HP: Sacred Gear Chat Group (2) - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Chapter 1 - A Squib?

20th December 1993

I let out a weary sigh. Do I really dare to hope again?

Magic has always been a part of my life, yet it remains completely out of my reach. The rest of my family can use it, while all I can do is watch them with envy. It is simply cruel.

And I’m not talking about the fact that I was born a Squib. No, the true cruelty comes from being reborn into one of my favorite fictional worlds, only to end up as nothing more than a Squib.

Yes, I am a reincarnator.

During my first life, I had a deep passion for fiction and consumed everything from movies, television series, video games, and anime to all kinds of literature. I loved it all and never limited myself to a particular genre. Whether it was science fiction or good old-fashioned fantasy, I didn’t discriminate.

Perhaps I was a little too passionate about it, considering those stories besides my education are nearly the only things I can still remember clearly from my first life. Everything else has become a blurry mess.

I know I was male, attended university, and even had a girlfriend before waking up one day in the body of a toddler. Thank God I didn’t have to experience the birth itself. Beyond those few details, however, I can’t remember much of anything.

It is probably better that way since it leaves no lingering regrets or emotional attachments holding me back.

After all, I have been given a new family and a new identity.

My name is Alistair Davis, the son of a pure-blood witch and a Muggle-born wizard.

I have been reborn into the Wizarding World, yes the one filled with Dark Wizards mispronouncing Abracadabra, wand-waving magic, and everything else that comes with it.

When I first realized where I was, I couldn’t have been happier. At least, that was how I felt in the beginning. It took several years for that happiness to slowly turn into bitter disappointment.

To be precise, it happened when I finally turned fourteen.

Why fourteen, you might ask? For some reason, fourteen is the age at which students begin their education at Hogwarts in this version of the Wizarding World. Apparently, there has been some trouble in the past, which led the Ministry to conclude that handing reality-bending sticks to eleven-year-olds wasn’t the brightest idea.

It is a decision I can understand, even if I don’t particularly like it. After all, it meant I had to wait several more years to receive my own Hogwarts letter.

A Hogwarts letter that never arrived on my fourteenth birthday.

By then, it didn’t exactly come as a surprise. It was merely the final confirmation of something I had already begun to suspect.

After all, I am a reincarnator. There was no chance I would patiently wait for Hogwarts without trying to get a head start on my magical education.

I tried everything I could think of, including attempts at wandless magic and self-invented exercises meant to clear my mind in preparation for learning Occlumency.

At first, I hoped my failures with wandless magic were simply due to the skill’s incredible difficulty and rarity. Even the fact that I couldn’t remember a single instance of accidental magic I caused, wasn’t enough to discourage me.

Neither was my inability to clear my mind. Unfortunately, those exercises were the only information I had about how to begin learning Occlumency. Books on the subject are heavily regulated by the Ministry, to the point that most people don’t even know the art exists.

'Clear your Mind, Potter!' Is all I had to start with.

Although my mother is a pure-blood witch from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, she was disowned after marrying my father. As a result, she no longer had access to her family’s wealth or their collection of magical books.

My hopeful attempts to gain an early advantage in my magical education grew more desperate and disappointing with every passing year. Then, when I finally turned fourteen, my Hogwarts letter never arrived.

My parents and younger sister try not to treat me differently, but they fail spectacularly. They never insulted me or anthing. Instead, they make me feel as though I am broken or disabled, someone who needs to be handled with constant care.

Living like this is miserable.

Things became even worse when my younger sister received her Hogwarts letter one year after mine should have arrived. I was genuinely happy for her. I would never wish for her to suffer the way I do, nor would I ever want anything bad to happen to her.

Even so, watching her leave for Hogwarts three years in a row still stung.

“Don’t worry, Al. I’ll write to you every week!” she always promises with a bright smile every September we accompany her to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. And she did, not that it helped much.

She means to make me feel better before rushing onto the Hogwarts Express to find her friends.

Instead, her words only make the pain sting even more.

It doesn’t help that I also have to worry about her life. Voldemort was present at the castle during both of her first two years, and I was the only person who knew about it.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t warn anyone because I had no reasonable explanation for how I possessed that knowledge.

This year, the castle is surrounded by soul-sucking demons. Stops one from really worrying about your younger sibling... not.

Logically, I know nothing is supposed to happen to my little sister. However, that knowledge does little to calm my nerves. My very existence could have caused a butterfly effect that changed the original course of events.

There is also the fact that this version of the Wizarding World obviously doesn’t match either the books or the movies.

I have no choice but to remain silent and watch from a distance and pray. Any attempt to interfere would attract the wrong kind of attention, and I certainly don’t trust Dumbledore.

With my little sister away at the incredibly dangerous place known as Hogwarts, I spend most of my time sitting at home like a true invalid within the Wizarding World.

My family has built their lives almost entirely around the magical community. Although my father is Muggle-born and knows how to navigate the non-magical world, both of my parents were fortunate enough to find employment in the magical one.

