The holiday seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. The rest of Adrian's break was consumed by his immersion in magical theory, his nose constantly buried in volumes like A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, and Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. Hours slipped away like sand through a sieve.
By comparing his progress to the first-year students described in the original Harry Potter timeline, Adrian was fairly certain that his theoretical understanding of magic far exceeded most of his peers. Likely, only Hermione Granger—Miss "I've read all the textbooks by heart"—would be an exception. The others, from what he recalled, were still fumbling with basic incantations during their first weeks at Hogwarts.
Still, Adrian hadn't been able to buy his own wand yet. British wizarding law—specifically the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery—strictly prohibited underage witches and wizards from casting spells outside of school. The Ministry enforced this through the Trace, a charm placed on underage magical children to detect unauthorized spellwork. However, the rule was, in reality, more symbolic than practical in pure-blood homes. Since the Trace couldn't distinguish who cast a spell in a magical household, many wizarding children received informal training long before school. Adrian found this frustratingly unfair; Muggle-borns and half-bloods like himself had to obey the law strictly, while pure-blood children grew up casting Lumos and Alohomora under the casual guidance of their parents.
Silent incantations and wandless magic—though idealized in books—were far beyond the scope of a first-year. Even the basics required a wand, proper pronunciation, and concentration. He knew he didn't possess the natural skill of Tom Riddle or Bellatrix Lestrange, nor the extraordinary innate power of Voldemort's daughter, Delphi Riddle. Delphi—who wouldn't be born until March 1998 at Malfoy Manor—would later be known by the codename "The Augurey." She never attended Hogwarts due to illness, but her heritage granted her terrifying magical potential. In The Cursed Child, even Harry Potter, ten years her senior and a seasoned Auror, struggled against her in a duel. Like her father, she was a Parselmouth and could fly unaided through the air, a rare talent Voldemort had uniquely mastered during the Second Wizarding War.
"Adrian! Come down for breakfast or you'll be late!" His mother's voice, brisk and commanding, cut through the fog of thought.
Snapped back to the present, Adrian hastily packed away his books, exchanged his pajamas for the grey-and-maroon uniform of Little Whinging Primary School, checked that his tie was straight and shoes polished, then hurried down the stairs.
He downed a glass of milk, grabbed a slice of buttered toast from the table, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Still chewing, he imagined some whimsical scenario where he'd bump into a mysterious, blue-haired, albino transfer student—his mind's way of coping with another dull Muggle school day.
"Hold up, Adrian! I'm taking you to school today," came a familiar voice as his older brother Albert appeared by the door.
Adrian paused, toast halfway to his mouth. "Wait, what? Why's Dad not taking me?"
"He got called in early to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Something about a rogue cauldron exploding in Kent. So I'm on escort duty," Albert replied, smiling with a glint of mischief.
Before Adrian could protest, Albert grabbed his arm. A split second later, Adrian felt as if he were being sucked through a very narrow rubber hose. All around him blurred into whirling color. His lungs felt crushed, his eyes were squeezed painfully, and his ears popped violently. Apparition.
He stumbled forward gasping when they reappeared in an alley near the school, the cold morning air rushing into his lungs like a slap to the face.
"Sorry, Adrian. At least it's faster than walking," Albert said with a shrug as he released his grip.
"Albert, you bloody maniac!" Adrian swayed, hand on his knees, panting to regain composure. "You know I haven't gotten used to Apparition yet!"
"You'll have to if you want to be a Seeker someday. Broomstick acceleration can be worse," Albert said casually, adjusting his coat. "Anyway, I've got to head off—don't be late. You've got a few minutes to recover before the bell rings."
With that, he Disapparated with a soft crack, leaving Adrian in the alley, still dizzy and now staring mournfully at the ruined remains of his toast on the ground.
Just then, a voice echoed around the corner. "Potter's hiding in the bogs again! You two, go flush him out. I want to test these new gloves!"
Four or five sweaty, bulky boys stormed past, their uniforms stretched over growing adolescent bodies. Adrian recognized them instantly—Dudley Dursley's gang.
One of them stopped short. "Oi, what're you standing around for?" It was Piers Polkiss, Dudley's rat-faced lieutenant, his brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Adrian looked up, cool as ever. "I'm watching the morning pig race. Didn't expect this many contestants."
The boys looked around stupidly, trying to spot pigs, before the insult clicked.
"You little runt!" Dudley growled, stepping forward and raising a gloved fist.
"Big D, give him a wallop with your new gloves!" Malcolm urged gleefully. The others laughed, egging Dudley on.
"Gonna cry, Harris? Want a taste of these?" Dudley brandished his gloved fists, each hand encased in shiny new boxing gear he probably got for his birthday.
Adrian tensed but didn't flinch.
"I imagine you'd rather not end up in detention before the bell rings," came a stern, clipped voice from behind.
The gang froze. "Oh—Mrs. Kelly!" Dudley blurted. The boys straightened, suddenly sheepish.
Mrs. Kelly, their formidable headmistress, stood with arms folded. She wore a tailored black trench coat over a tweed dress, and her gold-rimmed glasses glinted as she narrowed her eyes at the group.
"Move along, boys. And you, Harris—why are you dawdling?"
"Sorry, ma'am." Adrian hurriedly joined the others as they filed into the school building.
Despite everything, Adrian couldn't help but feel that same subconscious dread all students felt under a teacher's gaze. Even though he had once been a teacher himself in another life, that instinctive response—the kind mice had toward cats—remained deeply rooted.
Lost in that reflection, Adrian walked into the classroom, bracing himself for the mundane rhythms of another Muggle school day.
