Harry Potter : Dual Reincarnation [HP SI]

[Fanfictionlord]

1989, St. Augustine's Orphanage, London

Early in the morning, the sun was still hidden behind a pale horizon. The air in the yard was cool and damp, filled with the scent of dew.

A boy stood barefoot on the grass, swinging a wooden stick in his hand. It was crude, one end thick and the other unevenly tapered, but in his grip, it moved with an orderly smoothness.

Slash!

Thrust!

Cleave!

Each swing seemed to slice through the air, producing a crisp, hissing sound. His footwork was equally impressive, every step flowing smoothly into the next, resembling a graceful dance.

The sun gradually broke through the morning clouds. Sunlight poured onto the ground, causing the damp grass to glow softly. The boy's figure continued moving around the yard.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from the building behind him, followed by a burst of laughter. Soon, a group of children spilled into the ground-floor corridor. One of the boys immediately spotted the lone figure in the distance.

"Oh, that weirdo's at it again. Dancing with a stick," he sneered mockingly, pointing in Merlin's direction.

A girl cupped her hands to her mouth. "How long has he been at it now? A year? I heard the older kids saying he's practicing to be a scarecrow. If he keeps this up, I think he might actually succeed one day."

Their laughter rang through the corridor. After a few more mocking remarks, the group strode off toward the cafeteria.

From start to finish, Merlin showed no reaction to their mockery, his movements never faltering. His ashen-brown hair clung damply to his forehead, and his emerald-green eyes held a distant, dazed look, as if lost in another world.

And in truth… he was.

What his eyes saw, the others could not. What his ears heard, no one else could hear. His body remained in the yard of St. Augustine's Orphanage, but his mind… his mind had already wandered off somewhere else.

...

Ivory Village, Aerion Kingdom

"You can stop now," said a firm voice.

Merlin stopped and looked up to see that the world around him had changed. The stick in his hands had become a real sword.

He was no longer in the orphanage. Instead, he stood in a broad garden lined with bare trees, the ground hard-packed and frosted at the edges.

A cluster of houses lay further down the slope, their chimneys puffing thin trails of smoke into the gray sky. Behind him rose his own home: a sturdy, two-story house built of timber and stone.

The air was sharp with winter cold, sending shivers through his sweat-soaked body.

A tall, broad man with short brown hair and pitch-black eyes stood a few paces away. He had a trimmed beard and wore a padded gambeson beneath simple steel plates—light training armor.

"That's enough for today," Albert said, his gaze filled with satisfaction.

"But Father, I can keep going," someone beside Merlin protested.

Merlin turned to see his brother, Ralph, wearing a discontented look. He had their father's black eyes and the same brown hair.

Two years older than Merlin, Ralph stood a full head taller than him, and his sturdy build looked nothing like that of a normal thirteen-year-old.

Even after an hour of sword practice, he showed no trace of fatigue—not even a drop of sweat. His posture remained perfectly upright, like a sturdy pine tree.

Merlin looked down at his own trembling hands clutching the sword and muttered under his breath,
"What a brute…"

Perhaps he spoke too loudly, or perhaps Ralph's ears were simply too sharp. Either way, his brother's face twisted into a scowl. "Who are you calling a brute, you scrawny shrimp?"

Merlin spread his hands and spoke calmly, as if stating a simple fact. "Of course I'm calling you a brute—who else is here? And I'm neither scrawny nor a shrimp. I'm perfectly normal for my age. You're the abnormal one."

"You little—" Ralph's knuckles whitened around his hilt as he stepped forward, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Are you looking for a beating?"

Merlin smirked, unfazed. "If that's what you want, by all means, try. But you'd only be proving my point."

Albert watched his two sons bicker back and forth and could only shake his head helplessly. Ralph really needed to control that temper of his; being so easily provoked by mere words could be fatal at a critical moment if he wanted to be an adventurer. He didn't want his son to lose his life over such a small mistake.

Merlin's tongue was also getting too sharp lately.

Still, Albert had no real solution for this. Maybe this was simply how the gods thought of balancing things out, because he had realized very early on that both his sons were prodigies.

Ralph wasn't the brightest mind in the room, but his remarkable endurance and near-monstrous stamina gave him plenty of room to grow. On the path of the knight, given enough time, Albert had no doubt his eldest would surpass him one day.

Merlin's strength, on the other hand, lay in his mind. Ever since he began speaking, the boy had shown maturity and intelligence far beyond his years, mastering in months what took others years to learn. He possessed a tireless curiosity and an unrelenting thirst for knowledge.

His progress in swordsmanship was equally astounding. Despite Ralph's two-year head start, Merlin had caught up in just six months. Now, aside from the physical difference imposed by age, his form and technique were nearly identical to his brother's.

Albert's lips curved into a faint smile tinged with regret. He would have made a fine knight, but it was a pity. Having inherited his mother's talent, Merlin was destined to be a mage—just like her.

"That's enough, you two," he said at last, stepping between them before things escalated further. "I have an announcement to make."

He continued once he confirmed he had both of their attention. "We won't be practicing swordsmanship anymore. Both your forms and techniques are already near perfect."

Merlin blinked, lowering his sword, while Ralph frowned.

Albert's gaze fell on his younger son first. "Starting tomorrow, you'll begin learning magic from your mother."

Merlin froze. For a moment, the words didn't register. Then his eyes lit up, almost overflowing with excitement!

"As for you, Ralph," Albert continued, turning to his elder son, "you'll be training with me. I'll make sure you get enough real combat experience. If you can meet my standards, I'll let you register as an adventurer. That's what you've been wanting, isn't it?"

"Father—really!?" he blurted out. His irritation vanished, replaced by a broad grin.

Albert let out a small laugh. "Enjoy it while it lasts. That smile won't stay there for long."

He sheathed his sword and adjusted his gambeson. "Now, I have to report to the village hall. You two should head inside—your mother will have breakfast ready by now."

