HP: Ashborn

(London's Orphanage: ) 

Date: 30th March 1989 

A kid stood in a dimly lit kitchen of the sprawling, ancient orphanage, his nimble fingers deftly slicing carrots for the evening stew. At just eleven years old, he had quite the knife skills for cutting and cooking for his age, his blue eyes sparkling with a wisdom no child his age should possess. His white hair, unusual and striking, framed a face that seemed too perfect, almost unreal. The other children sometimes teased him for it, but Maximus shrugged it off with a knowing smile. They wouldn't understand—how could they? He was different, and not just because of his appearance.

The matron, a plump and kind-hearted woman named Mrs. Cromwell, bustled into the room, her apron dusted with flour. She paused when she saw him. "Max, dear, you don't have to do this every evening, you know. Go outside and play with the other children. It is your birthday, after all."

Maximus looked up and smiled, his knife pausing mid-chop. "I don't mind, Mrs. Cromwell. Besides, the stew tastes better when I help, doesn't it?"

Mrs. Cromwell chuckled, shaking her head. "Too clever for your own good, you are. Well, do not work too hard. And happy birthday, my boy."

"Thank you," Maximus said softly, his smile fading slightly as she left the room. Birthdays had always been bittersweet for him. The other children celebrated with laughter and cake, but Maximus found it difficult to join in wholeheartedly. There was always a strange sense of... longing. As if he were waiting for something, or someone.

He finished the carrots and set them aside, washing his hands at the old porcelain sink. The kitchen window rattled as a sudden gust of wind blew against it, and Maximus glanced outside. The sky was overcast, the heavy clouds promising rain. He felt a strange tension in the air, like the world itself was holding its breath, like something will happen today and it did. Unknown to him today became one of the most important turns on the journey of life of Maximus Ashborn.

(Maximus Ashborn's Appearance)

(A/N : I will shorten Maximus to Max as I find Maximus too mouthful. I mean who names their child Maximus..... Shit! I open a Can of worms with it didn't I??)

It was not the first time Maximus had sensed something unusual. For as long as he could remember, odd things happened around him. Objects moved on their own, lights flickered, and once, when another boy had tried to bully him, the bully had found himself inexplicably tripping over his own feet and landing face-first in a mud puddle. The boy had gall to say that it was Maximus fault, and he could not help but curse him in his mind and accidently the boy slipped down the stairs after snitching against Max. Maximus did not understand how or why these things happened, but he knew they were connected to him.

He dried his hands and was about to leave the kitchen when he heard a loud knock at the front door. Frowning, he walked through the winding corridors of the old building, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floors. The other children had gathered in the common room, their chatter and laughter muffled as he approached the entrance.

Mrs. Cromwell opened the door, and Maximus peered around her curiously. On the stoop stood a stern-looking woman in a long cloak, holding a thick envelope in her hands. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, and her sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on Maximus.

"Good evening," the woman said briskly.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am here to speak with Maximus Ashborn."

Mrs. Cromwell looked surprised but stepped aside. "Maximus? What's this about?"

The boy stepped forward, his heart pounding. "That's me," he said, his voice steady despite the odd sense of foreboding that crept over him.

Professor McGonagall extended the envelope toward him. It was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment and sealed with a red wax stamp that bore a strange emblem—a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle encircling a large 'H.'

"Happy birthday, Mr. Ashborn," she said, her stern expression softening slightly. "I believe this will explain everything."

Maximus took the envelope with trembling hands, his mind racing. Could it be? Was this what he thought it was? His fingers brushed the seal, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, he broke the wax and unfolded the letter. 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) 

Dear Mr Ashborn, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. 

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. 

Yours sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress 

Second page 

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar

4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT 

1 Wand 

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 

1 set glass or crystal phials 

1 telescope 

1 set brass scales 

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARSARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

His heart stopped, then leapt into his throat. It was real. It was all real. The world he had once read about, dreamed about, and yearned for in a life he could barely remember was here, waiting for him. Maximus Ashborn, transmigrator, orphan, and misfit, was a Wizard. 

Maximus's POV:

'Holy shit.'

Maximus's mind raced as he held the letter in his hands. 'This isn't a dream or some elaborate prank. The emblem, the parchment, the name—everything is just as I remember from his old life. Hogwarts. Magic. Wizards. This was the world of Harry Potter, and I somehow have been thrown into it.'

