《Hogwarts: Through the Veil of Time》


 Veil of Time: Chapter 1

    How will the world be perceived by a soul freed from the flesh? What kind of signs will it have, will the soul see and hear in the usual sense? And does this soul even exist?


    Such questions sometimes popped up in my head, but I never specifically looked for an answer. However, man proposes and God disposes, as they say, and so I received the answers to these questions completely unexpectedly, and, as expected by the laws of the genre, at the most inopportune moment. The moment of my career success, personal growth and well-being. It''s a clever way of saying it, but it''s true - when everything is going well in life, fate can very well throw a dirty trick at you, and in the worst case, you die. And I died.


    Death is scary not only because of the unknown that awaits you, but also because of the process itself. A stupid coincidence, a few deep cuts, and here I am, dying absurdly, bleeding, and the sudden realization, adrenaline and increased heart rate only speed up the process. The slowly approaching darkness dissolves the resentment towards the circumstances. When even thoughts disappeared in this darkness and it seemed that there was nothing left around, as if something exploded.


    It''s difficult, extremely difficult to describe in words. It''s as if you''ve always been blind, deaf, unable to smell, and even tactile sensations were unavailable. You could call it sensory shock, but at the same time you''re still blind and deaf in the usual sense. It was as if there was some awareness of the space around you, but this space was strange and incomprehensible. There was no up, no down, no other directions, and the space itself was far from three-dimensional - something larger, all-encompassing.


    Fear paralyzed your consciousness - in this space you lose yourself. Not that you forget yourself and become someone else, no. You feel, you feel with every grain of consciousness how these very grains split off from you and fly away, mixing with the space around you. You know that you have lost something, but you no longer know what exactly. As if you are looking at a body slowly crumbling to dust, you know that it is crumbling, you know that you have just lost something, but for a brief moment - and this deprivation seems normal to you, or rather - as if it had been like that. At the same time, you understand that this is wrong, and the remnants of logic hint that sooner or later there will be nothing left.


    I don''t know how long I was here, but at some imperceptible moment the fear for myself turned into certainty - something needs to change. Gathering the rest of my will into a fist, I concentrated and began trying to hold on to the pieces of myself, not letting them fly apart. It didn''t work right away, and by that moment I had lost quite a lot. Probably a lot, it''s hard to judge the severity of a loss whose value you no longer know.


    Having once made sure that the particles were no longer flying away from me, I decided to try to get back what I had lost, although I didn''t know what exactly I had lost. I simply tried to attract at least something to myself and secure this "something". However, contrary to my expectations, the attracted particles either didn''t want to cling, or they did cling, but then immediately broke away again, taking with them particles of me. This situation touched some strings of the soul, and, intending to sort out this bad world, neglecting my own safety, I took up with new strength the attempts to absorb "something" from the surrounding space.


    There is no pain or fatigue here. It is hard for me to judge the success of my attempts, although over time the various attracted particles stopped flying away from me and held on quite reliably. However, another question has arisen - how many of them are needed for integrity? And the integrity of whom? Seriously! Who is "I"? Were my particles attracted? Each particle carries a grain of information - an association, a tiny memory, a once-thought-out opinion or idea, a thought, and so on. They are all so different, and logic suggests that they most likely contradict each other. Some feeling of incorrectness does not allow me to correlate the associative series of consciousness of a knight in iron armor who lived in a small fortress, a genetic engineer assigned to a certain "second fleet" of the Aerospace Forces, or, for example, some mongrel dog. There were countless such fragments, and all different, incomplete scraps, but I carefully collected them.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "Who am I?" is an obvious question, but the meaning and importance of the answer were somewhere far, far away, the main thing was to collect particles so as not to dissipate, to be as complete as possible. It seemed to me that even then, having just appeared here, I was not whole.


    One day, something changed. With a tiny part of my consciousness, I saw life. As if I were alive again, small, lying in a crib with a wooden fence, if only I knew what this construction was called. People were fussing around, doing something, looking at me with strange looks. I felt all this in snatches, in pieces, on the edge of my consciousness. Yes, on the edge of my consciousness, but it was life. An ordered linear chronology, and it was all happening right now - I could not look further, as with fragments. But why then is "I" still here, in this inhospitable world, which first of all tried to destroy, to dissolve me in itself? I am not collected yet. Not all the fragments. What has been collected is not ordered. Is that the reason? It needs to be collected¡­


    ***


    There was a festive atmosphere in a rather affluent house in Crawley, a town south of London. The Grangers were celebrating the eleventh birthday of their second child, Hector. Their first child had been Hermione, and in July of the following year a boy, Hector, had arrived. And all would have been well, if not for his strange mental deviations.


    Hector had shown an absurd minimum of any activity since birth. As a baby, he never cried. Never. Even when he had soiled his diapers or was hungry, he could remain silent and be in some kind of detached state, as if he were not there at all. It was necessary to devote a lot of time to him. Sometimes Hector seemed to return to this mortal world with one glance, showing some activity and independence. But this was rare and short-lived. It was very difficult for Emma and Robert.


    Later, when Hermione was already learning to walk, babbling incoherently in her baby dialect, Hector, who should have at least learned to crawl, remained completely detached from what was happening, still occasionally "returning" and taking a slightly more active part in his development.


    At three years old, the boy suddenly up and went. Without preparation, without anything. And the purpose of his trip was to change his location - from one corner of the nursery to another, where there was more sun.


    It was pretty much the same with absolutely everything that children usually learn. Hector would just start doing something, keeping a completely indifferent face, staring somewhere into space with empty eyes. It scared Emma and Robert. It scared little Hermione. It scared the nanny that had to be hired, because sometimes you have to work.


    Over time, Hector acquired some independence. Still detached from the world and the people around him, he was busy with his own incomprehensible affairs, contemplation, comprehension, or something else. At least, that''s what everyone in the house thought when the boy stared at the wall for a couple of hours. Someone might have thought: "Didn''t they go to the doctors?" They did, and very often. But no one could really say anything. However, the encephalogram, together with other diagnostic procedures, showed extremely high simultaneous activity in all parts of the brain. They made assumptions, theories, etc., but no one could draw any conclusions.


    For example, Hector could, if he was in the mood and had a pencil and paper at hand, create a photographic-quality drawing in a couple of minutes. But a drawing of what? That was another question. Some kind of transcendental, inconceivable human objects and forms, in which a logic completely incomprehensible to understanding could be traced. And this was in everything. Once, Hector filled three notebooks with tiny formulas, but even Robert''s friend, a professor of mathematics, broke his brain trying to comprehend what he had written and went to the hospital for a month.

 CHAPTER 2

    On the other hand, Hector was quite independent, unlike children with autism and other disabilities. Yes, he could not perform complex sets of actions, as he quickly withdrew into himself, but he carried out immediate needs and operations as if he acted on reflexes alone according to a long-established scheme. And, as always, he looked into the distance, forcing everyone to worry about him very much. Worry, yes, but for an unaccustomed person, this is a terrible picture.


    Hermione, like her parents, also suffered with Hector. From the age of seven, when she finally understood that Hector would perish without outside help, the girl began to actively help her parents in everything so that they could pay more attention to her brother - she herself really did not want to. She helped around the house, did her homework on her own, looking for information and ways to solve her childish, but important problems. Deep in her soul, she, albeit a little, disliked Hector - he is the source of a simply phenomenal number of problems and worries! And because of this, her parents almost never devote time to the girl. Even if in reality this is not so, but children see everything in a completely different light.


    And Hermione also had a big secret. She could do incredible things, albeit mostly by accident, uncontrollably. The girl hid her gift for various telekinesis and the like from her parents, because they had enough trouble as it was.


    And now, on the fourth of July, ninety-one, no one expected anything unusual. Another modest holiday, quiet and calm. Hector will eat cake with everyone else, receive gifts in the form of drawing kits, because he simply does not have enough time for anything more complicated due to his "glimmers of consciousness". In general, he will receive gifts and go home, and the rest of the family will catch their breath and congratulate each other on another difficult year. Hermione will definitely talk about her successes at school and modestly look down at the question about friends - no friends, no time for them.


    Everything was going on like this, and Hermione was modestly staring at her knees, sitting at the table - the very question was voiced. But then came the unexpected and not at all musical sound of the doorbell.


    "I''ll open it," Robert, a medium-height, fair-haired man, the father of the family, stood up from the table and headed for the door.


    Emma, ??a beautiful brunette with short hair, put her cup of tea aside, listening to the conversation at the door. Hermione did the same. The girl took after her mother in her face, but her hair was a mixture of both parents, a curly, wilful, unruly mass of various shades of blond, from dark to very light.


    A couple of minutes later, Robert returned to the living room to the set table, and behind him walked a tall, stately lady in an emerald, closed, floor-length dress and a black robe. Her age was indefinite, but not young - light, rare wrinkles and gray hair gave her away as a lady much older than Emma, ??although if you didn''t look closely, you wouldn''t give her more than forty.


    The lady introduced herself as Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall. With a deft movement of her wand, she convinced those present of the existence of magic, which pleased Hermione and surprised her parents. In short, she came to deliver two invitations to study at Hogwarts. To Hermione and Hector.


    "Professor," Robert''s face literally darkened. "There may be some problems with Hector."


    - What is it? - the professor was surprised, sitting at the table with everyone else and sipping the offered tea. - Where is the young man, by the way?If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "He''s in," Emma answered.


    Everyone got up from the table and headed up to the second floor. They stopped right in front of the door, and Emma spoke again:


    ¡ª Are you familiar with a disease such as autism?


    "I have an idea," McGonagall nodded, turning her stern gaze to Emma and Robert.


    "A very similar situation, but not this," Robert nodded, and Emma opened the door and they all stepped inside.


    A simple room in light colors. An ordinary bed, as always, neatly made. Chalk and plastic boards on the walls are covered with completely incomprehensible symbols, signs and diagrams, rarely interspersed with familiar numbers. From the far corner to the window stretched a wardrobe, obviously for clothes, and next to it was a low table, at which you need to sit on the floor - Hector sits on chairs only when necessary, for example, in the kitchen. Leaning his back against the wardrobe, a black-haired boy sat on the floor, the empty gaze of his blue eyes directed somewhere into the distance. McGonagall was even slightly surprised at how cute the child''s face was. True, this face did not express any emotions and did not bear any traces characteristic of people with mental disorders - just a mask without emotions. And this caused subconscious anxiety and fear.


    "Let me clarify," the professor said after a minute''s pause. "Does Hector sometimes become more adequate?"


    - Rarely and not particularly noticeable.