After wishing him a good day at work, the brothers watched Albert stride off toward the center of the village before turning back toward the house.

Inside, the home was modest yet cozy, with a crackling fireplace to ward off the winter chill, plush armchairs, and warm wooden walls. The faint crackle of firewood came from the hearth, its glow spilling into the tidy kitchen.

Their mother, Elena, stood by the counter, a lock of golden hair slipping from her braid as she bent over a pan. The morning light streaming through the window caught in her emerald eyes, making them glimmer like polished jade. She glanced up as the door opened, her lips curving into a gentle smile.

"You're back," she said, setting the spatula down. "Go wash up. Breakfast will be on the table in just a moment."

"Yes, Mother," Merlin replied obediently, already unlacing his boots by the doorway.

Ralph, however, smirked and darted past him. "Last one to the washbasin is a lazy slug!" he shouted, bounding upstairs toward the bathroom.

Merlin rolled his eyes at the childish provocation. Honestly… where does he get that enthusiasm?

Running again after an entire morning of drills? Merlin would be crazy to do that. He didn't have a monstrous constitution like Ralph.

Moreover, he was a perfectly sane and rational person who just happened to have an entire lifetime of experience rattling around in his head. It would be a joke if he got provoked by something like this.

With that thought, he straightened his back and walked calmly up the stairs at his own pace, ignoring the distant sound of Ralph's triumphant laughter from above.

...

At that very same time, in the yard of St. Augustine's Orphanage, the other Merlin had already set aside his stick and was wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief.

His muscles still trembled faintly from the constant motions. Exhaling deeply, he folded the cloth, slipped it into his pocket, turned on his heel, and quietly made his way toward the cafeteria for breakfast.

 

[Fanfictionlord]

Ivory Village, Aerion Kingdom

After washing away the fatigue of morning training, Merlin dressed and stood before the mirror, a towel draped loosely around his neck.

Droplets slid from his hair, tracing down his cheek before vanishing into the fabric of his shirt.

He stared at the reflection in the mirror. The face that stared back was young, and undeniably his. Still, whenever he looked long enough, the image seemed to blur, overlapping with his other self from another world.

He was a reincarnator—though not the usual kind one would imagine. He had reincarnated not into one world, but into two at the same time.

The first was close to the modern Earth he once lived in, just set a few decades earlier. In that world, he lived in a state-owned orphanage in London, abandoned at birth.

The place was noisy, crowded, and exhausting. He wasn't exactly antisocial, but he couldn't force himself to fit in with children who had learned far too early that no one in the world truly cared for them—many carrying more emotional scars than they could handle.

Still, over time, he learned how to adapt.

And if life there was dull and gray, this world more than made up for it.

Here, he had a family—one that truly cared for him. The world itself was also something straight out of a medieval fantasy, with knights who could cut through steel with a single swing of their blades, mages who could hurl fireballs with a wave of their hands, and magical beasts he had only heard about in fairy tales.

It was a pity he didn't have any cheat. He had assumed it was standard for every reincarnator. His strange situation did come with an innate advantage, though. Both of his bodies, though capable of acting independently, possessed the same core.

They shared thoughts, memories, and even senses. When both focused on the same task, the results were like two minds working together in perfect harmony, doubling their efficiency.

Thanks to that, his speed in learning swordsmanship was far faster than his brother Ralph's, despite never having held a sword in his previous life.

A faint sound of footsteps outside his room pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned toward the door just in time to catch a flash of golden—before something soft slammed into him, small arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"Good morning, Angel," Merlin sighed helplessly, looking down at the little girl who barely reached his waist. "How many times have I told you to knock before coming in?"

Angel blinked up at him with wide, sparkling eyes—the same vivid emerald green as his own, both inherited from their mother.

"...But Brother," she whined, puffing her cheeks slightly, "Mumma said Angel should call Brother for breakfast."

Merlin exhaled, whatever resolve he had dissolving under her gaze. "Alright, alright," he muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He scooped her up effortlessly into his arms. "Let's not keep Mother waiting, then."

Angel giggled, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. "Let's go!"

Merlin chuckled, shaking his head as he carried her toward the stairs.

...

"Eat more, dear," Elena said warmly as she placed a third portion of steak onto Merlin's plate.

Merlin stared at it helplessly. "Mom, that's enough! I'm really full. If I eat even one more bite, I think I'll explode," he groaned, leaning back and patting his slightly bulging belly for emphasis.

Elena clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Nonsense. Look at you—you're all skin and bones. If you eat so little, people will think your mother doesn't feed you properly," she said, cutting a small piece and gently feeding it to Angel, who accepted it with a happy hum.

"I'm not thin, Mom. Your reference point is just... biased," Merlin muttered, casting a meaningful look at Ralph, who was seated across the table.

Ralph was already on his fifth portion, chewing blissfully without a care in the world.

Angel, chewing happily, pointed at Ralph with her fork. "Hehe! Big Brother Ralph eats like a monkey. A big monkey!"

Elena stared at her daughter, momentarily speechless.

Merlin immediately burst into laughter, nearly choking on the food in his mouth.

Ralph, too absorbed in devouring his meal, froze mid-bite only after he noticed his two siblings laughing. He looked up, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, confusion clear on his face. "...What?"

That only made Merlin laugh harder, clutching his stomach.

"Nothing, dear. You can eat however much you want," Elena said gently to Ralph before turning to her daughter, who was still giggling proudly at her own joke. "Angel, don't make fun of your brother. That's bad manners."

Angel pouted but nodded obediently, stabbing her steak again.

Elena turned, fully prepared to scold Merlin as well—only to realize he wasn't laughing anymore. He had gone completely still, a slightly disbelieving expression on his face.

Feeling that something wasn't quite right, Elena called out worriedly, "Merlin, are you alright?"

He didn't respond.

"Merlin?" she called again, her voice a bit louder this time.