My mother’s family at least possessed enough decency not to actively sabotage her life after disowning her. She works for the Ministry, and despite losing her inheritance, she is still a pure-blood and has managed to obtain a respectable position within the Department of Mysteries.

Of course, she can’t tell us anything about her work.

Meanwhile, my father owns an apothecary. We aren’t wealthy, but we aren’t poor either. I have never lacked anything important throughout my life.

Anything except magic, of course.

Under Ministry law, Squibs are expected to be homeschooled using Muggle educational materials and take official examinations until they come of age in the non-magical world. These are the final few months in which those requirements still apply to me.

After that, I will need to decide whether to remain in the magical world or leave for the non-magical one to pursue further education and find work on my own.

In all honesty, I have no idea which path to choose.

My prospects within the magical world are limited. I could work as a clerk in my father’s apothecary, but that is nearly the only realistic option available to me.

The other choice I have is to abandon the magical world almost entirely, aside from occasional contact with my family. I got the knowledge on which stocks to bet during the Dot-Com bubble. There is that.

But abandoning magic?

Neither option is particularly appealing.

Yet here I am, sitting gloomily in my room on my eighteenth birthday while wondering what to do with my future. It is a decision I will need to make within the next few days.

At least, that is what I believe.

In addition to the birthday messages from my sister and her best friend, I unexpectedly received another piece of mail today. One largely occupying my toughts for hours.

It has arrived several years too late, which makes me far more inclined to believe that it is some kind of shitty prank. But what is if not?

Mr. Alistair Davis,

Second-Largest Bedroom,

77 Diagon Alley,

London

On the other side of the envelope was the familiar emblem of the School for Magic everyone loves.

What the hell could Hogwarts want with me?

At that moment, I heard the front door to our apartment open. We lived directly above the apothecary my dad owned, so it wasn’t long before I heard my mother call out from below.

“Where is my baby?”

Of course, she still has to treat me like a toddler on my eighteenth birthday...

She’s nothing like what you would expect from someone raised in a proper pure-blood family.

The door to my room flew open. And in stepped an attractive black haired woman, you wouldn't belief was already in her forties.

“There you are! Why are you sitting here all alone in your room looking so gloomy? Happy birthday!”

My mom wrapped her arms around me and placed a kiss on top of my head.

I didn’t resist and simply accepted my fate like a man. I had long since learned that there was no escaping my mom whenever she decided to smother me with affection.

“Thanks, Mom! I was just thinking, nothing more.”

“Oh, are you still hung up on whether you should give up on the magical world or not? Al, you know it really doesn’t matter. No matter what you choose, we’ll still be there for you! If you choose the non-magical world, you’ll still be our son, and we’ll support you. Your father is still in contact with his family, remember your aunt and uncle? They already agreed to take you in while you study at a university. Or you can stay here and take over your father’s shop one day. You grew up around Potions and Herbology! You’re probably already beyond most NEWT students in that regard. As for the parts that require magic, you could always hire someone!” Mom reasoned.

When she puts it like that, my situation doesn’t sound nearly as dire.

It still sucks that I can’t use magic, though.

“It’s not about that...” I sighed as I held up the letter from Hogwarts. “Hogwarts sent me a letter, and I’m not sure what they want from me.”

The obvious conclusion would be that there had been some kind of problem and they had simply forgotten to send my letter four years ago.

Or rather, that was the wishful thinking of a delusional fool.

I was far more inclined to believe that it was some kind of official document confirming that I was indeed a Squib, something I would need to submit to the Ministry when I officially registered as one and decided whether to remain in the magical world or leave it behind.

Honestly, why were they even waiting until now? None of this made any sense.

The moment Mom saw the Hogwarts letter in my hands, her eyes widened before she began to... squeal?

A moment later, I found myself trapped in another hug.

“You have to open it, Al! I knew it!”

“You knew what?”

“That you have magic! I noticed a few small bouts of accidental magic from you this year, but I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t certain. They were tiny, and I didn’t want to give you false hope. You probably didn’t even notice them yourself. For it to happen is rare! But why do you think the Ministry waits so long before officially declaring someone a Squib? Why don’t they do it the moment someone fails to receive a Hogwarts letter?” Mom asked, voicing the exact question I had been wondering about for years.

Apparently, she knew the answer.

In hindsight I really should have just asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering about that for years.”

“Because there is a rare exception among wizards where someone appears to be a Squib until their fifth year, when their magic suddenly awakens. Every recorded case has involved someone with an exceptionally powerful talent for magic, and they learn at an incredible pace. By the end of their first year of classes, they usually surpass most students in their final year. But it is incredibly rare. The last person it happened to attended Hogwarts over a century ago, and the case before that occurred almost four centuries earlier,” Mother explained with a smile as she finally released me from her grip. “But they do exist, and that possibility is the sole reason the law is structured this way.”

That’s incredibly rare.

More importantly, it sounds strangely familiar.

