1: Chapter 1 The Orphanage Freak and the Terrifying Flying Letter

"Allen! You freak, it's time to mow the lawn, and you dare hide here sleeping!"

In the storage room on the second floor of St. Marys Orphanage in London, an eleven-year-old black-haired boy was curled up on a broken wooden bed, his old shirt washed white, his breathing so steady it didn't seem like a child who had been starving.

The wooden door was kicked open, the hinges creaking for a long time.

Mrs. Martha rushed in, clutching a rusty ruler, her fat face flushed red. Behind her poked half a head—it was Billy, the orphanage's bully.

Billy was a head taller than his peers; he hid quickly, showing only his eyes, waiting to see Allen get whipped.

"I'm talking to you! Allen Potter! Did the mice eat your ears?"

The ruler slammed onto the nightstand. The water glass wobbled on the edge, nearly tipping over.

Allen finally opened his eyes, his dark pupils sweeping from Mrs. Martha to Billy, and he sat up slowly.

"Mrs. Martha, if your voice went to the London Tenor Choir, the conductor's baton would probably break first."

Mrs. Martha's face turned even redder, the flesh on her neck quivering.

"Still talking back? Without the orphanage, you bastard who doesn't even know his own parents would have starved to death on the street long ago!"

Allen raised his eyes, his gaze bypassing her and landing on Billy's face.

"I know my name is Potter."

"The lawn should be mowed by the person who lost the bet yesterday."

"What's the matter, the orphanage bully can't afford to lose and has learned to find a nanny?"

Billy's face turned green, and he hurriedly squeezed half a step forward.

"You're talking nonsense! You used magic to trick me! Mrs. Martha, I saw it, the cup flew up by itself, he is a monster!"

"Enough!"

Mrs. Martha raised her ruler, her fat hand reaching for Allen's collar.

"At St. Marys Orphanage, I am the rule. Get out to weed immediately, and don't even think about eating dinner!"

That hand was only an inch away from his collar.

Allen didn't dodge, just looked up at her.

The air folded slightly in front of him.

Mrs. Martha's hand slid past the collar to the side, her body pulled off balance by her own momentum, and she fell backward, crashing right into Billy.

Billy was knocked to the ground, his head hitting the doorframe, and his crying tore through the storage room.

Mrs. Martha lay on top of him, trying twice but failing to get up, the ruler rolling to the foot of the bed.

Allen sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at them.

"Mrs. Martha, if your soles are slippery, stop getting angry. If you sprain your waist, it'll have to be counted as a work injury."

"Billy, having your face cushioned underneath, the elasticity is not bad."

After Mrs. Martha climbed up, her lips trembled. The anger was still on her face, but fear had already appeared in her eyes.

She had clearly grabbed him.

But that hand had inexplicably veered away.

This child was weird.

"You just wait! Tomorrow I will apply to the authorities to send you to a mental hospital!"

She dropped this sentence, not even picking up the ruler, and dragged the still-crying Billy out of the storage room.

The footsteps faded away.

Allen leaned back against the headboard, hands behind his head, staring at the mottled ceiling.

"That's right, I am a transmigrator."

"Two lifetimes of being human, carrying an adult soul, reborn in this British orphanage."

"Born a few days late, parents dead, only knowing my surname is Potter."

He paused, hearing the corridor go completely quiet, before scoffing.

"At first I thought this was just Britain at the end of the 20th century."

"Until I was eight, when I climbed the wall and snuck into the streets of London, seeing a group of adults in robes entering and exiting the Leaky Cauldron."

"Gringotts, Diagon Alley, wands."

"Once these words came out, where else could it be?"

After that day, Allen understood.

This was the magic world of Harry Potter.

"That famous The Chosen One, Harry Potter, is the same age as me and has the same surname."

"In the original work, the Potter Family only had Harry left as the sole seedling. Whether this body of mine is a collateral branch or a hidden bloodline brought out by a butterfly effect doesn't actually matter that much."

Allen raised his right hand, his fingertips tracing vaguely in the air.

"My trump card is the law of spacetime origin that came with me."

"No system, no missions, and no 'ding' sound urging me to my death."

"Only the talent fused into my soul."

He had been prone to sleep since he was a child, able to sleep twenty hours out of twenty-four.

Others wasted time sleeping, but Allen was merging with the laws of space while sleeping.

"Every time I close my eyes, my consciousness sinks into a Portable Space that only belongs to me."

"At the beginning, it was only a few cubic meters."

"Eleven years later, it has expanded to over a hundred square meters."

"Inside are piled Muggle trinkets swiped from the streets, and several stacks of pounds obtained from thugs."

Just now, flicking away Mrs. Martha's hand was just the most basic Spatial Displacement.

"As long as I don't want it to, physical attacks, and most magic spells, will be deflected by the folded space gap beside my body when they get close."

"Opponents of the same level who want to touch the corner of my clothes should rely on luck."

Allen rubbed his brow.

"Hogwarts school opening is soon, right?"

The magic world is tempting but also dangerous.

Besides the lunatics like Lord Voldemort, there is that hundred-year-old fox Albus Dumbledore, and Snape who might peek into memories at any time.

"Legilimency."

This was what Allen was most wary of right now.

"Once the secret of a transmigrator is exposed, I will most likely be treated as a heretic or locked up for slow research."

"This body is not strong enough either."

"Sleepiness can enhance spatial abilities, but magic accumulation cannot compare to young Wizards trained from a young age."

After going to Hogwarts, I must keep a low profile.

Absolutely must not stand out.

"Especially with Harry Potter, this firepower magnet, right in front."

"He takes the front row, I hide in the back and make money silently, that's fine."

"What The Chosen One, what White Lord, Dark Lord, in my eyes they are just large obstacles on the chessboard."

"Harry is responsible for holding off Lord Voldemort."

"I am responsible for laying a net among the pure-blood idiots in Slytherin."

Allen turned over to catch up on sleep, when suddenly the sound of breaking glass came from outside the window.

He sprang up from the bed, moving his body half a meter sideways, avoiding the window when he landed.

A gray-brown owl smashed through the old window, fell into the room, and fainted after flapping a few times.

It was clutching a thick parchment envelope in its claws.

Emerald green ink wrote the address: London, St. Marys Orphanage, second-floor storage room, Mr. Allen Potter.

Allen walked over, pushed the unconscious owl aside, and bent down to pick up the letter.

The back of the envelope had a bright red wax seal, with a capital letter H in the center of the shield crest, surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry acceptance letter.

Allen tore it open and scanned it.

The signatures of Principal Dumbledore and Deputy Principal McGonagall, the first-year student book list, and equipment requirements like cauldrons, wands, and robes were all consistent with his memory.

"First-year students may bring an owl, a cat, or a toad."

"Special reminder to parents, first-year students are not allowed to bring their own flying broomsticks."

Allen scoffed and shoved the letter into his Portable Space.

"The ticket has been received."

"Now it depends on who Hogwarts sends to pick me up."

"McGonagall, Snape, or some other Professor?"

He stretched, fell back onto the bed, and covered his head with the quilt.

"Whatever, whoever comes, sleep first."

"Whoever disturbs me, I will stuff them into the Portable Space to keep that pile of junk company."