When the door to his room was knocked on, Andrew was struggling through his reading.
Self-studying Latin without proper textbooks was an agony that would make anyone shed tears, but it was necessary. Even if it was a dead language, it was still useful.
"I'll be right there," he called, capping his fountain pen and getting up to open the door—he always locked his door, and it was something that had been tacitly allowed.
"Good morning, Mrs. Camille," he greeted the two people standing at the door (she stubbornly insisted that all the students call her Mrs. Camille instead of Director Camille). "And who is this?"
"This is Mrs. McGonagall. She's here to talk to you about enrolling in her school, called Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?"
Andrew paused; the name was strangely familiar.
"Yes, Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall nodded, then looked at Mrs. Camille, who showed no signs of leaving. "Excuse me, Mrs. Camille, may I speak with him privately for a moment?"
During that brief exchange, Andrew finally remembered what Hogwarts was.
A school of magic—a magical school specifically for wizards. He had even played a game called Hogwarts Legacy, and to be honest, it wasn't bad. Beyond that, his knowledge was limited to speedrun summaries of the movies. He'd wanted to read the original books a few times, but he could never find the time. They were just too long, and unlike modern web novels, traditional stories required more time to get into.
With these thoughts rushing through his mind, Andrew took advantage of the delay to assess Professor McGonagall, who was still talking to Mrs. Camille.
'Her appearance isn't quite as I imagined, but her demeanor fits...'
'Which means that my so-called mind power is actually magic?'
'The good news is that training for this magic—not "mind power"—can now be guided by the experiences of others, greatly reducing the chances of going down the wrong path. The bad news is that this once-unique power is now something mass-produced.'
'But none of that matters. What I need to do is pretend I know nothing and play along... because there's no reasonable way I could know anything about this school.'
As he quickly adjusted his mindset, Professor McGonagall had managed to convince Mrs. Camille to leave. She then turned her attention to Andrew, drawing her wand and giving it a gentle tap.
The chair between the two of them immediately transformed into a goat, which promptly pulled a piece of paper from the desk and began to chew on it leisurely.
However, the look of amazement Professor McGonagall had expected didn't come. After a brief moment of surprise, Andrew smacked the goat on the head, quickly reclaiming the half-written manuscript.
"Your power is indeed impressive," Andrew said, half laughing and half exasperated, "but I don't think it was necessary to use something I spent half the day working on as proof."
Fortunately, what he'd written at that time was about language learning—anything else, and it would have already been tucked away, not left lying on the desk.
He pushed the manuscript further behind him and, with his other hand, held down the now docile goat. "An incredible power. What do you call it? Oh, wait, more accurately, what is it called? Telekinesis, psionics, inner energy, magic, aether, or something else?"
Without waiting for McGonagall's response, he looked at the goat and added quickly, almost under his breath, "I've read about all sorts of fantasy powers. People call their unusual abilities by all sorts of names, so I'm pretty open to these things—especially since I have this power myself."
It was extremely impolite to talk this much upon first meeting someone. Instead of speaking, listening and providing timely feedback—like "oh," "is that so," "I see"—would typically facilitate better conversation.
But Andrew had no choice. He needed the continuous questioning to buy himself enough time to fully stabilize his emotions.
"Ah, sorry," Andrew quickly continued, pretending to be flustered but also expectant. "I got a bit carried away and asked too much."
"It's alright, that's perfectly natural," Professor McGonagall nodded. "Hogwarts, the school you'll be attending, is a school of magic. You'll be learning magic there along with many other children your age."
"A school to learn magic?" Andrew didn't even need to fake his excitement. He let it out freely. "That's amazing... but will I be able to afford the tuition?"
"You won't need to worry at all. Hogwarts does not charge tuition."
This question caught Professor McGonagall a little off guard, but only slightly.
"What about books, lodging, food, clothing?" Andrew asked earnestly—he genuinely didn't know. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Maybe I'm asking too much, but I truly might not be able to afford it."
"And also, ma'am, where is the school located? Which country's currency is used? What is the exchange rate? Is it a boarding school? Is there a pathway to further education?"
