Oliver Twist

"Sit wherever you like." Tom sat backward on a wooden chair, his chin resting on the backrest as he leaned forward, making it creak and scraping its legs against the floor with a teeth-grating sound. "Let's sit down and talk properly."

Nelson followed Christian into the room and casually shut the door behind him. With the clunk of the door closing, the room and the corridor seemed to become two separate worlds, completely cut off from everything outside. Only then did Christian seem like a little girl her own age, growing uneasy in such an enclosed space.

"I think sitting on the bed might be a little rude..." Seeing Tom in the room's only chair and Nelson leaning against the windowsill, Christian, who had no idea where to sit, gave an awkward smile. Like a shy guest visiting someone else's home for the first time, she seemed completely at a loss.

"Oh, sorry." Tom raised an eyebrow. "I'm used to it. You might not know this, but this used to be Nal's room."

"I wonder if I violated the International Statute of Secrecy just now." He turned his face toward Nelson again, looking utterly unconcerned.

"It's fine. There weren't any Muggles in the corridor, and this child is a Wizard too. I'll explain everything when I write to the Ministry of Magic." Nelson pulled the Wand he had just tucked into his pocket and pointed it at an old umbrella resting against the corner of the table. Like a plant in a sped-up nature documentary, it grew taller. Its ribs spread open beneath the black canopy, then folded downward, slowly transforming into a slender black stool. "Besides, we've violated it several times already. One matter or several, it all takes one piece of parchment, doesn't it?"

As she watched the chair steadily float toward her, Christian's face was full of astonishment and disbelief. She understood that she had always been somewhat different, but faced with this scene straight out of a fairy tale, she truly felt that she was no longer in the room she knew, but in an entirely new world.

"So making me fall asleep at the dinner table yesterday was magic?" All of Christian's earlier ferocity had vanished. She asked in a fearful yet eager voice, "Are you all Wizards? Are there many people like you? Can I become like you?"

"You should say 'us,' Christian Jewell." Tom looked somewhat impatient and a little disappointed. "You should be calmer. I thought you were a lot like me, but it seems I was mistaken."

Christian opened her mouth to say something more, then closed it again in embarrassment.

"Yes, we're all Wizards. There are tens of thousands of Wizards in the United Kingdom, and there's even a school of magic specifically for young Wizards. That's where we study." Nelson smiled. He found it interesting. Contrary to what Tom had said, he increasingly felt that Christian's awkward personality and stubborn expression looked exactly like Tom when he had first met him. Aside from their genders, the two seemed cast from the same mold—though perhaps that mold had been a little rough, leaving each product with slightly different details. "That's why we came, Christian. You're a Wizard."

"Really, Mr. Williams?" The girl, whose face was still streaked with tears, was like a little deer that had found berries in the woods. She unconsciously used an honorific, then turned her head toward Tom as if afraid of neglecting him and added, "Mr. Riddle."

Tom shot her a sidelong glance, then rested his chin on the chair back again and idly played with his Wand as though twirling a pen.

"It's true." Nelson nodded encouragingly. He almost wanted to stick on a beard; he was starting to feel rather Dumbledore-like. "I could tell you used magic in the alley that day. Have you always been able to do things like that?"

"Yes, Mr. Williams." Christian shifted uneasily on the chair Nelson had conjured, as though someone had set fire beneath her. Every so often, she secretly reached out to touch the seat cushion. "I've had this ability since I was little... no, magic. The first time was Thanksgiving when I was five... It was freezing at home that day, and then the fireplace suddenly lit up... We clearly had no firewood left. From that day on, I knew I was different from the other children."

"Hmm, conjuring fire? As far as I know, lighting fires is the first thing many young Wizards do." Nelson held a notebook that had appeared at some unknown point and a fountain pen that had probably appeared with it, taking meticulous notes like McGonagall. After finishing, he looked up and reminded her, "This chair is no different from a real one until the magic wears off, but you'd better not grab it, or your umbrella might end up with a hole in it... Just call me Nelson. Unless something unexpected happens, you'll be our junior before long... By the way, how old are you this year? Are you nearly eleven?"

"Sorry, Willi... Nelson, I don't know either." Christian drew her hands into her lap, her gaze dimming and draining the light from her black eyes. She lowered her head and thought for a while before speaking quietly. "I think I'll probably be eleven next year."

