts enrollment letter.*)   

Luke froze for a moment before breaking into a grin of pure joy.  

 "Haha! It's here! The cheat code for transmigrators has arrived!"  

 He called out in his mind, "System?"  

 In response to his voice, a virtual screen appeared before him. Written in  were the words “Strongest Scholar System.” The screen displayed several options: "Attributes," "Inventory," "Skills," and "Achievements."  

 He tapped on "Attributes," and sure enough, it displayed various magical talents.  

 ---

 **Luke Mountbatten**  
Level 1 Wizard  
Mana: 35/35   

*Each talent is rated between 1 (lowest) and 10 (highest).*  
(*Note: As explained later, 10 is the upper limit for ordinary individuals. Only talents surpassing 10 signify true genius.*)  

 - **Charms**: 10 (*Your talent for charms is unparalleled.*)  
- **Potions**: 9 (*Your aptitude for potions is excellent; regular practice is recommended.*)  
- **Transfiguration**: 2 (*Your lack of skill in transfiguration might make Professor McGonagall sigh in despair.*)  
- **Dark Magic**: 18 (*As a proper heir of British mischievous traditions, a direct descendant of stirring up trouble, and a bearer of London’s Union Jack of dark heritage, every pore in your body seems to exude the pain of others. Achieving greatness without embracing your inherent knack for dark magic seems unnecessary. With this talent, you can master even the most challenging dark spells with just a glance.*)  
- **Flying**: 1 (*Your flying talent is so abysmal that even a troll would shake its head. That solitary point exists only because 1 is the lowest possible score.*)  
- **Defense Against the Dark Arts**: 10 (*With darkness comes light. Your unparalleled talent in dark magic naturally bolsters your skill in defending against it.*)  
- **Herbology**: 3 (*If you can tell celery from parsley, that’s already a significant improvement.*)  
- **Physical Fitness**: 10 (*Who said physical magic isn’t real magic?*)  
- **Swordsmanship**: 10 (*Thanks to exceptional early training, your swordsmanship is outstanding. Don’t argue that swordsmanship isn’t magic—look at Gandalf in the distance.*)  
- **Divination**: 1 (*Deeply influenced by cultural disdain for superstition, you have zero interest in foresight.*)  

 - **Points Available**: 0  
- **Resets Remaining**: 0  

 ---

 Luke stared at his dark magic talent with twitching lips, his mind racing with confusion. "Didn’t they say 10 was the max? What’s this 18 supposed to mean?"  

 He desperately wanted to redistribute his talent points, transferring the "useless" dark magic points to charms and transfiguration.  

 He sighed and reluctantly closed the attributes screen, moving on to the inventory.   

As expected, there was a "Beginner’s Gift Pack" quietly sitting in the first slot.  

 “Open it?”  

 Luke selected "Yes."   

---

 **Congratulations! You have obtained the skill book: Water Creation Spell.**  
**Congratulations! You have obtained a cooking recipe: Crispy Spider Legs.**  
**Congratulations! You have obtained a rune: Ral.**  

 - **Water Creation Spell**: Creates magical spring water that restores 100 mana points over 20 seconds when consumed.  
- **Recipe: Crispy Spider Legs**: Increases mana regeneration for 1 hour after consumption.  
- **Rune: Ral**: A mysterious rune that grants unique effects when embedded into items.  

 --- 

After examining the inventory, Luke was overjoyed. Just as the saying goes, when you’re sleepy, a pillow shows up. As a hardworking individual, the Water Creation Spell was exactly what he needed.  

 With this spell, he no longer had to worry about running out of mana during magic practice.  

 (*Chapter End*)  

*Chapter 2: Choosing a Wand Is Like Pursuing a Girl*

As Luke prepared to close the system panel, he caught a glimpse of a silvery-gray cat leaping gracefully through the window onto his desk.

“Well, aren’t you something,” Luke said, gently taking the cat’s left front paw as if to shake hands. “You’re the real big shot here.”

Now up close, Luke noticed the cat’s face bore markings that resembled glasses. He felt a strange sense of familiarity but couldn’t immediately place where he’d seen it before.

Casually, he cupped the cat’s head, finding its shape insufficiently round and proceeded to knead it. The tabby cat was utterly stunned—its pupils dilated to the extreme, and its mouth hung slightly open in a state of utter bewilderment. It had never imagined that the little gentleman in front of it would dare to rub and squish an unfamiliar cat.

Just as Luke heard a faint popping sound, an achievement notification appeared before him.

