Ch: 1-10
Chapter 1: Professor Snape, You Are My God
London, Wus Childrens Home.
Cygnus Sharke sat with his eyes open on a cold, hard bedboard. Beneath his buttocks was only a thin sheet, faithfully transmitting the solid touch of the wooden board.
The furnishings here were extremely simple, and the space was outrageously narrow.
Below was Walf Street. The sound of old car horns blared incessantly, as if they cost nothing, filling the small, dilapidated room on the second floor even further.
It was packed and suffocating.
At this moment, opposite Signas's bed sat an old man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
The distance between the two was so close they were almost toe to toe!
He sized up the uninvited guest before him.
The man was tall, and his wide black robes made him look exactly like a Giant bat that had attained human form.
But right now, this "Giant bat" was sitting extremely cramped on a small wooden stool. His posture and expression were exactly like those of a primary school student forced to sit as punishment by a teacher.
Signas could even see those long legs with nowhere to go under his robes. Because the space was too confined, they could only be curled up, with his knees almost touching his own chin.
The scene was quite comical for a moment.
"Let me introduce myself formally!"
Perhaps sensing Signas's gaze, the old man cleared his throat, trying to regain a bit of dignity.
However, the narrow space severely limited his performance.
He placed his hands stiffly on his knees, his body curled up, as he struggled to maintain an expressionless face and spoke: "I am Severus Snape, Potion Class Professor at Hogwarts, and the Slytherin Dean."
He paused for a moment, seemingly waiting for the expected gasp of surprise, but only silence followed.
"...I hereby sincerely invite you to attend Hogwarts. We will help you control and master your innate magic abilities."
Signas's handsome eyebrows twitched imperceptibly, then he quickly regained his composure.
"Hello, Professor Snape. I am Cygnus Sharke. It is an honor to receive an invitation from Hogwarts."
He responded in a flat tone, his voice steady without a single ripple of emotion.
The long speech Snape had prepared, such as "I know this is hard to believe" and "magic is real," was instantly stuck in his throat.
This child's reaction... wasn't it a bit too calm?
When a normal child hears such things, shouldn't they be shocked, ecstatic, or simply kick him out like a lunatic?
What was with this level of composure?
A hint of scrutiny flashed in Snape's deep black eyes.
Sig was a transmigrator who had been in this orphanage for a month. It wasn't until he received the Hogwarts acceptance letter a few days ago that he realized he had come to the world of Harry Potter.
Now, seeing a living Snape, his whole body felt numb.
In his previous life, Sig hadn't read the original books; he had only heard of the series and wasn't clear on the detailed plot. He had seen some movie clips in short videos, so he still had an impression of the main characters.
Knowing this Slytherin Dean's reputation—not only did he have a strange temper and was difficult to get along with, but he also had no fondness for Muggle students... "You seem... unsurprised?" Snapefinally couldn't help but ask the doubt in his heart.
"Why should I be surprised?" Signas asked back with an innocent look. "I often have strange dreams. In the dreams, there are flying brooms, talking hats, and very tall Giants... I thought those were all real."
As he spoke, he showed a smile of "pure stupidity" appropriate for his age.
Snape: "..."
He was momentarily speechless.
This reason... although it sounded far-fetched, for a child who had never been in contact with the wizarding world and explained accidental magic entirely through dreams, it seemed... somewhat reasonable?
Snape was in no mood to dwell on these questions; he just wanted to complete his task as quickly as possible and leave this cramped room.
Normally, Hagrid should have come, but since he was specifically responsible for picking up Harry Potter these past few days, it was Snape's turn to step out.
"Ahem, I assume you've already read the acceptance letter, which saves a lot of trouble. You need to prepare the items on the list as soon as possible and go to the train station at the specified time." Snapespoke very quickly, clearly wanting to finish things quickly.
However, Signas's focus was clearly not there.
He looked up, "Professor, I have a question."
"Speak."
"Is the tuition... expensive?"
Snape: "?"
The air froze instantly.
Snape had lived for over thirty years and had introduced many muggle-born students. This was the first time someone had asked, upon meeting the visiting Professor, not "Is magic real?" or "How do I get to school?" but... tuition?
However, he glanced around the destitute room and seemed to understand Signas's peculiar train of thought.
"Hogwarts... has a prescribed financial aid program for students from families in difficulty, and it does not need to be repaid." Snape almost squeezed these words through his teeth.
"Really? That's great!" Signas's eyes lit up. "Professor, can I take out a few more? One for school, one to improve my life, and another... well, to make some investments?"
[resentment points from Severus Snape +19!]
The System notification sound rang in Sig's mind.
Sig's eyes immediately brightened.
He had awakened the System as soon as he transmigrated and had already figured out its basic functions.
Collect resentment points, then draw various items from the System.
But the grievance generated by ordinary people was negligible and often failed to form resentment points.
Once, Sig accidentally almost burned down the orphanage and only received one grievance point from the administrator, Mrs. Jenny.
And a single draw required a full thousand points. Sig had seriously calculated that there didn't seem to be a thousand houses on Walf Street... and Professor Snape gave 19 points in one go!
He was simply a walking "Grievance Gift Pack"!
It wasn't easy for him to visit!
He had to farm more points!
Snape's face visibly darkened: "No! Only one per person!"
"Alright, how stingy," Signas muttered under his breath, then asked with expectation, "Then will the school organize donations for poor students? Or are there work-study positions? For example, helping you clean your office, organizing ingredients, and so on—I can give you a discount!"
[resentment points from Severus Snape +29!]
"The school has no such tradition!" Snape's face grew even darker. He found this handsome boy very annoying and didn't want to stay a second longer. "The grant is fully sufficient to cover your expenses at school! The list specifies how to withdraw money from Gringotts in Diagon Alley and purchase supplies. You can go to the Leaky Cauldron at the designated time, and someone will meet you there!"
He stood up abruptly, his tall frame almost touching the ceiling in this small room.
"I have things to do, I'm leaving."
He didn't want to stay for another moment and turned to walk out.
"Wait, Professor!" Signas called out to Snape again.
How could this few resentment points be enough? He wasn't willing to let the "Big Gift Pack" go just like that.
Snape turned back impatiently, his sallow face written with "You'd better have something extremely important."
Signas completely ignored his gloomy aura and asked, "Professor, I have one more question I'd like to ask."
"Speak." Snape's patience was wearing thin.
"Professor, do you know Tom Riddle?"
Signas blinked his innocent big eyes.
While helping Mrs. Jenny organize old files a while ago, he had discovered a yellowed record belonging to "Tom Riddle"—this was the orphanage where the Harry Potter world's big villain, Tom Riddle, used to stay.
The air in the small room seemed to freeze instantly.
Snape had only been half-turned back, but now, his entire body slowly turned around. His black robes seemed to swallow all the light coming in from the window, making the room even dimmer.
"Where... did you... hear that name?"
Snape's voice no longer carried the perfunctory tone of someone eager to escape; it became deep and slow, each word seemingly squeezed from between his teeth and bones, carrying a chill that seeped into the marrow.
His gaze locked onto Signas's face like a hawk, as if he wanted to completely dissect him from the outside in, examining every secret in the depths of his soul.
[resentment points from Severus Snape +49!]
[resentment points from Severus Snape +59!]
[resentment points from Severus Snape +69!]
A series of wildly soaring System notification sounds exploded in Sig's mind, the noise even drowning out all the car horns outside.
Sig's heart thumped wildly.
Did I overplay it?
No, I played it right! This is the correct way to open the "Grievance Gift Pack"!
"Did... did I say something wrong? Is there something wrong with that name?"
Signas spoke timidly, his voice carrying the slight tremor of a child's confusion.
"It was... Mrs. Jenny, our orphanage administrator. She had me help organize the old files in the storage room earlier, and I saw a very old folder with 'Tom Riddle' written on it."
"...It mentioned that he also received a Hogwarts acceptance letter. I thought he was a senior of mine, so I was curious to ask if you knew him..."
Snape stared at him intently, his gaze carrying a physical pressure as if to crush Signas completely.
After a long time, the stormy waves in his eyes slowly receded a bit, but the clouds of suspicion and scrutiny remained thick and inseparable.