This wasn't an act—they were sincere questions. And sincerity was often the best disguise.
'Perhaps this kid could work in the office as an assistant...'
Professor McGonagall didn't feel offended at all.
She could already envision a trainee helping out at the school—and a very capable one at that.
Due to Dumbledore's lack of involvement, she handled most of the administrative affairs at Hogwarts. The chaotic workload desperately needed a helping hand. Typically, the only students capable of this level of work were fifth years, and she couldn't have them working in her office during their O.W.L.s year.
Sixth and seventh-year students usually engaged in external internships. During her time at the Ministry of Magic, many departments relied on seventh-year interns to handle some tasks.
Over the years, her office had seen its fair share of interns, but they usually moved on after about a year, either for internships or after graduation. Even those who stayed at Hogwarts became professors and couldn't be roped into office work forever.
A student who could assist with office duties from first year onward—someone well regarded by the elders, detail-oriented, and in need of a stipend—sounded ideal.
So, she happily answered Andrew's questions.
Unexpectedly, even more questions followed.
"Wonderful... but Professor, I actually have some specific questions about the magic you just used. For example, that goat—was it fully transformed into a goat? Is it a permanent transformation, or temporary? Or is it conditional? If a part of the body were to be separated during transformation, would it revert to its original form, or just partially revert?"
"I could feel warmth and a heartbeat—is it an exact replica of a goat, or does it just appear that way? If it moves around, does the heart rate or blood flow change?"
"And when the transformation ends, what happens to what it eats? Does it stay inside the chair, fall out, or simply vanish?"
Maybe the assistant idea wasn't so good after all...
Even the second-best Transfiguration professor in Britain felt a bit overwhelmed by the barrage of questions.
"You need to master the basics of Transfiguration first and read enough theoretical texts before you can even begin to think about these things," she replied.
"In magic, the real danger is not a lack of imagination, but exploring the unknown far beyond one's current grasp. The most tragic incidents in magic often stem from Transfiguration gone wrong."
"Come, I'll take you to Diagon Alley. We can discuss these things on the way. You've asked many questions, and I'll answer them as best I can, but there's one crucial point you must remember."
Professor McGonagall's expression grew serious.
"In magical study, experimenting with the unknown is extremely dangerous. Nothing in magic is to be taken for granted, and delving too deep into the unknown is something you must never attempt."
"Professor, where is Diagon Alley?"
"London, Charing Cross Road, in Westminster. There is a famous landmark of the magical community there, the Leaky Cauldron. Go through the Leaky Cauldron, and you will reach Diagon Alley."
Perhaps because she had answered the question many times before, Professor McGonagall responded without even thinking.
"London, Charing Cross Road, Leaky Cauldron," Andrew repeated the location. "Alright, Professor, I've got it. So, how do we get there?"
"Knight Bus, Floo Network, Apparition, or by Muggle transport," Professor McGonagall replied, nodding slightly. "If we were in London, I'd suggest using Muggle transport, but since we're a bit far and there's no major Floo Network node nearby, we'll Apparate."
"Apparition? You mean—using a spell to move a person from one place to another?" Andrew kept up his talkative persona. "That sounds like an incredible spell..."
"Most students attempt to learn it when they come of age, but it requires sufficient magical knowledge and power as a foundation," Professor McGonagall nodded. "Hold onto my arm, Taylor. Do not let go, or we may have some issues."
Andrew complied, never foolishly underestimating the unknown.
"Close your eyes, Taylor. Get ready—one, two, three."
With the last word, a dense darkness enveloped Andrew, accompanied by an intense feeling of being squeezed. It felt like diving deep underwater, with pressure coming from all sides.
However, the discomfort quickly disappeared, and Professor McGonagall's voice soon followed. "Alright, you can open your eyes now, Mr. Taylor. That was an excellent Apparition experience."
Even amidst the discomfort, Andrew could tell that Professor McGonagall's voice circled around him, as if she were checking for something.
"Is something wrong, Professor?"
"No, everything is fine, nothing to worry about, Mr. Taylor," Professor McGonagall said with certainty. "I was merely conducting a routine disapparition check. If you hadn't held on tightly, issues could have arisen."
