Chapter Two
I stood with my forehead pressed against the window, watching the landscape fly by as the Hogwarts Express took me to the castle.
Either the ritual had not been performed correctly, or the Forces had intervened... But as a result, I found myself in the past — in my own body, with my own name — only seven years younger. I still don't understand how or why, and my ancestors couldn't help me in any way, as they were no longer alive.
To describe the adventures of a seven-year-old boy in Angia in the early 1930s... Dickens' Oliver Twist has nothing on me: his wand exploded, and wandless magic was almost impossible – his body was that of a child, and so was his power... However, everything was more or less fine with his power, and what's more, it had grown significantly. But I found out about that much later, when I ended up at Manor Road and was able to perform all the necessary rituals. Before that, only mentalism came to my rescue.
Look for other magicians? Thanks, I wouldn't have thought of that... But for some reason, I ended up in York, where there were no magical settlements — just a few isolated magicians' estates, whose addresses I didn't know. And besides, turning to someone else would mean becoming indebted, which I didn't want to do. And paranoia was always lurking... In theory, a normal magician wouldn't do anything to a small child, but there are magicians with a "modern" worldview. And the fact that I wasn't exactly a child, so Magic could consider helping me a serious debt and impose Vows on me.
So... there were almost six months of wandering, several escapes from orphanages... And believe me, it was better to be on the streets than under the roof of an orphanage. At least on the streets, there was less chance of dying. No one thought about "children's rights" at that time, and there was no juvenile justice system. Instead, there was meagre food in the orphanages, constant beatings, shabby clothes and shoes, no heating, humiliation, prayers "in gratitude" and the danger of ending up with... um... a torn ass.
The "bottom" turned out to be much kinder than the "upper" Muggle society — mentalistics won't let me lie. The slum dwellers could slap a child, but not out of malice — that's how they were raised themselves. But they fed them, let them sleep, and even offered to adopt them several times... I couldn't repay them with gold or anything material at the time, and later I didn't want to. But believe me, the blessing of the head of a pure-blood family means a lot. I wasn't interested in the details, but my benefactors had to have good luck. Not big luck, but... there, they didn't get hit by a car; here, they found a coin on the pavement... And also, indifference to tobacco and alcohol, improved health, and a more friendly attitude from those around them.
Magic guided me and led me to the ancestral Manor**" just in time, as a damp autumn was setting in. I remember it as if it were yesterday... well, actually, it was only a few years ago...
I found Manor in Devonshire by... I don't know how to describe it — a tremor in Space, a fluctuation in the Force, a feeling of warmth... Anyway, I found it and went in.
As it turned out later, this moment was witnessed by one of the local farmers, who possessed a small amount of the Force — not enough to be invited to one of the Schools, but slightly more than just a Squib. He saw it and remembered the legends about the sidhe living in the Hills... I then arranged a mutually beneficial contract with John for the supply of milk and sometimes vegetables — magic can grow the same tomatoes from seed to fruit in a few days, but you can't pull that trick with animals... In my case, it was easier to buy milk sometimes than to look after a cow or a goat, afraid to leave them unattended.
There was no point in saying that I wasn't a wizard — I looked the part and even had slightly pointed ears... and I lived in the Hills, according to John... The farmer was happy to have come into contact with the Secret, and he welcomed a little witchcraft. Really, what farmer would refuse to supply milk and other products in small quantities in exchange for the help of a qualified doctor and veterinarian?
The manor was relatively small — a patch of enchanted land measuring three hundred by five hundred yards, with a large two-storey stone house and numerous farm and ritual buildings nearby. There was a large, somewhat neglected garden, which I quickly tidied up. A pond occupied about a quarter of the manor's territory. The rest of the land was not left empty either, planted with valuable wild herbs and shrubs, which grew with crazy intensity due to the proximity of the magical source. And bees.
I spent over a year tidying up the manor, sorting out rituals that had gone "against the rules," trying to understand the changes in my own body, and solving the puzzle called "The House of House Tully." I found it with difficulty — my ancestors were even more paranoid than I am. The domain turned out to be in another Manor, located in Cornwall, which can ONLY be accessed from the Devon Manor... Confusing, yes... But reliable. It turns out to be triple protection, and "hacking" the estate in Cornwall is only possible, at least in theory, from the territory of the Manor in Devon. In short, this is not a task for an ordinary wizard, but only for Voldemort himself, leading all the Death Eaters — no less. Well... that's if we're talking about Albion. In Scandinavia, there would be more such craftsmen, and in Russia... But let's not dwell on the sad.