    ¡ª Has he been like this since birth or after some incident?


    ¡ª Since birth. We conducted all conceivable and inconceivable analyses, visited various specialists, but the only thing we managed to find out was abnormally high brain activity.


    McGonagall pursed her lips and adjusted her glasses with her finger.


    ¡ª I would advise calling a healer from St. Mungo''s.


    Seeing the puzzled looks of the adults and the girl, McGonagall explained:


    "St. Mungo''s is a magical medical facility. Perhaps our healers can help, or at least determine a course of treatment."


    Of those present, only Robert noticed the shadow of sadness on the professor''s face. The professor had obviously encountered something similar, but it was not worth getting involved in this matter.


    Having received consent to call a medic and realizing that the Grangers themselves would not be able to handle this issue, McGonagall conjured a ghost cat, whispered something to it, and it galloped away, dissolving into thin air. As the professor said, she thus called her familiar healer, and a couple of minutes later the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood an elderly and slightly plump man with light gray hair in his dark short hair. He was dressed in an ordinary dark robe and introduced himself as healer Smethwick.


    For about half an hour the healer circled around the still motionless Hector, waving his wand, muttering something, and curiosity and enthusiasm were clearly visible on his face. Robert indignantly clenched his fists, but Emma patted him on the shoulder.


    - Now you understand how the parents of that boy felt, around whom you hung around during the examination and kept saying: "What an interesting case!"


    A few minutes later, Healer Smethwick put away his wand and approached the watching adults.


    "What did you find out?" asked the professor.


    "It''s strange and unusual, but not critical," the healer answered with a slight smile. "The boy has become more adequate over the years, hasn''t he? I see that''s true. And no oddities, magical manifestations, or anything like that have been noticed in him?"


    - And for Hermione too.


    Of course, Hermione''s mother couldn''t help but notice some oddities that could easily be attributed to superpowers. That''s why McGonagall''s appearance wasn''t perceived so acutely. But Emma, ??like Robert, was now wondering if their little girl would get out of it, and if so, how?


    Smethwick glanced at Hermione, who was blushing in embarrassment, and grinned.


    "Is there something we don''t know?" Emma asked with a smile, but that smile hinted at a mandatory educational conversation.


    ¡ª It''s not that you don''t know¡­


    "That''s not the point," the healer interrupted the moment and looked at the boy''s parents again. "He is physically healthy, although a little thin, but I think it''s because he doesn''t get much exercise. The problem is that his brain and magic are completely occupied with a much more important task. It''s as if he is restoring the integrity of his soul."


    "Soul integrity?" McGonagall literally took the question right out of Hector''s parents'' mouths.


    _____


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    Creation is hard, cheer me up!

 CHAPTER 3

    - Yes. You know, Minerva, we have been observing the Longbottoms for ten years now and trying to cure them. We have learned a lot, made great progress, it is a pity that so far it has been useless. One of the theories of our colleagues was that such severe dementia was caused by damage and disintegration of the soul, and the body''s resources and magic, even with external support, are simply not enough to stop the process and restore it. In their case, the theory was not confirmed, but here it is.


    "Wait, but does a soul exist? Can it be destroyed?" Hermione asked, catching a pause in the conversation. Catching her parents'' gaze, she blushed slightly and lowered her head. "Sorry..."


    ¡ª Nothing, nothing. A good question. The properties of the soul are still being debated, and there are many theories. Some believe that it is like some kind of endless pudding ¡ª cut and divide as much as you want. Others believe that it is like an onion ¡ª many layers, and deep inside is an indivisible core. There are many theories, but the problem is that each of them has confirmation, but some are mutually exclusive, hence the impossibility of coming to a consensus. But in general, yes, the soul exists, it can be divided... The only thing that is common to all theories is the connection between the soul, body and mind, the mental triad. Pull one ¡ª the other two change. So in Hector''s case, all the resources of this triad are aimed at restoring the soul. However, he is very much lacking something.


    A dramatic pause during which everyone eagerly awaited the continuation.


    - Hector lacks magic. Magic as energy is a product of the interaction of the mental triad. Without one of these, there will be no magic. Given the state of the boy''s soul, his magic is weak.


    ¡ª It was enough to get her on the Hogwarts list. No outliers.


    - So, the boy has a very strong mind, as well as a body, which partly compensates for the damage to the soul. The situation can be compared to building a sand castle. There are hands, there is desire, there is sand. But you can''t build a castle from dry and unstable sand - you need water. So magic acts as water. It is not enough for him, that is why the process dragged on so long.


    "How is all this even possible?" Robert rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. Emma had long since been thoughtfully leaning against the wall, and Hermione was listening attentively, memorizing new and unprecedented knowledge.


    ¡ª Are you familiar with the phenomenon of stillbirth?


    Receiving nods of confirmation, Smethwick continued:


    ¡ª In addition to pathologies in fetal development, in extremely rare cases the soul may be the cause. It may be rejected by the body, it may decompose and leave it, there are many options, although cases are isolated in centuries of history. It so happened that something similar happened to Hector, but something stopped the decay, and now he is recovering.


    - So what should we do?


    ¡ª Place the boy in a more intense magical environment, give him a course of strengthening and stimulating potions. But even in the current situation, Hector will cope on his own by the age of fifteen, maybe a little later. He has passed the critical stage. With our help, he can easily recover within a year. Plus or minus.


    "And where can I get this magical background?" Emma asked, tearing herself away from the wall.


    "Minerva," Smethwick looked at the professor. "Talk to Albus."


    ¡ª Do you want to place the boy in the Hogwarts hospital wing?


    - Yes. At Mungo''s, you''ll have to create an artificial background, and that costs a lot of money. And Poppy will provide even better care than ours. She only has a few patients, and we have a whole hospital. The potions you need are the simplest, anyone can brew them, and the ingredients cost a couple of sickles.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    That was all that was decided. Professor McGonagall spent about half an hour telling the parents of the two young wizards various nuances of life in the magical world, talking about the peculiarities of studying at Hogwarts, about the subjects, among which were general education ones. Only after the professor answered the questions that have been asked for many years by the parents of Muggle-born wizards, as if by carbon copy, did she accompany Hermione to the school for shopping. Smethwick had long since left for the hospital and was discussing the diagnostic data he had received with his colleagues in order to be two hundred percent sure of the correctness of the diagnosis and treatment method, and Hector, for no apparent reason, scribbled another chaotic pile of symbols and multidimensional structures on a couple of sheets of paper.


    The following evening, a tall, grey-bearded old man in a purple robe with many runes and symbols came to the Grangers'' house for a short visit. He introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. The purpose of his visit was simple - to transport Hector to the castle itself. Hogwarts rules usually do not allow anyone not related to the staff to remain in the castle during the summer holidays, but cases of medical assistance were always an exception.


    Transporting Hector was quite simple. The adults wisely decided that the traditional method by train, fireplace or other methods could be detrimental and quite problematic. Therefore, Albus Dumbledore decided to use his phoenix, Fawkes. He is able to apparate with people so gently that it does not affect the wizard or cause discomfort. It is completely safe and Hector can be transported directly to the hospital wing. Some personal items, such as clothes, albums, notebooks and a mobile writing board, will be transported separately.


    ***


    Time passed inexorably. The first of September arrived, new students arrived at Hogwarts, and the entire castle was buzzing with the arrival of Harry Potter in Gryffindor. The first classes, the first impressions of practical magic, the first successes and failures. On Halloween, a troll got into the castle, but deaths were avoided - Potter and the younger Weasley, in a fit of heroism, saved Hermione from the terrible monster, everyone is happy, except for the Dean of Slytherin.


    Christmas, holidays, school again, Easter holidays, and now it''s time for exams, and in the dungeon under one of the rooms of the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor, a heroic drama unfolded, a fateful meeting between Potter and the spirit of Voldemort, who had captured the body of the stupid and power-hungry Professor Quirrell.


    All this time, in a separate room of the Hogwarts hospital wing, there was one young man with an empty look in his blue eyes. He came out of this contemplative state much more often than at home. No one in the castle, except for the headmaster and the mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey, knew that once a month the hospital wing was visited through the fireplace by Hector Granger''s parents and the healer Smethwick. It would seem that it was worth expecting the boy''s sister, but she was too carried away by new friends, studies and adventures, forgetting about her brother. Hermione herself carefully hid from herself the fact that she was glad not to have to look after and monitor Hector.


    The children left the castle for the summer holidays, and the only minor in Hogwarts was Hector Granger, who regularly took potions made by a rather famous potion master both in England and on the continent, Severus Snape. The boy himself was not taken away on the insistent advice of the healers - they were afraid of regression, and therefore the Grangers regularly visited him.


    However, they did not come in August, nor in September, at the beginning of the new school year, nor in October. First, they went on a long holiday to France with Hermione, then visited several resorts, saw various sights. Like the girl herself, the family experienced mixed feelings. On the one hand, they were glad to not have such a heavy burden as Hector. On the other, they were oppressed by a feeling of betrayal. But you quickly get used to good things, and at Hogwarts the boy was under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey, a very competent healer.


    It was Christmas again, but this time there were even fewer students left in the castle for the holidays - everyone was afraid of the unknown Heir of Slytherin, and one petrified student and the caretaker''s cat had already taken up residence in the hospital wing.


    Time passed, the attacks became more frequent, panic was gaining momentum. Now Hermione was in the hospital wing, and even one of the Hogwarts ghosts. But a thorough examination and diagnosis of the patients showed that their lives were not in danger. Of course, for many it was strange that Dumbledore, as the headmaster of the school, did nothing, as if he knew something, and if he did not know, then he guessed.


    ___


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    Creation is hard, cheer me up!

 CHAPTER 4

    Right before the exams, something terrible happened - the Heir of Slytherin kidnapped a first-year Gryffindor girl, and the brave Harry Potter and Ron Weasley set off on a rescue operation. True, they had to drag along one of the most negligent Defense and the Arts teachers in the history of Hogwarts, and in Slytherin''s Chamber of Secrets itself, the unsightly truth about him, about the famous writer, Gilderoy Lockhart, came to light. It turned out that the feats in his books were not performed by him at all, but by other wizards, from whom he learned details and erased their memories.