It was undeniable: even though Adrian had once been a teacher himself, the memory inherited from this life still made him uncomfortable under a teacher's scrutinizing gaze. It was a natural, almost instinctive reaction—students feared teachers just as mice (not named Jerry) instinctively feared cats.
Lost in this chain of thought, Adrian stepped into the classroom.
This room was a stark contrast to Adrian's previous Muggle school. The pale green walls were decorated with colorful construction paper cutouts and student artwork—wobbly stick figures, glitter-glued planets, and animals made of macaroni. A purple bulletin board displayed notices: class rosters, a weekly timetable, and reminders about lunch duty and spelling bees.
Books were scattered about: some in tidy stacks near the reading corner, others left open and dog-eared from hurried student hands. Clearly, the teacher encouraged reading at leisure, a habit Adrian approved of.
"Adrian, over here!" called a thin, wiry boy waving enthusiastically. It was Fergus "Frog" Brown, one of Adrian's few friends in the Muggle world. Frog was already at his desk, surrounded by comic books and a basketball wedged beneath his chair.
"Hey Adrian, did you hear? Dudley Dursley got new boxing gloves—he and his gang were planning to pick on poor Potter again. I mean, Potter's weird, sure, but Dursley's just plain mean… Oh, and guess what, I got a basketball for Christmas! Fancy shooting hoops during lunch break?"
Even though Adrian was an excellent listener, Frog's scattered focus made him privately question his friend-making skills. Why do all my friends have such chaotic energy? Do I just attract this type of personality?
As Frog rambled, a thin boy wearing an oversized hand-me-down sweater slipped quietly into the classroom.
He had a pale, malnourished face with messy black hair that stuck up in all directions. His round glasses were cracked and held together with Scotch tape. His too-large trousers dragged slightly at the hem. But it was the green eyes—so bright, so unmistakably Lily's—that confirmed his identity. Even with his fringe falling into his eyes, Adrian could see the lightning-bolt scar beneath the unruly bangs.
That wild hair was practically a Potter family trademark. In fact, Harry's grandfather Fleamont Potter had even invented the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion in his youth—a best-selling product in the wizarding world. Its success quadrupled the family's wealth before he sold the company upon retirement. Perhaps Severus Snape's perpetually greasy hair had more to do with his disdain for using anything from the Potters, even if it worked.
"It really is pathetic…" Adrian couldn't help but compare Harry's appearance with his own comfortable life. Although his father, Owen, had asked him to establish a connection with the Boy Who Lived, seeing Harry now—isolated and tattered—stirred an unexpected sympathy in Adrian's heart.
Perhaps by design, Harry's desk was right in front of Adrian's.
"Potter, how'd you get away from Dursley?" Frog blurted out as Harry slid into his seat.
"Oh, I'm used to it," Harry said with a shrug, his voice quiet but not weak. "I know how to avoid them when I need to."
Adrian, sensing his moment, leaned forward slightly. "Potter, come with us after class. Dursley won't mess with you if we're around."
He offered the invitation casually, but it was a strategic move. Owen Harris, like Lucius Malfoy in the original timeline, understood the value of early networking. Befriending the future savior of the wizarding world wasn't just smart—it was expected. Still, Adrian didn't intend to compromise his own choices at Hogwarts.
"Thanks," Harry said with surprising warmth, grateful for the lifeline. Few at school spoke to him unless it was to mock him. The offer of real companionship was too valuable to pass up.
Then, suddenly, the room fell silent. That quote—'just afraid of the air suddenly being quiet'—made sense now. Mrs. Kelly had entered.
She strode to the front of the room, her eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed spectacles. Her black wool trench coat swished as she walked. One look from her, and the room fell into absolute obedience. The aura of an experienced educator—part respect, part intimidation—settled over the class.
"The new term has begun," she began crisply. "Let's start with what's wrong with your uniforms. Mr. Dudley Dursley—remove your coat and put those ridiculous boxing gloves on the desk."
Despite his bulk, Dudley complied with surprising speed. His cheeks were pink as he slid off his gloves and zipped up his regulation sweater.
"Miss Namyang, take that absurd red flower out of your hair."
"Roger, tuck your shirt in properly and pull up your trousers."
Adrian glanced at Harry, who was frantically flattening his hair to no avail. His cowlick had a life of its own.
Among the cluster of fidgety children, Mrs. Kelly's gaze settled on Adrian. Her face softened by a fraction.
"Mr. Harris, stand up."
Adrian stood, calm and collected.
"Class," she announced, "observe Mr. Harris. His appearance is tidy. His uniform is clean and correctly worn. This is how a young gentleman should present himself. Now look at yourselves—do you see the difference?"
Beneath her stern tone, Adrian thought he caught a rare note of approval. He had discreetly used a simple charm woven into his wizarding robe's lining—"Scourgify" and "Freshen Up"—an enchantment his father had embedded into his Muggle attire. The results were impeccable.
Harry looked back at Adrian with admiration. Adrian's light blond hair was neatly brushed, his soft blue uniform pressed and spotless. He looked like one of the polished top-performers from Eton or one of those posh private prep schools. Harry, meanwhile, felt his heart sink a little further. He had no idea yet of the piles of gold hidden away in his Gringotts vault—no idea he belonged to one of the oldest and wealthiest wizarding families.
After a stream of reminders and school policies, the students' energy dipped even lower.
"To end the announcements," Mrs. Kelly said, recognizing the waning morale, "I'd like to introduce your new science teacher."
At once, the class perked up. A new teacher meant disruption—change—something interesting.
Exactly what Mrs. Kelly had intended.