Harry Potter: Returns Back From Game of Thrones (ASOIAF) - 16

Chapter 16: Mystical Script

This was much harder than learning magic.

Why was it so difficult? What happened to his superior intelligence?

Just like this, until the day before school started, Harry had almost given up.

Things being as they were, he'd handle other matters first. Perhaps there was magic that could help him master these ancient scripts quickly.

He also proceeded as planned, recruiting several adult wizards with the highest loyalty as subordinates, using them as his agents on the black market.

Finally got the territory interface activated—

[Sphere of Influence: Knockturn Alley]

[Special Buildings: None]

[Kingly Power: Zero (continuously rising)]

[Legion: Dedalus Diggle, Doris Crockford, Tom...]

Clicking on the legion showed each person's talent ceiling—all rather mediocre. Harry had tried to select the best available. Though currently modest, things would improve in the future.

As for the faction's name, naturally it was the Night's Watch. Harry didn't want to think up any new names.

In summary, he'd accomplished quite a bit—the summer wasn't wasted.

On September first, Harry went to King's Cross Station, preparing to take the train to Hogwarts.

Well, should he say Hogwarts was keeping up with the times? Actually using trains instead of magical implements.

He'd long noticed some wizards lived like they were from centuries past—trains were probably novel things to them. Of course, most had seen them, just half-understood, knowing Muggles had certain inventions but only using some of the most common ones, often adding modifications and adaptations.

Like photographs—in their conception, photos should move. Their perception was completely distorted. Obviously making photos move should require special craftsmanship, yet they found it normal, considering static original photos the abnormal ones.

Magic was quite idealistic.

Hagrid had already given him the train ticket—departing from Platform 9¾.

Probably not a misprint. Literally speaking, maybe the third quarter-point between Platforms 9 and 10.

Muggles didn't have this platform. Harry was used to it—possibly due to sustained witch hunts in the past, surviving wizards had become quite skilled at disguise, hiding in plain sight.

Muggle-repelling charms and similar magic were probably concealment spells collectively "thought up" by wizards through idealistic "power of belief" during long periods of persecution.

Though most wizards now looked down on and discriminated against Muggles, they'd once been discriminated against too—though "Muggle" was a wizard-coined word, its etymology was obviously British dialect for calling someone an idiot.

Current wizarding political correctness couldn't publicly discriminate against Muggle-born wizards but could reasonably discriminate against Muggles.

Harry felt such retaliatory contempt was reasonable since wizards had truly been persecuted without retaliating—just talking was quite peaceful.

Well, Harry had too much to do. He'd only read magical history up to the goblin wars and hadn't reached the modern part about Grindelwald founding wizard supremacist parties wanting wizards to rule the world.

Though even if he had, so what—it hadn't succeeded.

Whether a word insulted someone depended on the speaker's intent. Most wizards didn't consider "Muggle" derogatory.

Words were idealistic things—what mattered wasn't surface meaning but inner voice.

At King's Cross Station, Harry reached his target location.

One platform had a large plastic sign reading "9," another had "10," with nothing between them.

Probably here—the three-quarters position.

Harry noticed this wasn't like the Leaky Cauldron, where people without magic couldn't see it—here even those with magic couldn't see the platform.

Because the station was too crowded, easily letting Muggles accidentally squeeze in?

So this spell actually only let people with magic pass through, while the wall was a real wall?

Harry first looked around for other new students. Just then, a group passed behind him, a few words drifting to his ears.

"—packed with Muggles, of course—"

Harry turned to see a plump, short woman talking to four red-haired boys.

Each pushed trunks like Harry's, plus an owl.

Confirmed—wizards.

They were walking away. Harry's hearing was exceptional—after confirming targets, he could hear their conversation without approaching.

"Now, what's the platform number?" the children's mother asked.

"Nine and three-quarters!" a red-haired little girl holding her mother's hand shrieked. "Mom, can I go...?"

"You're not old enough, Ginny. Now, be quiet. Percy, you go first."

The oldest-looking boy walked toward the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

He vanished.

Next came twins named Fred and George—same thing.

Harry confirmed the position matched his estimate. Without waiting for the woman's last youngest son to depart, he already headed toward the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

With his iron head and bronze brain, even if he really hit it, he could break through.

Charging forward aggressively, the barrier getting closer and closer...

But nothing happened... he continued running forward... he opened his eyes.

The world had changed.

"A child?"

"Foreigner."

"Can you speak English?"

"Send him to the police station."

"This child has no identity. Why won't he speak?"

"The doctor says temporary shock. We've investigated—he's connected to that major explosion case, possibly kidnapped by international crime syndicates."

"A child who survived disaster!"

"Poor thing. Can we adopt him?"

"Of course."

"Child, are you willing?"

Harry felt like he was watching a movie, unable to participate at the beginning. He clearly knew these events were unrelated to him—just the system using his world-shocking computational power to force itself on the world, which was fabricating reasons for him to blend in.

Even "when timing comes, heaven and earth lend their strength"—he was smoothly adopted by a couple with children.

Just like crossing to the A Song of Ice and Fire world last time, given a convenient initial identity.

The boundary between illusion and reality blurred as his crossed-over body was projected past shadows by the new world...

Each world had its main storyline. In this world, the convergence point of all destiny was school.

Crossing intervals varied, triggers were unknown, but subtle connections seemed to exist.

This world was named by the system as [Asian Parents]—another inexplicable name.

He'd recently been worrying about ancient scripts being difficult to learn, lacking time and environment, yet he was really sent to such a world... He didn't know how long he could stay.

Three months should be enough for him to learn these Korean/Japanese languages, right?

(TL NOTE: The new world Harry went to is "Chinese Parents," a sim game from Steam, but I changed it to "Asian Parents" and the language to Korean/Japanese—haven't really decided yet.)