*“Meow Meow Obedient!” (Legendary Feat)*

Achievement Description: Interact with Professor McGonagall in her cat form.  

Achievement Reward: +1 Transfiguration Talent  

“Wait, what…” Luke froze. How could casually petting a random cat result in him rubbing a professor?

He swore he had no intention of laying hands on Professor McGonagall—it was just that he really liked cats.

While Luke was still in shock, Professor McGonagall recovered her composure. With a nimble leap, she escaped his grasp and, under his dazed gaze, stood upright and transformed into an elderly… cat-faced woman.

Professor McGonagall wasn’t wearing her hat; her neatly pinned black hair framed her stern expression. She wore an old-fashioned pair of square glasses that complemented her authoritative demeanor as the head of a house.

“Madam, I… uh…” Luke was at a loss for words.

“I understand your surprise, Mr. Mountbatten,” Professor McGonagall said as she straightened her robes, her thin lips pressed together. “I hope you don’t mind my unannounced visit. I’m Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Transfiguration Professor.”

“Oh, not at all,” Luke replied, extending a small hand. “I’m Luke Mountbatten. It’s an honor to meet you, Professor McGonagall.”

As a gentleman through and through, Luke executed his introduction with impeccable manners. Coupled with his angelic appearance, Professor McGonagall’s initial displeasure dissipated entirely.

Who could stay mad at such a charming and refined little boy? Handsome, noble, and polite—Professor McGonagall found it difficult to dislike him, especially compared to that brat Draco Malfoy.

“I imagine you’ve received our letter by now,” Professor McGonagall said, referring to the recently delivered correspondence. “Mr. Mountbatten, did you know you’re a natural-born wizard?”

“I just found out, actually,” Luke said with a polite smile, pulling a chair over for her.

“Thank you.” Professor McGonagall sat down gracefully. “Hogwarts sends faculty members to assist Muggle families in purchasing the necessary supplies from Diagon Alley.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, “Given your unique circumstances, I’ve taken it upon myself to introduce you to the magical world.”

“Professor, what’s a Muggle?” Luke asked, his wide-eyed expression as convincing as any Oscar-winning performance.

“Poor child,” Professor McGonagall said, patting his head affectionately. “Muggles are what we call non-magical people.”

“Then… Professor, can you tell me stories about the magical world?”

“I’m afraid not, dear,” Professor McGonagall replied, stroking his head again. His silky, soft hair was delightfully pleasant to the touch.

“There’s no time for stories. If you’re ready to attend Hogwarts, we must head to Diagon Alley to purchase your school supplies.”

“I have no objections, Professor,” Luke said with a smile. “If we’re leaving soon, may I ask my butler to prepare a car?”

“That won’t be necessary, child. Just give me your hand.”

Following her instructions, Luke extended his hand. A moment later, a whirlwind sensation engulfed him, and he found himself standing in a noisy, cluttered tavern.

Surprisingly, he felt no nausea from the trip. As Luke pondered whether books had exaggerated the discomfort of magical travel, Professor McGonagall’s voice broke his thoughts.

“Impressive constitution, Mr. Mountbatten. Most young wizards your age feel unwell after Apparition.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Luke replied, nodding elegantly.

This child… Professor McGonagall thought as she instinctively ruffled his soft hair again.

After a quick word with the barkeep, Professor McGonagall led Luke to a brick wall. Drawing her wand, she pointed to a garbage bin as if addressing a chalkboard.

“Mr. Mountbatten, remember this bin. Count three bricks up from it, then two across—like this.”

She demonstrated, tapping a brick lightly three times. “Just tap here, and it will change.”

As she finished speaking, the bricks began to shift and retreat, forming a small opening that grew wider and brighter, revealing a bustling alleyway.

Sunlight streamed through the now open passage, flooding the once dimly lit tavern with light.

“Cool,” Luke said, his admiration genuine.

Diagon Alley was chaotic, reminiscent of an old-fashioned market. The narrow walkway was lined with magical street vendors displaying their goods. Wizards browsed stalls, haggling and inspecting items.

Luke’s eyes sparkled as his instincts for exploration ignited.

“Moonlight Grass! Fresh Moonlight Grass! Premium quality Moonlight Grass! Just three Galleons per stalk!”

“Phoenix Tears! Top-quality Phoenix Tears! Rich in magical energy and the perfect choice for advanced potions! Now on sale for sixty-eight Galleons!”

“Lapis lazuli, cat’s eye stones, magical potions! Everything you need to enhance and invigorate your magical powers—come and take a look!”

Luke’s primary goal was to exchange for some Gold Galleons.