An exceptionally powerful fifth-year student who appeared around a century ago?

Isn’t she talking about the main protagonist of Hogwarts Legacy?

Am I the same as him?

Does that mean I have Ancient Magic?

Wait, that doesn’t make sense.

I’m older than he was because the admission age for Hogwarts shifted to fourteen. When he entered his fifth year, he was fifteen. By that logic, his fifth year should have been my second year.

Is it related to the school year rather than age? How does that even work?

Maybe magic somehow gets imprinted by the people using it and changes alongside them or something. After all, how else does randomly butchered Latin combined with specific wand movements translate into actual spells?

“Open your letter, Al!” Mom urged me.

She’s right. There’s no point in overthinking this right now.

Let’s see if it’s actually true.

Bracing myself for disappointment, I opened the letter.

Inside were two pages.

Dear Mr Davis,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth-year student for the forthcoming academic year.

Term begins on 1 September. A complete list of the books, equipment, and other supplies you will require shall be delivered alongside those of the other students during the summer holidays.

As you may be aware, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prohibits students who have not yet completed their Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations from performing magic outside school grounds.

In recognition of your exceptional circumstances, the Ministry of Magic has granted you a temporary dispensation from the usual restrictions. Until the beginning of term, you may practise magic under the direct supervision of your appointed magical guardians for the purpose of developing your spell-casting abilities and preparing for fifth-year instruction.

Further details concerning the conditions of this dispensation will be provided separately.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

I’m not dreaming, am I? Is this really happening?

Pulling out the second page, I found that it was just a brochure from the Ministry explaining the rules and regulations I would have to follow if I wanted to practice magic outside of school. Basically, it was a waste of parchment.

After all, without the Trace on me, they had no way to track me directly. Magical households were a gray area either way. My sister had been using magic at home ever since she started attending Hogwarts.

The Ministry only bothered tracking magic in populated Muggle areas.

According to Mom, who had a good understanding of how the Trace worked thanks to being an Unspeakable, it couldn’t distinguish who actually cast the magic, whether it was an adult or a student. In a magical household, it would be triggered constantly.

Even when I got my wand, the Trace wouldn’t be placed on it. The Trace itself was applied during a small ritual shortly before the Sorting Ceremony in a side room of the Great Hall, so it was questionable whether I would even have to undergo it.

After all, my first year at Hogwarts would also be the same year in which I took my O.W.L.s.

As long as I didn’t do anything stupid, like using magic in a public area of London, I should be fine.

“Mom, can I get a wand as a present today? I know you already got me presents, but I really don’t want to wait any longer. If not, I can pay for it myself. I’ve saved enough of my allowance to easily afford my first wand,” I asked hopefully.

It didn’t really matter what she said because I was getting my wand today either way. Ollivanders was less than a ten-minute walk down the Alley, but I would rather go with my parents’ permission.

There was no need to create unnecessary drama.

“Of course we can! Let me freshen up after work, and then we can head over to Ollivanders before your father closes the shop. You can surprise him later, and your sister too when she gets home for Christmas!” Mom said as she ruffled my hair before heading toward her room.

This wasn’t a dream.

It was really happening.

After eighteen years of trying, I finally had real magic.

Glancing down at my hands, I hesitated.

“Maybe...?”

Maybe it would work this time.

Excitement began bubbling inside me as I realized that it was finally time for me to shine.

Closing my eyes, I turned my attention inward and focused on my body, trying to feel my magic. At the same time, I formed a clear image in my mind of warm white light shining from my fingertips.

Something reacted.

A warm sensation of power emerged from somewhere deep inside me and slowly spread throughout my entire body.

Realizing I was on the right track, I focused more intensely on that feeling while holding the image firmly in my mind. Then, raising one hand in front of me, I cast the spell.

“Lumos!”

My eyes snapped open as I eagerly checked whether it had worked.

There was no light.

Just my hand, complete with five perfectly ordinary, non-glowing fingers.

Yet, for some strange reason, that warm feeling inside me was still there.

In fact, it was getting stronger.

What did I do?

Was this some kind of Ancient Magic spell trying to get out?

How did Ancient Magic even work?

In the game, the protagonist just suddenly started throwing around ridiculous displays of Ancient Magic as finishing moves. I had absolutely no idea how to do anything like that, and I definitely didn’t want to summon lightning or make something implode inside my room.

No... wait.

That couldn’t be it.

If I remembered the game’s lore correctly, Ancient Magic was different from the typical magic used by witches and wizards. It was essentially an external form of magic that manipulated the magical energy found in nature, allowing far more powerful spells to be cast because they didn’t rely solely on a wizard’s internal source of magic.

But this feeling was coming from inside me, and it felt as though it was about to burst out.

Why couldn’t I control it?

Was I actually going to explode?

The pressure continued to build until I was certain something was about to happen.

Here it comes!

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped.

The warm sensation vanished, leaving me staring blankly at the empty air in front of me.

This...

This is eighteen years too late too!

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