The years at Hogwarts passed quickly, like pages flipping in a worn book, each one filled with wonder, danger, and relentless curiosity. My name is Elliot Grey, and though I was born a Muggle, my destiny unfolded between ancient castle walls and candlelit corridors. I had memories of another life—a world of screens and stories. And because of that, I knew Hogwarts before I ever set foot there.
First Year
My first year was a whirlwind of magic I never thought real. Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration enchanted me in more ways than one. I was sorted into Ravenclaw, where intellect was prized and curiosity never punished. I spent hours in the library, often losing track of time among tomes thicker than my arms. I wasn't the most social, but I listened—always listening. I memorized secret passages, watched the stars from the Astronomy Tower, and paid close attention to the professors' nuances.
Most of all, I began to notice something that others didn't: magic, when stripped to its essence, followed rules—like equations, patterns, reactions. That realization was my first step into alchemy.
Second Year
Hagrid was still a third-year student then—clumsy, enormous, and misunderstood. I'd greet him often in the greenhouses or when he helped Professor Kettleburn with the creatures. We weren't close, but we shared kindness.
By this time, I'd started asking older students about Nicholas Flamel. Many thought I was odd, obsessed. But the word "alchemist" had lodged itself in my mind. Not the Philosopher's Stone—that was just the surface. I wanted to understand how wizards shaped nature itself.
I became close to an eccentric professor named Professor Aldwin Stonegate, who taught Ancient Runes and had a hidden interest in alchemical symbols. He saw my questions as potential. During the evenings, he'd guide me through the basics of transmutation circles and the ancient laws that governed elemental conversion.
Third Year
I chose Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as electives. Others complained they were too hard; for me, they were fascinating. Numbers had always made sense to me in my past life. Now, they whispered the language of magic.
It was during this year that I attempted my first minor transmutation under controlled conditions. With the guidance of Professor Stonegate, I converted lead flakes into a near-silver alloy. Not perfect, but not impossible either. The experiment left me exhausted, with my nose bleeding and my wand nearly snapped. But I laughed.
I began documenting everything—sketches, theories, magical formulas. My dormmates teased me, calling me "the mad inventor," but some began to ask me for help with their own charms and spells.
Fourth Year
I had grown. Taller, sharper, more reclusive. The world of spells felt more like tools now, and I was crafting new ways to use them. By then, I had earned permission from the Headmaster to access restricted parts of the library. I read old alchemical texts written in Latin and forgotten dialects. My nights were filled with practice, research, and the occasional fire hazard.
I learned to brew potions that temporarily enhanced memory or sharpened the senses. I started designing theories for the fusion of Muggle chemistry and magical transmutation. I even wrote letters—unsigned—to the Department of Mysteries, sharing hypotheses I wasn't ready to speak aloud.
It was around this time I stopped viewing myself as a mere student. I was building something—my future, and possibly something much greater.
But I knew... the deeper I went into alchemy, the more dangerous it would become. Because alchemy doesn't just change matter—it changes the soul.
And I was beginning to change too.