However... there was a slight problem. He had left in a rush and hadn’t brought any money, only the checkbook tucked inside his coat.

Turning to Professor McGonagall, Luke awkwardly said, “Professor, it seems we left in too much of a hurry. I only brought my checkbook.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Gringotts has a wide range of services. Muggle checks can also be exchanged for Gold Galleons,” Professor McGonagall assured him as she took his hand and led him toward Gringotts.

From Luke’s perspective, Gringotts seemed to be the most well-maintained building in the alley.

Passing through the bronze doors, Luke couldn’t help but fix his gaze on the long-limbed goblins inside. He had never seen such intelligent creatures before, at least not in person.

“They’re goblins, the staff of Gringotts,” Professor McGonagall explained in a low voice.

She was pleased that Luke’s reaction was only a fleeting look of surprise before he looked away, unlike other Muggle-born children who often stared rudely.

The goblin guarding the entrance bowed to them, and another silver door appeared ahead, engraved with some text.

Luke didn’t bother to read it closely and simply followed Professor McGonagall inside.

Two goblins, possibly the hall managers, bowed and guided them into a marble hall.

The goblins were busy with various tasks: weighing gemstones, handling gold, escorting customers in and out, and signing documents. Professor McGonagall approached an available counter and said, “Hello, we’d like to deposit something into Albus Dumbledore’s vault.”

“Do you have his key, ma’am?”

“Yes, I brought it.” Professor McGonagall produced a bronze key from somewhere and handed over a black pouch.

The goblin inspected the pouch briefly, nodded, and said, “No problem. Leave it to us.”

“Sir, could you tell me the exchange rate between British Pounds and Galleons?” Luke asked the goblin.

“Five pounds to one Galleon, but there’s an annual limit of one thousand pounds for students from the Muggle world, sir,” the goblin replied.

“Do you accept checks?”

“We do.”

Luke quickly took out his checkbook, wrote a check for a thousand pounds, and tore it off with a smile. “I’d like to exchange two hundred Galleons.”

After exchanging the money, his first task was to buy a wand.

As the saying goes, "A wand is a wizard’s second life." With that in mind, buying a wand first seemed only natural.

Professor McGonagall, already familiar with Diagon Alley, skillfully guided Luke through twists and turns to a shop that seemed heavily worn by the passage of time.

In the display window, a single wand rested alone on a faded purple cushion. The golden lettering on the shop’s sign had mostly peeled away, but it still read: “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.”

The shop itself was tiny, furnished only with a long bench. Thousands of long, narrow boxes containing wands were stacked to the ceiling. Squeezing his way inside, Luke spotted Ollivander dozing at the counter.

“Hello? Excuse me, sir?” Luke greeted politely.

“Hmm?” Ollivander raised his head from his arms, the imprint on his face clearly visible. He shook his head to wake himself and focused his eyes on the visitors.

“Professor McGonagall? Ah, you must be here with a Muggle-born student to buy a wand?”

“Yes,” McGonagall replied, patting Luke’s well-shaped head to encourage him to step forward.

“May I have your name, young man?” Ollivander asked, adding, “Apologies, but wizards who purchase wands here must be registered with the Ministry of Magic.”

“My name is Luke Mountbatten, sir,” Luke introduced himself courteously.

“Ah... Mountbatten.” Ollivander’s eyes gleamed with nostalgia. “Might I ask, is David Mountbatten your...”

“He’s my father, sir,” Luke answered politely.

“Ah, indeed.” Ollivander chuckled. “You take after your mother more—ah, her name was quite a tongue-twister. I preferred calling her Emma. She was such a kind-hearted alchemist.”

“Pardon me, I do tend to ramble about the past as I get older,” Ollivander said, noticing Luke’s somber expression. “Mr. Mountbatten, may I ask which arm you favor?”

“My left arm, sir,” Luke replied, raising it in preparation.

Ollivander produced a tape measure, which floated into the air and began measuring Luke’s arm, forearm, height, and head circumference. It almost seemed like this shop dealt in clothing rather than wands.

“Please be patient, Mr. Mountbatten. The wands I sell are unique, so the process can be a bit tedious,” Ollivander explained with care. “Accurate body measurements help select the wand that best suits you. All right, you may come forward now.”

The tape measure returned to Ollivander, and Luke followed it to the counter. Ollivander retrieved a wand from behind him and said, “Based on your measurements, I’ve narrowed it down. Let’s see if this one suits you—beechwood, nine and three-quarter inches, unicorn hair core.”

