HSP 02

Chapter 2

Part 2: The Scholarship System

The night had grown deep. Outside, the roar of trucks rumbling over wet pavement echoed through the air.

London was in the throes of financialization—Canary Wharf was on the rise—but the streets around the orphanage were still piled with uncollected bags of rubbish.

Inside, the ever-present smell of disinfectant could never quite mask the stale air of decay. The caretakers were exhausted, and the children moved like wounded animals, always on edge.

Shane curled up in his worn, cheap synthetic blanket, fast asleep.

Just moments before falling asleep, he had tested his newly unlocked green talent.

And all he could think was:
“What kind of miserable life was I living before this?”

So it turned out that with three practice attempts, you could achieve one correct cast.
So it turned out that wizards could actually perceive the pronunciation of spells.

Take Scourgify, for example. He had always thought it was “Scour-g-ify.” But just now, a sudden thought struck him—why couldn’t it be “S-cour-g-ify”?

And in that strange, almost mystical state, he had gained his first Proficiency.

A full 10 points!

What used to take him five days of progress…
He had achieved in five seconds.

So this was the magical world’s so-called talent. Now he finally understood.

Tomorrow, Professor McGonagall would come to take him away. He hoped he could perform well enough—at least well enough to meet the minimum standard for the scholarship.

Speaking of Hogwarts, what were the scholarship requirements for a first-year student?
Shane didn’t know. But he was determined to meet them.

No special reason. Just because.

As long as he could study magic with unwavering persistence, he was sure he could stand at the pinnacle of the magical world.

With sweet dreams of the future, Shane drifted into a deep sleep.

September 1, 1991

This was a special day. Shane was leaving the orphanage behind.

He quickly gathered his clothes—only two inner shirts and two pairs of trousers were still usable. The rest were either too big or too small.

As he dragged his cheap suitcase to the door of his room, he realized with surprise just how little in the orphanage truly belonged to him.

“Shane, you’d better not come crawling back here because you can’t afford the fees! If you do, you’ll be sorry!”

Nurse Anna waddled over, her sharp voice as caustic as ever.

“Don’t you worry about me, you square-shaped woman! I hope you don’t get laid off in the recent cuts! But with your performance, you’re definitely getting sacked!”

With that, Shane bolted for the door, leaving Nurse Anna’s shrill curses behind him.

He didn’t understand half the slang she used, so he just assumed she was cursing him out.

Finally, he thought. Finally, I could give that cylinder-shaped woman a piece of my mind. She had turned a blind eye to the original Shane’s serious illness—she was one of the main reasons he had died.

No one in this world knew that the original Shane was gone. The only person who knew was the Shane who had crossed over from another world.

This was his way of collecting a little interest on the original’s behalf.

On any normal day, he wouldn’t have dared say such a thing. But today, he did it without hesitation.

Wow, Shane. Look at you. You’ve really become something else.

With a smile, he trotted over to the peeling painted door. The faded sign reading “Oak Tree Children’s Home” hung crookedly above it, shaking off dust in the breeze.

Beneath the sign stood Professor McGonagall.

She wore her square spectacles, her black hair curled and pinned into a tight bun. Her dark green robe, paired with a Scottish plaid blouse, gave her an air of stern authority.

But when she saw the frail Shane running toward her, the corners of her lips lifted slightly.

“Professor McGonagall, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Shane said, jogging up to her, slightly out of breath. His body was weak—just a few steps left him winded—but he always ran to her like this.

The last time they went shopping, McGonagall had asked why. And the boy had answered in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible:

“Important people… you run to meet them.”

The older cat-lady never said a word about it, but deep down, she had melted completely.

“You can slow down, Mr. Green. We have plenty of time.”

Her voice wasn’t as stern as her expression. She gently took his hand.

Then she noticed that the frail little boy was looking at her with careful, focused attention.

“S-cour-g-ify.”

With a flick of his wand, the dust on Professor McGonagall’s hair vanished.

“Dirty things… shouldn’t stay… on your head.”

Shane was still catching his breath. After casting the spell, his breathing grew even more labored. His voice was soft, but stubborn.

McGonagall gazed at him, momentarily lost in thought. Surprise and warmth flickered in her eyes.

“A passable Cleaning Charm. How long did it take you to learn that, Mr. Green?”

She walked forward slowly, still holding his hand gently, as she asked the question.

“Only yesterday, Professor.”

Shane’s breathing steadied. His head drooped slightly, and his voice carried a hint of timidity and self-doubt.

“You did very well, Mr. Green. It seems you really might earn that scholarship.”

Professor McGonagall had noticed his hesitance, and she spoke these encouraging words with a soft smile.

Shane said nothing. He just lifted his head, looked up at her with his big, shining eyes, and then quickly looked away.

Inside, though, he was already popping champagne.

Given Professor McGonagall’s character, if she said something like that, his scholarship was already halfway in the bag. Yes, playing the pitiful orphan was a bit morally questionable, but for the sake of the scholarship—and of escaping that deadly orphanage and staying alive—Shane had no choice.

His body still needed time to recover. The scholarship was the only real chance he had to get money.

And sure enough, her next words revealed more about the scholarship.

“Headmaster Dumbledore has already approved it,” she said calmly. “If, within the first month, you achieve Outstanding in all seven of your subjects, you will be awarded a scholarship of six hundred Galleons.”

She delivered the news so matter-of-factly that it made Shane’s heart race. She looked down at the boy beside her, as if expecting to see him smile.

But instead, Shane only lowered his head further.

After a long moment, his faint voice finally spoke:
“…Thank you, Professor. Actually, I know from books that Hogwarts doesn’t have scholarships for first-years. Thank you for your efforts… so that I can learn magic.”

After saying this, he fell silent.
It was the truth.

McGonagall paused for a moment. Then, slowly, her heart softened—just like her smile.

“You earned this, Mr. Green. You don’t need to thank me for it.”

She glanced at him casually, only to find her gaze colliding for a third time with his careful, sideways glance.

“How long did you practice that spell?” she asked, as they continued walking toward the platform.

“Thirteen hours, Professor,” Shane answered honestly.

“In total?” Her gaze flickered, seeming somewhat heavy.

“Every day,” he said.

The train station was a sea of noise and people. Shane dragged his heavy suitcase through the bustling crowd.

“The platform behind that wall leads to the Hogwarts Express. Don’t be afraid—just walk straight into it.”

Professor McGonagall’s words echoed in his mind. Even though he knew it would be fine, staring at that solid brick wall still made him nervous. But then he thought—Professor McGonagall might still be watching—so he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and walked straight into the wall.

And from a certain older cat-lady’s perspective? He didn’t hesitate for even a second. Just charged straight into the wall.

“That boy trusts you greatly, Minerva.”

An aged voice appeared beside Professor McGonagall.
“Outstanding in all seven subjects—that’s no easy task. Do you truly believe he can do it?”

For some reason, a certain white-bearded old man asked this with a chuckle.

“Albus, even if there’s only one person in all of Hogwarts who could do it,” McGonagall said firmly, “I believe that person is Shane.”

She was still lost in the memory of his words: thirteen hours every day.

Even during her own most obsessive years of study, she had never maintained that kind of intensity for two months straight.

Let alone the Hogwarts students, who spent most of their time fooling around.

“Shane is a poor child,” she continued after a pause. “And a… sensible one. He deserves that scholarship.”