The Leaky Cauldron was louder than Cain expected for a weekday afternoon. Wizards in patchy robes argued over Quidditch matches, potion failures, or the rising prices of ingredients.
Cain stood just inside the doorway, clutching his small leather pouch of shrunken books in one hand and his wand in the other.
Tom, the old bartender, looked up from wiping a mug.
"Evening, lad. You look a bit lost. First time in the Cauldron?"
"Yes. Professor McGonagall told me I could stay the night. She said you'd… help with the Floo Powder in the morning," Cain explained.
Tom nodded. "A first-year Hogwarts student, eh? Room's five Sickles for the night, breakfast included. You eat egg?"
Cain blinked. He had eaten far worse than a simple egg in the Lands Between—many, many times. Eggs sounded like a blessing.
"I love eggs," he replied, sincerely without hesitation.
Tom chuckled. "Right then. Room 11. Up the stairs, fifth door on the right."
Cain thanked him, paid the five Sickles, and headed toward the staircase.
Room 11 was tiny but warm: a small bed, a narrow desk, a small basin in the corner, a cracked window overlooking the rooftops of the alley. It was the most peaceful room Cain had seen in years.
He closed the door behind him, exhaled deeply, and sat on the bed, finally giving himself time to catch up with everything that had happened.
Slaying the Elden Beast.
Arriving in London.
The Hogwarts letter.
McGonagall.
Diagon Alley.
Magic.
He rubbed his face, trying to untangle the knot of feelings in his chest.
"Okay… Cain. You survived Radahn, Malenia, an entire world full of homicidal wildlife, and an immortal god tapeworm. You can handle… school. Treat it as a leisure life after retirement."
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling's peeling paint.
The truth was simpler—and far more unsettling.
He didn't know who he was anymore.
Was he Cain Riven, the teen who got sucked into a video game?
Or Cain of Limgrave, the Tarnished warrior who fought creatures born from madness itself?
Or was he someone new—someone rebuilt from both?
His body was smaller now. Eleven-year-old small. But the weight behind his eyes was real. He doubted many Hogwarts students had memories of being set on fire by anything, much less by gods.
He looked at his hands.
No scars. No callouses. This body had never fought. Yet his right hand curled instinctively, tracing the familiar motion of drawing a sword.
His wand lay on the desk. As if this wooden stick too was not a weapon.
Cain stood up, picked up the wand carefully, and examined it again.
He took out his books from the pouch and opened The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
Pointing the wand toward the window, he read the incantation aloud.
"Lumos."
The wand's tip flickered weakly, then went dark.
Cain sighed.
"Looks like I'll need to learn spells the traditional way this time."
---
The sky outside softened into a grey-blue as evening slipped toward night. Cain wandered downstairs for dinner, feeling oddly lighter than before.
After finishing a bowl of beef stew Tom had prepared, he retreated back upstairs. When he closed the door of Room 11, he noticed the silence of the room—not the oppressive, suffocating silence of an empty boss arena, but the gentle quiet of a world at rest.
"…This time," he whispered to himself, "I'll actually live. Not just survive."
The lantern dimmed. The Leaky Cauldron settled into nighttime murmurs.
Eventually, Cain drifted into sleep—his first peaceful one in months.
---
Cain woke to the sound of muffled voices downstairs and the thump of luggage hitting wooden floors. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was. The ceiling above him wasn't the carved stone of the Roundtable Hold, nor the flickering golden glow of a Site of Grace. Instead, he found the cracked plaster of Room 11, threaded with thin morning light.
'Right... another world.'
He sat up, stretching slowly. His body actually felt… rested. Properly rested.
The clock on the wall read 7:32. He had plenty of time before needing to reach King's Cross.
He washed up at the tiny basin, changed into his slightly oversized second-hand school robes, and headed downstairs with his trunk and wand.
Tom handed him a plate piled high with eggs, toast, and sausage the moment he appeared.
"You'll need the energy," Tom said simply. "First day's always a long one."
Cain took a seat near the window and ate, watching witches and wizards drift in and out of the pub. The world outside felt calmer today—less overwhelming than yesterday. Maybe he was already adjusting.
After he finished, Tom approached with a small wooden bowl filled with glittering silver powder.
"This is Floo Powder. Don't spill it, becomes a pain in the ass to clean it." Tom instructed, while shrinking Cain's Luggage.
Cain nodded as Tom gestured toward the fireplace.
"Right then. Step in, speak clear, and don't panic if you spin a bit too hard. The shrinking spell will wear off in a few minutes."
Cain stepped into the grate, clutching the powder in his hands. He drew a steadying breath.
"King's Cross Station!"
Green fire roared up around him, swallowing him whole.
With a violent twist and a spin, Cain stumbled out of a fireplace disguised as a maintenance alcove near the rear entrance of King's Cross. He caught himself against the wall, exhaled, and felt the station's familiar Muggle noise swell around him.
Cain brushed the soot from his sleeves as the shrinking charm on his trunk wore off. Station announcements boomed overhead. The sound of rolling suitcases, chatter, and hurried footsteps filled the air.
He made his way through the station, and as he reached Platforms Nine and Ten, he slowed to a stop. There it was—the barrier. The illusory wall leading to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. A solid, unimpressive brick column.
This makes two worlds with illusory walls hiding something.
He gripped the handle of his trolley, inhaled, and pushed forward, mirroring the way he remembered from the movie.
He emerged into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The red steam engine of the Hogwarts Express greeted his sight. Students in black robes hurried across the platform, parents fussed over their children, and owls hooted from cages.
Cain found himself briefly… stunned by the warmth of it all.
A world that wasn't trying to kill you.
A world that wasn't falling apart.
A world where children laughed.
He exhaled slowly.
"Right. Let's find a seat."
He moved through the crowd, dragging his trunk behind him. The train was already filling up as he stepped aboard. Cain walked farther down the corridor until he spotted an empty compartment near the back. He slid inside and lifted his trunk onto the overhead rack with ease. His eleven-year-old body might be small, but his strength wasn't entirely gone.
He settled into the window seat and watched the platform outside as steam curled along the ground. More families arrived, more children boarded, and more goodbyes were exchanged.
For a moment, he felt something strange tug at his chest.
Envy.
He shook the feeling off.
Minutes passed before the compartment door slid open.
A boy with pale blond hair and sharp grey eyes stood there, flanked by two large, unhappy-looking boys.
Cain blinked, feeling like he recognized the boy at the doorway.
Draco glanced at the empty seat across from Cain, then back at him.
"This seat isn't taken, is it?"
Cain shook his head. "All yours."
Draco slid in with a smooth nod, the two boys lingering awkwardly at the doorway.
"You two can find somewhere else," Draco added with casual authority. "I'll be fine here."
They left, looking relieved.
Draco turned his attention back to Cain, assessing him with the same calculating curiosity Ollivander had shown.
"Cain Riven," Cain introduced himself, holding out his hand.
"Draco Malfoy," Draco replied, shaking Cain's hand.
"Your family name… Riven, was it? Not a traditional British wizarding line," Draco said.
Cain snorted softly. "I'm not from a traditional wizarding family—but I have been around magic for a long time."
Draco's expression shifted instantly—surprise first, followed by a flicker of interest he tried to conceal.
The train jolted sharply. Steam billowed. Whistles blew. The Hogwarts Express began to move.
Draco shifted, studying him again. "So, Cain Riven… which House do you think you'll end up in?"
"I guess," Cain said quietly, "I'll let the magic decide."