In the quiet of Tibe Avenue, apartment 19, a soft glow spilled from the second-floor window long after midnight. Albert sat at his desk, bathed in the faint light of a lamp, his nose buried in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
The pages turned swiftly under his fingers, his eyes scanning the text with unnatural speed. He had recently upgraded his Quick Memory skill to Level 2 using his interface, a mysterious system that granted him abilities beyond those of ordinary people.
His memory now worked like a steel trap, retaining details with a clarity that would make any scholar envious.
As he flipped through the book, a new entry caught his attention in the interface: Wizard Bloodline, Level 0. Unlike other skills, this one couldn't be improved with ordinary experience points—only skill points would do. It was a first for Albert, and after a moment's hesitation, he decided to invest one of his precious skill points to raise it to Level 1.
The effect was immediate. A subtle warmth coursed through him, as if his very essence had shifted. Practicing the Lumos spell, which he'd struggled to maintain earlier, became noticeably easier. Within ten minutes, he had upgraded Lumos to Level 1, mastering its basics. The wand now emitted a steady, reliable glow with minimal effort, a testament to the enhanced magical affinity granted by his Wizard Bloodline.
Tempted to pour all his skill points into this intriguing new skill, Albert wavered. Skill points were rare, earned through significant milestones like his acceptance to Eton or Hogwarts. After some internal debate, he invested his remaining two points, pushing Wizard Bloodline to Level 2.
To his disappointment, no dramatic change followed—no surge of power or newfound ability. Was it a passive skill, working subtly behind the scenes? He frowned, feeling slightly cheated, but he didn't regret the choice. Understanding his magical potential was worth the gamble.
Leaving his room, Albert decided to test another spell from the book: Alohomora, the Unlocking Charm. He stood before his bedroom door, wand in one hand, The Standard Book of Spells open in the other.
The book described the wand movement as a reverse S, a gesture that felt clumsy in practice. He waved his wand, mimicking the motion, and whispered, "Alohomora," aiming at the locked doorknob.
Nothing happened. The lock didn't budge. Albert sighed, unsurprised by the failure. Spellcasting was clearly more complex than waving a stick and saying words.
Still, his interface registered Alohomora as a new skill at Level 0, though it gained no experience points from the attempt. Progress, however small, was progress.
"Albert, what are you doing?" a voice called softly from the corridor. Nia, clad in her oversized pajamas, stood at the hallway's end, her arms crossed and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Albert turned, caught off guard. Nia's expression reminded him of when she'd caught him sneaking biscuits from the kitchen as a child. "Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, deflecting.
"I can't sleep!" Nia huffed, stepping closer. "You're so sneaky, practicing magic in secret!"
Albert scratched his neck, a bit sheepish. She wasn't wrong—it was like being caught with his hand in the dessert jar. "It's not sneaky. I'm just… experimenting."
"I want to try!" Nia said, eyeing his wand with undisguised longing.
"No way," Albert said firmly, shaking his head. "This isn't a toy."
Nia pouted, looking like a kid whose favorite toy had been snatched away. "You're practicing secretly, but I can't?"
"It's not about that," Albert said, his tone softening but resolute. "Wands are dangerous. Kids don't always know when to stop, and I don't know enough to let you try safely."
He couldn't ignore the possibility that Nia might be a witch. As siblings, the odds were high, given his own magical ability. But until he was certain—and until he knew more about wand safety—he wouldn't risk it. A misfired spell could cause chaos, or worse.
"You're no fun," Nia grumbled. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep too?"
"Can't sleep either," Albert admitted, changing the subject. "Want a story instead?"
Nia's eyes lit up, though she muttered, "You're so sneaky," as she scooped up Tom, their tabby cat, and followed Albert into his room. Tom, immediately suspicious, sniffed around, his gaze fixed on Shira's empty birdcage by the window. The owl was out hunting, but Tom's tail twitched with displeasure at the new resident.
"Relax, Tom. Shira's out looking for food," Albert said, picking up the cat and scratching its belly. To be safe, he slipped his wand into a drawer, locked it, and pocketed the key. He knew Nia too well—she was curious enough to swipe it given half a chance.
"Really? Locking it up like I'm a thief?" Nia said, pouting dramatically.
"I know you," Albert shot back, rolling his eyes. "You'd try to cast something and blow up the house."
"I would not!" Nia protested, though her guilty expression betrayed her. She'd once been scratched by Tom for handling him too roughly, a lesson Albert had scolded her for. The memory of his rare anger still lingered, and she shrank a little under his gaze.
"Don't forget that lesson," Albert said, softening. "Story or no story?"
"Story," Nia relented, settling onto a cushion with Tom in her lap. She stroked his fur as Albert began weaving a fairy tale about a clever fox outsmarting a band of goblins.
Storytelling had been a habit from his old life, a way to practice his English, which, despite his transmigration into this world, wasn't as polished as a native speaker's.
His knack for languages didn't stop there—he'd also raised his French skill to Level 1 on his interface, a feat that cemented his reputation as a prodigy.
As he spoke, Nia's eyelids grew heavy, her head nodding. "Albert, do you think I'll be able to do magic someday?" she asked suddenly, her voice small.
"Probably," Albert said, smiling. "If I can, there's a good chance you can too. We're siblings, after all."
"But Grandpa couldn't," Nia murmured. "He said his family could, but he was a… what was it? A Squib? And Dad can't either."
Albert winced, feeling a pang for their father, caught in the crossfire of Nia's comment. "Even if you can't, you'll find your own thing," he said gently. "You're good at plenty already."
"You're so sneaky," Nia teased, grabbing Tom's paw and playfully swiping it at Albert's face. "You can do magic and still say stuff like that. Tom, get him!"
Albert laughed, dodging the half-hearted attack. As the night deepened, Nia's yawns grew frequent, and she soon drifted off, curled up with Tom.
The door creaked open, revealing Daisy and Herbert in their pajamas. They exchanged a fond, exasperated look at their sleeping daughter. "Finally out," Herbert whispered, carefully lifting Nia to carry her to her room.
"Good night, Albert," Daisy said, kissing his forehead. "Don't stay up too late. You can read tomorrow. We won't fight your choice to go to Hogwarts."
"Good night, Mom," Albert replied, stifling a yawn. He nudged Tom, who merely rolled over lazily, unwilling to move. "Fine, stay there," Albert muttered, adjusting his pillow and settling into bed. Exhaustion from the day—Diagon Alley, spell practice, and Nia's endless energy—finally overtook him. As he drifted off, the faint glow of his wand's Lumos lingered in his mind, a spark of the magical path ahead.