As soon as Luke held the wand, a brilliant light flared from its tip, and the wand vibrated with excitement. Oddly enough, Luke felt as though the wand was... happy?

“Ah, a perfect match on the first try! That’s rare,” Ollivander exclaimed with delight. “Mr. Mountbatten, it seems this wand suits you exceptionally well. You see, the effort I put into precise measurements is well worth it—it ensures you find your match quickly. A wand is like wooing a girl; not all will be enamored with you.”

“Now, try channeling a bit of magic into the wand. Just a little,” Ollivander suggested.

Luke complied, and as soon as he infused a trace of magic, a golden, glowing dome expanded rapidly, enveloping the entire shop.

Crash! Boxes of wands tumbled open as their contents clamored to get closer to Luke, as if vying for his attention.

“This is what you call ‘complex’?” Luke asked, peering through the gap between wands at the dumbfounded Ollivander. “Seems like everyone here likes me!”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 3: Everyone Loves Luke

Ollivander stood dumbstruck, staring at the wands before him as though petrified.

“By Merlin’s beard,” he muttered, “I swear upon Merlin himself, not even the legends of my family could conjure up a young wizard this remarkable.”

Meanwhile, Luke had earned himself an achievement.

*Achievement Unlocked: Everyone Loves Luke (Season 1)*

Achievement Description: Gain the approval of every wand at Ollivander's Wand Shop.

Reward: The Eye of Discernment.

Ollivander finally snapped out of his daze, looking slightly embarrassed. “I must apologize, Mr. Mountbatten. This is the first time I’ve encountered such a situation.”

“It’s alright,” Luke replied, using his newly acquired Eye of Discernment to inspect the beech wood wand in his hand.

*Wand (White)*

- Single-Hand Damage: 1–1

- Durability: 50/50

(Wizards Only)

- *+1 to Ridiculus (Laughable-Laughable)*

“I’ll look at another,” Luke said, placing the beech wand on the counter. The wand, which had been glowing and vibrating enthusiastically, immediately dimmed, appearing forlorn—like a heartbroken girl abandoned by her lover.

“Oh, holly wood, eleven inches, phoenix feather core,” Ollivander announced eagerly as Luke picked up another wand. “This wand has a twin, you know—the one responsible for the scar on the Boy Who Lived...”

So, this is Harry Potter’s wand, Luke thought. He wasn’t planning to keep it; he only wanted to see its stats.

*Phoenix-Feathered Holly Wand (Blue)*

- Single-Hand Damage: 1–1

- Durability: 50/50

(Wizards Only)

- *+10% Faster Cast Rate*

- *+3 to Expelliarmus (Disarm Spell)*

Luke internally groaned as two imaginary black lines appeared over his head. Of course, it boosts Expelliarmus. No wonder Potter was able to knock Snape flying in third year. And it’s a +3 boost, no less.  

He quickly returned the wand to the counter. I’ll pass on that one.  

After much consideration, Luke finally selected the wand most suitable for himself.

*Cypress Wood Wand*

- Eleven inches, unicorn hair core  

- *+30% Faster Cast Rate*

The specific bonuses didn’t matter as much to Luke right now. What he needed most was something practical. His plan was to practice spells at home before school started, and with a magic spring providing unlimited mana regeneration, casting speed was key.

After paying eleven Galleons and bidding farewell to an emotional Ollivander, Luke continued his shopping spree.

A small incident occurred along the way: Luke spotted a baby tiger and was smitten. However, under Professor McGonagall’s stern gaze, he reluctantly chose a pure-white owl instead.

“I’ll call you Amoryth,” he said, naming the owl after a dream dragon from his favorite world, Azeroth. Owls there were known as companions of dreams.

---

A month flew by. Luke didn’t idle during this time. With access to the game-breaking *Aguamenti* spell, his proficiency in basic spells improved by leaps and bounds.

One amusing discovery was that the *Protego* charm, after reaching Level 2, only gained experience when successfully blocking attacks. This didn’t deter Luke. He invested in a ping-pong training machine to practice. Starting with ping-pong balls, he eventually moved on to wooden balls and lead balls as his skill reached Level 5. However, his progress stalled.

It seems I need to block actual spells to level it up further.  

According to the system:

- Level 1: Novice

- Level 2: Proficient

- Level 3: Faster casting

- Level 4: Increased spell power

- Level 5: Silent casting

- Level 6: Wandless casting

At Level 10, spells could be cast through sheer will alone, no gestures required—just like Queenie from Fantastic Beasts effortlessly using Legilimency.