And not just any time, he thought, his stomach twisting into knots. The current year is 1988. That would mean he'd be in the same year as the Pranking Weasley twins and Character improving Cedric Diggory. But this world wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, was it? Maximus remembered the books all too well. The magical world was full of wonder, yes, but also darkness. Pureblood supremacy, dangerous creatures, and worst of all, a no-nose genocidal maniac who would be resurrected in just a few years.

He swallowed hard, clutching the letter. As a no-name Muggle-born, he was at the bottom of the magical hierarchy. Tortures, bullying, prejudice—it all loomed over his future like a dark cloud. He would have to tread carefully. He couldn't afford to be reckless, not in this world.

But then, a spark of determination flared within him. Fate had given him an opportunity, hadn't it? This was his chance to hone himself, to become a wizard and learn everything he could. He might not have a famous lineage or powerful allies, but he had knowledge. He knew what was coming, and he wasn't going to let fear dictate his life.

"This is my chance," Maximus whispered, his blue eyes blazing. "I'll make it count."

General POV:

"Mr. Ashborn?" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through his swirling thoughts. Maximus looked up, startled, and saw her watching him expectantly. "Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, Professor," Maximus replied politely, folding the letter, and tucking it carefully into his pocket. "I was just... surprised. But I must ask, is magic actually real?"

Professor McGonagall nodded, her expression softening further. "It may be a bit sudden for you, but yes—magic is real. And you, Mr. Ashborn, are a wizard."

To demonstrate, she reached into her cloak and retrieved her wand. With a graceful flick, she pointed it at a feather resting on a nearby table. In an instant, the feather transformed into a small, lively squirrel, which scurried across the table before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

Maximus raised an eyebrow, his expression calm and composed. "Impressive. Now would you please tell me more about your 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' before I lose my sanity as how a feather has been changed to a squirrel," he said simply, his tone measured.

Professor McGonagall was momentarily taken aback. Most Muggle-born students were either frightened or overwhelmed with excitement at their first glimpse of magic. This boy, however, seemed unnaturally calm. She studied him closely, but his face betrayed nothing beyond polite curiosity.

"And Professor please call me Max," he added politely, inclining his head.

"Very well, Max," McGonagall said, recovering her composure. "Excuse me if I am wrong Max but I am inclined to believe that you knew about magic long before I told you?"

Maximus hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I've known for a while that I was... abnormal," he began. "As long as I can remember, I have felt some kind of energy around me. It responds to me—especially when I am emotionally unstable. I did not know it was magic, but I knew it was not normal."

McGonagall's curiosity piqued as she answered. "Well, there is nothing to worry about child, that is called accidental magic. It becomes uncontrollable and dangerous if suppressed beyond a threshold. So, we invite all witches and wizards are invited to Hogwarts to study magic and control it according to its will."

Maximus allowed her to finish and told her, "But professor I have been doing exercises for some time. I believe I have brought it completely under control."

This statement from Max surprised Professor as she inquired, "What do you mean brought it under control?"

Max smiled faintly, his expression calm yet confident. "I've been... proactive. I exercise regularly and meditate before bed. It helps me stay focused. Over time, I've learned to control the... outbursts. I can even levitate small objects, though there's a limit to what I can handle."

To illustrate his point, Max took a deep breath and focused on a small cup sitting on the counter. He extended his hand slightly, his fingers barely twitching as the cup wobbled, then rose gracefully into the air. It hovered for a moment before settling back down gently.

McGonagall's eyebrows arched, but she remained silent, watching intently. Emboldened, Max turned his attention to a silver tray resting nearby. With a wave of his hand, the tray lifted smoothly, its reflective surface catching the dim kitchen light. It hung suspended for a few seconds before descending onto the counter with a soft clang.

Finally, Max glanced at the sturdy wooden table in the center of the room. He hesitated, his expression tightening slightly as if calculating the effort it would take. Taking a deep breath, he raised both hands this time, and the table groaned faintly as it began to lift. The legs creaked, and a few of the items on top slid precariously, but the table rose a few inches off the floor before Max slowly lowered it back down.

When he was done, he exhaled sharply, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. "Like I said, there are limits," he said with a faint, self-deprecating smile.