    That same evening, Harry Potter, Ron, and Ginny Weasley found themselves in the hospital wing. Although they were battered, and the national hero had suffered a near fatal blow, they looked pleased. However, none of them, nor anyone in the castle, not even Albus Dumbledore himself, knew that the phoenix Fawkes, when helping to blind the giant basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, had not pecked out the monster''s eyes, but torn them out and brought them to Hector Granger. Why? Why? No one except the phoenix itself, who secretly visited the strange boy every week and always looked at him with curiosity, knew the answer to this question. Hector, still unconscious, squeezed the basilisk''s eyes that Fawkes had gotten, and they dissolved into a cloudy liquid in the boy''s hands, immediately being absorbed into his skin.


    After the exams, when the happy students went home, Hector woke up in a separate room in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. But his gaze was no longer empty. Meaningful, alive and... dissatisfied.


    ***


    I woke up suddenly. Strange and forgotten sensations from the senses, from every nerve. Heaviness, as if you had been hanging in the water for a week and were suddenly thrown onto the shore - nailed tightly to the surface. But this was a semblance of sensory shock only for consciousness, not for the organs and brain, and therefore I recovered extremely quickly. Immediately I felt the lack of the familiar sensations of that strange space with particles of "everything". Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, I quickly decided to remember the dream. Yes, the life of this body seemed to me exactly like a dream. Vague, blurry, strange, a dream that retained a few details.


    Helpless, forever "absent" from the body, unable to go to the toilet for a long time without outside help - that''s how I was. But even in such a vegetative state, those short periods of clear consciousness allowed the body to learn everything necessary to interact with the outside world and take care of itself. Well, my current relatives have suffered, I must say!


    With great difficulty and a cramp in the muscles that shouldn''t be there, I tore my head off the pillow and looked at myself. A simple light pajama suit, a humanoid, a man. A whole fountain of diverse and contradictory emotions immediately poured out in my head. The fragments of the elf''s memory were indignant at their current belonging to the lower classes, the fragments of the dwarf - at the weakness and puniness of a puny little body. The memory of those accustomed to darkness complained about the light, and so on. The fragments of numerous animals emitted a desire to eat already, after all! The fragments of intelligent beings from developed worlds cursed the backwardness of everything around them, and the fragments of several magicians of different races and directions complained about the unfamiliarity of the energies around them. Hell, there was even discontent from the fragments of the opposite gender! And only the largest fragment, one might say the core around which the others lined up, was simply glad to breathe in the characteristic hospital smell mixed with something strange, to see daylight, to feel the body and simply live. It''s a pity that I had lost so much and that my past life was full of holes, and the other fragments were not able to patch up these holes. No, there were many of them, very many, enough for hundreds of such holes, but they were different.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Each fragment now felt like a part of me, as if it had once been Me. Having immediately thought this thought through, I came to a logical conclusion - perhaps that was how it was. Something like reincarnation. Each life ended with death and entering that strange space where you literally lose everything. Perhaps after that you go to a new life, clean, without experience and memory, and then everything starts all over again. By some coincidence, I was able to absorb either someone else''s, or return my own, lost over many lives. It''s a pity that it did not return completely.


    Having looked around the space, I noticed a small wardrobe with clothes next to the bed, a chalkboard covered with many symbols, a table with stacks of papers, a chair. The room was small and looked more like a quarantine isolator - the walls were clearly not load-bearing.


    I tried to move my limbs. My mind quickly regained its skills. A couple of minutes, and I calmly got out of bed and changed into my regular clothes - they were folded in a pile on the bedside table. Sweatpants, a T-shirt, socks, sneakers without laces, with elastic bands. To avoid untied laces in my previous state?


    The series of simultaneous contradictory sensations from different fragments of the soul caused a headache, from which I sat back on the couch, starting to massage my temples. Something needs to be done about this.


    Memory... You shouldn''t perceive it as a set of pictures or something like that. It''s a much more complex, comprehensive system of associations and responses to this or that external or internal stimulus. And these reactions, they are incredibly contradictory and concern everything - from the body to the environment and smells. They bring out associative chains that generate images and thoughts that only cause irritation with the situation. Rejection of everything at all and at the same time! This problem needs to be solved, and solved immediately.


    Using an elven meditation technique, I fell into the void in a split second. As soon as I wished, a massive multi-colored cloud appeared before my eyes. The problem was found immediately - the overlapping of fragments'' memories. There were a huge number of such overlaps, and the reason for them was the lack of time marks. Simply put, each fragment was relevant right now, causing not only a mess in the mind, but also an overload of the brain due to the maximization of the load on neural connections.


    Experience with mental techniques from fragments that belonged to wizards in some fantasy worlds suggested to me a method for creating an autonomous mental block to solve my problem. It was not easy to get to the bottom of the necessary methods, because the necessary images were sometimes simply absent due to the inferiority of the fragments, but I seemed to have managed it. The mental block itself will set marks according to the following principle: from a simple organism to a complex one, from less mentally developed to more. The last life as an ordinary person will be taken as the basis of the personality. Yes, a lot is lost there, but even so it is the most integral, and simply the last. Everything else will be an ordinary memory, like a firmly remembered dream.


    Opening my eyes, I saw the following picture. Not far from my bed, on a chair sat a suspicious gray-bearded old man in a purple robe, presenting a composite image of fairy-tale wizards. Next to him stood a lady over fifty in the uniform of some kind of sister of mercy. Familiar... Something familiar, but I can''t quite get this information out. Although, associations quickly began to lead me along the nooks and crannies of images from the memory of fragments, filling in the gaps from other images. What a stupid mess in my head - I can hardly even think!


    My last name also seems familiar to me... No, of course I know it, because it is mine. But it is as if I should know something from past lives, but it has disappeared. Like links to empty pages on the Internet.


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 CHAPTER 5

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    These two people looked at me attentively, but were in no hurry to do anything.


    - It seems, Poppy, that the boy has finally come to his senses.


    ¡ª I agree, Albus showed A meaningful look. Studying. Do you understand us, young man?


    "I doubt it, Poppy," Albus shook his head in annoyance. "After all, he was a bit¡­ from birth."


    "I understand," I croaked strangely, horrified by how reluctantly and awkwardly my lips and tongue moved. "As if I was sleeping. Seeing a dream¡­"


    I had to speak step by step, in short phrases, but even so, I felt that each sound I made improved my speaking abilities. These elven techniques are useful for accelerated learning and restoring mental activity. Adaptation of skills to the body is incredibly fast! Or maybe the reason is different.


    ... the most contradictory fragment of a thousand years of life. But it is as riddled and empty as it is huge. Inadvertently delving into the unwinding of associations through imagination, bodily sensations and the presentation of images, I was able to catch several sensations stretching through this fragment along its entire length. The sensation of a bow handle in one hand, and an arrow between the fingers in the other. I felt the tension of the bowstring as if in reality, but I could not even approximately remember the shape of the bow, for example, or the face. They were not there. Nothing led to them. I can recreate the sensations from indirect data from other fragments, but this will be precisely a recreation. Although, this is precisely the basis of memory - impulses from neuron to neuron cause their excitation and response impulses to other neurons, causing a simulation of the stimulus and a response. This is, of course, far from the entire mechanism, but this is the basis of organic memory, and it seems that the fragments of memory provoked the corresponding development of the central nervous system...


    "The dream turned out to be life," I continued, returning from my thoughts to reality. "I remember a lot. It takes practice¡­"


    "That''s great news!" the grey-bearded old man smiled happily, flashing his half-glasses. "To tell you the truth, we were impatiently waiting for you to wake up."


    "Curb your ardor, Albus," the woman next to him looked reproachfully at the old man. "Your verbal lacework is inappropriate now. Speak more simply."


    - You''re right, Poppy. Habit. Do you know who you are? - the old man turned to me.


    - A man, already thirteen years old, a wizard, Hector Granger.


    - Family?


    ¡ª Parents, Emma and Robert Granger. Sister, Hermione Granger. Parents are dentists. Sister is about to finish her second year at Hogwarts.


    Looking around the room, he added:


    - This school. Strange. It seemed like a dream. Real, but a dream. It turns out, not a dream.


    ¡ª May I check your well-being?


    - Yes.


    - Poppy?


    The woman didn''t need any further reminders - she took out her wand and, coming up to me, began waving it in the air. Curiosity flared up in me, but the human eye is not adapted to detecting radiation in the magical range, so I didn''t see any specifics. In the normal visual spectrum, I could see small waves of slight distortion of space coming from the woman''s wand to me. After ten seconds of silent manipulations, the woman walked back to the old man, who was sitting and smiling.


    - Everything is fine, Albus, except that the brain activity has dropped just a little and is still abnormally high. Lack of mass, thinness and some complex underdevelopment of muscles. With this exception, everything is in perfect condition.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    - Excellent news. I believed that everything would work out, and in your qualifications, as well as Smethwick''s. All that''s left is to observe for a couple of days, consolidate the result, and if there are no relapses or regression, then Mr. Granger can be discharged.


    This was said more clearly to me, because from the eyes of the woman named Poppy it was clear that she herself had come to the same conclusions.


    "Can you introduce yourself?" I asked, looking at them.


    - Ah, yes! Old age is no joy. I forgot, - the old man smiled. - Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


    - Poppy Pomfrey, mediwitch, I work in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. You, by the way, are in this very wing.


    - I see. Thank you. Hector Granger. You know. Do they feed here?


    Albus chuckled, wished me only the best, and left my room. Mediwitch Pomfrey promised a hearty dinner in a few seconds, asked me to wait here, and left too. Dinner did indeed appear. Suddenly and on its own, taking up an empty space on the table. Salads, meat dishes, side dishes, tea, juice, buns. Quite interesting, because each dish requires its own approach to using cutlery, and not just raking with a spoon. A test of skills? Perhaps, but I myself am not against it.


    After this visit, time flew by rather quickly. Madam Pomfrey visited me very often, checked something, cast spells, brought potions and talked about abstract topics. More precisely, she asked questions, stimulating my desire to talk. Mostly about everyday things. On the one hand, this allowed her to find out the degree of my awareness of everyday life and the realities around me, and on the other, it was conversational practice. Although, already on the third day I could speak calmly, the muscles and ligaments of the speech apparatus did not get tired from the unusual load, and the speech became smooth and literate, without distortions of sounds and other garbage.


    Physical activity in the form of simple movement in space or simply the correct use of cutlery, books, notebooks, pencils, all this was relatively normal, but complex motor skills or some atypical movements can be forgotten for now - the body in this regard is really not developed and will have to work on it for a long time. Although I am flexible.


