After several days of continuous heavy snow, everything unclean on the streets of the ancient city of London was buried. However, ominously, the sky remained unclear, as if it foretold an even more intense blizzard brewing. On the old streets, many Muggle cleaners exerted all their strength to deal with the accumulated snow, striving to clear a path for passage.

Amosta Breen, dressed in a worn dark green coat, stood in a bare yard, gazing intently at the unfinished building before him, his light purple eyes seemingly harboring extraordinary magic. Unlike the historical and classical architecture surrounding him, it was a square, style-less six-story building resembling a student dormitory, with dozens of rooms on each floor, suggesting that once completed, it would accommodate quite a number of people.

“Amosta!”

The call from the street outside the iron gate brought Amosta back to his senses. He turned to look, and upon seeing the hurried middle-aged woman, a gentle and warm smile spread across his youthful face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Reagan.”

“Oh, you should have given me a heads-up, Amosta.”

After a hurried embrace, Mrs. Reagan said in a reproachful tone.

“Ah, sorry, I actually didn’t plan to be in such a hurry, but something came up that might keep me away for the next few months, so I came back to check on the progress.”

Amosta shrugged, his tone light and casual.

“Yes, yes, you’re always in such a rush.”

Mrs. Reagan looked at the handsome Amosta with pride, her face filled with satisfaction as she recognized him as the most successful child to come out of the orphanage in recent years.

“You don’t need to worry, Amosta. Mr. Parker from the construction team said they would continue working right after the Christmas holidays. In just two months, the children will be able to move into their new home!”

“Yes, I think that’s exactly what they’re looking forward to.”

Amosta smiled and then opened his carry-on suitcase, pulling out two stacks of pounds and stuffing them into Mrs. Reagan’s hands. Gringotts does offer currency exchange services for Muggle money, but both the exchange rate and limits are strictly regulated, so Amosta preferred to turn his gold coins into gold bricks and then find a less formal gold shop in London to exchange them for pounds. This method also incurs some unnecessary losses, but compared to doing business with greedy goblins, the losses are acceptable.

“This is the final payment for the project; please pass it on to Mr. Parker for me.”

Mrs. Reagan’s lips moved; her words of thanks had been said too many times already, making further pleasantries unnecessary. She carefully tucked the money into her oil-stained apron, her tone filled with gratitude and hope.

“Are you going to see the children, Amosta? They’re really looking forward to seeing you, especially little Hammer. He has been complaining for days about you not keeping your promise to spend Christmas with them.”

“Please tell him I’m sorry, Mrs. Reagan. I’ll bring him a gift during the summer vacation.”

“Alright.”

Mrs. Reagan’s tone showed clear disappointment, but she didn’t press further. She knew that if Amosta had the time, he wouldn’t refuse to see the children; it seemed he indeed had urgent matters to attend to.

The small talk didn’t take much time; Mrs. Reagan had to hurry back to care for the hungry children, and after she left, Amosta lingered for only a moment before walking out of the desolate yard. He walked steadily east along the recently cleared street; the old buildings lining the road, steeped in countless childhood memories, did not slow his pace.

Only when he passed over a ten-foot-wide river did he stop on the dilapidated arched bridge to gaze at the frozen surface for a moment, and then he walked toward an area of sparse white birch trees on the wasteland.

In the middle of the wasteland was a graveyard enclosed by a crooked fence.

“Whirlwind clears away.”

Amosta didn’t take his hands out of his pockets; he merely moved his lips, and several small whirlwinds suddenly rose from the desolate graveyard, sweeping away the snow from rows of gravestones and the black-grey pebbled islands before silently dissipating.

“Sorry, Grandma Feilena, I forgot to bring flowers.”

Amosta walked to a clean white gravestone, bent down to brush off the ice water remaining on the engraved marble slab, then straightened up and quietly gazed at the black-and-white photo of the kindly smiling elder, murmuring softly.

Beneath the gravestone lies the elder who had cared for him through his childhood in the orphanage, the only family member who had recognized him since he was born into this world.

