Gravity returned with a vengeance.
My body hit a mattress hard enough to send a cloud of dust choking into the air. I gasped, my lungs burning as they inflated for the first time in this new reality. My limbs felt heavy, uncoordinated.
I sat up, gripping sheets that felt brittle, like dried parchment.
The room was dark, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through a shattered window. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, the kind of oppressive stillness that settles in a tomb after the stone has been rolled shut.
I raised my hands. They were trembling.
Pale. Small. Weak.
I touched my face. High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Soft skin.
I wasn't me anymore. I was a child.
Ding.
A blue rectangle unfolded in my vision. It was clean, minimalist, and glowing with a soft neon hue.
[System Boot Sequence Initiated...]
[Server: OrionVerse_Node_HP91]
[Identity: Damon Peverell]
[System: Ledger_Lite_v0.5 Installed.]
A headache slammed into my skull like a freight train. I gripped the sides of my head, groaning.
It wasn't just pain; it was data. My own life was being overwritten by eleven years of memories that felt like ice water poured into my brain.
I remembered the silence of the dinner table. Two distant figures at the far end—my parents—eating without looking at me. They never asked about my day. They never hugged me.
I remembered the whispers in the library. They argued about "The Veil" and "The True Master." They threw gold into cauldrons, burned ancient scrolls, and sold off the family lands acre by acre.
I remembered the cold. Not just the temperature, but the emotional frost. I was the heir, but I was also an annoyance. A distraction from their Great Work.
And then, the explosion. Green light. Screams. And then... nothing. Just me, alone in a manor that was slowly falling apart. Hunger gnawing at my stomach.
The pain subsided, leaving a cold clarity behind. And hunger. My stomach growled loudly in the silence.
"Damon Peverell," I whispered. The name tasted like ash.
[Identity Confirmed]
Name: Damon Peverell
Age: 11
Blood Status: Pureblood (Ancient House)
Liquidity: 0 Galleons.
Assets: Peverell Manor (Ruined).
I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. The floorboards groaned under my weight. My knees felt wobbly. This body hadn't eaten a proper meal in days.
I walked to the window. Outside, the garden was a jungle of overgrown thorns. The iron gates of the estate were rusted shut.
"So," I muttered, leaning against the sill for support. "I'm a Lord of a graveyard."
I looked down at the bedside table.
There it was.
A black, leather-bound book. It looked innocuous, like a common diary, but I could feel the hum coming off it. It was the same frequency as the energy in the Orion Library.
I picked it up.
The Black Ledger.
I opened it. The first page was blank, save for a single line of text that rearranged itself as I watched.
[Main Quest: The Hostile Takeover]
[Target: Acquire the Deed to the Wizarding World.]
[Current Status: Bankrupt.]
"Ambitious," I scoffed, closing the book. "First step: Dinner."
I needed to take stock.
I walked through the hallways of the manor. It was a hollow shell. The portraits were empty frames—likely sold off by my parents to buy rare ingredients. The silver cutlery? Gone. The enchanted chandeliers? Stripped.
The Peverell family hadn't just gone broke; they had cannibalized themselves.
Irony. They sought mastery over death, and in the end, death took them and left the bills unpaid.
I stopped in front of a full-length mirror in the hallway.
The glass was cracked, but the frame was heavy, wrought from goblin silver and tarnished black with age.
I focused on it.
System. Appraise.
A small tag appeared over the object, like an augmented reality popup.
[Item: Peverell Vanity Mirror]
[Composition: Goblin Silver (12%), Enchanted Glass]
[Market Value: 15 Galleons (Antique)]
[Scrap Value: 7 Galleons]
My eyes narrowed.
15 Galleons. Enough for food. Enough for a train ticket.
In the Nether-Core novel, Ren Wu started with nothing but debt. I was starting with a mirror.
"I can work with this," I said.
I grabbed the heavy mirror. It was awkward, digging into my small hands. I grunted, my biceps straining as I lifted it off the wall. Dust rained down on my hair. It was heavier than it looked.
"Orion gave me a second chance," I whispered, shifting the weight until I found a grip. "And he gave me the ultimate tool."
I wasn't going to be a hero. Heroes died poor.
I wasn't going to be a villain. Villains got hunted.
I was going to be the Bank.
"System," I asked, panting slightly. "Today's date?"
[July 31st, 1991]
A slow smile spread across my face.
The day Harry Potter enters the world. The day the market opens.
I adjusted my dusty, moth-eaten robes and dragged the heavy mirror toward the front door.
I had a mirror to sell, a wand to buy, and a Chosen One to monetize.
The Game was on.