He blinked once and seemed to snap back, composing himself as his expression returned to normal.

"I'm fine," he said, giving a small shake of his head. "A piece got stuck in my throat for a second."

Elena let out a sigh of relief and handed him a glass of water. "Then don't laugh while eating," she said—more a habitual reminder than a reprimand.

Merlin nodded and took a sip before lowering his head again, calmly continuing his meal as if nothing had happened. But his thoughts had already drifted far away from the breakfast table.

...

St. Augustine's Orphanage, London

Merlin had just returned to his room after a dull breakfast in the cafeteria when he was surprised by the sight of a plump gray owl perched on his window, holding an envelope in its beak.

'It's 1989. Are people still using birds to send letters?'

Although technology was far from reaching the heights it would in the coming decades, there were still landline phones and postal mail services for long-distance communication. A bird carrying a letter was truly a rare sight.

"Is it for me?" He didn't expect an answer, but surprisingly, the owl tilted its head at his question, its yellow eyes staring straight at him—and Merlin could swear they were full of intelligence, as if it understood what he was saying.

Narrowing his eyes, Merlin decided to approach the bird. As he reached arm's length, he cautiously extended his hand toward the envelope. The owl seemed amused by his actions but loosened its grip, letting him take it.

Merlin blinked at the bird before turning his attention to the envelope. There was indeed his name and address—oddly detailed—written on it. The parchment felt unusually thick, and the emerald-green ink was not a commonly used color.

Turning it over, he found a red wax seal pressed with a shield-shaped crest. At its center was a capital "H," surrounded by four animals: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.

Looking at it, Merlin froze, his eyes widening in shock. "How could this be..."

He took a deep breath and, with slightly trembling fingers, tore open the envelope.

...

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Professor Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Merlin Graves,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Term begins on 1st September. Enclosed you will find a list of all necessary books and equipment.

As you are a Muggle-born student currently residing at St. Augustine's Orphanage, London, one of our professors will visit you on Sunday afternoon, the 28th of July, to explain everything you will need to know about the wizarding world and to assist with your preparations for the coming school year.

Please ensure that you are available at that time. The visiting professor will answer any questions you may have and guide you through the process of obtaining your supplies from Diagon Alley.

We very much look forward to welcoming you to Hogwarts.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

 

[Fanfictionlord]

Merlin stared at the letter in his hands, his mind struggling to process the words written on it. He reread it—once, twice, thrice—each time expecting that he had read it wrong. But nothing changed.

The contents on the parchment remained the same.

"...Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he murmured under his breath. "Is this… the world of Harry Potter?"

The thought itself made Merlin want to dismiss it as some sort of prank, but he doubted anyone would bother pranking a nobody like him. Moreover, logic told him it was simply too high-effort to be a prank. He didn't find any cameras around him either.

Setting the letter down, Merlin slumped onto his bed, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling as his thoughts began to wander.

He had asked himself countless times over the past eleven years.

Why him?

Why was he living two lives in two completely different worlds?

He had speculated endlessly. Magic. Divine intervention. Some kind of parallel existence. But every theory only led to more contradictions, more unanswered questions.

Eventually, he had stopped asking.

He had decided it was better to live—better to move forward—than to waste his time chasing an answer he might never find.

But now… now he couldn't help but revisit that question.

It wasn't that he couldn't accept magic—after all, the other world he lived in wasn't normal either—but this was different. This was a world from a storybook, and the idea that he was living inside it… it was even harder to swallow than reincarnation itself.

For a long while, he simply sat there in silence, the letter resting on his lap. Then he sighed softly, a wry smile touching his lips.

"Well… it's not like I can do anything about it, can I?" he muttered to himself, accepting the fact—not out of understanding, but exhaustion.

In the end, it was no different from his reincarnation; no amount of thinking would provide him with answers.

Besides, the letter said a teacher would be visiting on the 28th of July—which was today.

He turned his gaze toward the cracked clock on his bedside table. The hands pointed to twelve.

Merlin exhaled, put away the letter, and began tidying up his small room. When everything looked neat enough to satisfy his restless mind, he sat back down on the bed, facing the door.

And then he waited.

…

Merlin was jolted awake by a knock on the door, realizing he had dozed off. Adjusting his clothes, he quickly went over to answer it.

The next moment, Merlin found himself staring at a tall, stern-looking woman clad in a long, dark green cloak and a pointed hat.

The woman gave him an appraising look as she adjusted her square spectacles. "Merlin Graves?"

"That would be me," Merlin replied politely. "And you are…?"

"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Professor of Transfiguration. You may call me Professor McGonagall."

'Professor McGonagall?'

Merlin blinked. That wasn't an unknown name. He hadn't expected her to show up. As the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, didn't she have more important matters to attend to than personally visiting new students?

"May I come in?" she asked.

"O—of course," Merlin said quickly, stepping aside. "Forgive my manners, Professor. Please."

He led her inside, offering the only available seat in his room—the edge of his bed—before handing her a glass of water he had prepared earlier.

"I'm sorry, there's no tea," he said apologetically. "I can only offer you water."

"That's all right," Professor McGonagall waved her hand dismissively, showing she didn't mind. "I imagine you've already read the letter?"

"Yes, Professor. I have. It's just… I don't really understand it."

"That's to be expected," she said calmly. "Which is precisely why I'm here. You may ask whatever you wish, Mr. Graves."

He hesitated for only a moment.

"It says your school teaches magic," Merlin said carefully. "But I'm not sure what that actually means. Would it be possible to… see a demonstration?"

Professor McGonagall didn't look surprised in the slightest. Without a word, she drew her wand and pointed it at the empty cup in her hand.

With a flick, the cup shimmered and turned into an ornate silver snuffbox. Another wave, and it became a crystal wineglass that caught the dim light beautifully.

Merlin stared at it in a daze.

"Incredible," he breathed after a few moments, his eyes shining with awe and longing. This time, his reaction was genuine.