As if sensing his sadness, the owl braving the biting cold wind didn’t hurry to fulfill its task but perched on the nearest white birch tree, tilting its head to watch Amosta below, occasionally using its sharp beak to preen its ruffled feathers.

“In the next few months, I have to return to that school that teaches ‘magic tricks’—the school is facing some trouble now, and someone wants me to find something in the chaos. Honestly, this doesn’t align with my personal wishes—Albus Dumbledore, that old man with the white beard who loves to pretend to bump into me in the library at midnight to remind me that staying up late is bad for my health, wouldn’t like what I’m doing right now. I’m not too keen on sneaking around under his watchful eye… but there’s no helping it; they’re offering way too much, equivalent to what I would earn in over half a year.

Moreover, once the new dormitory is completed, I hope to help the children with their education issues—”

The biting cold wind carried away Amosta’s melancholic sigh, yet it couldn’t brush away the frustration visible on his handsome face.

“It’s a pity that if I could recall the plot, I could probably finish things as quickly as possible and get paid.”

The light words revealed the deepest secret hidden in the heart of the young man standing in the desolate graveyard.

Yes, Amosta Breen is not a ‘born and bred’ local; his soul comes from a blue planet devoid of any supernatural powers.

The story of Harry Potter was a beloved read from his youth in his previous life, but over twenty years have passed since he received the admission letter from Hogwarts in this life, and all memories had grown fuzzy. Even ten years ago, when he received that letter from the owl in the cold room of the orphanage, he thought it was the latest popular prank.

It wasn’t until a greasy-haired, gutter-nosed fellow appeared before him and turned his bed into a toilet with a small stick that he finally came to his senses, realizing that this life wasn’t opening up a script for an urban supernatural drama.

Since then, he desperately tried to recall the script of Harry Potter, but all he got were some vague terms—Horcruxes, holy relics, love and scars, Voldemort and resurrection—which were far less than the information he had gathered through his own investigations since entering the wizarding world.

Of course, after mastering magic skills, Amosta had also attempted unconventional means to trace back his memories.

But those memories were so stubbornly forgotten that no matter how hard he tried, they remained hidden in a flowing gray fog, as if someone had protected them with unimaginable magic. In the end, after trying many methods and nearly causing himself trouble, he had to give up helplessly.

“That boy named Potter is in his second year, with several years still until graduation, so I suppose I shouldn’t have to face the most dangerous situations.

After all, Dumbledore is right there—ah, no, the danger actually comes from Dumbledore…”

Huff…

Looking at the white breath dissipating in the wind, a bitter smile formed on Amosta’s face.

“No matter which world it is, survival is an extremely arduous task, isn’t it, Grandma Feilena?”

The sky once again released fine snowflakes, and the owl perched at the treetops let out increasingly impatient hoots. Amosta reached out his hand toward the sky, and a small note from the owl’s claws swiftly sliced through the gray snow curtain darkened by the gloomy sky, landing steadily in Amosta’s palm.

Dear Mr. Breen,

I have completed the negotiations with the Hogwarts Board of Governors. The board has approved our proposal. You need to arrive at Hogwarts by 8 PM tonight to present to Dumbledore how you plan to investigate the perpetrator behind the attack.

Additionally, Lucius Malfoy firmly rejected the proposal to send an investigator; he believes Albus Dumbledore should be directly removed from his position, with the Greengrass family being the only supporter of this motion.

Yours sincerely,

Cacius Flee

The hurried handwriting clearly reflects the writer's urgency, and after the gray owl, dissatisfied for completing the task without reward, let out a cry and took off, quickly disappearing into the swirling snow.

Amosta closed his hand, and Cacius’s note transformed into seeds, growing into a bunch of pure white carnations in his palm.

“Do you like this trick, Grandma Feilena?”

The elder on the gravestone smiled with satisfaction.

Amosta smiled back. He turned and walked into the wind and snow, and after a loud bang, the desolate graveyard was once again empty, with only a low oath drifting through the sparse woods:

“Is the train of destiny ready to embark on its journey into the unknown?”

P.S. Please give some support with collections, recommendations, and investments. Thank you! (Chapter Two will be available by five o'clock.)