As for swordsmanship, Luke had hired a fencing instructor from Germany. Under expert guidance, his skills improved rapidly. With fewer mistakes and efficient drills, his mastery soared. Though he had yet to face real combat, he felt increasingly confident wielding a sword alongside *Lumos.*

His *Lumos* spell, perhaps due to natural talent, shone far brighter than others'. One late-night practice session even caused a rooster to crow, mistaking it for dawn.

Reaching Level 5 granted Luke a crystalline sword as an achievement reward. The sword, featuring four mysterious slots, had anti-magic properties, reinforced with unbreakable enchantments.

---

At King’s Cross Station:

Since his older sister Diana was visiting Africa, Luke was accompanied by the Mountbatten family’s butler—his mother’s loyal servant—to see him off.

“If Miss Diana could see you off to school, she’d be so proud,” the butler said, his eyes glistening as Luke disappeared through the barrier to Platform 9¾.

As for Luke’s grandfather? He was vacationing in Morocco, blissfully unconcerned.

Dragging his numerous bags and his curious owl that kept trying to climb into his satchel, Luke wandered the platform, searching for an empty compartment.

The Hogwarts Express is quite different from domestic hard-seat trains, resembling a soft sleeper more closely. Each compartment has sliding doors, but no bunks. The front carriages were packed with people, so Luke had to squeeze his way toward the rear carriages, eventually finding an empty compartment. He opened his backpack to let Amorys out for some fresh air.

Amorys lay back on the seat, kicking his little paws happily. After feeding him some beef jerky specially prepared by the butler, Luke left him to his own devices and immersed himself in his book.

Potions class needed thorough preparation, after all. Luke vividly remembered how venomous Snape's words could be. He had no intention of becoming the target of his biting sarcasm due to a lack of preparation.

"Uh… hello, may I… may I sit here?"

A timid voice interrupted his reading. Luke looked up to see a chubby boy who avoided eye contact and exuded an air of insecurity.

"Oh, sure. Please, come in," Luke responded kindly, scooping up Amorys—who was halfway into the backpack—and placing him on his side of the seat.

The boy didn’t seem to notice Amorys, although he did glance curiously at the backpack, which was moving slightly.

"Hello, I’m Luke. Luke Mountbatten."

Luke extended his hand. The boy hesitated briefly before shaking it, stammering, "H-hello, I’m Neville Longbottom."

Luke smiled warmly, patting Neville on the shoulder. "It looks like the weather outside is pretty nice."

"Y-yes, it is," Neville replied, his nerves easing up a bit. His classmate might have appeared aloof at first, but he seemed genuinely nice. "Are you a senior?"

"Me? Oh, no, I’m a first-year," Luke answered with a smile.

Neville seemed about to say something else when the compartment door suddenly slid open, interrupting their conversation.

"Sorry… I didn’t realize anyone was in here. Uh… sorry."

The unexpected visitor was a boy with glasses.

"No problem," Luke nodded.

"Um, can I sit here? The rest of the carriage is full, and I couldn’t find an empty compartment anywhere," the boy asked, holding a cage with a snowy white owl that was hopping energetically, trying to escape its confines.

"Of course. There’s plenty of space for six people in here."

Luke wasn’t exaggerating; the compartment was exceptionally spacious, even more so than the soft sleepers he had ridden before.

"Thank you! Thank you!" The boy grinned, dragging his heavy trunk into the compartment.

Noticing his struggle, Luke stepped over to help lift the trunk into the corner. Neville, not idle either, placed the owl’s cage on the table.

"Thank you so much. You’ve been a big help," the boy said, catching his breath. Extending a hand, he introduced himself, "Hi, I’m Harry. Harry Potter. I’m a first-year too."

Ah… no wonder he looked so familiar—it was the Boy Who Lived.

Luke shook his hand, smiling. "I’m Luke Mountbatten, and this is Neville Longbottom. We’re both first-years as well."

So the two prophesied boys were meeting here? Must be the butterfly effect.

"Uh, can I sit here too? There’s no space left in the other compartments," came another hesitant voice from the door.

Red hair, freckles—it had to be Ron.

After a round of introductions, Ron’s eyes widened. "Ah! You’re Harry Potter! The one who defeated You-Know-Who…"

"Can I see… you know… that?" Ron asked, his words causing some confusion.

"Wh-what?" Harry looked puzzled.

Ron sat down and gestured to his own forehead. "You know, the scar. That one."

Harry, not offended, pushed back his hair to reveal the lightning-shaped scar.

"Wow!" Ron exclaimed, slipping into an exclamation in a dialect akin to ancient Qin.