The only magic he had ever seen before was his mother's. She could make objects float, light the fireplace, or summon a gust of wind to sweep away dust. Useful, yes. But this… this was on a completely different level.

Although he had expected something like this after realizing he was in the wizarding world—after all, he had watched the movies, and Transfiguration was one of the core branches of magic in Harry Potter—witnessing it with his own eyes was nothing like seeing it on a screen.

No matter how much he had prepared himself, the sight still left him stunned.

Professor McGonagall seemed pleased with his reaction. Her tone softened slightly as she explained, "This is Transfiguration—a branch of magic devoted to changing the form and nature of things. I'm sure that with proper guidance, you'll be able to achieve this and much more, Mr. Graves."

"Professor," Merlin said, "may I ask a few questions about the wizarding world?"

"Of course," she replied, inclining her head.

She then went on to explain the history of Hogwarts, its four Houses, and general information about the wizarding world. Merlin listened attentively, occasionally asking questions. He remembered bits from the movies he'd seen, but decades had passed since then, and many of the details were blurry.

Eventually, he brought up the issue that had been bothering him most. "Professor… I don't really have any money. I'm not sure I could afford something like Hogwarts."

Professor McGonagall's expression softened. "You needn't worry about that. Hogwarts does not charge tuition. Food and accommodation are also free. Students only need to purchase their school supplies each year. And for those who cannot, the school provides interest-free loans, repayable only after graduation."

This greatly relieved Merlin. He really had nothing aside from a few pounds he had saved from festivals, and he had no delusions that the orphanage would help him.

He knew the director well enough after all these years. If not for the annual inspections, the woman would likely have starved the children just to pocket more funds. And for some reason, she seemed to dislike him in particular—though Merlin had never figured out why.

After answering all his questions, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet. "If you're ready, Mr. Graves, I can take you to purchase your school supplies now."

Merlin agreed without hesitation. The sooner he set foot in the wizarding world, the earlier he could begin learning magic—and perhaps gain a head start on his peers. Well, except for the pure-bloods, who had always been in contact with it.

About an hour later, they stepped out of a taxi in front of an old, narrow pub squeezed between two modern buildings. Its faded sign read: The Leaky Cauldron

"So this is the legendary Leaky Cauldron," Merlin muttered, raising an eyebrow. There was nothing particularly impressive about it—if anything, it looked like it hadn't been renovated in decades. Dust streaked the windows, and the paint had long since peeled from the door.

Merlin speculated that the place was enchanted with some sort of magic, as the passersby on the street didn't seem to notice it, unconsciously avoiding it as though the place didn't exist.

'Even if they could see it, I doubt anyone would want to go inside,' Merlin grumbled inwardly.

Professor McGonagall pushed open the door, and he followed her in.

The interior was dim and cramped, smelling faintly of old ale and smoke. A handful of cloaked individuals sat scattered around the room, their conversations dying down the moment they entered.

Behind the bar stood a thin, slightly hunched man with wispy white hair and a toothless grin. His sharp eyes lit up the instant he spotted Professor McGonagall.

"Professor McGonagall!" Tom said cheerfully, wiping his hands on a rag as he leaned over the counter. "It's been a while."

"Good afternoon, Tom," she replied with a nod. "I assume the business is doing well?"

"Same as ever," he chuckled, then glanced at Merlin. "And who's this young friend?"

"A new student," McGonagall said. "It's Mr. Graves first visit here."

Tom smiled broadly. "Muggle-born, then? Welcome to the wizarding world, lad."

"Thank you, sir," Merlin replied politely.

With that, Professor McGonagall led him through the pub and out into a small brick courtyard at the back.

"Now then," she said, taking out her wand. "Remember this spot, Mr. Graves." She pointed to a particular brick. "Three up from the bin, two across, then tap it three times with your wand."

As her wand tapped, the wall shuddered, and the bricks began to rearrange themselves as if guided by invisible hands. In an instant, they twisted apart, forming a wide archway. A rush of noise spilled out from the other side.

"Incredible," Merlin whispered.

Before him stretched a narrow cobbled street lined with shops of every kind. The buildings were crammed closely together. Wizards in robes passed by—haggling, laughing—while children darted between them, their eyes filled with excitement. The whole place was bustling with activity.

Professor McGonagall paused beside him, and a faint smile appeared on her face. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," she said, stepping forward.

Merlin drew in a deep breath and then slowly followed after her, committing the scene to his memory.

This was the beginning of his journey into the wizarding world!

 

[Fanfictionlord]

Merlin trailed behind Professor McGonagall, his eyes darting around every shop in Diagon Alley with curiosity.

There was so much to take in—cauldrons, brooms, books, owls in cages, and countless other strange things he had never seen in either of his two lives.

"Let's get your robes first," Professor McGonagall said, leading him toward a shop with a neat sign above the door: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

A small bell tinkled as they entered. The air smelled faintly of fabric and chalk dust. A plump witch in mauve robes looked up from behind the counter and smiled warmly.

"Are you here to buy Hogwarts uniforms, dear?"

"Yes, Madam," Merlin replied.

"Oh, what a polite child," she said approvingly. "Come along then, let's get you measured."

As she spoke, a measuring tape, pins, and scissors sprang to life, circling him as they took his measurements on their own. Merlin tried to stay as still as possible while the enchanted tools worked.

When it was over, Madam Malkin gave a satisfied nod. "All done! Come back in half an hour to pick up your robes."

From there, Professor McGonagall led him to purchase the rest of the items on his school list. They bought a pewter cauldron from Potage's Cauldron Shop, a brass telescope and weighing scales from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, potion ingredients and glass vials from the Apothecary, and textbooks from Flourish and Blotts.

Professor McGonagall also purchased a small enchanted trunk for him to store everything in. It looked a bit old-fashioned, but the space inside was much larger than it appeared from the outside, easily fitting all his supplies. She didn't use his loan funds for it either—saying it was a congratulatory gift for getting into Hogwarts.