This explanation... was perfectly reasonable. For a child growing up in a Muggle orphanage, this was almost the only way to learn that name. It was so reasonable that Snape couldn't find any loopholes.
"In the future," Snape's voice was still cold, but it had at least returned to a somewhat normal tone, "do not mention that name again. Ever."
He was unwilling to give Signas any more chances to ask questions. With a flick of his black robes, he strode out of the room. His hurried departure looked as if a Cerberus from hell was chasing him.
"Bang!"
With a loud bang, the world finally returned to silence.
An ecstatic smile finally couldn't be suppressed and blossomed on Signas's face.
My goodness!
Professor Snape, you are my god!
Signas was moved to tears.
You should know that since he transmigrated, he had worked hard to "be kind to others" in the orphanage, and the resentment points he had painstakingly accumulated added up to less than double digits.
As a result, Professor Snape came to deliver a notice, and in less than half an hour, he contributed the "output value" of almost half of Walf Street!
This wave was definitely a huge profit!
"System," he whispered in his heart, "start the Lucky Wheel first experience!"
Chapter 2: Walking with a Swagger in Hogwarts
When the sound of the door closing downstairs rang out, Sig sprang from the bed and quickly shut his bedroom door.
He took a deep breath, and a pale blue panel that only he could see faintly materialized in the air.
[Would you like to experience the 'Lucky Spin' now?]
[Note: Enjoy a 90% discount for your first experience! An unprecedented 'bone-breaking' price, a clearance sale!]
The system's prompt even carried the excitement of a live-streamed sales pitch.
"Spin! I have to spin!"
Signas didn't hesitate.
Original price: 1,000 resentment points; now only 100! Rounded off, how is this any different from getting it for free? If I let such a good thing pass, it would be an affront to heaven!
[Command confirmed! Lucky Spin, activated! Good luck!]
As soon as the words fell, an extremely cool... yet slightly tacky wheel appeared before him.
The wheel was glittering with gold, its edges embedded with a ring of flashing rainbow marquee lights. In the center, the word "LUCKY" was written in a pixel-style font. When it started spinning, it even came with its own electronic-style background music, "Good Luck."
Signas's lip twitched. "..."
This aesthetic was quite unique; it really emphasized 'value for money.'
His gaze quickly swept over the prize section of the wheel.
The slots varied in size, clearly distinguishing between the good stuff and the junk.
Things like [A Lump of troll boogers], [Cornelius Fudge's Used Underwear], and [Gilderoy Lockhart's Autographed Photo] occupied the vast majority of the slots, sending a shiver of disgust through Signas.
Meanwhile, prizes that looked high-end, like [Felix Felicis (Trial Version)], [Ancient Runes Crash Course Manual], [A Single Demiguise hair], and [Advanced Charms Tutorial], had slots as tiny as pinheads.
"Damn! I knew it!"
Signas's heart instantly leaped into his throat. This blatant, scam-like probability!
The needle spun rapidly, leaving a trail of afterimages. The cheerful BGM sounded incredibly grating at this moment.
"Stop, stop, stop! Stop on the big one! No, no, no, the small one! Just don't let it be the underwear! Anything but the underwear!"
He muttered under his breath, hands clasped in prayer, calling upon all the gods for protection.
Finally, under Signas's tense gaze, the needle slowed down, tremulously passing over one nerve-wracking option after another.
It passed [troll boogers].
Signas let out half a sigh of relief.
It brushed past the edge of [Lockhart's Autographed Photo].
Signas felt like he had come back to life.
Finally, just as it was about to land on [Fudge's Used Underwear], the needle seemed to exhaust its last bit of energy and stubbornly froze on the tiny slot next to it.
[Congratulations, Host! You have won an Epic Rare reward—Soothing Potion x1!]
[Soothing Potion: A legendary magic-nullifying potion brewed from extremely rare materials. The consumer will be immune to the vast majority of magical attacks and effects for three days and three nights! Note: Powerful effect, please use with caution.]
"Holy crap!!!"
Signas's gaze skipped right over the qualifiers and locked onto the word "immune." He was so excited he almost jumped off the floor.
magic immunity!
Three days and three nights!
What did that mean?
It meant he could walk with a swagger through Hogwarts!
It meant he would dare to cook hotpot in Snape's Potion Class!
This was an ultimate trump card right at the start! This luck was simply incredible!
"Good stuff! This is definitely good stuff!"
Signas impatiently ordered the system, "Quick! Take it out and let me see!"
[Extracting item...]
*Thud!*
A dull thud was accompanied by the groan of the overburdened floor.
A standard yet massive oak barrel smashed into the center of the room out of thin air, filling the exact spot where Snape had just been sitting.
The barrel looked ancient and dilapidated, bound by several rings of rusted iron. The top was loosely covered with a wooden plank, looking just like an aged vintage recently hauled out of some medieval cellar.
This... is aged water?
Signas stared at the behemoth that was taller than himself, completely petrified.
Standing by the bed, he faced the barrel in silence. The tiny room now felt exceptionally cramped.
"..."
Silence is the Cambridge of tonight.
He reached out a finger and cautiously poked the surface of the barrel. The cold, hard touch told him that this thing was real.
"System, come out."
Signas tried to keep his voice steady.
[I am here.]
"I'm asking you, what was the prize I won?"
[One bottle of Soothing Potion,] the system replied righteously.
"One... bottle?" Signas pointed at the "behemoth" before him, his voice trembling. "You call this 'one bottle'? Do you have some kind of misunderstanding about the quantifier 'bottle'? This is a 'barrel'! A vat would be enough! Does your family use this as a cup to drink water?"
How the hell am I supposed to use this?
Drink it? I have to drink the whole barrel?
Or is it for external use, like a bath? A magic-immunity medicinal bath? Sounds quite luxurious, actually.
Most importantly, how do I take this with me? Am I supposed to carry this to King's Cross Station?
While others are carrying birdcages and pushing trunks, I'll be huffing and puffing as I roll an oak barrel to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?
[...]
The system seemed stumped as well, falling silent for a moment.
The image was too beautiful; it didn't dare to imagine it.
Just as Signas was about to continue his rant, the massive barrel vanished into thin air with a poof.
Leaving only a few shallow indentations on the floor to prove it had indeed existed.
[The potion's effect is positively correlated with the amount consumed; drinking the entire barrel lasts for 72 hours...]
[The Soothing Potion has been automatically retracted into the system space. The host may access it as needed.]
Signas was slightly stunned.
Oho?
It can do that?
He finally understood. Items produced by the system could be stored and retrieved from the system space. He could take it whenever he needed it and even control the dosage himself!
This was much more convenient!
The bit of anger in Signas's heart instantly dissipated, replaced by an even more intense joy.
He lay back on the bed happily, crossing his legs with an irrepressible smile on his face.
Following the instructions in the letter, Signas took London's creaky, century-old subway to the city center and found the Leaky Cauldron near Charing Cross Road.
It was sandwiched between a bookstore and a record shop. The storefront was small and dark, looking so dilapidated it seemed like it might collapse at any second, completely out of place among the surrounding modern buildings. Ordinary people passing by would automatically ignore its existence.
Signas pushed open the creaking wooden door, and a smell mixed with beer, tobacco, and some indescribable mustiness wafted toward him.
The lighting in the bar was dim. Wizards in strange attire were scattered in small groups, some talking in low voices, others stirring their drinks, making soft clinking sounds.
His appearance didn't attract much attention. Children in Muggle clothes weren't unusual here these days. A famous Savior had just visited, so naturally, no one was paying attention to the merely somewhat handsome Sig.
Signas's gaze settled on the bartender behind the counter, who had very little hair left and looked just like a walnut.
"Hello, sir," Signas stepped forward and spoke politely. "I'm looking for the Hogwarts Professormeeting me."
The old bartender, Tom, lifted his eyelids, his cloudy eyes scanning him.
He grinned, revealing a few yellow teeth. "Oh! Another first-year! Welcome, welcome!" He jerked his chin toward a most inconspicuous seat in the corner. "The Hogwarts Professor is over there..."
Signas looked in the direction he pointed.
In the corner, a man was huddled nervously in the shadows. He was wrapped in a thick purple scarf and wore a ridiculous large turban on his head. He emitted a strange odor that was a mix of garlic and anxiety.