I "knocked" on the Door for about a year. I "got through" and... No, I won't go into details, I'll just say that, to my surprise, I received the status of Lord of Magic. I was genuinely surprised, although I kind of knew that the title of Lord of Magic implies either leadership over a very large and old pure-blooded family, or the possession of a Domain — the latter being no less important.
I didn't become a great wizard, but my abilities grew again — and significantly. Although I still don't have the abilities of a NORMAL adult wizard, even now, when I'm... um... studying, I can confidently say that I will stand shoulder to shoulder with the best representatives of such families as the Black, Prue, and Nott families.
In the years before I entered Hogwarts, I did not live as a recluse — I studied in general and new opportunities in particular, made acquaintances, and travelled around England and Europe. I made acquaintances mostly "superficial" so as not to raise unnecessary questions. Otherwise, how would I answer the simplest question, "Where are your parents, boy?" Show them my lord's ring? I'd rather not, since my family isn't one of the oldest and isn't particularly large, so it's quite possible to guess that I have a domain. And if I have a domain but no relatives, then... There are many possibilities, and all of them are sad.
And since my family is not among those who signed oppressive documents with the goblins after losing the war, being free from the influence of the Lord's toothy freaks means a lot. First and foremost, the goblins would undoubtedly decide to "bend" or destroy me if they knew all the facts.
In short, on the one hand, I am forced to fear every "puff" — and this is not paranoia! On the other hand, the Force is pushing me quite insistently to fight against the current order of things in Albion.
I have thought about becoming a recluse and abandoning everything to the whims of Fate, but... The Forces did not interfere with that ritual by accident, oh no... Enrolling in another School or not studying at all, which would be logical, and again the Force seems to whisper to me about Duty. Well, I really do have a duty, what can I say — for a new childhood, for the Domain, for... many things.
Then I had the idea of interfering in the upbringing of Tom, the future Dark Lord, and even made an attempt, after which I barely got away, lucky I didn't leave a mark of the Force. But I found out that the boy had been "herded" since early childhood and lived according to a script written by someone else... Although why "someone else"? The goblins and their minions had been playing their Game for more than a century.
So if anything can be done, it can only be at Hogwarts...
"Robert," my "newly minted" friend Frank Nott, whom we had met shortly before boarding the train, rushed out into the corridor, "we need a partner for poker, come on!"
The sorting went as usual — the Sorting Hat sang a rather complicated song full of allegories and references to literary works and historical facts. And as usual, few understood it. Then came the stool, the hat on our heads, and...
"Ravenclaw!
I walk to the faculty table, smiling the rehearsed smile of a mad scientist who has found his place. I shake hands with my nearest neighbours and sit down blissfully, spreading waves of happiness around me.
Who would have known how hard this performance was for me! Two weeks of rehearsals under the supervision of a hired theatre director (followed by intervention in Mental, but I paid him back honestly) and not only that — I also had to hold an Occlumens Shield, imitating its natural origin. But it was worth it — look at Aver Malfoy, Dean Ravenclaw and renowned runologist, wincing, and Dippet, Dumbledore and other teachers averting their eyes...
Actually, such behaviour is borderline defiant (breaking the law is one thing, but it still has to be proven, which is very problematic), but... it depends on who is trying to get into someone's head — and who they are trying to get into. Aver Malfoy is quite prominent and, on top of that, he is my dean: for him, trying to get into the head of a pure-blood but not noble (I'm not going to mention the title of Lord of Magic to anyone, and I have no desire to register in Grungoth) student of his own faculty — even if it's borderline indecent — is not crossing the line. Dippet is the headmaster of Hogwarts, and he is also quite old and powerful. Dumbledore is simply strong and arrogant, and he enjoys Dippet's serious patronage. The same goes for the other mentalists — they all believe they have the right...
I see whispering going on around the teachers' table, and... most of the teachers have decided to check Dippet's conclusions that I am a natural Occlumens. It's annoying — I can't even begin to describe how much. But it's convenient, because real natural Occlumens have no talent for Legilimency, and it's so important for me to show that...