"Just like you said, one of the consequences of improperly using magic?"
"Exactly, Taylor." Professor McGonagall nodded. "But for now, you can focus elsewhere. We've arrived at the Leaky Cauldron."
The name was famous indeed.
The surname McGonagall might not immediately bring to mind the magical world without the title "Professor," but the Leaky Cauldron was another story.
Andrew looked up at the pub in front of him—or perhaps it was more like a small tavern. Compared to the bookshop and record store next door, it certainly lived up to its name.
"Quite fitting as a concealed entrance."
Andrew evaluated it. "People around here don't seem to notice it, and they ignore our sudden appearance—is that another spell?"
"Not just one. There are multiple concealment charms protecting this tavern and the land it stands on. However, we should head inside quickly, so as not to obstruct anyone else entering." Professor McGonagall nodded and seemed to change her mind.
His insight and reasoning abilities were impressive, and he showed restraint. Considering that, his earlier quirks were not such a big deal.
They entered the pub.
Andrew noticed that as soon as the bar's patrons saw that it was Professor McGonagall entering, the temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees—maybe more.
The boisterous cheering, the near-arguments, and the hearty laughter all vanished, as if someone had cast a spell forbidding sound.
Not only that, but most of the patrons seemed to have suddenly fallen under some strange spell; their necks bent forward, as though they could no longer support the weight of their heads.
In that atmosphere, Andrew didn't dare say a word, even though he wanted to maintain his persona. He simply followed Professor McGonagall obediently.
As she exchanged greetings with the bartender, Andrew noticed several glances being shot their way, only to quickly turn away. Still, the tavern remained so quiet you could hear the breathing of those inside.
In fact, it wasn't until Professor McGonagall led Andrew out through the back door that the volume in the pub began to rise again—but even then, it was a hushed increase.
"Here we are," Professor McGonagall pointed to a wall. "From here, count three bricks up and two in. Use a wand to tap it."
Andrew's scattered thoughts immediately focused as he memorized the brick. He then watched as Professor McGonagall tapped it with her wand, causing the bricks to begin moving rapidly, making way for a wide passage.
"This is Diagon Alley," Professor McGonagall said as she handed Andrew a money pouch—a small bag that seemed, by its appearance, to be too tiny to hold anything substantial. Yet, the deflated pouch could apparently hold four times its own size. It was clear that this was yet another kind of magic.
"This is the school's fund for students: seventy Galleons to purchase books, a wand, robes, and class supplies. Every year, thirty Galleons are provided for buying new books and supplies—the money may not be enough, so you might need to buy some second-hand textbooks."
(Note: According to Dobby's original wage of ten Galleons per week, and considering that wands are likely subsidized by the Ministry of Magic, their price cannot be used as a standard. Exchange rates are supplementary information; set at five pounds per Galleon but subject to change. Back in 1991, the minimum hourly wage in the UK was 2.45 pounds, and doctors made about 850 pounds per week, while dentists earned even more.)
"The gold coins in the bag are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles equal one Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts make up one Sickle."
"The items you need to buy are listed in the letter." Professor McGonagall handed Andrew a letter. "Take a look."
Andrew tucked the money pouch under his left elbow and used his right hand to open the letter. He knew the first page wouldn't be important, but he still took a full minute to read it carefully before flipping to the second page, which contained the list.
Textbooks, robes, cauldron and potion materials (he noted that there was a Potions class), a wand, and even a telescope.
"Excuse me, Professor," Andrew thought about what he knew about the cost of professional books and asked, slightly wincing, "Is it possible to exchange magical currency with regular currency?"
"Certainly. Each year, we admit suitable students from the Muggle world, but there's a limit on the amount of currency that can be exchanged annually, and income sources must be verified to confirm it isn't from illegal activities. However, Muggle-born students are exempt from providing proof until graduation, as long as the school can verify their status. Currently, the exchange rate is seven pounds to one Galleon."
(Note: Important things bear repeating—the original interview stated that the exchange rate fluctuates.)
If you notice any mistakes, do point them out and I will fix them
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