The glass in front of him remained untouched. His eyes darted around, and his hands were constantly rubbing together under the table as if he were ready to bolt at any moment.
Chapter 3: I'm Going In With You
The corners of the Leaky Cauldron were dimly lit. Signas squinted, sizing up the Wizard huddled in a chair—a turban wrapped around his head, looking very much like an over-packaged, melancholic onion.
This is the Professor meeting me? He looks even less reliable than Professor Snape.
Sig stepped forward, pulled out the chair opposite him with a flourish, and sat down. He offered a standard, well-behaved smile: "Hello, are you the Hogwarts escort? I'm Cygnus Sharke, a first-year student."
The man named Quirrell jumped as if someone had stepped on his tail. He gave a violent shudder and nearly sprang out of his chair.
"Ah! Y-yes! H-hello." He spoke with a stutter, his eyes darting around, completely avoiding eye contact with Signas. "I am Qui... Quirrell. A p-Professor at Hogwarts."
"That's wonderful," Signas said, flashing an innocent and harmless smile. "The letter said you would be the one meeting me!"
"G-good... the l-letter... you've read it, haven't you?" Quirrell's gaze still refused to meet his.
He had no time for this; he was busy plotting how to break into Gringotts to steal the Philosopher's Stone. He had already planned it out: wait until dusk, release the hidden Troll, and then sneak into Gringotts amidst the chaos... "T-then... you should just... go to Diagon Alley by yourself... to buy your things... The entrance... is in the back courtyard... on the brick wall... count three bricks up... then two across..."
After speaking, he lowered his head, adopting a posture that clearly said, "I'm finished, you can leave now."
Signas was stunned.
Seriously, Professor? Being this perfunctory with work? You're just pointing the way and that's it? Is Hogwarts doing self-service enrollment now?
"But I don't have any money, Professor," Signas interrupted, his tone filled with innocence and helplessness. "Professor Snape said that Student Loans have to be handled at Gringotts and must be accompanied by a Professor. I can't even afford a single quill... If you leave, I'll just have to sit here until dark."
As he spoke, he gazed at Quirrell with his clear, bright eyes, which welled up with tears at just the right moment. He played the part of a homeless, uncertain "poor little thing" to perfection.
Whispers from the surroundings drifted over just in time:
"Is that Professor Quirrell? He's on duty today, isn't he?"
"How could he let a child go to Diagon Alley alone?"
"And a muggle-born child at that. So irresponsible!"
Quirrell felt restless under those stinging gazes, his pale face turning a deep shade of red. If he stayed under this much scrutiny, his plan would be ruined!
[Resentment from Quirinus Quirrell +35!]
"Gringotts?" Quirrell almost ground his teeth, squeezing the words out from between them: "F-fine... fine! I... I'll take you! Let's go, h-hurry up!"
"Thank you so much, Professor! You're such a good person!" Signas's smile returned instantly, bright as sunshine.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Quirrell practically dragged Signas as he rushed into the pub's backyard.
Quirrell pulled out his wand and tapped a brick wall above the trash bin several times with a nervous, shaky rhythm. The bricks began to move and rotate, and in the blink of an eye, an archway appeared before them.
"H-hurry up," Quirrell continued to urge, rushing in first as if a ghost were chasing him.
Outside the archway was a completely different scene.
Sunlight poured down, revealing a bustling cobblestone street.
On both sides of the street were all sorts of strange and wonderful shops: shops selling cauldrons, shops selling robes, and even a Quidditch supply store where the latest broomsticks glittered in the window. The hooting of owls and the chatter of the crowd intertwined, filled with a magical vitality.
"Th-this way." Quirrell checked the time anxiously. He just wanted to get rid of this nuisance as quickly as possible so he could complete the task his master had given him.
With that, he strode towards the lopsided white building in the distance.
"Professor," Signas jogged to keep up, his eyes fixed intently on the large turban. "Is that... some new kind of defensive gear? It looks like it blocks the wind quite well."
As he spoke, he leaned in curiously, his fingers itching to touch it.
"Sh-shut up!" Quirrell clutched his turban in a panic, feeling as though every gaze from the passersby was like a detection spell.
[Resentment from Quirrell +55!]
"I-it's just an ordinary turban!" he hissed, almost roaring.
Stopping in front of a Quidditch shop, Signas called out to him again, pointing at the display window with eyes full of curiosity. "Professor, look! Is that a Nimbus 2000?! That's so cool! Does the school give them out? Or do we have to buy them ourselves? Are they expensive? Is there a student discount?"
[Resentment from Quirrell +35!]
Quirrell stumbled, urging him forward without looking back: "N-no! F-first years... aren't... aren't allowed to have broomsticks!"
Then he added: "We m-must hurry... hurry up!"
"Oh..." Signas responded with a hint of disappointment.
After a few more steps, he was attracted by another shop. "Wow! Professor, look, that owl's feathers are golden! It's so beautiful! It must be very expensive, right? If I caught some Muggle pigeons and dyed them different colors, could I sell them to people here?!"
Quirrell: "..."
He turned his head stiffly, the look in his eyes beneath the turban so resentful it could drip ink.
[Resentment from Quirrell +44!]
Quirrell felt he couldn't let this annoying child have his way anymore. If he followed the boy's pace, they probably wouldn't finish this walk until evening.
He grabbed Signas's arm with surprising strength and dragged him towards the white marble building.
Finally, after some tugging and pulling, the two arrived before the tall bronze doors of Gringotts.
The Goblin guards, dressed in scarlet and gold uniforms, scrutinized everyone entering and leaving.
Quirrell stopped before the steps. He let go of Signas, the sweat on his face pouring down even more profusely.
"H-here it is." He pointed at the door, his voice lowered to a whisper like a mosquito's buzz. "Y-you go in... tell... tell the Goblins... you're a H-Hogwarts Freshman... and you need... to apply for a Student Loan. Th-they will help you."
After saying this, he turned around, wanting to slip away.
"Professor!" Signas grabbed the hem of his robes, using his full strength this time. He looked up, the "innocent and pure" expression on his face gone, replaced by a look of serious confusion.
"Professor, aren't you going in with me?" he asked loudly, ensuring the Goblin guards at the door could hear him clearly. "Professor Snape repeatedly warned me that the loan process is complicated and must be guaranteed by a Professor, otherwise these... 'respectable' Goblin gentlemen wouldn't provide services to a muggle-born Orphan."
"muggle-born" and "Orphan" immediately caught the attention of the Goblin guards.
They stared at Quirrell curiously, seemingly trying to take note of this irresponsible HogwartsProfessor. The surrounding Wizards also cast sidelong glances, pointing and whispering.
Quirrell felt every gaze piercing him like a needle.
If this continued, forget stealing the Philosopher's Stone—he was afraid he'd end up in The Daily Prophet's "Most Ridiculous Professor of the Day" column!
[Resentment from Quirrell +99!]
"I... I... I'll go in... with... you!"
Quirrell almost roared these words. He violently shook off Signas's hand and, like an enraged bull, charged up the steps of Gringotts.
Chapter 4 Quirrell: I Really Owe You One
The lobby of Gringotts was absurdly high, the marble floor so polished it reflected every fold in Quirrell's turban.
Behind the long counters, Goblins bent over tiny scales weighing gems or scribbled in thick ledgers; the whole hall rang with a hush that warned against interruption.
Quirrell dragged Signas straight to an empty counter, the words "hurry up and finish" practically branded across his forehead.
"Wow…" Sig's voice was just loud enough to drift into Quirrell's ear. "So this is Gringotts? Way grander than any Muggle bank! Professor, d'you think they're rolling in Galleons?"
Quirrell ignored him; even the back of his head seemed to say "don't talk to me." He wanted only to play mute, finish the ordeal, and leave.
But who was Signas?
Sig stared at a Goblin counting coins, fingers thin as chicken claws, flicking Galleons so fast they blurred.
"Professor, look," Sig said, pointing. "That Goblin's hand speed is insane! If you duelled him with magic, who'd win?"
Quirrell's heart nearly burst; even his stammer deserted him. Through clenched teeth he hissed, "Shut—up!"