Luke, meanwhile, had lost interest in his book. He stuffed his hand into his bag, petting Amorys’ chubby body while observing the lively conversation with interest.

Ron and Harry’s arrival had certainly brought some energy to the compartment.

As the group chatted, the sound of a trolley approaching caught their attention, followed by the snack trolley lady’s voice.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

"No, thank you. I’ve brought my own…" Ron hesitated, pulling out a squashed sandwich.

Harry, noticing his new friend’s embarrassment, reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of Galleons. "We’ll take the lot."

"Whoa…" This time, Neville joined Ron in expressing their amazement.

Rich kid alert—let’s be friends!

After dumping all the snacks from the trolley onto the seats, the lady left to restock. The three boys looked at each other, and Harry suggested, "Why don’t we share? I can’t finish all of this on my own."

"Uh, thanks, but…" Ron looked down at his mangled sandwich. "My mum said it’s bad to waste food, so I need to finish this first."

"How about this," Luke proposed. "Cut the sandwich into four pieces, and we’ll each help you finish a piece. Deal?"

"Uh… well…" Ron hesitated, embarrassed by the sorry state of his sandwich.

"Don’t be shy." Luke winked at Ron, pulling out a knife to divide the sandwich into four parts. He grabbed his share and took a bite.

He had to admit, Mrs. Weasley’s cooking was excellent. Even a simple sandwich tasted great.

"Your mother’s cooking is amazing," Luke remarked sincerely after swallowing his bite. "Much better than my sister’s. I should ask her to get some tips from your mum someday."

"Really?" Ron’s eyes lit up. Kids were always happy to hear compliments.

"Absolutely. I loved it," Luke said, patting Ron’s knee—they were sitting next to each other.

"I can vouch for that—it’s way better than anything my Aunt Petunia makes," Harry added.

"It’s just as good as my gran’s cooking," Neville chimed in.

"Thanks!" Ron beamed and picked up a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. "Want to try these?"

Then he noticed Neville’s crestfallen expression. "Neville, what’s wrong?"

"Oh… it’s just… speaking of my gran, I think I forgot something important again…" Neville admitted, looking glum.

"Don’t worry; maybe you’ll remember while we eat." Ron opened the bag and handed out the beans. "They say there are all kinds of flavors—chocolate, mint…"

And so, the journey to Hogwarts continued, filled with laughter, chatter, and the promise of friendship.

(Chapter End)

Chapter 4: Without Manners, There Is No Standing

“There are also flavors like spinach, liver, and tripe. George said he even once got a booger-flavored one.”

Ron eagerly explained to everyone.

“The next time you see him, ask how he knows what boogers taste like.”

Luke immediately noticed the point of curiosity.

Harry quietly stuffed his Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into the couch cushions. He didn’t want to risk getting a booger-flavored bean—that would be dreadful.

“Luke, you’re so clever. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Ron popped another bean into his mouth, sniffed, and smiled. “Mmm, chocolate flavor. I must be lucky!”

“Really?” Luke chewed on his bean and chuckled. “Lucky for me, mine’s black pepper flavor.”

Meanwhile, our savior, Harry, had moved on to a Chocolate Frog.

“Mine tastes like... toad,” Neville said, grimacing.

Everyone burst out laughing. After a moment, Ron started up again. “Hogwarts has four houses. The Weasley family has always been in Gryffindor. George and Fred told me the Sorting Ceremony is a wizard duel, and your performance determines your house.”

At this, Ron’s expression fell. “Oh no, if I don’t get into Gryffindor, Mum will kill me…”

“Me too. If I get sorted into Slytherin, my gran will have my head…”

Suddenly, Ron seemed to realize something. “Wait a minute, Neville, how do you know what toad tastes like?”

He kept munching on a chewy, orange gummy as he asked.

“I licked my toad once. Oh, Trevor’s my pet, the one Gran bought me.”

Neville’s words earned him a moment of silent respect from everyone.

“Oh no! Trevor! Trevor’s missing!” Neville suddenly stood up, panicking as he turned to the group.

“Calm down, Neville,” Ron comforted him. “Think carefully—where was the last place you saw Trevor?”

“I… I don’t know. My memory’s awful…” Neville looked so distraught he might as well have been a garnish for a plate of cold salad.

“How about this: Neville and I will go look for Trevor. You two stay here and watch over things,” Luke suggested, standing up and patting Neville on the back. “Let’s go, Neville. We’ll find him.”

“We’ll go too!” Ron and Harry, being helpful souls, volunteered immediately.

“No, someone needs to stay and hold the fort. Only Neville knows Trevor, so having more people won’t help. You two can keep each other company here.”