    The tuned mental block finished its work on the first day and now I was not torn apart by simultaneously appearing contradictory emotions. But this does not mean that the fragments have stopped influencing me at all, no. They are the "I" and this "I" really does not like... A lot. If in order, then because of the memory of the fragments, I am simply not satisfied with any of the sides of the situation. A dwarf should be a strong warrior, a skilled blacksmith, a cunning businessman. From an early age. Strong and hardy. If this is not so, then it is better to immediately go to the deep paths on a last campaign and not disgrace the clan with existence. As an elf, I must be skilled in the arts, flexible and dexterous, a deadly melee and ranged fighter, have a bunch of other skills and abilities. If this is not so, then it is worth thinking about the meaning of immortal life, and whether to fertilize the mallorns with myself. And there are a whole wagon and a small cart of such "ifs". And only the human basis hints, like: "Mediocrity at thirteen? That''ll do!"


    All week I tried to figure out how to live on. Judging by the memories of this body, I will have to build relationships with relatives, study at this Hogwarts, whatever it is, grow up, and so on. Horrible. Just horrible.


    After a week of supervision, old Dumbledore came to me and together we went to my parents. The fireplace. An amazing transport system that works on the principles of puncturing space! And no, I did not understand the basis of this system, but from some associations in the memory fragments, I was able to understand at least what it was. Still, I do not understand how to treat the memory of the fragments. They feel as if I took part in some live film, a kind of "full immersion" - after ordering, much does not find an emotional response and is more like information. Information that should be properly studied.


    We moved through the fireplace into a very unpresentable drinking store, decorated like an old tavern. The few visitors looked unkempt and even resembled homeless people, although it was the end of the twentieth century, and these people, as I understand it, must be wizards. It is a terrible shame for a wizard to be such a homeless person.


    "The Leaky Cauldron," the Headmaster explained as we walked toward the exit of the hall. Many nodded and smiled at the Headmaster, by the way. "One of the few entrances to London''s main magical street, Diagon Alley. I''m sure Professor McGonagall will tell you more about it when you go shopping. Or would you prefer to go with your sister?"


    - Don''t know.


    - Perhaps it will be even better this way, although, as far as I know, she was planning to spend the rest of the holidays with friends.


    - Then I won''t distract her.


    Coming out of the Leaky Cauldron, we found ourselves on a completely ordinary and period-appropriate London street. People in ordinary everyday clothes were scurrying back and forth, cars were driving, man-made noise hit our ears, and our sense of smell sounded the alarm ¨C the atmosphere of the metropolis can easily cause sensory shock if you are not used to it.


    "And here are your parents," the director smiled and nodded towards the car parked nearby. An old Land Rover. Old even today.


    ----------------------------------


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 Chapter 6

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    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The director moved his hand slightly in the air, and I felt a slight energy fluctuation. The man and woman standing by the car, whom I vaguely remember, immediately turned their attention to the two of us.


    "Headmaster Dumbledore?" the woman turned to the old man and turned her gaze to me. "Hector?"


    - Hello? Probably, - I nodded without much emotion. And then the "snot" began.


    Mom, and it was she, because even a blind person would have noticed the resemblance between our faces, immediately rushed to hug me and start wailing about something. Well, yes, for the first time I saw a completely conscious and reasonable look from my son. My father was much more reserved, he came up and shook hands with the director. By the hand.


    - Thank you for your help.


    "As I already said," the director smiled, "it was not difficult or expensive, and even without our help the boy would have come to his senses, albeit a little later."


    After exchanging a few more phrases with the director, my parents quickly dragged me into the car, and my mother sat next to me in the back seat and had no intention of letting me out of her embrace. I hoped I wouldn''t break anything, I''m as thin as a stick.


    When I arrived home, they showed me everything right away, although I already remembered everything. Then they sat me down at the table.


    "So skinny, what a nightmare," my mother lamented, putting something meaty on my plate.


    - I was like that before. I say - I remember everything.


    My hands weren''t very good at holding the fork correctly, as my upbringing from the shards required, and I had to simplify my grip a bit - the way my body had learned to do while on autopilot. Yes, I know that I hold the utensils the way a human is used to, but the damn elf shard - although almost empty, things were deposited in it, which it did much more often than a human, because it simply lived longer.


    "I need more practice," I said out loud.


    My parents looked at me with relief.


    The whole day passed in a similar vein. They showed me something in the house, gave me a crash course in terms of "what is what and how to use it." To my surprise, I noticed that some technical nuances, for example, the remote control for the TV, initially caused some stupor, but as if reluctantly, an understanding of both the internal structure of the TV on a cathode-ray tube and the remote control emerged from memory. Well, and how to use it, of course.


    Hermione. Sister. A girl like any other. Only now she really has gone to visit friends, and her parents complain that it is impossible to contact her. They need postal owls, and wizards have no other means of communication. Nonsense. Oh well, they don''t go to someone else''s monastery with their prayers.


    Although I celebrated my birthday, July 4, at Hogwarts, there was nothing to stop me from celebrating it with tea and cake. By the twentieth, the excitement in the house over my recovery had died down, and my parents stopped hanging around me all their free time, like fairy-tale bears around a pot of honey. Now I not only read various literature to check the completeness of my knowledge, but I could also think in solitude, and there was a lot to think about.


    The first is the physique. A healthy body means a healthy mind, and this is not just a saying. For a magical being, which includes absolutely any organic being with the gift of manipulating energies, the state of the body is very important. When the healer Smetvik came to us, if my not-so-best memory of this life does not fail me, he spoke of a "triad": body, soul, mind. The state of the soul has yet to be checked, I have more or less put the mind in order and the body remains.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    At the moment, I am the happy owner of a thirteen-year-old male body. A little taller than my peers, thin, mediocre muscles. My health was said to be fine, only my brain works abnormally much. This needs to be changed. No, not in terms of my brain, but in terms of physical development, and several methods can help me. The classic genre is physical training. Add to them magical support in the form of potions and tinctures. But first, you should take care of diagnosing magical abilities and establishing a connection with different energies. And that means you need to start with magic. What do I know about magic from the memories of the fragments? Not much, and almost no specifics - general facts and thoughts that most often swirled in the minds of the fragments. Well, and a couple dozen techniques will be collected, also the most often used, and therefore the best "imprinted".


    Magic itself is a complex direction of conscious manipulation of diverse and multifaceted energies of the universe to change or embody various properties and aspects of reality. Simply put, magic is a discipline, sorcery is a process.


    Since magic allows one to control energies, a natural question arises: "What energies?" No matter how obvious the answer is, it is simple - any. The elves once proved that everything that exists is a form of energy. This fact is superimposed on the multidimensionality of reality and gives rise to an infinite number of energies of the most diverse types, types and properties.


    Multidimensionality? An infinite number of dimensions within one space. Many of these dimensions are filled with a certain energy, the name of which is as close as possible to the embodied or related effects, properties and other facets of reality. For example, such banality as the energy of fire, water or electricity, life, light, darkness, death and so on. An immense multitude. Some, when merged, form others, more complex, and some cannot be combined, like matter with antimatter - there will be a big ba-da-boom.


    Yawning loudly, he decided it was time to go to bed. No matter how healthy the body is, it cannot boast of endurance. Yes, sleep¡­


    The soft, comfortable pillow under my head was imperceptibly replaced by a light, cool breeze, bringing the aromas of a summer forest. A magical forest - I could feel it right away. Softly stepping over a root of a centuries-old tree protruding from the ground, I inadvertently glanced up at the green crowns, through which almost no daylight penetrated.


    Step, another step - no one would have heard these movements. My hand was familiarly squeezing the bow handle, and the arrow itself was asking to come out of the quiver - my eye noticed a shadow flashing between the trees. The arrow instantly fell into my hand, and now I am already aiming, pulling the bowstring. In motion, collecting a little wind magic, I direct it into the arrow, simultaneously forming a simple magical construct.


    With a characteristic click, the bowstring shot the arrow. Obeying the will of magic, the arrow passed the tree trunks, and a moment later, there, in the distance, a dirty man in leather armor fell out from behind a tree.


    "They are here!" a man''s cry rang out in one of the human dialects, but I already sensed the presence of the enemy, the direction and distance to him.


    The arrows left my quiver one after another, setting off into flight, and with the help of magic they changed their direction, unerringly finding the end of their path in the enemy''s heart. A moment, and it was all over, and only the disturbed birds screamed somewhere above, in the treetops.


    A few dozen light, weightless jumps, and here I was leaning over the body of one of the people, stretching my palms above the body and creating a magical diagnostic seal, the color of which was green due to the energy of life. Blinking, it seemed as if I had fallen into darkness.


    I opened my eyes again, standing next to a crib made of twigs, where a chubby-cheeked toddler with pointed ears was sweetly snoring in white sheets, and a green diagnostic seal was slowly flying off my outstretched hands above him. His parents did not distract me, and I quickly finished this task. Turning my head to the right, I met the worried and hopeful gazes of a young-looking couple of elves in loose light clothes, the style of which was dominated by plant motifs.


    "Your baby is completely healthy," I said with a slight smile. "This is a great joy."


    The elf sighed with relief, not hiding her smile, and her husband only nodded importantly, as if it couldn''t be otherwise. The elf looked at me again, and noticed in my terse expression not only polite joy, but also concern.


    "But it''s not all that happy, is it?" she asked, not hiding her renewed anxiety.


    "You''re right," I nodded reservedly.


    "Speak, healer, don''t keep me waiting," the elf showed restraint.


    ¡ª The baby has a strong predisposition to connect with the dimension of death energy.

 CHAPTER 7

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    The elf covered her mouth with her hands, and the elf only pressed his lips tighter.


    - You yourself understand what this means. The elders will not allow an initiated necromancer to live in the Forest. And to neglect the initiation...


    "We understand," the elf nodded. "The craving for kindred energy and the impossibility of obtaining it will distort his mind, pushing him to obtain this energy in a natural way. In the most cruel way."


    - Yes. I will, as expected, conduct the initiation to measure life - the baby is compatible with it, like all of us. But the rest... It''s your choice. Do you need time to think?


    "Do whatever it takes," the elf nodded stubbornly, and his wife gratefully placed her hand on his forearm.


    - Are you sure? With your position in society...


    - Our son will not be a crazy ripper, but he will not grow up an orphan either, healer.


    I didn''t expect any other answer. Not after a century of this couple trying to conceive. Now all that was needed was to create the necessary seals to connect the baby to the energetic dimensions of life and death.


    Taking off my shoulder bag, I placed it on the floor of the house made of living wood to get the necessary ingredients. Looking up, I saw the empty streets of the white-stone city. The perfect walls of two- and three-story houses, but the windows were tightly closed, and only from some of them peered the curious faces of children, almost immediately led into the depths of the house by their parents. There, in the distance, the bright spires of the Academy were visible, and the shielded magic accumulators on the highest of the towers glowed like barely visible blue dots.