[resentment points from Quirrell +88!]
"Okay." Sig obediently closed his mouth, though his eyes kept roaming.
He saw a Goblin tapping a coin with a tiny hammer, testing its purity.
He saw another examining a ruby under a magnifying glass.
Tsk, seriously professional!
Pity the staff were so sour—no smiles, no floor manager in sight. Quirrell, clearly a regular, hauled Signas toward an unoccupied counter.
"H… handle… Hogwarts… first-year loan," Quirrell whispered to the Goblin behind the grille.
The elderly Goblin, Ragnok, looked up, his wrinkled face set with two beady eyes that read "another nuisance."
He sized them up. "Guarantor? Papers."
Quirrell swiftly produced his wand and identity parchment.
The Goblin ran a strange metal device over them. A chime sounded: "Identity confirmed—Quirinus Quirrell, Hogwarts Professor."
He turned to Sig. "Your admission letter."
"Right, right!" Signas hurriedly handed over the crumpled envelope.
"Fill these out." The Goblin slammed a thick stack of parchment on the counter, dust flying.
Signas gawked at the pile bigger than his face. "This much?!"
"Triplicate copies, quill only, no corrections," the Goblin added flatly.
"Fine." Sig lifted a quill and began studying the forms, then glanced up. "By the way, I really don't have to pay this back?"
The Goblin stared as if at the world's worst joke: "Hogwarts assistance loan—covered by the school and the Ministry of Magic."
"Brilliant!" Signas's eyes lit up, then creased. "But it needs a Professor's signature. Professor Quirrell, I'll trouble you."
He slid the parchment and quill respectfully toward Quirrell. "Just sign here."
Quirrell snatched the quill—
"Wait, Professor!" Sig pressed his hand. "I misspelled my name—wrote 'na' instead of 'nas.' Legal documents must be exact; may I have a fresh sheet, please?" He beamed innocently at the Goblin.
The Goblin snorted and slapped down a new form.
[resentment points from Quirrell +24!]
Quirrell's hand hovered, trembling.
Signas took the new sheet, filling languidly while muttering: "Can't get it wrong again… birth date… orphanage address… what's the postcode for Walf Street, Professor?"
"H—how… would I know!" Quirrell ground out.
"True." Sig brightened. "Let me think… oh no! I put 'Aunt Jenny' as guardian, but she's just the children-home manager—legally valid? Sir, this one's ruined too; may I have another?"
Slam!
Another stack landed. The Goblin drummed his fingers, patience gone.
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +46!]
Quirrell clutched his turban; something inside was battering at his skull.
He glanced toward the doors—sunlight slanting, time running out!
"C—can you… even… write!" he hissed, each word an ice pick.
"I can, I can—this time for sure!"
Signas scooped up the third set, scribbling swiftly, then pushed it back. "Your turn, Professor. Guarantor signature here… and here… and here, affirming you're signing of sound, voluntary mind."
Quirrell seized the quill, scrawling his name with force that nearly tore the parchment.
The Goblin inspected it through a monocle, pointed: "Too illegible. Re-sign."
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +76!]
Sig clearly saw the Professor vibrating like a phone on max.
Fourth sheet.
Fifth sheet.
When Sig asked for a sixth because "my signature lacks artistic flair," Quirrell exploded. He clamped Sig's wrist like iron.
Candlelight flickered across the hall, bright then dim; the garlic stench from his turban mingled with rage.
"En—ough!" he snarled, face inches away. "Sign it now or—"
"Or what, Professor?" Sig blinked innocently. "Got somewhere urgent? You keep glancing at the doors—expecting someone?"
Just loud enough for nearby Goblins to hear.
Quirrell jerked back, terrified, scanning around. He couldn't expose… the master's plan… [resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +79!]
"N—no rush!" he bellowed, grabbed quill and forms, and in twisted, shaking haste filled them himself, slamming them on the counter. "D—done! Process him!"
The Goblin leisurely checked everything, then hefted a heavy money pouch at Signas: "Finished. Next."
Sig jingled the bag; the clink of Galleons sounded sweeter than harp music.
He turned—Quirrell was already striding for the doors… outside, sunset gilded Gringotts' steps.
Dusk had fallen.
Chapter 5 – Showing Off Feels Great… Until the Bill Arrives
"Professor!" Signas caught up, jingling his purse gratefully. "Thank you so much! Without you, I'd never have managed…"
Before he could finish, a dull boom rolled down the street, followed by the unmistakable, slurred roar of a Troll, mingled with screams and the stampede of fleeing feet.
Professor Quirrell's body went rigid; beneath his turban his face turned deathly pale.
He knew—it was the Troll he'd prepared. But now the brainless brute had broken loose and was charging Gringotts!
With no one to aid it, the Troll was quickly subdued by the Goblin guards patrolling the doors.
And Quirrell himself, thanks to this Muggle-born brat, had missed his perfect window of opportunity.
resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +99!
"G-goodbye!" Quirrell forced the word through clenched teeth, flung off Signas, and scuttled away like a startled Gnome, swallowed by the panicking crowd, his back radiating panic and frustration.
"Take care, Professor—thank you again!" Sig called, waving.
resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +99!
Oh… thank you, truly!
Why did I have to meet you!
Master, please—listen to me—ah…ah…ah… After they parted, Sig's system kept spamming resentment points. Quirrell hadn't been famous in Sig's past life; he couldn't fathom how applying for a school loan could provoke such volcanic rage.
Could… Professor Quirrell be drowning in debt himself? A mortgage too heavy to bear?
—
Sig lived in an orphanage; government welfare covered only the barest necessities, and most of his clothes were hand-me-downs donated by neighbors.
As he passed Madam Malkin's Robes, his gaze was instantly glued to the display in the window.
The robes were cut from exquisite fabric that shimmered softly in the sunlight—clearly expensive at a glance.
He pushed open the door; the bell chimed. A plump, kindly Witch in purple bustled over. "Hogwartsfirst-year?" Madam Malkin beamed, seeing through him at once. "Come along, dear, this way."
Signas was led to a footstool. Madam Malkin produced a tape measure that whirred around him on its own.
Noticing his stare at an especially fine set behind the glass, she launched into enthusiastic praise: "These robes use top-grade cloth, permanently charmed with Cleaning and Temperature spells."
"They're fully waterproof, fireproof, and stain-proof—virtually never need washing, and any crease straightens itself. Only…" She hesitated.
"Only?" Signas asked.
"They're rather dear," Madam Malkin admitted. "Nine Galleons a set."
"I'll take them!" Signas declared, grand as a king. "Two sets for each season—spring, summer, autumn, winter!"
Rich—why not?
Madam Malkin's smile bloomed like a chrysanthemum as she bustled to fold six brand-new robes.
Fifty-four Galleons later, Signas's purse sagged limp.
Clad in the new dark-green, temperature-regulated set, he felt the wind itself escorting him.
After textbooks, cauldron, and other necessities, the pouch was heart-breakingly light.
Next he stood before a tiny, shabby shop whose gilt sign was flaking: Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
He pushed the door; the bell gave a thin tinkle. The cramped space was crammed to the ceiling with dusty narrow boxes; the air carried the faint scent of wood and age-old magic.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice drifted from the gloom. An elderly man glided from behind the shelves like a ghost, pale eyes shining like twin moons in the dim light.
Mr. Ollivander's gaze lingered a moment on the expensive new robes, then a knowing smile crept across his face.
"Ah, another young Wizard come to choose his wand, hmm? Let me think..." He stepped slowly up to Sig. "Hawthorn, Unicorn hair, twelve and a quarter inches, quite supple. How does it feel—does it serve you well?"
Sig blinked. "I don't have a wand," he answered automatically.
"Of course you don't," Ollivander said, blinking his large eyes. "I meant your father's wand. I remember every wand I've ever sold."
Sig:???
So the old man's cryptic opening line was just a sales pitch... Sig couldn't be bothered to explain. In a carefully measured tone he said, "I need a wand that truly belongs to me."
"Certainly, certainly! The Wizard chooses the wand, but the wand must also choose the Wizard." Ollivander looked delighted and turned to the towering stacks of wand boxes.
