Chapter 5: Would This Really Stop Me?

Ding!

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

Ian froze, his grip tightening around the struggling chicken in his hands. An Extraordinary Trait? His heart skipped a beat.

Ever since he had arrived in this world, he had been aware of his potential for something more. He had gained insights, skills, and knowledge that far surpassed what a normal person could achieve, but this—this was something else entirely.

He quickly pulled up the description of the trait.

[Butcher's Instinct]: The moment you lay eyes on a living creature, you instinctively perceive the most efficient way to dissect it, ensuring minimal resistance and maximum precision.

Ian blinked. That's... useful?

Well, it wasn't useless, but he couldn't exactly brag about mastering the art of chicken slaughter. Still, this meant something important—he was progressing. Gaining an Extraordinary Trait meant that he had reached a level of skill where the universe itself acknowledged his expertise.

The kitchen was bustling with activity as the orphanage's staff prepared for the day's meals. Ian tightened his grip on the knife and focused.

Let's test this out.

He glanced at the chicken in his hands. In an instant, the world shifted.

The feathers became irrelevant, his eyes focusing directly on the best point to sever the neck. He could see the ideal trajectory of the knife, the precise spot where the blade should cut to end the creature's life in one swift motion.

He moved.

Crack!

With a single stroke, the chicken went limp.

The surrounding cooks stopped what they were doing.

"Bloody hell, Ian, that was clean!"

"Wow, Ian, your butchering skills are getting better and better!"

Ian let out a small chuckle as he moved on to the next task, helping to portion the now-plucked birds. His hands worked with new efficiency, slicing through the flesh with effortless precision.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Perfect, even cuts. No wasted effort.

He smirked. "Guess I've improved a bit."

The Extraordinary Trait was already proving its worth. While it wasn't as awe-inspiring as magic, it was a clear sign that he was growing.

But if something as mundane as butchery could be refined to an extraordinary level... then what about magic?

The thought sent a thrill through him.

Ian needed to learn magic.

Now.

Later that morning, Ian sat at his small desk, staring at a book. Or, rather, pretending to read it. His mind was elsewhere.

Two weeks.

That was how long he had to wait before his study materials arrived.

Two whole weeks before he could start learning magic.

His fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden surface.

He hated waiting.

It wasn't just childish impatience—it was the frustration of an adult who had already spent years in a world without magic, only to finally gain access to it and be told to wait.

It was like being given a golden ticket to a land of wonders, only to be told that the gates wouldn't open for another two weeks.

No. That's too long.

Ian closed the book with a sigh and made a decision.

If he couldn't wait for magic to come to him, then he would go find it himself.

Ian wasn't a fool. He knew that the magical world was hidden from Muggles. But he also knew that there were ways in—and he had knowledge that ordinary people didn't.

His goal was simple: Find the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub served as the gateway to Diagon Alley, the heart of the British wizarding world. If he could locate it, he would gain access to everything he needed.

Wand shops, potion ingredients, magical books—everything.

Harry Potter found it. So can I.

Stuffing his modest savings into his pocket, Ian set out, navigating through the bustling streets of London. He scanned every storefront, every alleyway, looking for something out of place.

But there was nothing.

The city was as ordinary as ever.

Damn it.

According to what he remembered, the Leaky Cauldron was hidden between two ordinary Muggle buildings, visible only to wizards. So why couldn't he see it?

Had he misremembered the location?

Or was something stopping him?

Ian's frustration turned to unease as he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

Someone was watching him.

He picked up his pace, turning corners, weaving through crowds.

The sensation didn't go away.

His instincts screamed at him.

He took a quick glance behind him—

And his blood ran cold.

A figure in a long black robe followed him from a distance. Their face was obscured by a hood, their presence unnatural in the bright daylight.

Shit.

This wasn't just some random bystander. This was deliberate.

Who the hell is that?

Ian's thoughts raced. Was he being targeted? Kidnappers? A dark wizard?

His stomach twisted at the thought.

He needed to lose them.

Spotting a subway entrance, Ian bolted down the stairs, shoving past commuters as he rushed through the turnstiles. He risked another glance back—

The hooded figure had stopped at the entrance.

They weren't following.

Ian's breath came fast and uneven as he boarded the train.

He had escaped.

But that left one troubling question—

Why had he been followed in the first place?

---

In the shadows of an alleyway, two figures watched Ian disappear into the underground station.

One of them, the hooded man, remained silent.

Beside him, an elderly wizard with piercing blue eyes and a long silver beard spoke softly.

"Was it truly necessary to stop him from finding his way?"

The hooded figure didn't respond immediately. His thoughts drifted back to an hour earlier.

He had cast a subtle spell, one that ensured Ian's eyes would simply never land on the Leaky Cauldron—even if he stood directly in front of it.

Ian hadn't failed to find the pub.

He had been prevented from seeing it.

"Diagon Alley isn't a playground," the cloaked man finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "Dark wizards prowl those streets. I have no intention of letting him end up like his foolish—"

He cut himself off abruptly.

Turning, his deep-set eyes locked onto the man beside him.

A long silence followed.

Then, a rasping whisper.

"He belongs in Slytherin."

With that, the man vanished into the night, leaving only the faint ripple of Disapparition in his wake.

---

Dumbledore remained where he was, gazing at the orphanage in the distance.

The place was familiar—too familiar.

His expression darkened with old memories.

"Once again… Wool's Orphanage."

He sighed.

"Let's hope I do not repeat the same mistakes."

With slow, deliberate steps, he turned and disappeared into the night.

The burden on his shoulders felt heavier than ever.