    "Are you ready?" an old voice came from beside me.


    Turning my head towards the sound, I saw the old man in the blue robe that I was tired of. In one hand he held a massive wooden white staff, the top of which was a sharpened blue quartz - the rarest mineral and one of the best accumulators of any magical energy.


    "More respect for your elders, rector," I said with a grin as I pulled out a bundle of oblong metal cylinders covered with tiny runes from my bag.


    "No way," the old man stubbornly pursed his lips, running his hand over his snow-white beard. "I didn''t toil for the Empire for two hundred years so that in my old age I wouldn''t be able to say what I want. And the way I want."


    He stood up and stood next to the old man. We were both looking at the same thing - a fenced-in area with a large private mansion. Only it fell out of the general "ideality" of the city - almost the entire area seemed to be covered in a viscous dark fog, and the ground, trees, walls of the house - everything seemed to be covered in an almost impenetrable black mass.


    "And what is it this time? A failed experiment?" I turned to the old man, looking out for the dark amorphous shadows that kept appearing and then disappearing in this disgusting magical mess.


    "Narcissistic magical families, that''s what. They were told that their child was incapable of projecting dimensional energy into reality, but no, they were still fools," the old man grumbled, tapping his staff on the perfectly smooth stone of the road under his feet.


    ¡ª Did they really conduct the initiation?


    - Exactly! They are the smartest of all. Their lineage has existed since the foundation of the Empire! And it would be fine if they conducted the initiation with fire - they would burn, and that''s where they belong. But no, darkness and Chaos. I feel sorry for the child...


    ¡ª And there are no adults?


    - I''ve been tired of pitying fools for about fifty years now. There''s not enough pity for them all. And where have you been? Meditating on some bush again, I suppose?


    - You are exaggerating, rector.


    Suddenly the mansion literally exploded in darkness, and from its depths a gigantic amorphous shadow darted towards us, the basis of which was a huge black skull with an open jaw. It was inexorably approaching, causing fear...


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.Jumping up in my bed, I felt my nightgown stuck to my body and completely wet.


    "A dream¡­ Just a dream¡­" I said out loud, looking around the dark room.


    The scurrying shadows in the corner caught my attention. As soon as I looked there, a black skull flew out of the darkness, flying towards me with a nasty squeaky hum.


    Jumping up in my bed, I looked at the nasty, ancient electronic alarm clock that was emitting a nasty squeaky hum. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned it off by pressing the button, and immediately fell back into bed. There was no sweat.


    - Shit...


    The morning was early, the bed was warm, and I didn''t want to move at all. Magic... Energy... I need to remember these aspects better, combing through the elf''s memory. Or at least make some kind of summary from that pile of images. Of course, familiar magic may not find any practical application in this world, but even a small amount of understanding can contribute to the quality of my existence here as a wizard.


    Having finally woken up, dressed and washed up, I went down to breakfast. What date is it today? Hmm, there''s nothing to look at, maybe in the newspaper. But the end of July is definitely that.


    I was thoughtful at breakfast, but quickly decided not to get so lost in thought - my parents were worried that I would start "staring into space" again.


    "I''m thinking," I smiled modestly in response to the worried looks. "So much different information to comprehend."


    The parents smiled timidly, clearly relieved. I should pay more attention to them - even though I didn''t have children, I had to deal with parents who were saddened by the state of their child''s health more than once or twice.


    After breakfast I went to my room to think calmly.


    Magic is multifaceted and comprehensive, but upon closer examination, one can draw several conclusions about its essence, if not its mechanics. A wizard, an elf, or any other creature or artifact ¡ª all take magic either from external or internal sources. For example, the energy of fire from a fire, or air from air. Internal sources ¡ª from the connection of the soul or the simplest spiritual-material structure with the energy dimensions of the world. Yes, purely technically, the energy from the connection with dimensions is also not internal ¡ª its source is external. But I did not come up with such a classification, especially since the methods of application differ significantly.


    External energy is completely intractable for use in volitional manipulation. Unreasonable magical creatures use it to feed themselves, because some, for example, fire salamanders, have a body that converts energy into an effect. For this reason, the vast majority of magicians and wizards encountered in the memory of the fragments use various seals, circles, rune chains and other products of teeth-grinding calculations to direct the necessary energy into them and create a spell. Of course, you can power a fireball with any energy, and not at all with fire, but it is the energy of fire that will be poured into the structure with almost no resistance, its consumption will be lower, and the result will be better.


    Internal - energy that a creature draws from another dimension. It has the same gradation by subspecies, but there are a number of conditions. Initially, only a few creatures are capable of this, and if wizards had not met them, they would not even know about other energy dimensions, but that is not the point. A wizard must first be "connected" to a dimension - initiation. But this can be done in two cases - with the ability to project the energy of dimensions into the world, and with an affinity with this energy. If you ignore these conditions, the consequences can be terrible for both the young or not so talented, and for those around him. But if it so happens that the wizard fits the conditions and undergoes initiation, then he receives a number of undeniable advantages.

 CHAPTER 8

    Unlike external energy, which is taken from a phenomenon already embodied in reality, whatever it may be, internal energy has no embodiment at the moment of projection into the world. Because of this, it is easily manipulated by will and is suitable for witchcraft on bare will and fantasy. True, the type of such witchcraft is quite strictly tied to the type of energy - fire - fire, water - water. But using them in seals, runes and other constructs, you can achieve universality. Well, there is no need to explain what advantage a bottomless source of energy in the form of another dimension gives, the ability to scoop from which is limited only by will and fantasy. However, there are also disadvantages.


    Due to the susceptibility of internal energy to volitional impulses and the fairly easy embodiment of aspects of reality based on desire and reason, the use of internal energy is associated with certain difficulties. Lost mental stability - get a burst of energy. Went into an emotional rage - get a burst of energy. Used substances that affect the nervous system and lead to overexcitation - a burst. What is dangerous?


    Internal energy absolutely requires embodiment. Like any other energy, it follows the path of least resistance, and in the case of a magical emission, such a path is the conscious or subconscious desire of a magical creature. It has happened countless times that small children-wizards with access to internal energy burned or drowned houses or entire streets out of resentment - fire, water, wind and earth are the most common energies, and their visual manifestations are the most easily accessible to the conscious and subconscious. But there were cases with the energy of life, light, darkness, death - this is scary. Life is far from only healing. Such an emission is capable of turning organic matter around into terrible chimeras, a mixture of the living and the inanimate, covering everything around with some incredible crap that grew right on the go from people and other improvised materials, simultaneously devouring the wizard himself, mutating and changing him. Such places can only be burned out, and the young talent often cannot be saved. Light can literally reduce everything around to quarks and photons, leaving behind bubbles of empty space, order leaves lifeless deserts of quartz sand. Darkness is unpredictable and universal, but most accurately follows the thoughts of the carrier, and death sometimes leaves around the wizard crowds of half-dead vegetable people, mad from unbearable pain and suffering.


    A terrible picture, but such a magical emission can only happen to small children with a fragile psyche, rich imagination and huge potential, and it is extremely problematic to bring an adult to such a state, but not impossible. True, something similar happens when ignoring the presence of affinity with energy or the ability to project it into the world.


    And what do we have as a result? We need to conduct a self-diagnosis using universal constructs and find out the features of the physical body. Based on the available information, we can plan what to do next. We just need to restore these constructs along the associative chains. I know for sure that the elf used them repeatedly, which means they are there, in the depths of memory.


    - Hector, - the father entered the room. - Mom and I are going to the city. Will you come with us?


    Yes, exactly. We live in the suburbs.


    - To be honest, I wanted to finish some notes, - I pointed to the notebook in which I was writing down some remembered theses on magic. - And in a few days, I think, I can go. There is still so much to get used to here...Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Okay, as you wish,¡± smiled the father. ¡°Then we¡¯ll buy something tasty. Really¡­ What do you like?¡±


    - Anything that isn''t oatmeal.


    - Ha-ha-ha, - the father laughed sincerely. - Got it, got it. In this matter, you are just like me. I hate oatmeal. Then, I''ll buy something with more meat.


    Only fools think that because elves live in the forest, respect nature and are like crazy vegetarians in these matters, they don''t eat meat. They do, and how! It''s just that the process of hunting, harvesting and processing is not the same... Not so merciless. And the dwarf''s fragments make themselves known at the word "Meat". If you add "Ale" to it - that''s it, the end, there will be a glorious feast, a noble fight, and in the morning - a bill for the destruction in the tavern and the taste of a nasty anti-hangover made from special underground mushrooms.


    I shuddered at these memories, and my father left the room. Well, let''s continue to connect the crumbs of fragmentary knowledge into something more coherent. Although, the diagnostic method has become ingrained in the subcortex, as they say.


    In silence and solitude, I concentrated on the feeling of energy in myself and around me, with a familiar effort of will from my memories I pulled it out - it pulled. As I thought, my body is connected to some dimension from birth and has a predisposition to it. I don¡¯t think that my parents, being ordinary people, somehow contributed to this, which means that this is a feature of this world. Okay, let¡¯s move on.


    I projected a circular elven seal onto my chest and directed energy into it. The seal filled up quite easily and simply, glowing dimly green. I had to wait about a minute, after which quite detailed information about my body appeared in my head out of nowhere. My physical condition was already known, so nothing new. Magic is what''s interesting. I turned out to be a wizard with internal energy, as I expected. So all roads are open.


    I failed to identify the type of energy, but I am also familiar with only a dozen and a half of their infinite number, and due to the fragmentary nature of my memories, this acquaintance is not particularly multifaceted, so there is nothing surprising - in this matter, the main thing is to calculate the properties so as not to establish a connection with the dimensions of incompatible energy. My energy was very, very flexible, mobile, I would even say, neutral-universal. I am familiar with something similar and the elves called it "Creation". Neither fish, nor meat, nor bird, nor mushroom - this is approximately what you can say about it. With its help, everything is possible, but worse than with specialized energy. Universal. Although, the imbalance can be created due to the mind and the specificity of thinking, but this has nothing to do with the energy itself.


    Neutrality of energy is good news. It means that there is no bias in any direction in the predispositions. However, this also means that I will not become an archmage of the directions I am accustomed to, because the predisposition affects the efficiency of "scooping up" the energy of dimensions. I will be able to pull as much neutral energy as I can, no matter how strange it may sound. But it is possible that in local realities, initiation will turn out to be a rather useless thing - you can do good magic on neutral energy anyway. But there is at least one direction, the very essence of which will help me undeniably.