Merlin's heart warmed at her kindness. He thanked her sincerely and made a mental note to give her a return gift someday.

By the time they finished their shopping and collected his robes, the sun was already dipping low in the sky.

At last, they stopped before a narrow, old building squeezed between two taller ones. The windows were dusty, half-hidden behind towering stacks of wand boxes. Above the door, a hand-painted sign read:

Ollivanders – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

Merlin stared at it in silence for a moment before following Professor McGonagall inside.

The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped in. The shop was narrow and dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of wood.

Towering shelves lined both walls, stacked high with countless slim boxes that reached the ceiling.

Merlin's eyes wandered over the clutter. It looked more like an attic than a shop, though there was an odd sort of order amidst the chaos.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall," came a gentle, aged voice from somewhere behind a stack of boxes.

An old, thin man appeared, his silver-gray eyes sharp and bright. He nodded politely to McGonagall before turning to Merlin. "And this must be our new student."

"Yes," McGonagall said. "This is Mr. Merlin Graves. First year. Muggle-born."

"Muggle-born," the man repeated thoughtfully. "Splendid. They often bring unexpected surprises."

Merlin tilted his head. 'Unexpected surprises?'

He wasn't sure what that meant, but he guessed he'd find out soon enough.

"What's your dominant hand, Mr. Graves?" the man asked, producing a floating tape measure.

"My right hand, sir," Merlin replied.

"Good. Hold it out straight."

The tape measure darted around him, spinning, stretching, and snapping into place as it recorded his measurements—arm length, shoulder to floor, elbow to wrist—every angle meticulously noted.

"People think the wizard chooses the wand," Ollivander said absently as he watched the tape move. "But it's the wand that chooses the wizard. A proper match reflects the owner's nature."

He picked up a box from a nearby shelf. "Let's begin."

Inside was a wand made of pale wood.

"Ash. Eleven inches. Unicorn hair. Flexible," Ollivander said, gently picking it up and then handing it over.

Merlin carefully took the wand. As he gave it a small wave, a few sparks came out of the tip, but they faded quickly, and then... that was it.

"No, not this one." Ollivander took it back quickly and handed him another one. "Try this—holly wood and dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches."

Merlin tried again, giving the wand a wave. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the tip before it disappeared again.

"Interesting," Ollivander murmured, more intrigued than disappointed. "Not this one either."

He scanned the shelves for a moment. "But there's something… wait."

He moved to a side shelf, searching for a while before pulling out a small, older-looking box. "Holly wood, phoenix feather. Let's see how you respond to this."

Merlin carefully took the wand. The moment his fingers closed around it, his eyes widened in surprise as a faint warmth spread up his arm.

The tip shone with a soft golden spark that flickered once before fading.

Ollivander nodded slightly. "Good. Phoenix feather suits you. They're rare cores—loyal, but independent. Let's see which wood it favors."

He brought out wand after wand—maple, oak, cherry, ebony—all with phoenix feather cores. Each gave Merlin that same mild warmth, but he always felt like something was missing. Like something could be better.

Ollivander grew more thoughtful with each trial, until finally, he turned to the top shelf and brought down a thin, worn box.

Inside was a wand of pitch-black color.

"Let's try this," he said, opening it. "Yew. Phoenix feather core. Twelve inches."

Merlin took it carefully. The moment his hand closed around the handle, a warmth much stronger than ever before spread through his arm.

A dazzling beam of light lit up at the tip!

He quickly turned his head away to shield his eyes from the sudden light, coincidentally catching Professor McGonagall's profile.

Her eyes were fixed on the wand in his hand, slightly widened and filled with a mixture of shock and what Merlin could only describe as fear.

Before he could react, Ollivander's voice rang in his ears.

"Yew and phoenix feather. A very rare combination." His tone was tinged with rare solemnity.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. 'Rare… like, uncommonly rare?'

"Yew," he continued, "is a wood that symbolises transformation. The phoenix symbolizes rebirth. Together, they carry the potential for both creation and destruction."

"Ollivander?" Professor McGonagall stepped forward and asked hesitantly. "Are you certain this is the best match for him?"

Ollivander nodded. "It has chosen him freely, Professor."

She looked at Merlin with a conflicted expression before letting out a sigh. "Very well."

Merlin's heart skipped. 'Why are they reacting like this?' He glanced between them, puzzled.

Ollivander turned back to him. As if reading his thoughts, he said gently, "Don't worry, Mr. Graves. The wand chooses the wizard, yes—but it's the wizard who decides what he becomes. Treat it well, and it will serve you faithfully."

Merlin nodded unconsciously, still wondering what all this was about.

Professor McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Graves. You've got your wand. Let's get going."

After Professor McGonagall paid, they stepped out of the shop, and the familiar noise of Diagon Alley filled their ears.

They walked for a while in silence before Merlin couldn't hold himself and spoke hesitantly. "Professor, may I ask you something?"

She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Yes, Mr. Graves?"

"In the shop," he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully, "you seemed surprised when I picked up the wand. I was wondering why."

Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment. Then let out a long sigh.

"You are an observant child. Let us speak over there," she said, inclining her head toward a less crowded part of the alley.

They moved out of the crowd. McGonagall stopped and folded her hands in front of her robes.

"I will be direct," she said.

Merlin straightened his back without realizing it.

"The wand that chose you is an uncommon combination," she continued. "And it carries a certain… history."

She paused briefly before continuing. "Many years ago, a dark wizard wielded a wand of the same combination. He committed many atrocities—murder, torture, and acts of magic so reckless and cruel that the scars he left behind still haunt the wizarding world to this day."

As he listened to her, Merlin's fist clenched unconsciously. He had a pretty good idea who she was talking about. There weren't many who fit the description in recent times.

Should he feel scared or frustrated to be selected by a wand similar to that man?

