Adrian quickly rushed back to the Leaky Cauldron. Before he even finished a glass of raw gillywater, Harry's reply arrived. The letter was very short, only a few words scrawled in a messy hand: Hagrid and I are on our way to the Leaky Cauldron.
Now that he knew Harry and Hagrid were en route, Adrian felt much more at ease. He ordered a few snacks for himself, but remembering Hagrid's famously large appetite from what little he'd gathered about him through Harry and the papers, he made sure to ask for several extra portions.
He requested a proper drink from Tom, the barkeep—pumpkin juice, a Hogwarts staple. It was made from a blend of crushed pumpkin, green apples, and almonds, with cinnamon and pumpkin pie spices stirred into thick pumpkin purée. Once the spices were thoroughly mixed in, water was added to dilute the consistency. The flavor was far superior to the strange raw mastic juice Adrian had briefly tasted in one of Luna Lovegood's odd dreamlike memories that he'd recently accessed.
"Adrian! I'm here!" Harry called out cheerfully as he entered. Towering beside him was a huge figure—broad and shaggy, with long tangled hair and a wild beard that nearly obscured his face. Yet beneath the mane, a pair of black, beetle-bright eyes shone warmly.
The two were burdened with packages of various shapes and sizes. Harry cradled a snowy owl—Hedwig—in his arms, the bird sound asleep, her feathers glinting in the candlelight.
Fortunately, there weren't many newcomers from the Muggle world lingering around the Leaky Cauldron just then; otherwise, the sight of a half-giant squeezing through the doorway might've caused quite a stir.
"Adrian, this is Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," Harry introduced him eagerly. "Hagrid, this is Adrian Blackwood—one of my best mates." It was clear Harry was heartened to see a familiar face in such an unfamiliar world.
"Pleasure ter meet yeh, Adrian," Hagrid said in his deep, gravelly voice.
Adrian extended his hand with polite formality. Hagrid blinked, set a bundle down on the table, wiped his enormous palm on the side of his moleskin coat, and gently shook Adrian's hand. "Nice ter meet yeh too, Ai-dree-an," he said, carefully enunciating the name.
Tom returned with the meal Adrian had ordered. Adrian also requested a glass of fish-flavored green ale—the same kind his father once drank—for Hagrid. With food and drink now on the table, the atmosphere grew lively and warm. The three of them, having been busy all day, were more than ready to eat.
"Adrian," Harry said after a while, lowering his fork as he set aside both the cutlery and his nervous thoughts. "Everyone here thinks I'm something special. The folks at the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic. How do they expect me to live up to all this? I'm famous for something I can't even remember. That night—when my parents were killed—I don't even know what really happened."
Before Adrian could reply, Hagrid reached over and gently ruffled Harry's hair, his expression softening beneath his beard. "Don' worry 'bout all that, Harry. Yeh'll learn, jus' like everyone else. At Hogwarts, most first-years start from scratch. Yeh'll catch up fast. Yeh'll love it there, I reckon—jus' like I did. Still do, actually."
"Harry," Adrian added, nodding in agreement, "even wizard-born kids don't always know as much as people assume. Believe me, you're not behind. And almost no one remembers what they did as a baby…"
"But you're from a wizarding family," Harry protested, frowning. "You pick things up so quickly. I feel like I'm already miles behind."
Adrian studied his friend for a moment, then offered a reassuring smile. "Well, for starters, you've got Hedwig now. You can write to me anytime this summer, and I'll send you whatever magical tips or answers you need. And we can even preview some of the Hogwarts material in advance. Actually, a lot of Muggle-born students end up doing better than pure-bloods early on because they treat it like real school—they study ahead. The advantage some wizard families have mostly comes from passing down traditions, not from being naturally better at magic."
He paused, then added warmly, "If you'd like, my father asked me to invite you to visit our home before term starts. That way, we can go to Hogwarts together."
Adrian's strategy to steer the conversation in a lighter direction worked remarkably well, and Harry brightened instantly. "Brilliant! That means I can leave my uncle's house earlier!"