    Life. Elven knowledge and memories are strong, useful, and the energy itself will allow you to influence the body without any abstruse contours and constructs, improve, heal yourself and others. Or cripple with terrifying efficiency. A plus will be improved interaction with plants and animals not of the opposite energy direction, but it is almost impossible to meet crystalline or other inorganic life forms with a bias towards the energy of order. Yes, yes, it is not the energy of death that is the antagonist of life. Order is a rigid structuring and ordering of chaos, of which life is a part. Even if everything around was teeming with such life forms, this does not mean that they will kill me only because of the energy spectrum, that''s one. And two - the energy of life is in any case useful for carbon and nitrogen-phosphorus organic creatures.


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 CHAPTER 9

    So, the life energy will go first, it''s decided. Plus, it will help prepare the body for other energies and magic in general. But the rest - here the question is open. The thing is that the presence of energy does not make me super-capable or super-strong. The presence of energy can only strengthen witchcraft. The trouble here is that the developments from the fragments are not enough for much - there are only general, superficial theoretical speculations for the most part. And I''m not sure that these layers of knowledge can be restored at all. This means that you need to first get used to the local world, and only then make some plans. Moreover, after the life binding, you will need to wait six months to a year.


    And of course, physical training. It is due to them that the physical condition will improve, considerably reinforced by the energy of life. Unfortunately, there is no magic that would turn a wizard into a healthy individual with an ideally correct body - any result will only be a temporary panacea. In this matter, there is only one correct course of action - hard work and training, and magic will support, speed up and protect from injuries and mistakes.


    The only physical training available to me is the Elven one. The thing is that in the memories of the fragments, only the Elven complexes for physical self-improvement were the most complete, while the Dwarven or Human ones were just a simple idea: "You need to lift iron! More iron! Lift more often! And then grab something heavier and beat the enemy!"


    I spent almost the entire day thinking about magic and trying to dig into the depths of my memory. I had only one goal - to restore as much specific knowledge and spells as possible, but I could only pull out a dozen. The saddest thing is that this was the limit - I knew for sure that I would not be able to get anything else. Everything else is too blurry, with huge gaps in both theory and practice, and something tells me that I will not be able to supplement them in this life.


    It was time for dinner, so I sat down at the table with my parents.


    "Hector," said his father, having finished his meal. "Professor McGonagall is coming tomorrow, the twenty-eighth of July. You remember her, don''t you?"


    - Yes. I remember.


    - She will accompany you shopping to school.


    - Fine.


    - We agreed with Headmaster Dumbledore that you will be enrolled immediately into the third year of Hogwarts, but with one condition. You will need to make up for lost time in six months.


    Father didn''t look very happy with this arrangement.


    "No problem, father," I nodded, and my parents immediately looked at me in surprise. "I have a perfect memory. If I don''t understand, I''ll just remember."


    "It''s amazing," Mom smiled. "Hermione, your sister, also has a perfect memory. True, only for books¡­"


    "But, however," the father again showed slight displeasure.


    "Is something wrong?" I asked, trying to figure out what they didn''t like.


    - Well, how can I tell you... You see, son, you''ve just recovered, so to speak. You''ve seen so little, you know so little. You haven''t really interacted with your peers...This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Robert," Mom looked at Dad with a slight reproach.


    "What?" He looked back at his mother. "I know what a boarding school is like."


    "No need to worry," I interrupted this pale indignation, smiling slightly. "I''ll learn the nuances of social interaction very quickly."


    The parents blinked their eyes in surprise. Apparently, my statement brought them to this state. But I declare with full responsibility that although I myself know the meaning of these words very well, as well as many others in the language, but in this life I honestly heard them, honestly read a lot, understood them and with a clear conscience can use complex formulations for communication. In the end, even all those years being in a vegetative state, I somehow saw or heard a lot, and my brain processed it.


    "I can handle it," I nodded.


    Dinner was over and I went to my room - there was still a lot to read. The only thing that really saddens me is the antediluvian computer without the Internet. If it were different, I would be able to find a lot of literature and refresh my knowledge, at least for the sake of checking what was left in my head from what was relevant for the end of the twentieth century.


    Closer to night, I wanted to work on the life energy without prying eyes, but I changed my mind. The process could drag on, and according to my parents, tomorrow I had to go shopping with McGonagall. Haste could only do harm, and I needed to better understand the memory of the fragments. Yes, it exists, it is organized, but memory is a strange thing. Even with elven mental techniques, you can''t just take it and look through it. You need to launch chains of associations in your mind and get somewhere along them. If there is somewhere to get to at all. Or sleep. Yes, sleep can help sort out all this rubble.


    ***


    In the living room of Granger''s house, Robert and Emma were sitting on the sofa. The TV was on, but the volume was at a minimum. It was almost midnight, that''s what the hands on the wall clock showed.


    "I doubt," Robert said, putting his arm around Emma, ??"that this idea with the school is a good one."


    - Don''t worry so much.


    - Aren''t you worried?


    "I am very worried," Emma laid her head on her husband''s shoulder. "But I also see how absurdly fast he learns everything new. It hasn''t even been a month, and Hector has gone from a boy who spoke poorly, who couldn''t hold a fork well, and who didn''t understand anything around him, to a boy who knows everything calmly."


    - It''s true.


    - He mastered your computer in a day. From awkwardly learning the keyboard and these, what are they called...


    - I understand. I understand.


    They were silent for a minute, watching some late-night show on TV.


    "A doctor from Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey," Emma said. "She sent a note with Hector. She also notes our son''s very high learning ability. And very high brain activity."


    ¡ª By how many percent?


    Emma turned her head slightly, looking into her husband''s eyes with reproach.


    - What percentage? You''re a doctor.


    - Yes, yes, - Robert waved his hand. - I know that the brain is 100% active, and you need to take into account areas of simultaneous activity. It''s just that all these stereotypes... Just like with language.


    ¡ª Are you talking about how different areas of the tongue sense different tastes?


    - Exactly. Stupidity from an incorrectly formulated, but correct thought in an old study. But we digress. What did their doctor write there?


    ¡ª That now, while the brain activity is high, the best solution would be to load Hector with various activities. Right now, the best thing for him would be to immerse himself in a social environment.


    - But¡­


    "No buts," Emma looked sternly at her husband, reinforcing her point by lightly slapping her palm against his chest. "After so many years¡­ I myself would very much like to watch my son, who has finally begun to develop, every day. But for his own good, we should restrain our selfish impulses. Moreover, the professor said that according to the laws of the magical world, a Muggle-born wizard is obliged to undergo training. And he will."


    - Yes, yes, otherwise, judging by the hints, a completely legal spell will be used, and we ourselves will happily run to send our son to Hogwarts. I don''t like this kind of coercion and hopelessness. And where is the government looking?


    ¡ª As if there''s something wrong with us. And, dear, do you really think the government doesn''t know about wizards?


    "I just wouldn''t want to force Hector to do anything."


    - So let''s ask him tomorrow?


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 CHAPTER 10

    ***


    The rays of the morning sun persistently broke through the cracks between the curtains, shining right into my eyes ¡°this is how my day began. Getting out of bed, for the umpteenth time I looked at the boards with my notes, which I made in a vegetable state ¡°nothing is clear. Having dressed and reached the bathroom on the second floor, I washed up and went down to breakfast ¡°everything was ready there.


    Of course, there were also the standard conversations about the weather, but the feast and tea party ended with a completely different question than I expected to hear.


    "Hector, son," said his father, who was already getting ready for the trip to work. "Do you want to go to Hogwarts yourself? To study magic?"


    After thinking about the answer for a split second, I decided to resort to a visual demonstration and picked up one of the buns left on the table.


    "As I understand it, magic is not only beautiful miracles," I began, looking from my mother to my father, who were still sitting at the table and listening to me with interest. "It is subject to emotions, mood, and nervous system excitation."


    "Even so?" the father was surprised once again, hearing a phrase that you wouldn''t hear from every adult.


    ¡°I read it in biology books.


    This answer seemed to both surprise and, at the same time, touch the parents.


    ¡°So. Imagine that I was not taught to control it. Emotions, resentment, stimulation of the nervous system, some person... ¡°I demonstratively shook the bun in the air. ¡°... offended me greatly. Just for a brief moment, in a fit of resentment, bitterness and teenage hatred, I wished him to disappear.


    The neutral magic of my new body responded easily, and the bun fell into ashes on the table.


    ¡°And he''s gone. And I didn''t want to, no. I gave in to my emotions.


    Will magic is not what the elf from the memory fragments practiced. Not at all. And so my maneuver was not easy for me, although the concept itself was known to him, and now to me.


    The parents, judging by their slightly pale faces, saw the other side of magic.


    ¡°This needs to be learned. Learn control. I have to.


    Of course, this is not entirely true, because I have basic control over magic, or rather, I have an understanding of how to achieve it. Now my control is just echoes of the past. Like these fragments of memory...


    The doorbell rang, distracting us from the topic that was so important to our parents. As if they had returned to this world with their consciousness, they died away, and my father went to open the door. I understand them. The elf''s memory, and the memory of other wizards, from whom I received almost nothing except their strongest experiences, are full of moments where parents said goodbye to children who were about to start training. The reluctance to let go, grief, misunderstanding and fear bordered on joy, because sometimes children had to be completely removed from families that could not always feed themselves. Those people were afraid and happy at the same time. They were afraid of what they did not understand, but they were happy that the child would have a chance to get out of the bottom.


    Shaking my head and driving away the thoughts that had rushed in at the wrong time, I met the gaze of Professor McGonagall, who had entered the house. As in a couple of vague memories from the time when I was in a vegetative state, this lady looked a little over fifty, wore a formal black floor-length dress, and over it ¡°an emerald robe. Stern look, neat glasses.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "Mr. Granger. I am glad to see you in good health," she said dryly, smiling almost imperceptibly. "I am afraid we have not been introduced. Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."


    "Nice to meet you, ma''am," I stood up and, putting my hands behind my back, nodded solemnly.


    Seeing a slight misunderstanding, but at the same time acceptance of the gesture, he pulled himself together. The stiffness of this madam pulled out the elven reflexes regarding etiquette, and the gesture itself demonstrated a lack of trust, but at the same time politeness and the inevitability of acquaintance and further cooperation.


    ¡°I assume you''re ready to go shopping for school?


    ¡°Of course, professor.