He didn't know, to be honest. In his perspective, a wand was, in the end, just a tool. It didn't have a will to dictate his actions. Those could only be decided by him. What concerned him more was whether Professor McGonagall would judge him for it.

"I understand," he said at last. "Does that mean... it's a bad sign?"

"No, of course not," she denied immediately, continuing in a gentle, slightly apologetic tone. "It seems I let the past get the better of me for a moment, Mr. Graves. But I largely agree with Ollivander on that. A wand does not shape a witch or wizard's character. It never has."

"That wizard was dangerous because of his choices—because he was arrogant, ruthless, and willing to sacrifice everything for power. The wand merely answered his will."

Merlin released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"So you're not worried," he asked cautiously, "that I might follow the same path?"

"I am watchful," McGonagall replied. "That is not the same thing. However, for that very reason, I may keep a closer eye on you from now on."

She glanced at him. "I trust that will not trouble you, Mr. Graves."

Merlin shook his head without hesitation. "Not at all."

After a brief pause, he added, "You could even adopt me, if that makes things easier."

Professor McGonagall blinked at his answer. Then a faint curve formed on her lips.

"I think that will be quite unnecessary," she said. "Studying at Hogwarts will suffice."

With that, she turned and resumed walking. "Now come along. We still have your robes to pick."

 

[Fanfictionlord]

After picking up his robes, they took a taxi back to the orphanage. Merlin bid the Proffessor farewell at the door before quickly scurrying off to his room with his trunk.

He closed the door behind him, then opened the trunk and eagerly pulled out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk.

Lying down on the bed, he flipped it open and began reading slowly, his eyes following each word.

The first chapter was a preface. Miranda Goshawk spoke about the history of spellcraft and how wizards once relied on crude gestures and guttural chants before the refinement of proper spellcasting.

There were also anecdotes—early spellwrights who accidentally set their own hair aflame while attempting to invent "a safer method of lighting fires," and duelists whose incantations were as long as full poems.

As he read further, the text gradually shifted from history to structure, describing the key components of casting a spell.

Regardless of the complexity of the spell, Miranda listed three crucial components—wand movement, incantation, and an element she called belief.

'Belief?' Merlin raised an eyebrow. She seemed to put special emphasis on the word; it was written in bold and repeated several times.

According to her, a wizard's belief must be firm and certain. If there was even a flicker of doubt or hesitation, the spell might fail or even backfire.

Merlin's eyes shone with interest. It sounded reasonable, and he wondered if stronger belief could make a spell more powerful.

He turned another page and continued reading.

The book covered eight charms in total, each with its own section with title, purpose, wand movement, and incantation.

There were diagrams showing proper wand arcs, notes on common mistakes, and illustrations of posture. The margins also held brief reminders about safety and practice for novices.

Merlin appreciated the thoroughness. It felt less like a children's textbook and more like a manual.

He skimmed through the list of charms, reading only their titles and purposes before returning to the very first one—The Wand-Lighting Charm (Lumos).

The description explained its origin: a practical charm first popularized by explorers and later standardized by the Ministry for fieldwork. It required a simple upward swish of the wand and a clear incantation—Lumos. The result, according to the book, should be "a steady spark of white light equal to that of a candle flame."

Merlin studied the illustration of the glowing wand tip. He drew his own wand and practiced the movement and incantation separately at first, repeating them until it felt smooth. Then he decided to try it for real.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a steady breath, he waved his wand and whispered, "Lumos."

A dim spark appeared at the wand's tip. It kept flickering for a whole second and then vanished entirely.

"Sure enough, it's not that simple," Merlin muttered under his breath.

He replayed the process in his mind, analyzing each step. The wand movement and incantation should be identical to the description. That left only one variable—belief.

But I did hope that the spell would succeed. Doesn't that count as belief? He frowned, lost in thought.

After a while, he lifted his wand once more.

"Lumos."

A faint spark once again bloomed at the tip. The brightness was far from a candle's glow, but this time it stayed for longer.

Merlin's eyes remained glued to the spark before it went out after five seconds. There wasn't a trace of satisfaction on his face despite the progress.

The first time, he speculated he had been too focused externally. This time, he had directed his attention inward and firmly believed that a white, warm, and radiant spark of light would ignite at his wand's tip upon casting the spell.

It wasn't particularly difficult for him, and the result improved noticeably—but it was still far from the ideal result described in the book.

'What went wrong?'

He had a hunch that with enough practice, he'd eventually reach the textbook effect. But he wanted to understand why he couldn't achieve it now. He had followed every component of spellcasting perfectly—wand movement, incantation, and belief.

Or was he getting the last one wrong again? He wasn't sure, to be honest.

After pondering for a while, he set the book aside and pulled another from his trunk.

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling.

He opened the book and began reading the first chapter.

What is Magic?

The heading instantly drew his attention. The chapter began with a discussion on what magic truly was. Waffling proposed that it was a form of power innate to wizards and speculated that it originated from the soul itself.

His tone was completely different from Miranda's. His writing style was dense, philosophical, and filled with comparisons and distinctions.

In simple words, it wasn't based on evidence so much as speculation and theory.

The next chapter covered the topic Merlin had just read about in the Book of Spells—the three components of spellcasting, only in much greater detail.

Waffling wrote that magical power was wild and formless by nature, and without an aiding tool, most wizards and witches would find it very hard to control.

A wand was precisely that—it helped wizards channel and shape their magic power during spellcasting, and wand movement was the means to invoke that function.

Incantations served the same purpose. Words discovered to resonate with magic power, aiding in channeling and shaping it. Combined with wandwork, they allowed even young, inexperienced wizards and witches with almost no control over their magic to cast spells.

However, Waffling emphasized that the true essence of magic still lay in belief—or rather, will, as he called it.

A half-hearted spell, no matter how precise the wand movement or pronunciation of the incantation was, would fail to take form. There was no explanation as to why these principles worked, only conclusions accepted and refined over generations.

