Ethan's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above him wasn't his. It was stone—arched, ancient, and dusted with cobwebs. His body felt smaller, lighter. His hands—tiny. He sat up, heart pounding, and caught his reflection in a cracked mirror across the room.
A boy. Eleven, maybe. Pale skin, messy brown hair, and wide gray eyes.
"What the hell—"
System online. Neural interface calibrated. Welcome, Ethan.
The voice wasn't external. It echoed inside his skull—calm, synthetic, and terrifyingly clear.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
I am your cognitive augmentation system. AI designation: Aether. You are currently inhabiting the body of Ethan Blackwood, age eleven. Magical aptitude: confirmed. Hogwarts acceptance letter pending.
Ethan blinked. "Hogwarts?"
Correct. Estimated arrival of owl: 3 minutes.
He stumbled to the window, still disoriented. The manor grounds stretched beyond the glass—misty hedgerows, a crooked greenhouse, and a stone fountain shaped like a raven. It was beautiful. And unfamiliar.
His heart thudded. He remembered dying. A car crash. A flash of light. Then… this.
Reincarnation confirmed. You are now in a parallel magical universe. Integration complete.
"Parallel universe?" Ethan muttered. "So this is real. Magic is real."
Affirmative. Your current environment matches the Harry Potter canon with 87.6% accuracy. Deviations possible.
He barely had time to process that before a soft thump interrupted his thoughts. A snowy owl stared at him through the glass, parchment envelope clutched in its beak.
Ethan opened the window with trembling fingers. The owl dropped the envelope into his hands and flew off silently.
The letter was real. Embossed with gold, sealed with wax, and addressed to Mr. Ethan Blackwood, Room 3, Blackwood Manor, Wiltshire.
He tore it open.
Dear Mr. Blackwood,We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
The rest blurred. Ethan's mind raced. He wasn't just in the Wizarding World. He was a wizard. And he had an AI in his head.
His new parents—Margot and Elias Blackwood—were kind but quiet. Squibs from old magical families, they lived in the shadow of their lineage. Margot had once trained as a magical historian before her magic faded. Elias brewed potions for local apothecaries, relying on instinct and inherited recipes.
They were stunned by Ethan's letter. Tears welled in Margot's eyes. Elias clutched the parchment like it was a relic.
"You'll be the first Blackwood in Hogwarts in three generations," Elias whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Ethan nodded, hiding the storm in his mind. He wasn't just a wizard. He was a reincarnated technophile with a tactical AI in his brain. But he didn't want to alarm them. Not yet.
Margot fussed over his robes and books, while Elias dug out old journals filled with potion notes and magical theory. Ethan read them all, absorbing every detail.
Note: Squib insights contain practical heuristics. Recommend cross-referencing with formal magical texts for accuracy.
Aether didn't cast spells or move his body. It only offered options, simulations, and strategic advice.
I offer optimized learning paths, not execution. Spellcasting must be performed manually. Training required.
Ethan appreciated that. He didn't want shortcuts. He wanted mastery.
Two days later, they took him to Diagon Alley.
The brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron parted with a tap of Elias's wand—borrowed from a cousin. Ethan stepped through, eyes wide.
The alley was alive with color and sound. Cauldrons bubbled in shop windows. Owls hooted from brass cages. Wizards haggled over broomsticks and spell ingredients. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and roasted nuts.
Scanning environment. Magical density: high. Recommended acquisitions: wand, robes, cauldron, spellbooks, owl.
Aether projected a checklist into Ethan's vision. He followed it like a mission briefing.
At Ollivanders, the wand chose him quickly—hawthorn wood, unicorn hair, 11 inches. Mr. Ollivander raised an eyebrow at Ethan's precise wand grip.
"Curious," he murmured. "Very curious."
Ethan said nothing. Aether had simulated the grip and flick, but Ethan had practiced it himself—again and again.
In Flourish and Blotts, Ethan scanned every book he could touch. Aether stored entire chapters in memory—Charms, Transfiguration, Magical Theory. He lingered near the Restricted Section, eyes drawn to titles on alchemy and Animagus transformation.
Access denied. Authorization required. However, I can simulate theoretical pathways based on known magical principles.
"Noted," Ethan whispered.
They bought robes, a cauldron, and a snowy owl he named Cipher. Elias insisted on a set of secondhand books from his own youth—annotated with squib insights and family notes.
Ethan accepted them gratefully. Every scrap of knowledge mattered.
That night, back at Blackwood Manor, Ethan sat by candlelight, wand in hand.
Aether projected wand movement diagrams into his vision—perfect arcs, Latin pronunciation, spell theory. But Ethan had to perform each motion, speak each word, and feel the magic himself.
His wand responded slowly at first. Then, with repetition, it began to hum with energy.
Spell success rate: 42%. Improvement curve steep. Recommend daily drills and muscle memory reinforcement.
Ethan's heart pounded. He wasn't just in the Harry Potter world—he had an edge. But it wasn't automatic.
It was earned.
He practiced until his wrist ached. Lumos.Alohomora.Leviosa. Each spell took dozens of tries. Aether offered feedback, but the effort was his.
Margot peeked in once, smiling softly. "Don't push too hard, love. Magic takes time."
Ethan nodded. "I know."
But he didn't just want to cast spells. He wanted to understand them. Break them down. Rebuild them.
Alchemy. Transformation. Secrets buried in ancient texts.
And with Aether in his mind, he could unlock them.
As Cipher hooted softly and the moon rose over Wiltshire, Ethan stood by the window, wand in hand, mind racing.
A new life. A new world.
And a new mission.
Let's begin, he whispered.