After they had enjoyed the food, Hagrid looked slightly uncomfortable when the boy kindly invited him to stay longer; he mumbled something about needing to get Harry back to Privet Drive before the Dursleys got too suspicious. Adrian remained behind at the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for his family to arrive. Harry, now visibly more relaxed, said goodbye with a grateful smile and a lighter step.
Eventually, Adrian spotted his parents and younger sister pushing through the bustling entrance, their arms full of shopping bags from Diagon Alley. After exchanging greetings, the Blackwoods returned home to organize their purchases and prepare for the start of term. Once Adrian reached his bedroom, he finally had the privacy he needed to examine the rewards from his latest quest.
The Magic Orb of the Goddess of Fortune, Fowles, was now quietly resting in the system's storage space, emanating a gentle golden glow. The orb pulsed with warm energy, and Adrian could feel its protective enchantments humming in resonance with his magical core. With this artifact in his possession, he would gain significant resistance against curses and other harmful magical effects—an invaluable safeguard for a first-year student heading into the unpredictable world of Hogwarts.
Next, he turned to the alchemy journals of the ancient alchemist Jebo, which had been granted as part of the quest's intellectual rewards. A thick sheaf of aged parchment was neatly stacked in the interface's storage grid. Adrian summoned the topmost sheet and found it filled with diagrams and symbols that bore the weight of centuries. The ink was faded in places, but the script remained legible, infused with the gravitas of long-lost knowledge.
He skimmed through several pages. The texts were deceptively concise, yet each paragraph contained dense theory: principles behind enchanted constructs, spellcraft interwoven with natural transmutation, and extensive ingredient lists for rare elixirs and arcane devices. Adrian exhaled slowly and muttered, "This isn't something I can master in a few days." The principles alone required deep study, not to mention ingredients like zephyr spores and shadow-cypress bark, which were so rare they bordered on mythical. Acquiring them would demand both time and considerable luck.
His eyes drifted to the third item: a single vial of Potion of Magical Potential, suspended in a crystalline bottle that shimmered faintly in the light. Holding it, Adrian's mind flashed with images of Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord Voldemort—all legendary wizards whose innate magical capacity far exceeded the norm. The potion promised to amplify one's magical foundation, but Adrian knew that raw power alone wasn't enough. With school about to start, there was one spellcraft more urgent than any wandwork or potion: Occlumency—the magical art of shielding one's mind.
He reached for his worn copy of "Encyclopedia of Curses," flipping to the chapter on mental defense. Occlumency, the book explained, was the practice of protecting the mind from external influence or intrusion. The inverse, Legilimency, allowed skilled witches and wizards to penetrate another's thoughts. Those who mastered Occlumency—called Occlumens—could not only shield themselves from intrusive spells but could also deceive even gifted Legilimens by projecting false thoughts or memories, creating the perfect illusion.
Adrian reflected on Severus Snape, Hogwarts' enigmatic Potions Master, who was a highly accomplished Occlumens. Snape had managed to act as a double agent under Voldemort's nose—assuming, of course, the Dark Lord had a functioning one—without being discovered. That feat alone spoke volumes of Snape's mental defenses. The Dark Lord, a master Legilimens himself, had every reason to question Snape's loyalty, yet he never uncovered the truth.
Professor Dumbledore, too, was a formidable Occlumens. If he had wanted to, he could have trained Harry properly. But despite some instruction in Harry's fifth year, the boy had never progressed far. Adrian understood why: even a well-executed Occlumency shield would likely be compromised by Harry's soul-link to Voldemort.
That link, forged the night Lily Potter died, was the unintended result of an ancient protective enchantment. Her sacrificial magic had rebounded Voldemort's Killing Curse, and in that moment, a fragment of the Dark Lord's shattered soul latched onto Harry's own. This made Harry an unintentional Horcrux—a living anchor for a sliver of Voldemort's soul. No Occlumency could truly sever that kind of deep magical connection.
Still, Adrian was not Harry. He had no such tether to the Dark Lord. If he wanted to protect the secrets of his system and the truth of his origin, he would need to master Occlumency—and fast. With that thought, he uncorked the potion and set it beside him, then bent once again over the book, determined to take the first steps toward securing his mind, his future, and his identity.