Waffling gave an example of how some wizards in emotionally heightened states, despite having unrefined control over their magic power, could suddenly cast nonverbal or even wandless magic in certain situations.

This, he claimed, was ultimate proof of the importance of will!

As Merlin delved further into the chapter, Waffling began discussing these advanced spellcasting techniques.

According to him, words and gestures were, in the end, merely tools. A wizard with sufficient control over their magic power and a strong enough will could cast spells without either.

This type of spellcasting was widely known as nonverbal or silent magic.

Wandless magic, on the other hand, was an entirely different level of beast.

It required a wizard to have near-perfect control over their magic power and an exceptionally strong will. Even then, it wasn't recommended for casting complex spells.

Most wizards, he remarked, never reached the level of wandless magic in their entire lives.

Merlin continued reading without blinking, completely absorbed.

Later chapters delved into the differences between raw magic and structured spellwork, the limitations of certain spells, and the ways emotion could influence magical stability.

The book was thinner than The Standard Book of Spells, but its contents were far more complex. Each page demanded his full attention, and Waffling's writing style made skimming through it impossible.

Merlin even asked his other self, who was playing house with Angel, to ponder some of the more complex passages.

As he neared the end, Merlin felt his understanding of magic had deepened.

It was, without question, a good book.

Waffling never claimed to be right; instead, he explored multiple perspectives, comparing theories and referencing scholars, encouraging wizards to think for themselves.

Merlin believed that was the main reason Magical Theory was even included in the first-year curriculum, as he found that some of its concepts were a bit too advanced for someone just entering the wizarding world.

Fortunately, he also found his answer. The book made it clear that while wand movement and incantation assisted in channeling and shaping magic, the true control came from the wizard himself.

As someone who had just gotten his wand, his control over his magic power and adaptability in using his wand was almost nonexistent. Even with perfect execution, his magic likely scattered before it could fully take shape.

The solution was also simple: practice.

Repeatedly casting the same spells would gradually strengthen his control until his magic could flow smoothly through the wand and obey his will.

"Since that's the case…" Merlin's hand reached out for his wand, and for a long time, only the faint sound of the incantation echoed through the room.

 

[Fanfictionlord]

Ivory Village, Aerion Kingdom

Morning sunlight spilled faintly over the small, frosted yard. The cold air bit against Merlin's cheeks as he stood beside his father and brother, moving through the morning exercises. The air was damp, and the ground was still slick from last night's rain—typical of mornings here.

Ivory was the furthest village on the eastern edges of the Aerion Kingdom. There was nothing but endless ocean beyond this. Winter ruled the place most of the year, bringing biting winds, relentless rain, and snow that fell whenever it pleased.

People mainly survived by fishing, raising livestock, and growing whatever hardy crops could endure the frost. The harsh weather didn't allow much else.

Few outsiders ever came this far. The nearest city was nearly a week's travel by carriage, and for most, the journey wasn't worth the effort. Those who were born here stayed. Those who left rarely came back.

His family, though, could be said to be well-off compared to most of the families in the village. His father was the captain of the village guards, second only to the village head himself. He earned ample wages, and there was always warm food on the table.

This was to be expected, to be honest. His parents were retired adventurers. His father was a knight—a title given to those whose combat skills reached a certain milestone—and his mother was a healer, an exceptionally rare class of mage.

Together, they could have lived comfortably anywhere in the kingdom. Nobles would've paid fortunes for their skills. Yet, for some inexplicable reason he could never quite understand, they'd chosen this remote, frozen corner of the world to settle down.

"Didn't get enough sleep last night?" his father asked suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts. Merlin gave him a questioning look while still stretching.

"You've got dark circles under your eyes."

Before Merlin could answer, Ralph let out a mocking laugh. "Probably stayed up reading those dusty books from Mother's study again."

Merlin completely ignored him, focused entirely on his breathing.

He hadn't slept much last night. His other self had simply skimmed through the last part of Magical Theory and gone off to practice charms, leaving the task of pondering its contents entirely to him. In the end, he barely managed to get two hours of sleep.

And unlike his other self, he couldn't sleep in. His elder brother was creative in the ways he woke people up—Merlin had learned that the hard way.

So, he endured.

After finishing his morning exercises, he excused himself and went inside the house. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his father wipe the floor with his brother; it was just that the time for his lesson with his mother was approaching.

...

Merlin sat across from his mother at the dining table, barely concealing his anticipation.

If he were to tell the truth, since the day he discovered the extraordinary nature of this world and the existence of magic, he'd been eager to learn it himself.

He still remembered how he couldn't stop pestering his mother to teach him every chance he got. But no matter how much he asked, she always refused him, saying only that she would teach him when he was old enough.

After a few dozen tries, he realized there was no moving her. So he stopped asking and instead began sneaking into her study whenever she was out, hoping to learn something on his own.

It, of course, yielded no results. His reincarnation buffs didn't work, and he didn't find a single book explaining how magic worked.

He did find some interesting books, though—one of which stood out in particular. It was a journal of a battle mage named Trevor that described his travels across the Gisa Continent, his encounters with magical beasts, bandits, and other mages.

There were vivid accounts of battles and descriptions of strange lands Merlin had never heard of.

To someone who had never stepped out of the confines of Ivory Village, the book was like opening a window to another world, and he was immersed in its contents for months. It further fueled his desire to learn magic.

That was why yesterday, his father's words had thrilled him so much. It was like his childhood wish was about to be fulfilled.

Hogwarts' acceptance had come rather suddenly, but it also opened new possibilities for both of his selves. The way magic was taught in both worlds was undoubtedly different, as he had never seen his mother use a tool like a wand when casting spells.

He saw an opportunity here. If he could study both magical systems and combine their strengths, then... The idea made his mind wander.

Just as he was lost in thought, his mother's voice rang in his ears, followed by a sigh.