A moment later he pulled out a long box. "Here, try this. Oak, dragon-heartstring core, ten inches—plenty of power."
Sig took the wand; it felt like a cold iron rod. He gave it a flick the way he'd seen in the films.
BOOM!
A whole shelf of wand boxes on his left exploded. Sparks of every color shot everywhere like an indoor firework show.
Sig: "..."
What the hell?!
He'd barely done anything!
Ollivander snatched the wand back, eyes shining. "Not that one, then! Try this—maple, Phoenix feather, nice and whippy!"
Sig accepted the second wand and gave it the gentlest twitch. A flash of green light burst out and Ollivander's salt-and-pepper hair sprouted into a luxuriant crop, as fresh as a field of leeks.
The corner of Signas's mouth twitched. "Green... actually suits your complexion, sir."
Ollivander didn't mind at all; he looked even more excited. "A demanding customer—how marvellous!"
He disappeared into the deeper shelves, rummaged for ages, and emerged cradling a dust-covered box. "Have a look at this..."
The lid lifted to reveal a black wand, the wood ancient and somehow ominous.
The instant Signas's fingertips brushed it, an icy sensation swept through his body. Every candle in the shop guttered, and an unseen draught stirred the dust on countless boxes.
"Extraordinary... quite extraordinary..." Ollivander leaned in, voice dreamy. "Yew, Thestral tail hair, thirteen inches—a powerful, difficult pairing. I thought it would stay here much longer."
"This is it." The wand felt like an extension of his arm. Cool—simple as that.
"Yes, it has chosen you." Mr. Ollivander's silver eyes fixed on him. "That wand is destined to help you achieve... remarkable things."
Sig nodded, satisfied, and pulled out his sadly deflated purse.
"Seven Galleons, if you please," Ollivander said with a smile.
Signas's grin froze. He up-ended the pouch: two Galleons clinked out, followed by a meagle scattering of Sickles and Knuts.
The dust motes seemed to stop dancing.
The smile on Ollivander's face set like plaster. He glanced at the pitiful coins, then at Sig's brand-new, obviously expensive bottle-green robes, his pale eyes full of question marks.
He was toast. All that swagger, and now the bill.
Sig's mind raced. He cleared his throat. "Er... I think my main purse is at home. Could you put it on my tab?"
Ollivander slid the little heap of coins back across the counter. "Seven Galleons is the set price for a new wand, and I never extend credit—"
He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "—but there are other options."
From under the counter he produced a scrap of yellowed paper, scribbled an address with a quill, and pushed it toward Signas.
"If you go to Knockturn Alley, look for a shop called Borgin and Burkes." His tone turned meaningful. "They deal in wands as well."
"They sell wands too?" Signas asked, taking the note.
"They sell... everything," Ollivander said, straightening back into his customary mystique. "Ideal for customers whose budgets are, shall we say, temporarily constrained. Of course, I must warn you—it isn't the safest place."
Chapter 6 – This Time I've Got Cash… Real Cash
Signas pinched the yellowed slip of paper with the address, turned, and walked out of Ollivander's Wand Shop.
The entrance to Knockturn Alley was tucked away in an unremarkable side lane not far from Gringotts.
Unlike the bright, bustling Diagon Alley, the moment he stepped into Knockturn Alley the light was swallowed by the towering, crooked buildings on both sides.
The air reeked of damp mildew, rotting garbage, and some sharp, unknown potion, tightening the throat.
The street was narrow and filthy, its uneven flagstones oozing black water through the gaps.
Shop windows along the road were thick with dust, displaying grisly wares—shrunken heads, giant spiders hung on hooks, human hands floating in murky liquid.
A few ragged-robed, shifty-looking Wizards crouched in the shadows, eyeing the well-dressed, tender-skinned "fat lamb" with malicious intent.
Signas kept his gaze forward; his costly dark-green robes looked completely out of place, like a drop of clean oil in an ink bottle.
He could feel at least three unfriendly stares glued to his back, one black figure trailing him outright.
Clearly they considered Signas a lamb ready for slaughter.
He glanced down: a ten-year-old kid in top-end bespoke school robes—classic fat-lamb kit.
Feigning ignorance, he followed the note into a deserted alley.
Sure enough, two black-robed Wizards blocked the path the instant he stepped in.
The leader was a burly thug with a squashed nose, beady eyes gleaming with greed, twirling a thick black wand between his fingers.
Beside him stood a bean-pole of a man, sallow-faced, nervously licking dry lips.
"Ha!" the brute rasped, "Kid, it takes guts to wander here alone."
His gravelly voice continued, "Hand over everything valuable and maybe, just maybe, we'll let you off easy."
The shout lit the fuse; the lurking eyes further down the lane turned restless, several figures starting to close in.
"Robbery?" Signas blinked. "Big brothers, I… I'm just a poor student, fresh from the orphanage—dead broke."
As he spoke, he silently ordered, "System, give me a micro-dose Soothing Potion."
A cool liquid materialised in his mouth; he swallowed it casually. It tasted… like expired mint syrup.
"Cut the crap!" the bean-pole shrieked. "That robe—latest from Madam Malkin, self-warming charm! Think I'm blind? Strip it off!"
"Ah, you've got an eye," Signas sighed theatrically. "Shame—I hate being ordered around."
The thug lost patience, snarling as he raised his wand: "Stupefy!"
A red bolt shot straight at Signas.
He didn't bother to dodge—just stood there.
The red light struck his chest and… vanished. A drop in the ocean, no ripple at all.
He looked down at his chest, then up at the stunned robbers. "And then? That's it?"
The brute: "???"
Bean-pole: "!!!"
"Impossible!" the thug's eyes bulged. Crucio was Dark Arts!
"Must've missed! My turn—Crucio!" The bean-pole raised his wand.
Another flash, another direct hit—again, nothing.
Signas dusted imaginary lint from his robe. "Maybe you're holding the wands backwards? Try the other end?"
[resentment points from Karl (thug) +33!]
[resentment points from Pete (bean-pole) +22!]
"Bastard! Mocking us?" The brute roared, wand-tip flaring, "Crucio!"
"Diffindo!"
Two heavier curses slammed into Signas.
Result: Signas still unaffected.
The two Dark Wizards were dumbstruck.
He didn't even flinch under the Unforgivable Curses?
In all their Knockturn Alley years, they'd never seen anything so freakish.
What kind of monster was this kid?
The other lurking Dark Wizards quietly slunk back into the shadows.
Seeing their ghost-white faces, Signas knew it was his turn.
"Tsk," he shook his head, "and you call that robbery?"
Karl and Pete panicked—they'd kicked a titanium wall.
His defence screamed either immense raw power or top-tier alchemical gear.
Either way, he was way out of their league.
Karl's guts turned green. That pricey bespoke robe should've screamed "heir to a big family—do not touch!"
He just hadn't expected the boy to be this untouchable.
Signas extended a hand, smiling warmly: "Hand over your cash and I'll pretend this never happened."
The two exchanged glances.
"Problem?" his smile cooled. "Want me to do it myself?"
His gaze drifted to the bulging purse at Karl's belt.
Remembering the boy who'd shrugged off Crucio, both shivered.
"Here! All of it!" Pete was first, fumbling his purse free and offering it with trembling hands.
Karl, though choking on rage, knew when to fold, and with a pained grunt tossed his own purse over.
Signas weighed the two heavy bags, satisfied. Mostly silver Sickles, but they totalled a dozen Galleons.
"Good," he patted their shoulders sagely. "Learn from today—find honest work. Off you go, before dark."
With that he spun around and swaggered out of the gloomy alley under their vacant stares.
Minutes later Signas reappeared outside Ollivander's Wand Shop.
Ding-a-ling—
"Boss! I'm buying a wand—same one as before… This time I've got cash… real cash!"
Chapter 7 – The Gambler Ends Up with Nothing
When Cygnus Sharke stood again before the three-storey orphanage with his arms full of shopping bags, the sky had turned completely dark.
The evening wind, damp and cold in the way only London can manage, snapped his new dark-green robes against his legs.
A Temperature-Charm worked faithfully, keeping the chill outside and every inch of him deliciously warm.
Inside the orphanage it was supper-time; he stepped into the dining room to the low murmur of voices and the clink of forks on plates.
