Chapter 1: Sparks

Living in an orphanage was never an easy prospect.

The matron was a nice enough person, and the care the staff provided was more than sufficient. Even still, compared to the combined attention of two somewhat loving parents from my past life, my choice was obvious. I might intellectually have been an adult, independent and responsible and capable, but I had a child's developing brain, one crammed with a lifetime of memories it was not prepared for. It made for some very strange early years. The clinical coldness my residence sometimes gave off did not help me to deal with the headaches nor the confusion from my brain swimming in a constant flood of growth hormones that were typical of childhood.

Even still, the horror stories of orphanage life turned out to be entirely untrue.

The staff could be cold at times, and more religious and preachy than I would have liked, but they were all basically kind, decent, normal people. Our needs were met, order was kept, and even a healthy dose of affection was provided. The other kids didn't much like me, but as an adult with a matured sense of humour and toleration, their petty japes and insults were of little concern.

They took a shot at me, and I responded in kind, only I was much cleverer than they were. Otherwise, they were treated with generally distant politeness. Even after all these years, interacting with children as their peers again was damn strange.

However, the one upside was the playground. Running around, yelling, screaming, acting like a loon and having that behaviour encouraged. It was the one part of my childhood that I felt I had missed out on in my past life, you know, the fun part. In spite of being of the smartest kids in class, smart enough to skip several years in my school, I was also one of the most physically active in my class.

Not a know-it-all, I was a generally a chill dude, but more casually intelligent. Not a star athlete either. I was content to relax and enjoy my time. I had already lived one full life, and if I was cursed to live again, I would enjoy it.

The days trundled by, and then a letter came, in the beak of an owl tapping on the outside of my window, strangely enough. I had my suspicions, but as I unfurled the letter and read the flowing script, the reality of my situation solidified in my mind.

Hogwarts. Magic. Every child's dream.

Maybe I hadn't seen everything after all?

I set the letter aside, and almost forgot about it. That might seem strange to you, but I was living proof that reincarnation was real. Proof of a magical school was much more forgettable when faced with the implication of such a cosmic realisation.

Eventually, a certain Professor McGonogall came knocking. She was dressed like a nineteenth century grandmother, with the trademark witches hat, a pair of spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose, and an imperious gaze peeking over the top. After walking me through the basics, and a little back and forth as I explored my options, at which point I discovered I was actually from a minor pureblood family, hence the initial letter instead of a proper visit, I found myself experiencing the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of side-along apparition as we appeared in the Leaky Cauldron.

The walls parted, and we went shopping for my things. The first port of call was Gringotts, with sharp-toothed Goblins peering over the counter, their faces seemingly frozen mid-scowl. I was taken to my vault, shown the rather pathetic heap of Knuts and Sickles alongside the handful of Galleons that was to be my inheritance. Currency received, I stopped before returning to McGonogall, engaging the rather helpful if surly goblin by the name of Griphook regarding the investment services the bank offered.

Turns out, yes, they did have an investing arm in the muggle world, and they were willing to do so on my behalf, though only for a fee, of course. Even with my relatively small heap of cash, the strong Galleon to pound exchange rate gave me sizeable buying power, made even more impressive by the fact that strength increased again once the pounds were converted to dollars. Sadly, the bulk of the money was as of yet unavailable to me, but I still put half of my trust-fund in Griphook's venerable hands, hurriedly scratching down a list of companies with a quill and parchment he provided. Companies that, given the year and broader economic conditions, were due for massive growth.

By the end of my Hogwarts career, excepting for some unforeseen calamity, I was going to be a very wealthy man.

With that business aside, I returned to the outside world, and toured the wild world of Diagon Alley with the professor. Robes were fitted, books were bought, cauldrons selected, till eventually we wound up to the one place I had been dreading.

Ollivander's.

In fanon, there were strong hints he was a Legilimens. In canon, he was more a creepy, slightly prophetic and completely harmless old man who ran a shop. In any case, seeing as I had little choice, I ventured inside the shop, regardless of the fact that he might discover the truth of my reincarnation. As expected, Garrick was nowhere to be seen, popping up seemingly from thin air, though he seemed a tad disappointed when my only reaction was not surprise and mystification, but rather a completely placid and somewhat uninterested expression, devoid of any hints of shock.

Ollivander moved on soon enough, introducing himself and his shop, and then beginning the lengthy process of seeking out a wand for me. Almost an hour later, and wand-boxes littered the floor, and my hand was swiftly becoming sore from having stick after stick shoved into my palm. Simultaneously, Ollivander's frustration with me was growing with each rejected wand. Eventually, he threw his hands up in the air, as if defeated, and went into the back of his shop. The sounds of rummaging could be heard, and Ollivander emerged from the back, holding another wand-box in his hands.

He grumpily thrust the wand into my hands, and as my fist closed around the handle, it just felt... right. I waved my wand, and a shower of sparks erupted from the tip, silently exploding with all the colours of the rainbow. Ollivander looked a combination of relieved and embarrassed, "Yew and Phoenix feather, mixed with a touch of Thestral tail hair. Twelve inches, and quite firm. One of my earlier and, dare I say, more experimental creations." He looked me up and down, adopting a deliberately mystical tone as he spoke, "Hmm... You will do great and terrible things, I can tell. And yet, you do not fear death..."

I quirked an eyebrow, "Cool. What do I owe you, Mr Ollivander?"

Ollivander's eyes registered a touch of annoyance at the fact that I seemed utterly unimpressed by his little show, and he spoke curtly, "Seven Galleons, Mr Crawley. Every wand in my shop is that same price, and that one is no different."

I was tempted to haggle, but I knew it would end poorly for me. I forked over the dosh, giving him three Galleons and a load of Sickles in place of the remaining four. I walked outside, met back up with the Professor, who, having concluded the last bits of the shopping on her own, promptly escorted me out of Diagon in spite of my desire to stick around and explore. We made our way back to the orphanage, all my school things in a new trunk, and McGonogall had a quiet chat with the matron, explaining that I needed to be taken to Kings Cross Station around the beginning of September.

After that, McGonogall tipped her hat, and left.

So, Hogwarts.

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