"To be honest, Merlin, I still think it's too early for you to delve into magic."

Merlin looked at his mother with a dumbfounded expression. Those words were... just too familiar!

"As a mage myself," his mother continued, "I know how dangerous even small mistakes can be. One wrong step while casting a spell can lead to serious consequences—especially for children who lack control and rush ahead without understanding what they're doing. Most don't begin proper training until they're thirteen."

She paused, her tone softening. "But your father believes you're more mature than most children your age. He thinks starting early will give you an advantage." After a slight hesitation, she added, "And… I can't say he's entirely wrong."

"Even so," she said quietly, "as your mother, I can't bring myself to risk your safety just for that."

Merlin could sense her worry, which made his heart warm. He lowered his gaze and asked, "Then... did you agree?"

"I agreed on one condition," she said. "For the first year, you won't cast any spells. I'll only teach you theory—and how to properly control your magic power. Specifically, how to channel and shape it."

"Control magic power?" Merlin repeated, surprised. The content he had read last night was still fresh in his memory. If his mother was talking about the same thing, then control over magic power improved through practice—but how was he supposed to practice if he wasn't allowed to cast any spells?

His mother smiled faintly. "Don't think you'll be wasting time. Have you heard of the Kirion Institute of Magic?"

"Of course," Merlin's reply was quick. "It's the only officially recognized magic institution in the kingdom. Father mentioned it once when talking about the Knight Academy. He said both were founded by the royal family and only accept nobles."

"Exactly. Then you know how prestigious it is."

Merlin nodded. That much was obvious. Just the fact that nobles were willing to send their children there instead of hiring private tutors said enough about its quality.

"Even at Kirion," his mother said, "new students don't learn spells right away. The first six months are dedicated entirely to shaping magic power. Only after that do they begin spellcasting."

"The better your shaping skills," she added, "the easier spellcasting becomes later."

He hesitated for a moment before finally asking what he was curious about. "Mother, how do you know so much about Kirion?"

As a noble-exclusive institute, the information about it should be limited to their circle.

His mother replied in a flat tone, "Because I studied there and graduated as a healer."

"You… are a noble?!" Merlin almost jumped in his seat, his eyes widening in shock. Why had he never heard of this before?

"I was," she said, with a faint, unreadable smile. "Until I was kicked out."

Merlin sensed it wasn't something she wanted to talk about, so he decisively reined in his curiosity and let the topic drop. Instead, he asked, "Then how do I practice this… shaping?"

She extended her hand toward the empty bowl on the table. Without a sound, it rose into the air and floated between them.

Merlin didn't show much surprise, having seen her do it countless times.

"This," she said calmly, "is unstructured magic. It's different from normal spellcasting. There's no spell construct or incantation—just raw shaping of magic to produce an effect."

She lowered the bowl back to the table.

"It has lots of limitations and disadvantages compared to structured magic, which is the mainstream among mages on the Gisa Continent. But it's the best way to train shaping. Some also call it shaping exercises."

After a brief pause, she added, "That's what I'll be teaching you."

Merlin listened attentively, digesting the various unfamiliar terms he'd just heard.

She gave him a knowing look. "Before that, I want to ask you a question. What do you think magic is?"

"It's an energy innate to mages," he answered.

"Then how do you know you're a mage?"

"Because you told me," he said, confused.

She chuckled softly and explained with gentle eyes, "Exactly. You only know it because someone told you. The first step is to feel it yourself. You must perceive your own magic power before you can channel it. Only then will you be able to learn magic shaping."

Merlin nodded. It made sense.

"Let's not waste time. Close your eyes and raise your right arm," she said.

Merlin did as instructed.

"I'll try to channel my magic from my hand to yours," she continued. "Try to sense it."

The next moment, he felt her fingers wrap gently around his hand. Her palm was soft and smooth, unlike his own, which had grown rough and calloused from months of sword training. Moreover, it was warm—and that warmth seemed to flow from her hand into his own.

Wait—the heat was really moving!

Merlin's mind stirred slightly, and just as he was about to focus on the sensation, it suddenly vanished.

"Did you feel it?" his mother asked.

He nodded. "Yeah… it felt like warm ants crawling up my arm. But it disappeared suddenly."

"You lost focus." Her voice was gentle and patient. "Let's try again. Remember, don't let your thoughts wander. Focus only on perceiving the feeling."

They repeated the process. This time, since he knew what he was dealing with, Merlin was able to sense her magic power for a long time without losing focus. He held onto it, tracing it up his arm until he could almost tell where it stopped—earning an approving nod from his mother.

"Good. You caught on faster than I expected," she said, letting go of his hand.

"Now, remember that feeling and try to sense your own magic. Close your eyes and focus inwardly."

Merlin nodded slowly, emptied his mind of any other thought, and focused inwardly as she told him. Minutes slipped by—five, then ten—but he wasn't able to sense a single trace of similar warmth in his body.

After nearly half an hour, he opened his eyes and exhaled in frustration. "I can't feel a thing."

His mother didn't look disappointed. If anything, she seemed unsurprised.

"It's not as easy as you think, dear," she explained patiently. "When I was channeling magic power into you, that energy wasn't yours—it was foreign. It moved differently, so you could feel it right away. Your own magic power, on the other hand, is quiet, scattered, and still. It's been part of you since birth, so your mind doesn't recognize it as something separate."

After a pause, she added, "And you're also still young. Your magic power is weak compared to an adult mage. Most people take anywhere from a week to a month to sense it for the first time."

She placed a hand on his head, saying gently, "So don't force it. The harder you push, the harder it becomes. Just keep trying patiently."

Merlin nodded, closing his eyes again. He drew a deep breath to calm his thoughts and focused once more.

For the next hour, he kept trying, but the result remained the same—he couldn't sense any magic power at all.

His mother once again reminded him to be patient before going off to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, leaving Merlin alone to ponder.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up as an idea occurred to him.

'This... might work.'