At the long table Mrs. Jenny was eating a simple meal with five half-grown boys.
"Sig! You're finally back!" Mrs. Jenny spotted him first, laid down her cutlery, and her face filled with worry. "Good heavens, where have you been? We haven't seen you all day! That—that man from the school didn't do anything to you, did he? He didn't trick you?"
She hurried over, seized his arm and looked him up and down, as protective as a hen with one chick.
Signas was momentarily speechless.
He hadn't been cheated—in fact, Hogwarts had given him a grant.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Jenny." He offered an obedient smile. "It's a proper school, and they even gave me a bursary. These are the supplies I bought."
He lifted the bulging bags—cauldron, textbooks, quills, ink and all manner of odds-and-ends.
Mrs. Jenny eyed the peculiar haul doubtfully, especially the little copper pot, unable to see what any of it had to do with "studying."
Could Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry actually be… a cookery school?
Wizards and chefs?
She racked her brain for the words of that greasy-haired Professor and was sure she had heard "Wizard," and the two words sounded nothing alike.
"Eat first, child—you must be starving." With particular tenderness she pressed him into an empty chair and set before him a great plate of sticky mashed potatoes and grilled fish.
He ate quietly while Mrs. Jenny lectured him on the dangers of the world, warning him not to be blinded by words like "free" or "subsidy."
Signas nodded earnestly throughout; after all, Mrs. Jenny had always treated him well and never been harsh to any of the orphans.
When supper was over he was first to dash back to his tiny attic room.
Sig could hardly wait. "System!" he called in his mind.
A pale-blue screen unfolded before him, lines of prompts scrolling languidly.
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +99!]
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +88!]
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +99!]
…Signas stared, stunned.
What… what was this? After all this time apart, Professor Quirrell was still renewing his subscription remotely?
[Total resentment points: 3,305!]
Professor Quirrell, you truly are… my own flesh-and-blood brother from another mother!
Signas was so moved he almost wept.
"System, give me another lucky spin!" Sig rubbed his hands, ready for the next divine artifact.
[Boss, your resentment has broken the 1,000 mark! Would you like another "lucky spin" for that heart-racing thrill, or unlock the brand-new "Skill Enhancement" module and walk the steady road of the strong?]
The system helpfully offered two choices.
[Option A: lucky spin (1,000 pts per spin). Risk it for the biscuit—today's chosen one could be you!]
[Option B: Skill Points Exchange (100 pts per skill point). A safe investment—every point pays off!]
Sig studied the choices, lost in thought.
The lure of the gacha was immense.
Last time that bucket of Soothing Potion had been god-tier, letting him swagger through Knockturn Alley.
What if this time he drew something like [Infinite Stamina Elixir] or [Instant-Cast Spell Primer]—wouldn't that be an instant take-off?
Yet… he knew the wheel was packed with garbage.
[Cornelius Fudge's Original-Flavor Underpants]… just thinking about it felt like brain contamination.
If he actually landed that, would he throw it away or keep it as a family heirloom?
Skill points, on the other hand, sounded reliable.
The next moment a brand-new status panel popped up.
[Host: Cygnus Sharke]
[Skill: Unarmed Combat LV1]
Sig:???
"System, don't I have any other skills?"
[Good question! You really haven't learned any…]
Sig: "…"
Then it hit him; he hurriedly pulled out the first-year textbook Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and began cramming.
After finishing the chapter on the Levitation Charm, the panel now showed [Skill: Levitation CharmLV1].
Sig's eyes lit up.
He raised his wand, followed the book's directions, spoke the incantation—but the sheet of paper on the table didn't budge.
Gritting his teeth, he spent 1,000 resentment points for ten skill points and dumped them all into Levitation Charm.
In an instant, countless fine points about enunciation, wrist motion, and mana flow flooded his mind.
Everything became crystal clear!
So the basic charm had all these nuances?
He lifted his wand again; this time, with a casual flick, books, quills, even old socks around the room wobbled into the air!
"I—huh?"
That strong?
Sig immediately realized how crucial the "Skill Enhancement" module was.
What would be his biggest weakness at Hogwarts?
Not money, not gear, but foundations.
How could a half-baked transmigrator compare with Pure-blood kids raised on magic, some with family traditions?
They'd probably mastered basic charms like Levitation while he was still learning English in another world.
Without a solid base, the whole structure would crumble.
So he had to sink points into the right skills and build real inner strength.
The gacha might spit out an artifact, but it was an unstable external cheat; inner strength truly belonged to him.
Besides, he already had the trump card of Soothing Potion—his survival was covered for now.
The urgent task was to raise his hard power fast, so he wouldn't be left in the dust by those geniuses after term began.
An occasional flutter was fine—risk it for the biscuit—but perpetual gambling would end in tragedy.
Sink every point into the wheel and you might not get a motorbike at all, but a mountain of "Cornelius Fudge's Original-Flavor Underpants."
Even as that thought crossed his mind, he couldn't resist; he spent another thousand points and spun.
Bad news: the needle didn't land in the rare zone.
Good news: it didn't land on Cornelius Fudge's underpants either, but stopped squarely on troll boogers.
[Congratulations, host! You have won—troll boogers x1!]
[troll boogers: Potion ingredient. Used in Draught of Living Death, Calming Draught, etc. Unique effect! Note: not recommended for direct consumption.]
It seemed to declare silently: See, Sig—gambler, in the end you're left with nothing.
Chapter 8: On the Train
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
September 1st, King's Cross Station.
Mrs. Jenny wiped her tears with a handkerchief, clutching Cygnus Sharke's hand while nagging and repeating those old clichés: "Be careful while you're away," "Don't talk to strangers," and "Keep your money safe."
Sig looked moved and gave a hug to this kind but overly-worried administrator. Then, without looking back, he pushed his luggage cart and entered the station.
"Good luck, child!" Mrs. Jenny's voice rang out from behind him.
Sig took a deep breath, closed his eyes, pushed his trunk, and charged straight at the brick wall between platforms nine and ten!
After a strange sensation, like passing through a curtain of cold water, he opened his eyes again to see a brand-new world unfolding before him.
The deep red Hogwarts Express sat quietly by the platform, white steam billowing from the engine and lingering in the air.
The platform was bustling with noise, crowded with Wizard families who had come to see their children off.
Signas looked around and saw many students saying goodbye to their parents.
Most of the first-year students looked miserable, some even with moist eyes.
The upper-year students, however, were in groups of three or five, arms around each other's shoulders with smiles on their faces, clearly eager to escape their parents' nagging.
As the long whistle sounded, Sig carried his small trunk and a cauldron, squeezing onto the last carriage. Compared to other students carrying large owl cages and broomsticks, his luggage was minimalist.
He walked through the crowded, noisy compartments and finally found an empty compartment at the front of the train.
After stowing his luggage, he sat comfortably by the window, took out his first-year textbook, "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1," and began to flip through it leisurely.
Just as the train was getting livelier and was about to depart, figures moved in the corridor, and the compartment door was rudely pulled open.
Three boys appeared at the door.
Leading them was a boy with platinum blonde hair, styled meticulously and slicked back so smoothly that a fly would probably split its legs trying to land on it.
The robes he wore were exquisitely tailored and clearly expensive. Behind him followed two bulky, unintelligent-looking cronies, standing like two mobile refrigerators.
Signas didn't even lift his eyelids, continuing to read the "Key Points of the Levitation Charm" in his book.
"Ahem!"
The blonde boy cleared his throat deliberately.
Signas slowly turned a page.
The boy clearly didn't have much patience and spoke directly, his tone carrying an innate arrogance: "Hey, newcomer? I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Only then did Signas shift his gaze from the book to the face filled with pride.
"Shalk, Cygnus Sharke," he replied calmly. "You can call me Sig!"
Malfoy's gaze lingered on his robes for a moment, and the arrogance on his face softened slightly, replaced by a smile he deemed appropriate. "Shalk? I haven't heard of that surname. But looking at your taste in clothing, I assume you come from a long-standing Pure-blood family?"
Without waiting for Signas to answer, he started a long-winded speech on his own: "You should know that Hogwarts is a mixed bag. Some people, their blood isn't so... pure. We true Wizards should stick together to keep our circles pure. For example, those mudbloods..."