Dippet's babbling speech was listened to only by enthusiastic first-year students trying to find some deeper meaning in it. But it didn't really mean much:
"You are now Hogwarts students... sweet children... learn to be kind... be tolerant of all peoples...
Oh no, I got carried away — there's more to it than that! The old codger neatly but skilfully inserts "code" phrases or words. Since there is no mental component in his speech, the magicians don't listen too closely — they say he's practically lost his mind. But in reality... What kind of "tolerate all peoples" can we talk about when the same goblins swore four centuries ago with the Blood of the Unborn to destroy ALL humans? And they keep such oaths...
The mages of Albion lost to the green-skinned ones after the treacherous capture of Hogwarts in the year 1600 and the taking of children hostage, after which they handed over their gold, artifacts, and Family Books to Grintotts... But such a statement clearly illustrates whose side Armando Dippet is on — it could have been phrased as "Respect for all friendly and neutral races" or "Respect for all races," because even though goblins are enemies of the Human Race, they are powerful enemies. And even the bastard centaurs have qualities that deserve respect, if only for their talent for prophecy. But tolerance? Towards goblins?
Food. Hmm, on normal porcelain, not on vulgar gold, as was/will be/will not be (?) under Dumbledore. I automatically check the food for potions and spells... none. The dishes... the alarm went off... I show it to the upperclassmen.
"Don't be afraid, first-year," says a guy without a House crest on his robe in broken Basque, "Dippet did it on purpose — so we can sleep peacefully, and other things like that.
I nod at my neighbours' laughter, pretending to be suspicious. Clever... the spells are really simple, no "double bottom". But at least they teach the students that there's nothing to be afraid of, trust us.
With non-verbal magic, I remove the spell from my plate and calmly serve myself some food. Damn... and at this time of year, everything at the festive feast is fatty, fried... and sweet! It's not that I don't like it, I'm just used to healthy food and don't think it's necessary to change my habits. I find something suitable — baked turnips, the same baked meat and... no, I don't want juice. I pour water into a cup using Aquamentia, and to the surprised and admiring glances of my neighbour, a first-year student, I say:
"No wonder they assigned me to Ravenclaw!
After the feast, they lead us through the towers, all the newbies are already sleepy — the shaking on the train, the excitement, and our age... A short solemn speech: "You have been assigned to the best faculty at Hogwarts — Ravenclaw — and therefore must live up to this high title." After that, we are taken to our dormitories — every student in the Ravenclaw faculty gets their own room.
As sleepy as everyone else, I close the door, then wash, brush my teeth, use the chamber pot, and go to bed... Where I fall asleep instantly. For the next few hours, I replay everything that happened at the festive banquet in my head: who was sitting or standing where, who was talking to whom, what they ate, who they applauded during the distribution and who they made faces at... I particularly note Tom Riddle and his interaction with those around him, the reaction of Dippet and others... suspicious faces towards Tom himself.
Moments like today, when feelings and emotions are laid bare both because of the solemnity of the occasion and because of the "help" of the Hogwarts staff, are very rare, so I gathered an extraordinary amount of information. So much so that even my trained mentalist mind managed to grasp everything, but I will conduct my analysis in the coming weeks.
Well, that's it, two hours left until I have to get up, I need to get some sleep...
With their asses torn apart*" English orphanages of that time, as well as much later, were not once or twice the subject of homo-paedophile scandals. And even in the twenty-first century, information about such things has surfaced more than once, and has been confirmed by documentation. But — cases are closed by direct order from above — the English (and European in general) elite has no intention of giving up their "fun." Well, if homosexuality flourishes in "elite" schools like Eton...
Manor**" an estate on Earth, not in its own world (that's a Domain), but hidden according to all the rules, standing at a point of Power, and so on.
Sid***" the prototype of "modern" elves in Celtic mythology. Outwardly, they looked like humans, except that they were usually (not always!) more attractive and eternally young. In most myths, their ears were only slightly pointed — such ears are found in humans. They knew and could do many things, but only a few sids possessed real "superpowers."
Yard****" an English unit of length equal to 0.914 m. Added just for atmosphere).
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