    I had clothes, so now, in simple jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt and a thick gray windbreaker, I was riding with the professor on a very strange magical bus, in which I was being thrown around the entire cabin. I was given more than enough money and, as I understood, I would need to exchange it at the goblin bank.


    We reached the Leaky Cauldron in literally half a minute. Inside, as last time, there were not the most pleasant people. The professor led me to the backyard of the establishment, straight to a dead end in the form of a brick wall painted white. Taking out her magic wand, the professor knocked on certain bricks, opening a passage. Interesting. This is not a folded space ¡°this is a transition to another plane. I wonder if there are many such islands in other dimensions, or is this a stable passage to the nearest material world? This is quite possible. Elves indulged in such things, although they preferred to unfold spatial anomalies and grow their Forests there. On the surface, a grove of a couple of dozen trees, and inside ¡°half a continent.


    ¡°Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Granger.


    ¡°Thank you, professor.


    The street was indeed slanted. A winding cobbled road, crooked wooden and stone houses with multi-colored cladding. On the ground floors of the houses there were various shops or stalls next to the house. Here and there wizards scurried about in various baggy clothes, robes, cloaks, dressing gowns and dresses. It was difficult to find a common style of clothing, but one obvious feature was visible in all of them ¡°often only the face and hands were open, and the skirts were always long, like the dresses. The men were also dressed in a variety of clothes and often there were people in business suits of different styles and colors.


    The professor first led me to a large white building at the end of the street. It divided the street in two, like a ship in a wave. Outside stood typical goblins in cuirasses and with halberds ¡°small, awkward, with long, pointed ears and hooked noses.


    The bank''s hall was spacious, high and monumental. It was rich and seemed substantial, but the dwarves did much better, and the richness of the decoration of the bearded underground blacksmiths was not pretentious, and looked very harmonious. Here, everything literally "stank" of superficial importance. Small goblins scurried back and forth with carts or folders with papers. On the sides of the hall there were tall wooden stands, behind which the goblins imitated extremely useful activities.


    "Tell me, Professor," I said as we stood in the shortest line at the counters, "why is the financial system of the wizarding world run by goblins?"


    Several wizards in long but light robes, despite the slight noise in the hall, paid attention to the emerging dialogue.


    ¡°Because, Mr. Granger, after numerous uprisings, finance is the little that goblins are allowed to do under the peace treaties.


    ¡°I studied Hermione''s books for the first and second years. Now I am consumed by a question. What prompted the wizards not only to leave alive a race of intelligent and bloodthirsty predators, but also to hand over control of financial flows to them?


    McGonagall looked at me with obvious scrutiny. It seemed she had not expected such thoughts and phrases from someone who had emerged from a vegetative state for the first time in his life not more than a month ago.


    ¡°You ask very serious questions, which not every wizard is capable of answering. Since you approached this question, albeit from a cruel, but pragmatic side, then allow me to answer in a similar vein. Since the last uprising, as far as I know, the terms of their surrender have been very harshly revised. Not in favor of the goblins, as you understand, Mr. Granger.


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 CHAPTER 11

    I nodded understandingly, and a goblin in a tailcoat, who was passing by us, grinned predatorily. Involuntarily, I reached for the dagger on my belt, which, of course, I did not have ¡°the memory of fragments, reflexes not biological, but mental. My gesture did not go unnoticed by the goblin, and he grinned even more. If you believe the elf''s memory, then there is a solution regarding this evil race, it is the only correct one ¡°genocide. For the common good, of course.


    Our line moved forward, and we were one step closer to the customer service counter. A very high counter ¡°even in this small detail one can see the unfounded arrogance of bloodthirsty short people.


    "Besides that," McGonagall continued, "goblins make excellent magical bladed weapons, as well as other items from various types of metal and steel. The powers that be at the time decided that it would be a shame to lose such craftsmen."


    ¡°And how long ago was the last goblin product created?


    ¡°Oddly enough, almost nothing new has appeared since the last uprising. But it is worth noting, Mr. Granger, that their work is very expensive, and its intended purpose is combat. In our time, this direction of magic is dying out due to lack of need.


    Yeah, right. That''s what I believed. It''s just that these little guys, if I remember correctly, use their really serious magic through mass sacrifices of intelligent beings with magical gifts. No possibility of rebellion ¡°no possibility of capturing wizards and other gifted people in large enough quantities. Well, that''s if you believe the shards of the elf''s memory, and there''s no reason not to believe them ¡°the similarity between those and these goblins is striking. That''s if you don''t count the clothes.


    ¡°I see. The threat of another, but bloodier uprising was considered insignificant, given the possible, but equally ephemeral benefit in the form of artifacts.


    "There are a number of other reasons, Mr. Granger, but they are not so significant. And keep in mind," McGonagall looked at me sternly as we moved up the queue, "that I am by no means an expert in history or politics. I cannot even guess what the wizards of those times were really guided by, but it was certainly not pity. Those were not the times."


    We finally got to the counter and quickly agreed on the currency exchange. The rate was one galleon to five pounds. The financial system here was the way the English like it ¡°a bunch of coins with non-multiple denominations. Gold, silver and bronze. Galleon, sickle and knut. Of course, the gnome''s meager memories helped him easily see the magic alloy, not gold, and the precious stones sorted by the goblins nearby ¡°fakes. Everything here is an entourage and a prop, a theater of one people.


    The next item on the shopping list was a student trunk. A good functional thing in the local reality. Can be a table, a closet, a trunk, a suitcase. Divided compartments with space expansion, ease of use, cheap. The professor immediately shrunk the trunk with some kind of spell and took it with her. I will need to remember to enchant the backpack to expand space.


    Next, we bought sets of textbooks for the first three years and put everything in the same chest, briefly enlarging it back. The ingredients for potion-making were purchased and sent to Hogwarts. Also for three years ¡°I will have to practice in them.


    We bought all sorts of small consumer goods in the form of parchments, pens, ink, various tools and a telescope in a store selling small items, and a school uniform with several robes in a store with the appropriate name: "Robes for all occasions."Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Selecting a magic wand is complete nonsense. More precisely, the procedure is nonsense, but the concept is mostly correct ¡°a wizard cannot choose any ready-made magic tool for himself if it is not made specifically for him in advance. This is especially true for a magic tool made of organic components. Wood that looks the same can be so structurally different that it will give almost opposite properties to energy when passing through it.


    Anyway, in a slightly dusty shop of a certain master Ollivander, I stood for a long time in the middle of a dimly lit hall and waved wands pointlessly, handed to me by a wonderful gray-haired old man in a brown old-fashioned three-piece suit. The old man was simply bored, although I could clearly see in his gaze, which sometimes looked deeper, or something... I saw that he could pick up a wand without too much ¡°he felt and understood the smallest shades of energy. And so I was not surprised when I got a thirteen-inch wand made of acacia with a core of unicorn wool. As soon as I took it in my hands, a bright sheaf of multi-colored sparks flew off the tip of the wand, and Ollivander literally lit up with joy.


    ¡°A wonderful wand, Mr. Granger! Powerful and versatile, although it does not accept dark magic, yes. What a pity that you lost two years of wonderful time of first childhood discoveries in the world of magic.


    Having thanked Master Ollivander, the professor and I left his shop and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, or rather, to the transition to the ordinary world. At its very edge, I turned around, peering intently at Diagon Alley, the wooden houses, the signs, and the strangely dressed people.


    "Mr. Granger?" Professor McGonagall stood next to me, waiting for me to step over the boundary first. "Is something wrong?"


    I looked and compared what I saw with what I remembered. Magic cities, tall white towers of the human academy of magic with its shining spires, perfect cleanliness, magnificent roads, impressive but unpleasant to the elf architecture, healthy and joyful population. Even cities and villages far from the capital or shopping centers seemed no worse than modern megalopolises in terms of quality, or something. And here? Infantile devastation...


    ¡°Fugitives.


    ¡°What, excuse me?


    ¡°The wizards are fugitives. I see before me a hastily put together gypsy camp, flaunting its uniqueness, as if proud of its dire situation.


    "I don''t recommend you voice this thought among wizards," the professor looked at me sternly when I turned to her. "Even if it is true to some extent."


    She sighed, and after quickly checking that no one was around, she continued.


    "We wizards desperately cling to the false idea that we were not driven into a corner, but that we ourselves renounced the world. The truth is that we ourselves renounced, but was it of our own free will?


    We headed back the same way ¡°pub, bus, home. My parents were still at work, but that''s normal lately. As I understood, almost immediately after I was transferred to the Hogwarts hospital wing for treatment two years ago, my parents began working furiously in their dental clinic and now it''s expanding quite quickly and even has branches. Well, I have something to think about and work on.


    As I planned recently, I need to conduct the so-called initiation with the measurement of life. For this, I leaned out the window and tore off a couple of leaves from the branch of the tree that grows near the house. Next year it will already be knocking on the window in a strong wind.


    Easily "folding" my bony little body into the lotus position, placing a leaf on each knee and taking a leaf in each hand, I concentrated on my internal energy. Easily finding the "string" that needs to be pulled to transmit energy, I poured its crumbs into the leaves. This is necessary, since the leaves themselves practically do not carry energy ¡°you need to make these crumbs resonate, decompose the leaves into energy and absorb.


    Having mastered this stage, I realized that the body is hardly ready to accumulate energy in itself. Ninety-five percent, so to speak, my body is a conductor and is able to project energy from the soul, but not store it. It was both familiar and unusual to focus attention on such an abstract concept as energy and to hold it, trying to contain it and save it where there is no place.


    The next stage is visualization of the seal "Accumulation-Transfer" inside the body. A simple spherical seal of three identical rune circles, attempts to remember which caused me a very real stabbing pain in my temples. The seal must be activated by accumulated energy. I directed the energy of life with an admixture of neutral into the seal. My body glowed slightly green.


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 CHAPTER 12

    Now the hardest part is imagination and visualization. There is no channel of energy transmission between the soul and the body, but at the same time, there is one. Every cell of the body, organelle, molecule ¡°everything has a connection with the soul. But in the normal state, this energy connection is almost completely one-way ¡°from the soul to the body. It is necessary either to build reverse seals around each separate channel and simultaneously activate them for a short moment, or to build one large one around the body. The first is practically painless, but is impossible without the most complex artifacts or, as they say, "eightieth-level" intelligence. A strange phrase, I wonder where it comes from? There is neither one nor the other, which means we will go the difficult, painful way.


