Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

[Congratulations! You have acquired the Extraordinary Trait: Butcher's Instinct.]

In the kitchen, Ian's knife hovered over the chicken he was about to slaughter. When the notification rang out in his mind, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. With growing curiosity, he began examining the effect of this new trait.

Acquiring an extraordinary trait signified mastering the essence of a skill—a milestone akin to truly understanding its core principles. Ian recalled how his psychology-related extraordinary trait, [Thought Perception], had opened up new horizons. But what about this trait connected to anatomical dissection? What could it do?

Pulling up the details, Ian quickly realized that [Butcher's Instinct] granted him the astonishing ability to instantly discern the optimal way to cut through any living creature. A perfect, precise understanding of their anatomical weak points.

"Hmm," Ian thought to himself, amused. "A skill like this might not be groundbreaking, but it's certainly… interesting."

He turned his gaze to the chicken clutched in his hand. Something shifted within him as his eyes seemed to pierce through the feathers and flesh, effortlessly identifying the perfect spot to deliver a clean cut.

With a smooth motion, his blade struck.

Crack.

The chicken's life ended in an instant.

The swiftness of Ian's actions earned a few nods of approval from the others nearby.

"Wow, Ian! Your butchering skills have gotten sharper than ever," one of them remarked, eyes wide with admiration.

Ian smiled modestly as he began helping to process the plucked chickens. With a few well-practiced cuts, the meat was carved into neat, precise portions. Each movement was swift, confident, and almost mesmerizing.

"Heh, I've just gotten more… experienced," he replied with a chuckle.

It was true. Ever since acquiring the extraordinary trait, Ian's progress in these mundane skills had been astonishing. While ordinary skills might seem simple, their extraordinary traits elevated them into something almost magical. Yet, Ian's thoughts couldn't help but drift elsewhere. If skills as basic as butchery and psychology could yield such fascinating traits, then what about magic?

The mere idea sent a thrill through him.

Ian sighed wistfully. He would have to wait another two weeks for the owl to deliver his textbooks. Until then, magic remained tantalizingly out of reach.

He shook his head in frustration, wondering again why Dumbledore insisted on visiting first. What made Wool's Orphanage so special?

***

By midmorning, Ian found himself restless, unable to focus on his books. The days seemed to crawl by as he counted down to the moment he could begin learning magic. It wasn't impatience—or so he told himself—but the anticipation was maddening. It felt like standing on the edge of a great discovery, ready to leap into the unknown.

For someone who had lived a mundane life before, the idea of entering a magical world was electrifying. How could anyone not want to explore it?

Finally, Ian made a decision. Today, he would act.

***

Clutching his modest savings, Ian stepped out into London with a determined look. His goal: to find the Leaky Cauldron. According to his fragmented memories of the original story, this inconspicuous wizarding pub was the gateway to Diagon Alley. There, he could immerse himself in the magical world.

The only problem? Ian had no idea where it was.

***

The bustling streets of London teemed with life as Ian wandered from block to block. He scanned the names of countless pubs and shops, hoping one would match his mental image.

"Bull's Head Pub… Jenny's Diner… Tomorrow's Inn… KFC…"

None of them were what he was looking for. It felt almost like trying to find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters—a place hidden in plain sight, invisible to ordinary people.

Ian frowned. He was certain that he, as a future wizard, should be able to see the Leaky Cauldron. If only he could pinpoint its location.

As he turned another corner, Ian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Someone was following him.

***

Ian quickened his pace, weaving through the streets in an effort to shake off his pursuer. He darted through alleyways and around corners, sneaking glances over his shoulder. Eventually, he caught sight of a figure cloaked in black robes. The stranger's face was hidden, their presence radiating an ominous air.

Ian's thoughts raced. A kidnapper? Organ trafficker? Neither possibility seemed likely. But then again, the magical world had its fair share of dangers. Perhaps this was a dark wizard?

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he spotted the entrance to a crowded underground station. He bolted inside, his heart pounding. The figure stopped at the entrance, hesitating. It seemed they weren't willing to use magic in such a public space.

Ian collapsed onto the train seat with a sigh of relief, his pulse gradually steadying. The encounter was unsettling. The magical world, he realized, was far more chaotic and dangerous than he'd imagined.

***

By the time Ian returned to Wool's Orphanage, the sun was setting. The orphanage's weathered exterior cast long shadows, its worn doorplate almost blending into the dreary surroundings. Ian's small figure slipped inside, unaware of the two figures watching him from afar.

One of them was the cloaked man.

"You're being overly cautious," Dumbledore's calm voice broke the silence, addressing the black-robed figure. "Was it truly necessary to stop him from entering the magical world?"

The cloaked man remained silent, like a statue carved from the night. His thoughts drifted back to an hour earlier, when he had cast a subtle charm that obscured the Leaky Cauldron from Ian's sight. In truth, Ian had been mere steps away from the pub before the spell took effect.

"Diagon Alley isn't a playground for children," the man finally replied, his voice harsh and gravelly. "It's crawling with dark wizards. I'd rather not see him end up like his foolish…" He trailed off, his piercing gaze locking onto Dumbledore. After a tense pause, he spoke again, his tone lower and filled with finality. "He belongs in Slytherin."

Without waiting for a response, the man Disapparated with a sharp crack, leaving behind only a faint ripple in the air.

Dumbledore lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the orphanage's battered doors. A wistful expression crossed his face, his features tinged with regret and sorrow.

"I hope… this time, I won't make the same mistake," he murmured, turning to walk away. His figure disappeared into the night.