Luke added, “We’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on my Amaryllis for me.”

“Amaryllis?” Harry and Ron exchanged a glance before looking at Luke’s irregularly bulging bag.

“No problem, Luke. We’ll take good care of it.”

“Thanks. Let’s go.” Luke gestured for Neville to follow him.

The train compartments seemed to be divided by house. Other than the first-years, each group of students had their own car. After searching through Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw compartments without success, Luke and Neville arrived at the Slytherin car.

“Maybe… maybe we should go back, Luke.” Neville seemed terrified of this compartment.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Slytherin… I don’t like them. They’re all Dark wizards,” Neville muttered, recalling something unpleasant.

“Prejudice is a mountain in one’s heart, Neville,” Luke said, patting his arm reassuringly. Then he knocked on the first compartment door.

Inside was a single student, an older girl reading a book. She was sitting with her side to the door, her face obscured by her golden hair shining like the sun.

“Excuse me, have you seen a toad? It’s a classmate’s pet,” Luke asked politely.

“Sorry, no,” the girl replied coolly, her voice clear and aloof like a flowing stream.

“My apologies for disturbing you.” Luke closed the door and turned to hear uproarious laughter from the next compartment.

Approaching, he found Neville awkwardly dangling upside-down at the door. A tall student with oversized teeth was laughing loudly, pointing at Neville while the rest joined in mockery.

“What’s going on, Neville?” Luke asked, his expression darkening.

“They… they’re mocking me and calling me names…” Neville stammered as large tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the floor.

Luke patted him reassuringly, reaching into his pocket with his other hand. The big-toothed student laughed louder.

“Hey, snotty Longbottom! You’re as useless as your idiot parents! Hahaha!” The boy even imitated Neville’s parents, provoking more derisive laughter.

“My apologies, everyone,” Luke said, still smiling politely. “Have you seen Longbottom’s toad? I’d greatly appreciate any information.”

“Who invited this nosy little country bumpkin? Longbottom’s snotty face pairs well with a filthy Mudblood like you. A perfect match!”

The student’s words were dripping with venom.

Neville suddenly found his courage, breaking free of the spell holding him aloft. He landed with a thud, scrambled up, and pointed angrily at the bullies. “I… I won’t let you insult Luke! Marcus Flint!”

“It’s all right, Neville. Don’t stoop to their level.”

Luke gently pushed Neville out of the compartment and whispered, “Stay out here.”

“My grandfather once told me…” Luke began, his voice calm as he closed the compartment door.

“Manners…”

He locked the door behind him.

“Maketh…”

Turning gracefully, Luke drew his wand, his tone still polite.

“Man.”

“Seems like pureblood families don’t prioritize teaching manners. Allow me to give you a lesson.”

Flint and his cronies burst out laughing. “You? Teach us? What a joke! Hey, Frisk, give him a proper lesson!”

“You’ll regret this, kid!” Frisk snarled, lunging at Luke.

“Stupefy!”

Frisk collapsed instantly.

The bullies gaped at Luke, shocked that a first-year could cast a Stupefy spell. More surprising was the elegant crystal sword he held.

Frisk lay on the floor, a comical lump swelling on his forehead.

Luke’s calm voice cut through their astonishment. “Shall we proceed with the lesson, or are we done wasting each other’s time?”

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 5: Getting Off the Train*

"I`ll kill you,Mudblood!"

Flint bared his large front teeth, charging forward in a frenzy, but a sharp command interrupted his thoughts again.

"Langlock!"

He didn’t even have time to react. The shimmering blue blade grew impossibly large before his eyes, and then a sharp pain erupted on his mouth as he was sent flying backward.

The remaining three exchanged glances and lunged at Luke together. However, Luke raised his wand, and a burst of intense light erupted. The sudden brightness threw them into disarray, each clutching their eyes and wailing as Luke swiftly turned them into swollen-faced buffoons.

Luke stepped over the groaning trio, grabbed Marcus Flint by the collar, and placed him in a chair. Leaning down slightly, he tapped Flint's bruised cheek with a crystal sword, smiling warmly as he asked, "Now, tell me, what have we learned from this lesson?"

"I’m sorry… I’m sorry…" Marcus repeated the apology over and over. He was genuinely terrified of this younger student, who seemed both impeccably elegant and utterly terrifying.

"Don’t let me catch you bullying anyone else again, understood?" Luke's smile remained pleasant. "If I see it happen again, it won’t just be a lesson in etiquette next time."