These clichés made Signas feel drowsy, and he directly interrupted Malfoy's flow: "So, you mean that when making friends, you don't look at character, only at bloodline?"
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +22!]
Malfoy was momentarily speechless, not expecting the other party to retort so bluntly. "I... I didn't mean that! I mean, bloodline represents talent and glory!"
"Oh," Signas said, acting as if he had just realized something. "I see. Then may I ask, besides having the surname Malfoy, do you personally have any noteworthy achievements? For example, have you performed any advanced spells on your own? Or done anything to bring glory to your ancestors?"
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +33!]
Malfoy's face began to flush: "What do you mean? Are you mocking me?"
"No, no, no," Signas waved his hand with a sincere expression. "I'm just having a reasonable discussion. After all, if a person's entire value is built upon a background they didn't choose, wouldn't that mean they themselves are worthless?"
"You... you insolent fellow!" Malfoy finally realized he was being insulted, his pale face turning bright red, looking like a ferret that had its tail stepped on.
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +66!]
Crabbe and Goyle behind him immediately stepped forward, using their massive bodies to create a sense of pressure, their two pairs of unintelligent eyes staring intently at Signas.
Here we go again!
Sig was inwardly delighted, but on the surface, he maintained an innocent look of "I'm just stating facts."
"Don't get excited, classmate Malfoy," Signas said unhurriedly as he closed his book. "I just feel that constantly talking about family glory is like bragging about how big your house is, when in reality, your father built it and it has nothing to do with you. Showing concern is better than sending a huge sum of money. Boasting about family history is better than making something of yourself. Don't you think?"
Malfoy was a bit dazed by this set of twisted logic, but he instinctively felt a deeper level of irony.
"What... what do you know!" He raised his voice, trying to suppress the other party with volume. "The House of Malfoy is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! Our blood is pure and noble! And you? Shalk? I've never heard of that surname! What positions do your parents hold in the Ministry of Magic? Or..."
He deliberately dragged out his tone, eyeing Signas with malicious speculation, "Are they not Wizards at all?"
Here it comes, the classic bloodline interrogation segment.
"Oh, you mean that," Signas smiled frankly, a smile so clean it even took Malfoy aback. "I'm from a Muggle Orphanage. Why, is there a problem?"
As soon as he finished speaking, the atmosphere in the compartment changed abruptly.
Malfoy was shocked at first, but then that shock turned into ecstasy and extreme contempt. He had finally found the other party's "fatal weakness"!
"Ha! I knew it!" He let out a sharp, piercing laugh. "A mudblood! A filthy mudblood, actually daring to wear Madam Malkin's custom robes! And daring to speak so insolently to me!"
He looked Signas up and down, his disgusted expression as if he were examining filth that had accidentally stuck to his new boots.
"People like you don't even deserve to come to Hogwarts! You should crawl back to your mud pit!"
Chapter 9: Pantsing Malfoy
Signas wasn't angry at all; in fact, he found it rather amusing. This young master's vocabulary was far too limited. 'mudblood' this, 'mudblood' that—couldn't he come up with something new?
"mudblood?" Signas repeated the word, then nodded with an air of seriousness. "Hmm, that makes sense. After all, the earth nurtures all things. From the soil, towering trees can grow, and so can grain. From that perspective, 'mudblood' sounds much more vibrant than certain 'hothouse flowers.'"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Malfoy's exquisitely tailored robes, and leisurely added, "Besides, here I am, the 'mudblood' you speak of, sitting here in custom-made robes. And you, a 'noble' Pure-blood Wizard, can only scrape together a pathetic sense of superiority by belittling someone else's origins. Don't you think... that in itself speaks volumes?"
"You—!" Malfoy was momentarily speechless, his pale cheeks instantly flushing an ugly shade of crimson.
He realized he couldn't gain any advantage in this war of words. Each of the other's sentences was like a poisoned soft blade, precisely stabbing at his most fragile pride.
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +55!]
"Crabbe! Goyle! Teach him how to speak properly!" Humiliated and enraged, Malfoy finally abandoned the futile verbal battle and opted for the most primitive solution.
The two burly lackeys immediately understood, cracking their knuckles with loud pops as they closed in on Signas like two moving mountains, nearly blocking all escape routes in the cramped compartment.
Yet Signas remained seated calmly, even leisurely adjusting his posture.
"What's this? Resorting to violence when you can't win an argument?" He chuckled, his tone dripping with undisguised mockery. "Is this the 'glory' of Pure-bloods? I thought you'd use magic to solve the problem—maybe hit me with an 'Obliviate' so I'd forget your earlier flustered appearance?"
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +66!]
These words were like adding fuel to the fire, thoroughly igniting Malfoy's fury.
Right! magic! He was a Wizard; why should he engage in vulgar fisticuffs with a mudblood!
"Stand down!" He barked at his lackeys, then abruptly drew his wand, pointing its tip directly at Signas. "I'll make you pay for your insolence! Kneel and apologize now! Or I'll burn your clothes!"
Signas looked at the trembling wand, feeling utterly unperturbed inside, even a bit bored.
Is that it?
He unhurriedly stood up, simultaneously drawing his own black yew wand.
His composed, almost expectant expression instead sent a flicker of unease through Malfoy's heart.
Why... why isn't this guy scared at all?
"Incendio!" Malfoy was just about to cast the spell when Signas moved faster!
With a swift and elegant flick of his wrist, Signas clearly and accurately incanted: "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Not aimed at a person, nor at the luggage.
The invisible magical force precisely targeted the trousers of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.
"Ah!"
Three short cries of surprise rang out simultaneously.
Under Malfoy's horrified gaze, their trousers instantly defied gravity, yanked upward by a powerful force!
He felt his waist loosen, his whole body being pulled off the ground, his legs kicking futilely in the air, his wand losing its grip and clattering to the floor.
Instinctively looking down, he saw his own meticulously crafted underpants, printed with a Golden Snitch pattern, exposed shamelessly to the air.
Crabbe and Goyle were in an even more humiliating state. Their trousers were pulled all the way up to their chests, their bulky bodies tightly bound, and their lower regions constricted, leaving them completely immobilized.
The shameful scene was simply unbearable to watch.
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +99!]
[resentment points from Vincent Crabbe +99!]
[resentment points from Gregory Goyle +99!]
To Signas, the chime of resentment points flooding in sounded like heavenly music.
"You... what have you done to me! Let me down this instant! You despicable mudblood!" Malfoystruggled in mid-air, humiliated and furious, but the more he moved, the more his trousers slipped, nearly revealing his underpants entirely.
Just then, the compartment door slid open with a clatter.
A Witch pushing a snack trolley cheerfully poked her head in, wearing a kindly smile. "Children, would you like some snacks? chocolate frogs? Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans..."
Her words choked in her throat as she took in the unimaginable scene inside the compartment.
A platinum-haired young master, clad in eye-catching Golden Snitch underpants, flailed in the air, while two red-faced, immobilized chubby boys dangled beside him. Opposite them stood a black-haired boy in dark green robes, holding a wand, a harmless smile on his face.
The Witch was speechless.
Outside in the corridor, several students attracted by the commotion curiously gathered.
"Pfft—"
Someone couldn't suppress a snicker, and soon, like an infection, laughter erupted among the onlookers, swelling into a roaring uproar.
"Merlin's beard! Is that Draco from the Malfoy Family?"
"He... his underpants are gold!"
"Are those Crabbe and Goyle? They look like two giant sausages!"
Malfoy's face had turned from red to white. Extreme shame and fury nearly suffocated him. He felt that every bit of face he'd had in his eleven years of life had been utterly lost in this moment.
"See, Mr. Malfoy," Signas maintained the spell, his tone unflustered. "True nobility is never inherited through bloodline—" He gracefully tapped his wand to his temple. "—It lies here. Extraordinary talent, and the ability to wield magic."
With that, he gave his wrist a gentle flick and released the magic.
Three dull thuds—"thump," "thump," "thump"—as Malfoy and his cronies tumbled awkwardly onto the compartment floor.
Malfoy frantically pulled up his trousers, his gray eyes shooting out venomous glares.