McGonagall's lips parted slightly in surprise, her stern demeanor momentarily replaced by astonishment. "Wandless levitation? Remarkable," she murmured, her tone laced with genuine admiration. "Few fully trained wizards could achieve such a feat with that level of control, especially at your age."

"You've done well, Max, but magic is far more complex and diverse than levitation. At Hogwarts, you will study subjects that will broaden your understanding and mastery of magic. For instance, in Transfiguration—my own subject—you will learn to alter the form or appearance of objects. Charms will teach you spells that range from the practical to the extraordinary, such as summoning objects or creating light. Potions involves the delicate art of combining magical ingredients to brew concoctions with incredible properties, from healing to invisibility.

You will also study Defense Against the Dark Arts, where you will learn to protect yourself against dark creatures and malicious spells, and Herbology, which explores magical plants and their uses. Beyond these, there are subjects like Astronomy, where you'll study the movements of the stars and their influence on magic, and History of Magic, which delves into the rich and complex past of our world. Each subject is vital to understanding magic in its entirety."

She paused, her tone growing firm. "Magic is a vast and intricate field, Max. It is not just about power but about discipline, knowledge, and responsibility. At Hogwarts, we will ensure you are equipped to wield it wisely."

Maximus nodded, his blue eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and determination. "Okay, then. I look forward to it, Professor," he said firmly, his tone steady and resolute.

Professor McGonagall gave a curt nod, her features softening just slightly. "Well then, I shall return on April 2nd—that is, in two days—at precisely 11:00 AM to accompany you to procure your schoolbooks and supplies for Hogwarts. Until then, Max, I must emphasize something of utmost importance: the secrecy of our world is paramount. Wizards and witches are bound by a sacred responsibility to remain hidden from Muggles—non-magical people. Revealing magic to them could have serious consequences."

Max's expression remained composed, but his mind was racing with thoughts. As McGonagall turned to leave, she paused at the door, glancing back at him with a faint smile. "You've done quite well on your own, Max. I expect great things from you." With a flick of her wand, the door creaked open, and she stepped out into the chilly night air.

Max watched her go, her silhouette disappearing into the shadows as the door clicked shut. He glanced around the orphanage and realized something peculiar—no one else seemed to have noticed her arrival or departure. The other children's laughter echoed faintly from the common room, and Mrs. Cromwell was still bustling about in the kitchen.

Max frowned thoughtfully. Must be some kind of mind-related spell, he mused. A charm, perhaps? That would explain why no one reacted. His lips curved into a slight smirk. "Well, that's convenient," he muttered to himself.

Max's POV:

The room felt unusually quiet as Max leaned back against the door, clutching the acceptance letter in his hand. The reality of his situation was finally sinking in. I'm in a freaking world where magic is real.

His heart raced as he considered the possibilities. Magic isn't just a story here. It's tangible, powerful, and—if wielded correctly—world-changing. I can twist the very laws of reality to my will. The possibilities are endless. And me? I'll be able to use reality-defying magic.

A surge of excitement coursed through him, and he clenched his fists, his determination solidifying like steel. "I can hardly wait for the next 48 hours," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. But his eyes burned with a fierce resolve.

'I vow to become strong, so strong that people will think for a lifetime before crossing me. I'll leave an indelible imprint on this world—the name Maximus Ashborn will be etched into the annals of magical history.'

His mind raced with ambition, his goals crystalizing.

'No matter who or what stands in my way, I will not falter. Light, dark—it doesn't matter. These concepts always seemed foolishly rigid in the Harry Potter world. I'll take both by storm, wielding what I must to forge my path.'

He exhaled slowly, his chest heaving with the weight of his thoughts. Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time. The hands ticked softly, settling at 7:00 PM.

"Goddamn it," he groaned aloud. "There are still 64 hours until Professor McGonagall comes for supplies."

Max rubbed his temples, already feeling the restless impatience clawing at him. The wait would be unbearable, but he resolved to use this time wisely.

'No point in wasting it. I've got planning to do—training, too. If I want to stand out at Hogwarts, I need to be ready.'

He glanced out the window, the sky darkening as the first drops of rain began to patter against the glass. In that moment, he made a silent promise to himself. This is the beginning of my journey. I won't just survive in this world—I'll thrive.

(Author's Note: And 64 hours of waiting of hell for our MC, But not for you. Thank me it's less than that for your reading.)