"By the way, it seems I was a bit careless. Who knew teaching you some manners would leave me so bruised myself?" Luke added, straightening up and tapping Flint’s shoulder with his crystal sword. "And do tell those napping seniors to write a 500-word reflection on this experience. I expect it on my desk in three days. Understood?"

"Understood… understood…" Marcus replied mechanically, already plotting to embellish this incident when he reported it to Professor Snape, hoping to get this little demon expelled.

Luke gave him a meaningful smile before turning and leaving the compartment.

At the door, he saw Neville holding Trevor and waiting for him.

"Wow, that was quick. You found Trevor?" Luke asked with a smile.

"Uh… yeah, a senior in another compartment helped me find him," Neville replied nervously.

Luke patted Neville’s shoulder. "Did you thank her?"

"Yes, I did."

Luke nodded approvingly and glanced toward the compartment.

He had thought the senior seemed aloof and unapproachable, but perhaps she was more warmhearted than she appeared. What a fascinating contradiction… Luke found himself curious about her.

Dragging Neville back to their compartment, Luke brushed past a bushy-haired girl with prominent front teeth at the door. Once inside, he noticed Ron didn’t look quite right.

"No matter which house I end up in, I don’t want to be in hers," Ron muttered bitterly, tossing his wand into his trunk just as Luke entered. "Luke, you’re back?"

"What happened here?" Luke asked, noticing the compartment floor littered with spilled candy.

"Don’t even ask," Ron sighed, picking up a rat by its tail and gently stroking its fur. "Oh, Scabbers, you poor thing… Malfoy’s just awful. How could he treat a defenseless rat like this?"

Luke felt a pang of disgust at Ron’s expression. He knew Scabbers’ true identity. He couldn’t help but wonder how Ron would react once he discovered the rat was actually a greasy, balding middle-aged man.

"Got into a fight?" Luke inquired, crouching down alongside Neville to help Ron and Harry clean up the mess.

"Scabbers got into a fight, not me," Ron clarified, recounting the incident.

Just like in the original story, Goyle had tried to snatch their Chocolate Frogs, only to be bitten viciously by Scabbers. Ron animatedly described the humiliation of the Malfoy trio, filling the compartment with laughter.

"Speaking of fights, Luke just had one earlier," Neville chimed in, recalling the incident in the Slytherin compartment. "Did you know? Luke singlehandedly took down five Slytherin seniors!"

"Good for you!" Ron exclaimed. "There’s not a decent person in Slytherin. I hope we all end up in the same house. Let’s all ask the Sorting Hat to put us in Gryffindor!" He looked eagerly at Harry and Luke, his eyes shining with hope.

"I’d like to be in Gryffindor too," Luke replied gracefully, his smile unwavering. Harry nodded, grinning sheepishly.

At that moment, the compartment door slid open, and the bushy-haired girl poked her head inside. Luke recognized her instantly. This bright-eyed, high-potential little witch was Hermione Granger.

"You’d better change into your robes. I’ve already asked the driver—we’re almost at Hogwarts," Hermione said, her tone resembling that of a bossy class monitor.

"Got it. Now leave. Unless you plan to watch us change?" Ron retorted irritably, clearly annoyed by her authoritative demeanor.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As if I’d want to." She pointed at his face. "By the way, there’s a smudge on your nose."

As she left, Ron shot her retreating figure a glare and muttered, "Who on earth would like her?"

Luke overheard and chuckled inwardly. Oh, Ron, you’ll eat those words someday…  

Once they changed into their robes, the train came to a halt. A broadcast instructed students to leave their luggage on the train, as it would be delivered to their dormitories after the Sorting Ceremony.

The group followed the crowd off the train, shivering as a cold wind greeted them.

"First years, over here! First years, this way! Harry, over here! Oh my goodness, are you all right?"

The booming voice of Hagrid rang out, and Luke could feel Harry’s excitement. He whispered, unable to contain his joy, "It’s Hagrid, my friend Hagrid!" Then he called out loudly, "I’m here, Hagrid!"

"There you are," Hagrid replied, his bearded face breaking into a warm smile. "Come on, follow me, and watch your step!"

To be honest, the path Hagrid led them down was dark, damp, and treacherously uneven. Ron slipped after only a few steps, bumping into Harry and causing him to stumble as well.

"Sorry, Harry! Bloody hell, it’s pitch black," Ron muttered in frustration.

Luke drew his wand and softly intoned, "Lumos."

A radiant light illuminated their path, and the students murmured in amazement before settling into a hushed admiration.

"Cool," Ron said, sincerely impressed.

(Chapter End)