I knew there was a saying "that life is unpredictable," but who knew that it was unpredictable to such an extent? Just imagine randomly being transported to another world: isekai, they called it in my previous world, right? It doesn't even matter anymore, and I don't think I ever will, because I have already accepted the reality.
Turned out that I suddenly found myself in the body of a seven-year-old in 19th-century England. What a shame. I was a philosophy student in my previous life, one who was just a month away from finishing a doctorate in philosophy at Harvard. Yes, you folks heard it right; I got into Harvard University.
Now just imagining working that hard again—is there even a need to? In fact, I just feel that my study of philosophy was pointless. I just slept and woke up somewhere else; consequently, I just discovered the meaning of life. All these years were a waste, an absolute waste; this experience taught me that life is meaningless—a complete illusion.
And for that reason, over the last four years, I have been nothing but a shell of my former self. Devoid of any ambition, being called out for my tardiness, yet being an outstanding student—all due to my past.
Never would I ever again pay any attention to academics in school or class. Never would I show enthusiasm regarding anything. Never would I try to make someone's day. Why the hell should I? It is all meaningless, absurd, and an illusion.
If life really is like that, then why can I not just end all of it? The truth is that I, Edward Thorn—supposedly my new name—am a weakling.
I really pity this world now, especially my dad. Waking up in the morning, tidying that shiny black suit, and heading into the workspace with all those high and mighty expectations. The daily grind—it's almost like a cog that will continue to operate until self-destruction. All that hard work for what? I just wish I could tell him the truth of this seemingly grand universe, but it is unfortunate that the most crushing truths are often the most unrealistic. To him, such statements would make him see me as a psychopath. I don't want to go through all that hassle; if I am going to live in an illusion like a coward, I will live the best one possible.
As I collected my thoughts on the breakfast table, I looked out of the window while viewing the acacia tree. The tree leaves were beginning to wilt; the rich green was now nothing but a shade of its former self. Fall had arrived, and the tree was shedding itself. I realized that in a few more months, the tree would again be filled with lushness and intoxicating beauty. Rejuvenation! I just needed that. At this moment, I too wanted to be like the acacia tree: reborn with a new sense of belonging.
Unfortunately, I knew that life was meaningless. So, how could I ever find any enthusiasm again? It was all hopeless anyways.
My thoughts were suddenly cut short as a shadow darted through the window, obscuring my vision. It was an owl: snowy, chubby, with deep eyes. It might have been adorable, but who cared? It was trespassing on private property. It looked like it knew what it was doing, delivering a letter as it swept up towards the table before disappearing into the rays of the morning sunshine. "What a weird one that was." Using an owl to deliver a letter was like using woodfire to cook instead of gas. It was terribly outdated.
"Who the hell could have sent this letter?" I wondered while opening the envelope. I noticed that the letter had a peculiar crest: a cartoonish medieval shield split in four: a lion roaring, a snake coiled, a badger steady, and a raven poised with an ornate "H" gleaming above the curling Latin motto.
The letter read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Thorn,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Surely this had to be a prank, right? There is just simply no way a crest that looks like a Disney animation would be adopted by any magical institute. Furthermore, if magic really existed, why would the world not know about it?
As I solidified the thoughts, my dad, who was seated quietly at the breakfast table, picked up the discarded letter. I noticed that he was again staring at that portrait. My dad was stuck in the past, simply refusing to move ahead.
"Huh, what an effective prank," he muttered. Edward don't believe the information present in this letter. If we start getting too much of this, I will register a complaint with the Royal Mail. These scammers are usually up to no good.
As Mr. Thorn was finishing his lecture, the doorbell suddenly rang. An irate look crawled onto his face. He barked, "Who the hell is it?" I remember telling the Dursleys to never call me in the morning again. I bet that meathead wants to curry favor again. My dad reluctantly put down the bottle of alcohol before heading towards the door.
Upon opening the door, Mr. Thorn was surprised. Unexpectedly, the visitor was not the one who was expected but a woman. She stood tall in dark green robes, a pointed hat perched neatly, her sharp eyes calmly assessing the situation.
