Wait...

Date: July 3, 1997 | Location: Oxford, England

POV Oliver

After almost two days of tests and interviews, Oliver and Helen were sitting in the office of Roger Trafford, the headmaster of the Dragon School. Sitting across from them were Trafford himself and Professor Harrington, the director of the Oxford programme.

"The Dragon School is one of the schools we work with as part of the programme," Harrington explained.

Oliver was only half listening as the two men explained to Helen what opportunities the programme could offer him for his future.

A boarding school for rich kids...

Ever since he had arrived at Mill Grove almost three years ago, one question had kept coming back to him: How the hell was he supposed to get enough starting capital to actually make use of the knowledge from his old life?

And now a door seemed to be opening right in front of him.

Plenty of potential mini-investors he could manipulate and brainwash over the next few years into lending him money someday.

The Dragon School had pretty much everything he needed. Music, sports, language courses, and enough other opportunities to put the next few years to good use. Here, he could finally start taking advantage of his new brain without drawing too much attention whenever he learned things faster.

Actually, this was—

"Oliver?" Helen gently nudged him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked at her, confused, and needed a moment to realise that he had apparently missed something.

"Mr Trafford wanted to know if you had any more questions."

"Yeah. I've been kickboxing for almost three years. Would I be able to keep doing that here, even if I had to train outside the school?"

"And, of course, Sunday church," Helen added with a grin.

Oliver shot her a reproachful look.

"As for the kickboxing, I'm sure we can find a solution," Trafford replied. "And at Sister Margaret's request, we'll make Sunday church a permanent part of your schedule," he added with a smile.

Oliver let out a resigned sigh.

***

Oxford was showing its friendlier side that afternoon. Students crowded the streets between the old stone buildings, bicycles stood against almost every available wall, and fragments of conversation drifted out through the open doors of the small cafés and shops lining the street.

Oliver walked beside Helen, letting his gaze wander around him. Towers and spires rose between the rooftops, while somewhere in the distance church bells were ringing.

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It was kind of impressive.

"So," Helen said beside him. "What do you think?"

"I guess I'm going to Oxford in September," he replied.

It had been decided. He would attend the Dragon School for the coming school year and take individual courses at Oxford as part of the programme.

His time at Mill Grove was coming to an end, and Oliver wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. It had been almost three years since he had arrived there. And while he had spent nearly all of that time under Sister Margaret's watchful eye, an entirely different challenge awaited him at the Dragon School.

A boarding school. Surrounded by children.

He shuddered at the thought of not only spending all day surrounded by seven-year-olds, but actually having to live in a boarding house with them.

At least the Oxford programme gave him certain freedoms the other children didn't have. He had his own room and was allowed to leave the school grounds to attend courses in Oxford.

Of course, he would never take advantage of those freedoms to pursue one or two personal interests around Oxford.

Obviously.

"We should stop by a bookshop before we go," Helen said. "I still need something."

Oliver nodded. Not a bad idea, actually. Maybe he could find something for Bea while they were there. Some kind of book about music would probably make her happy.

They followed the street a little farther before Helen turned down one of the side streets. A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a bookshop whose windows were almost completely filled with books and little handwritten recommendations.

Inside, it was noticeably quieter than out on the street. Oliver followed Helen through the shelves at first, until he found the music section.

It didn't take long for a book to catch his eye.

Composing Music: A New Approach.

Oliver pulled it from the shelf and flipped through a few pages. It was probably still a little too advanced for Bea, but that had rarely stopped her from wanting to learn something before.

She might like this.

He took the book and started making his way to the front of the shop.

After only a few steps, he stopped dead.

Wait...

***

A wide grin spread across his face.

"Fuck, yes," he muttered as he walked over to the table.

He picked up one of the books and looked it over, as if he needed to make absolutely sure. J. K. Rowling. The exact fucking book he remembered.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

He could have laughed out loud.

Harry Potter was fiction. Hogwarts was fiction. Voldemort was fiction. He wasn't going to get a letter delivered by some bloody owl, and he didn't have to worry about whether there was a school full of children somewhere in Scotland waving magic wands around.

For almost three years, the thought had kept coming back to him. More often at first, less as time went on, but it had never completely disappeared. Every time something didn't quite fit with what he remembered of the world, the question had returned.

Oliver's grin slowly faded.

What the hell had he done because of this shit?

For two years in a row, he had somehow managed to convince Margaret to take him to King's Cross on the first of September. The first time, he had told her he really wanted to see the trains. The second time, coming up with a halfway believable excuse had been considerably harder.

Of course, he hadn't found anything.

No Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. No families with owls. No children disappearing through a wall with their luggage.

Instead, he had spent hours at a train station while Margaret gradually started asking why, exactly, they had to come to King's Cross on the first of September every year.

And he had seriously been wondering how the hell he was going to get her back there again next year.

Oliver looked down at the book in his hands.

"Oh, fuck off."

How many hours had he wasted on this shit? He had searched through newspapers, followed the news, compared dates, and spent at least a few seconds examining every unusual event to see if magic might actually exist after all.

And now he was holding the answer in his hands.

Oliver looked at the title one more time and started grinning again.

...this isn't the world of Harry Potter!