Chapter Five – Time-Skip, Birthday and School

Jonathan Grace turned five years old on a rainy Thursday in mid-November.

The living room was decked out with paper streamers, balloons (most of which had already begun to sag), and a somewhat lopsided chocolate cake made lovingly by Annabeth Grace, who still insisted on using her grandmother's recipe despite the batter nearly exploding in the oven.

Michael was fiddling with a camcorder the size of a small tank, muttering, "Blinkin' thing's eaten the tape again," while Annabeth lit the candles and gently stroked Jonathan's blonde hair.

"Ready to make a wish, love?" she said, beaming.

Jonathan smiled. A real, honest smile. He didn't need to fake it. His family was kind, stable, and wonderfully normal.

'Even if I'm not.'

He closed his eyes.

He didn't wish for toys or sweets.

He wished for clarity. For control. And for the strength to stay ahead of the story he now knew he was inside.

The candles flickered out.

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Post-Birthday Status Update

Age: 5

Operating System: Stabilized

Energy Reserves: Manageable

Magic Capabilities:

Levitation: Still his bread and butter. He could now hover a small book across the room.

Lumos: A soft orb of light bloomed at his fingertip, enough to read under the covers.

Reparo: Could mend snapped pencils, torn pages, and once… Michael's cracked mug (which mysteriously "fixed itself" when no one was looking).

Accio: Tricky, but worked within ten feet. Great for summoning socks he didn't want to walk across the room for.

All spells done in complete secret. No wands. No incantations aloud.

And absolutely no telling Mum and Dad.

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Mind Palace: v3.5

Three years of constant mental exercises had turned Jonathan's inner mind into something extraordinary.

Gone were the basic server racks. Now, his palace resembled a virtual computer interface, complete with:

A dashboard displaying current thought traffic.

A file system of categorized memories in neatly labeled folders.

A security suite that ran mock penetration tests daily.

His dreams now sometimes occurred *inside* his mind palace—navigating memory sectors like a digital ghost.

He even installed a program called "SnapeSnare", which dumped any suspicious mental probes into a false dream loop about singing vegetables and babies learning to spell.

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One Week Later – Primary School, Day One

Jonathan's excitement about starting primary school was somewhere between mild curiosity and deep existential panic.

His mother brushed his hair, straightened his shirt, and kissed his forehead. "You'll do just fine, darling. Be kind, mind your manners, and don't talk about things you've dreamed. Remember what we said."

"Yes, Mum," he said with his best innocent face.

'No floating chairs. No glowing fingers. And definitely no muttering Latin when the crayons snap.'

The schoolyard was a patchwork of noise: children yelling, parents chatting, scooters zipping by. Jonathan stood near the entrance, taking it all in.

And then he saw him.

Messy black hair. Round glasses. Slightly oversized hand-me-down jumper.

That scar.

Jonathan froze.

'No… bloody… way.'

A woman knelt beside the boy, fixing his collar. Jonathan recognized her too—frizzy hair, determined face.

Petunia Dursley.

'He's here. Harry Potter. He's in my class. We're the same age. Same school. Same flipping room of reality.'

Harry didn't notice him. He looked tired, unsure, like someone who didn't quite belong.

Jonathan's brain went into full CPU overload.

'Okay. Okay. Think. This is earlier than Hogwarts. He doesn't know who he is yet. He won't learn until Hagrid drags him into Diagon Alley.'

But still… he was here.

'I've got time. I've got options. And I've got a front-row seat to history.'

Jonathan adjusted his bag and followed the others into the classroom.

Whatever came next, he was ready.

Sort of.