"You are Edward Thorn's father, I assume. Do you still have the letter you received a few minutes ago?" asked the woman
"The one about the magical school? By any chance are you here to tell me that magic is real?"
"My son is a topper, an absolute genius who is bound to either go to Oxford or Harvard. He will not go and work in a circus: the laughingstock of the town. Those little tricks are absolutely useless."
Mr. Thorn had thought that it was all those circus freaks again. They had, after all, been constantly pestering him for years after his son had shown incredible athletic talent.
Truth be told, in my previous life, I was also incredible at athletics. Being all round genius, one of the key reasons I had gotten into Harvard was because I had represented my school on the international stage.
But at this moment, the woman at the door found Mr Thorn's behaviour extremely rude. As Mr. he kept on rambling, the frown on McGonagall's face grew deeper and deeper. This man reeked of alcohol. The smell was extremely unpleasant. If she could, McGonagall would have already hexed him. Only Dumbledore and Hogwarts were keeping her sane; otherwise, she would have shown him who is the laughingstock and who isn't."
Resigning to her duties, she decided to prove the existence of magic. She grabbed the wand from the holster, and with a flick of it, a teapot transformed into a clock. From then onwards, it just kept on changing forms, transcending reality.
The shock on both mine and my father's faces was visible.
"No way?" I softly muttered. Hallucinations crept into my mind, wiping everything out. I was blank, as blank as a sheet of paper. Had everything I had learned and hypothesized been proven wrong again? What was the world like? What was the reason for his existence? My search for internal peace had been trampled again.
Every single time, I had no control over anything. Destiny felt inescapable, like a serpent that had you tightly wrapped around it. No matter how hard one tried, it was hopeless.
Frustration gnawed upon me, but right now, I knew he had to stay calm. Maybe, the purpose of all this world was something I could start by discovering in this magic school.
I saw a glimmer of hope as I reluctant;y confirmed my attendance to the professor. However, my father, who had always been the spoilsport, continued to argue with the professor.
The truth was that Edward's father was a man who was already drowning. He had lost his wife when Edward was eight years old, and his son's lack of emotions had pulled him deeper into the pit.
He argued repeatedly, as he did not want to leave his only remaining family; however, when McGonagall told him about the consequences of not learning how to control one's magic, Mr. Thorn finally collapsed onto the floor. His entire body trembled as he sobbed uncontrollably. His only remaining hope would at last be taken away. He would be sent to a boarding school in the middle of nowhere, and with Edward's personality, would he even care to stay in touch?
This feeling gnawed him, eating up his insides and causing unbearable emotional trauma. However, the most shocking part was his son's lack of empathy. Even now his son felt no remorse upon seeing his father.
The professor, seeing this incident unfolding right before her eyes, was surprised. Such a child was a first; she remembered what Dumbledore had told her about Tom Riddle. The similarities in personality between the two were strikingly similar. She was going to report this incident to the principal. Such a student needed proper guidance, and she decided to plan it out with Dumbledore.
In the end, it was decided that tomorrow the professor would show up to take my dad and me to to buy my supplies.
As McGonagall left, I saw the leaves on the acacia tree falling off and being carried away by the wind. I glanced at his dad, who's crying had somewhat shaken me, but it was still irritating. By now, the transformed teapot had also returned to normal, the transfiguration effect wearing off. The clock had stopped, yet everything had happened so quickly, and I had just stood there as a bystander. I wondered why I had continued to stand there if I did not care.
It was at this moment that my father confronted me. "Son, do you really not care about family? Do you not care about emotions at all?"
I was frustrated. Not just frustrated but very frustrated. This man kept on bickering and rambling, fueling my inner frustration. I decided that today I was going to lecture dad and give him a piece of my mind once and for all.
"I care? I used to think caring gave life meaning. But then I realized meaning itself is an illusion, Father. You now chase it through love; I once chased it through knowledge—both of us fools in our own ways. Your grief and my indifference are just the same emptiness. You will never understand this, not until you go through what I have been through.
I ran towards my room and, with a slam, shut the door. The house was quiet with silence except for a few sobs every now and then.