"Call me Riddle... no, Tom." Tom, who had seemed completely uninterested in the conversation, suddenly spoke from the side. Christian looked up and stole a glance at Tom, who was frowning at her, and the light seemed to return to her eyes. Tom raised the hand holding his spinning Wand. "What are you acting like that for? Most people here don't know when their birthdays are. Everyone treats the day they arrived at the orphanage as their birthday."

"Scourgify." He pointed his Wand at Christian's face and flicked his wrist twice to the right. The girl's grimy face was instantly cleaned as though she had just washed it. Even the loose strands hanging over her forehead and eyes were carefully brushed behind her ears. Tom turned his head toward Nelson and muttered, "I can't stand seeing pathetic people like this."

Christian only felt a light breeze brush over her face and had no idea what had happened. Looking at the Wand in Tom's hand and the back of his turned head, she reached up to touch her cheek. Her face was clean and smooth, her hair neat. She broke into a huge grin that reached her molars and called brightly toward the back of Tom's head, "Thank you, Tom!"

Tom appeared unmoved, but Nelson, leaning by the window, clearly saw the corner of his mouth curl into a smile. He was about to say something on behalf of the awkward Tom when Tom gave him a look that said, If you dare say anything you shouldn't, I'll haunt you even after I'm dead. At that, Nelson, who had maintained a "Dumbledore-like benevolent smile" all along, instantly lost it and burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. Seeing Nelson like that, Tom's face turned red with anger, wearing the expression of an embarrassed, indignant young bride.

"May I... see it?" Christian looked back and forth at the Wands in their hands. "Is that a magic staff? Do you use it to cast magic?"

"Uh..." Nelson straightened up, his face full of hesitation. In their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, old-fashioned Professor Merrythought had told them, "I suggest you write this on the first page of your notebooks: Always keep your Wand in your hand!" A Wizard without a Wand was like a cat without claws. To be honest, he was afraid Christian might suddenly fly into a frenzy and snap his Wand in half. "A Wizard's Wand..."

"Sorry." Seeing Nelson's expression and the back of Tom's head, Christian realized how presumptuous her request had been. She hurriedly apologized and lowered her head again. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know it was so important."

"Here." She looked up and found Tom's Wand before her—its elegant, mysterious yew body gleamed, and it was obvious that its owner cared deeply for it and polished it often. Tom pinched the middle of the Wand between two fingers and stretched out his arm to offer it to Christian. His head was turned to the side, and he still wore an expression that said he did not want to look at her directly.

"No, no! There's no need, I was only..." She lowered her head and waved both hands repeatedly, indicating that she no longer wanted to see it.

The snort Tom forced out through his nostrils interrupted her. She looked up again and saw Tom leaning over the chair back, facing her directly, his face full of impatient disdain as if asking why she was taking so long.

"Thank you." She looked straight into Tom's eyes and thanked him softly. Reaching out with both hands, she accepted Tom's Wand and placed it in her left palm. Just as she was about to grasp it with her right hand, she looked at her palm, hurriedly grabbed the hem of her clothes, and rubbed her hand against it again and again. Only after her palm had turned red did she slowly reach toward the Wand and gently stroke it.

After a while, Tom took back his Wand and examined it in his grip. Without wiping it again, he tucked it directly into his sleeve. Seeing this, Christian looked relieved, and her rigid posture finally relaxed.

"Can you tell us about yourself?" Nelson asked helplessly as Tom turned his face toward the window again.

"I... I don't really have much to say." Christian spoke haltingly and began telling her story.

Her story sounded like something out of Oliver Twist. That alone was miserable enough, but what was even more tragic was that such stories could be found everywhere on the streets of London and across the world. There were quite a few in this orphanage alone, some even more illogical than those in the novel. She was one of the orphans sent by the age—she did not know who her biological parents were and had been adopted by a con man when she was young. Though the man was always up to petty theft and shady schemes, he treated her unexpectedly well. Later, her adoptive father was caught swindling people on gang territory and beaten to death in the street. She waited alone in their crumbling shack for a week, hoping he would return. It was then that she discovered her magic. Later, starving with hunger, she was caught on the street and taken to a human traffickers' den. She was too old yet not old enough to find a buyer, so she could only survive by stealing things and handing them over.