He opened his mouth, the threat "My father is Lucius Malfoy!" almost bursting forth—
But when his gaze swept past the still-unsheathed yew wand in Signas's hand, the harsh words caught in his throat.
Finally, amidst the rising and falling waves of laughter inside and outside the compartment, Malfoycould only clutch his sagging waistband and, with his two lackeys in tow, scramble out of the compartment in a stumbling, disgraceful retreat.
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +99!]
[resentment points from Vincent Crabbe +99!]
[resentment points from Gregory Goyle +99!]
Signas unhurriedly tucked his wand back into his robes and picked up the 'Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1' once more.
Hmm, another fruitful day.
Chapter 10 – The Little Rich Girl's Grandeur
Signas sat down calmly, picked up the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 again, and inwardly savored the haul he'd just made.
The trio of young Misters Malfoy—fools with deep pockets—had showered him with resentment points.
Thanks to that stunt, his resentment tally had jumped by more than eight hundred—almost enough for another lottery draw.
Resentment really is the primary productive force!
Just then the compartment door slid open with another clatter.
Signas looked up, expecting Malfoy to have returned with reinforcements, but instead two girls stood in the doorway.
The one on the left had lovely, wavy blond hair, long lashes framing bright, watery eyes, and a fair little face tinged with the unease of someone hunting for a seat.
She looked soft and delicate, like a fawn that had wandered into the human world.
Yep, textbook soft-and-cute girl.
He glanced at the one on the right—and looked again to be sure. Her looks were truly unremarkable, even a bit… distinctive.
Her small face was tightly drawn, features scrunched together so she always appeared faintly annoyed, the spitting image of a puffed-up Pekingese.
The contrast between the two was almost comical.
"Excuse me… is anyone sitting here?" the blonde asked softly, voice as gentle as her appearance.
Signas eyed the empty seats opposite and nodded.
They were vacant; he could hardly drive the girls away. Besides, their robe cuffs bore the same intricate crest—usually the mark of an old wizarding line.
Chances were they were Pure-blood young ladies, but Signas wanted no more trouble. Less fuss meant fewer headaches, so long as they left him in peace.
The two thanked him and slipped quietly into the seats across from him.
Signas ignored them and returned to his book.
Yet he could feel an unfriendly stare boring into him—likely from the "Pekingese" girl.
He rolled his eyes mentally.
Another gaze, though, was filled with pure curiosity; the blonde studied him with wide, unblinking eyes.
She took in his new dark-green robes, the wand in his hand, then back to his face.
Her frank appraisal made him uncomfortable.
He knew this life's shell was rather handsome—black hair, black eyes, sharp features—an inheritance from some unknown good gene pool.
But her scrutiny was embarrassingly direct.
"Hello," the blonde said, apparently realizing her rudeness. "I'm Daphne Greengrass."
She nodded toward her sour-faced companion. "This is Pansy Parkinson."
"Cygnus Sharke," he replied curtly.
"Shalk?" Daphne repeated, delicate brows knitting as she searched her memory. "That name isn't in the Pure-Blood Directory—are you Muggle-born?"
Pansy gave a cold snort, making her opinion clear: Shalk was no proper wizarding surname.
"Because I come from a Muggle orphanage," Signas said, closing the book and meeting Daphne's startled gaze with the same tone he might use to comment on the weather. "I don't know who my parents were, so I'm probably a Muggle."
He pronounced the last two words with deliberate clarity.
Pansy's face twisted into a look that said, I knew it.
Ignoring her, Signas kept his eyes on Daphne and even smiled—though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "What's wrong, Miss Greengrass? Does sharing a compartment with someone like me foul the air? Would you and Miss Parkinson like to move elsewhere?"
"No! Of course not!" the blonde protested, waving her hands, fair cheeks flushing. "You've misunderstood. The Greengrass family… though Pure-blood, doesn't support Pure-blood supremacy."
"Oh?" Signas was genuinely curious now.
He'd thought Pure-blood families came in only two molds: fanatics like the Malfoys or "blood traitors" like the Weasleys. A middle ground?
"Pure-blood supremacy claims Pure-bloods are the highest and should rule everyone," she explained softly. "But not all Pure-blood families think that way."
Signas understood.
Among Pure-blood families the stances were nuanced.
There were the Malfoys, who wore "Pure-blood glory" like a banner and practically branded "I'm superior" on their foreheads.
And there were families like the Greengrasses, more tolerant, with no prejudice against Muggles.
Her explanation made him feel a little ashamed. "Sorry—I misjudged you."
By afternoon, the Witch pushing the snack trolley had made her rounds and returned.
As she passed the doorway, Daphne flagged her down, bought every last snack on the cart, and handed them out so everyone ended up clutching a mountain of sweets.
Signas was still marveling at her extravagance when Daphne complained that her monthly allowance was only two hundred Galleons.
Hogwarts' scholarship for a full year was a hundred Galleons, and there were only seven years in total. This little rich girl's yearly pocket money could keep three of him and still leave change.
Daphne's grand gesture instantly softened Signas' attitude toward her—after all, no one dislikes a generous rich girl.
The compartment table was soon buried under snacks, and the two of them ate while they talked.
Daphne tore open a packet of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans and carefully plucked one out. "Do you like Quidditch?"
"Of course!" Pansy, who had been silent until now, brightened. "I love the Puddlemere United! Their Seeker, Roderick Plumpton, caught the Golden Snitch in three and a half seconds—that's still the record!"
"Quidditch?" Signas mumbled through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty. "I've read about it. Sounds cool—sort of a mash-up of Muggle polo and football, except you fly."
"Hmph, so you've heard of Quidditch?" Pansy set down her snack, folded her arms, and lifted her chin. "Ever ridden a broomstick? Watched a match? Don't think a few books make you an expert on the wizarding world."
"Never ridden, never watched," Signas admitted easily, then added, "But I'm pretty sure Quidditch is better-looking than you."
[resentment points from Pansy Parkinson +24!]
"You—!" Pansy's face flushed scarlet.
"All right, enough," Daphne hurried to smooth things over, opening another chocolate frog box to stuff their mouths before war broke out. "Signas, try this—chocolate frog! There's a Wizard card inside you can collect!"
The chocolate frog, however, was restless. The moment it leapt from the box it gave a loud "Ribbit!" and, with astounding spring, vaulted over the snack mountain toward the half-open window.
"Ah! That's a rare Agrippa! Don't let it escape!" Daphne shrieked.
The frog traced a perfect parabola through the air, about to soar into the wide world outside.
"Not on my watch! Impedimenta!" Pansy whipped out her wand and jabbed at the frog.
A faint flash zipped out—only to strike the bottle of butterbeer Daphne had just opened.
With a bang the bottle exploded, drenching everything in frothy golden liquid. Pansy took the brunt of it; her hair collapsed in sticky clumps across her face.
The chocolate frog, unharmed, used the distraction to hop to the sill, half its body already out.
Daphne's heart sank—her rare card was gone.
Just then a black blur flashed.
Signas moved.
Without even standing, he leaned back at an impossible angle until he was almost parallel to the seat, his right arm shooting out like lightning—fast, precise, with no wasted motion.
The frog, a heartbeat from freedom, was caught mid-leap and held fast in his grip.
Daphne and Pansy stared, stunned.
Signas straightened as if nothing had happened. He opened his palm; the struggling chocolate frogwriggled uselessly. He handed the frog to Daphne and drew out the card.
"Cornelius Agrippa, a famous wizarding author," he read, then placed card and frog into Daphne's hand. "Here—your Agrippa."
Daphne took them, eyes wide, speechless. He's so fast! she thought.
Pansy, wiping butterbeer off her face with her sleeve, gaped at Signas. That reflex speed she'd only ever seen in professional Quidditch.
Daphne carefully tucked the precious card away.
"Signas," she whispered, leaning closer, stars in her eyes, "you… you've really never flown a broomstick?"
"Nope." Signas popped the squirming chocolate frog into his mouth. "But I don't think it'll be hard."
He wasn't boasting. The move had confirmed it—this body's reflexes and balance were far beyond ordinary, probably a perk of his transmigration.
Besides, a broomstick only did a few dozen miles per hour. How tough could it be?