    Mentally, I began to build a sphere around myself from many rune circles in different planes to each other. It took about twenty minutes. I was worried that the brain, unprepared for such loads on the imagination and rigid fixation of images, would simply give up. There was a risk of switching off. But, to my surprise, I did not feel any discomfort ¡°the brain digested the load with flying colors. Did the experience of collecting the soul from particles have an effect? ??Perhaps. Exactly! The brain had been helping the mind and soul at maximum capacity for thirteen years! Clear...


    Having finished building the sphere, I connected the "Accumulation-Transfer" seal to it, in which the resonance of energies caused an exponential growth of the power of life energy. Three seconds before activation. Energy leakage ¡°none. The chance of detection of witchcraft by locals ¡°minimal. Let''s say going into meditation to disconnect the mind from the body.


    Pain. Sharp and strong, unbearable. Physical and mental. It does not allow you to "float" with your consciousness, it is impossible to switch off from shock, only to endure. Disconnecting the mind from the body eliminated the response to pain ¡°the body did not scream or twitch, but it did not make me feel better.


    Two endless seconds of hellish pain, and everything returned to normal. The seals went out, and the mind returned to the body aching with every subatomic particle. The phantom sensations are terrible, but they quickly pass. After ten minutes, I was again sitting on the floor in the lotus position and trying to feel my energy. Judging by the sensations, everything went as it should ¡°the energy of life was walking in the soul. The sensations are correct and cannot be confused, it is like understanding ¡°it is there and that''s it.


    The next stage is the formation of a magical construct that has no name. It is formed in the body and activated by any energy ¡°specially designed for versatility. After activation, the construct merges with the soul and begins to search for the energy needed by the wizard. Having found the necessary energy, the spherical construct pulls it all around itself and, by enumerating characteristics, tries to cause resonance in the resulting surface. This causes a sudden increase in indicators specific to this energy, and the soul activates a self-defense mechanism from destruction that is specific to absolutely all souls ¡°the release of excess energy. But the vector of energy movement has already been set and the soul will not be able to throw it out through the body.


    However, the soul is indestructible. This is the law of the universe, proven by the elves. The effect of disintegration that I experienced after death requires special conditions that no one in my memory has been able to recreate, and even if it is possible to destroy the soul, its core, the essence of the soul, will always remain whole. Such a swing of energy will not cause harm ¡°the stronger the resonance, the stronger the soul will become and the limit is outlined only by the ability of the mind to "digest" sensations and changes. True, after the resonance declines, everything will return to the original with a small adjustment for the slightly increased density of the soul, but this is a pleasant bonus, the practical benefit of which eludes my understanding.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    The essence of these manipulations is that the entire infinity of the multiplicity of dimensions is in one, so to speak, plane. The soul and the spiritual plane of the world are closest to the energy dimensions, therefore it is necessary to work through it. When the energy load in the soul from the work of the magic circuit becomes sufficient, then for a short moment the soul will be able to "touch" the necessary energy dimension to release pressure into an identical environment. Like is drawn to like, as if bending, squeezing the universe to the necessary dimension. But such manipulations with reality do not pass without a trace, and therefore between the soul and the energy dimension, in my case, life, a weak but practically unbreakable connection will be established. My task will be to stabilize and strengthen the connection.


    The problem is that this could happen in five minutes, or in an hour. You can just go to bed and sleep ¡°you won''t miss the moment the connection is established...


    Having reached the bed, I simply fell on top of the tucked-in blanket. I was about to close my eyes when I felt a sharp tremor, and a viscous wave of various sensations passed through my entire body. The connection was established. Fast, but not phenomenal ¡°it was a matter of chance.


    Strengthening and stabilizing the connection is done in a simple way. It is necessary to use the energy of the dimension evenly and for a long time. Evenly and for a long time. Usually, for this they just give an amulet with a crystal accumulator and a magic circuit for even pumping of the necessary energy. However, I do not have such a thing. I do not have a lot of things, but it is not at all a matter of poor preparation ¡°I do not know where to get something magical and familiar here, and crystal accumulators have always been expensive. Moreover, you can cope with it on your own, because the energy of life is not some kind of fire, there is always a use. For example, my body.


    Diagnostics say that it is fine, but this does not mean that it is ideal. There is always something to clean, improve, optimize, and in the memories of an elf who has followed the path of a wizard and healer, there are a couple of techniques and methods for improving the body to an ideal state ¡°a mandatory procedure for baby elves. They are born as ordinary children, except that heredity is good. But until the age of twenty, so many different preventive manipulations are carried out that after this age limit of twenty and with periodic preventive cleaning and care of the body, the elf turns into a non-aging and ageless creature with abnormally high sensory characteristics and a pure mind. And many years of self-improvement of both the mind and magic, as well as the body, sometimes lasting for centuries, make elves so ideal visually. And some think, like, if you were born an elf ¡°that''s it, a handsome man. Naive, although elves are not freaks by nature.


    And now I am using one of the magical constructs on my body. Minor Purification. The name conveys the essence ¡°the genome and body are cleaned of garbage a little. But I understand this not by the memory of an elf, but of those few people who lived during the expansion of space. True, their memory is pretty useless ¡°a consumer structure of society. These fragments gave me mostly only dissatisfaction with the backwardness of the world around me, but their understanding of the genome turned out to be useful ¡°it showed what exactly the elves changed with magic. It''s funny how the scanty knowledge of different eras merges into something whole. The human genome, unlike the elven one, is simply monstrously littered with garbage, traces of viral activity and similar useless, but not harmful mutations. However, they cannot be deleted so easily either. For example, the DNA of a human and a chimpanzee is more than ninety-eight percent similar. It is these two percent that determine the difference between these species of living beings. But it is not only the ratio of genes that is important, but also the location relative to each other. The slightest thoughtless change can lead to either incredible success or grand failure, and the latter is most likely. So, what to do? Memory of fragments ¡°tell me?


    And my memory told me not to get involved in this for now. I don''t have the necessary knowledge. Following the confidence I had acquired from the elf in my own experience as a healer, I almost made a mistake. Maybe everything would have gone well, but it would be better to gain knowledge. Okay, it''s time to activate the construct.


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 CHAPTER 13

    Now, for a week, I will have to go to the toilet more often, drink more water and eat well. The first week is a cleansing of the body, removal of various microcysts and other junk. Then, for another week, there will be a smooth restructuring of the genome from obviously harmful genes that can cause diseases if not in me, then in the next generations. Nothing super-radical, or even just radical ¡°the junk is removed and instead, based on the existing genes, something useful is selected. Of course, there will be some minor improvements. Vision that will not deteriorate with age, a wider range of hearing, etc. Increased endurance and muscle strength to volume ratio, but completely insignificant, can be neglected. Slightly stronger bones, slightly more efficient body work in general. A sort of Captain America on the minimum, if only I knew who he was...


    After that, the construct will switch off and disappear. In two weeks, the channel with the life energy measurement will stabilize, and I will undergo the initial course of treatment. The genetic changes themselves will take effect, God willing, in two or three years. Most likely, there will be no external changes at all ¡°perhaps the proportions will change slightly, but everything can be attributed to simply growing up. The only thing that will need to be done every week is to reactivate the Minor Purification complex. And so on until all the changes have passed, and then, until I''m twenty, once every three months. Otherwise, all my manipulations will not be of much use. And now to sleep...


    ***


    August is a wonderful time. I have always liked this time of year. Always, but not now. I am used to a different climate, and here in England everything seemed a little wrong. Sometimes it is cloudy and foggy, sometimes it is hot. But humans are such creatures ¡°they get used to everything. Gradually I got used to it too, and considering the frequent trips to the city with my parents, where they told me and showed me absolutely everything ¡°from parks to museums and theaters. It was interesting. It seemed that my parents were trying to show me as much of the world around me as possible before I went away for ten months to a castle in the hills and forests of Scotland ¡°according to my sister''s letters, Hogwarts is somewhere there.


    Regarding self-study. Since the beginning of August, I wanted to sit down and study the local school curriculum to form my own opinion about magic, but I decided that books won''t run away, but it''s high time to start training complexes for physical exercise. But for this, I need to decide ¡°what kind of training?


    I decided that it would be worthwhile to start with the elven equivalent of gymnastics and develop speed and flexibility. At the same time, this can be combined with a semblance of strength training ¡°you create a sword or a training bracelet with magic and do it. Elves, in principle, do not have strength exercises like lifting weights and the like. Their development can be called natural and harmonious. The only thing they complicate their lives with during training is a magic bracelet that simulates increased stress on the body, complex. This is how they get around that bar when the armor and sword become too light to consider working with them as stress.


    Creating a sword is a matter of minutes. All you need is earth and knowledge of a couple of magic seals and contours. But where to put it then? Problem. The solution does not immediately come to mind, which means that the idea with the sword should be put aside for now. Especially since the guy looking at me from the mirror is a very cute brunette guy, but painfully puny. I even want to shed a stingy tear. And I still can''t eat my fill ¡°in that "vegetative" state, I ate just enough to not feel hungry, and this is really not enough. For me, trying to practice with a sword now is a sophisticated suicide attempt.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Having dotted all the i''s, one day, while my parents were away at work, I made my way into the high bushes, knelt down, smoothed the ground at the roots with my palm and imagined a round outline of three rune circles forming on the surface. I have no earth energy, and transforming it from the ground under my feet is tantamount to damaging the landscape and briefly increasing the magical background. Therefore, I directed neutral energy into the imaginary outline and as it filled with energy, the outline began to glow dimly gray in the visible spectrum, gradually turning brown. The calculated energy expenditure exceeded twenty percent and only after that the outline was activated.


    The result is a simple and thin metal bracelet. I thought about it with my head and destroyed it, creating a wider one. The thing is that the enchantment is quite voluminous, and it is problematic to make it too small without tools. Here, it would seem, is an experienced magician, but we depend on tools like an ordinary person on his technological environment. And to make a tool, you need another tool, and for it ¡°another. And so many times. Horror!


    While thinking about the tools, I created a magic circuit to secure the transformation of the resulting bracelet and then shoved an enchantment circuit to emulate physical activity into it. Externally, the bracelet did not change at all, remaining the same simple, wide, with a metallic sheen. Without a doubt, having put it on my hand, I did not feel a single gram of weight, and the bracelet also tightened exactly along the width of my hand. Running my finger along it exactly as in my memories, I felt a heaviness from which I hunched over a little. It was hard to move, as if in wet clothes. In a lot of wet clothes. Hmm. This can be used on a permanent basis, only a little weaker. The bracelet will always adapt the force of the impact, and I will not feel any improvements, but at the same time, after turning it off, there will be no need to adapt to these same improvements. And also, the load from the bracelet will not inhibit the growth of the body. Well, it simulates the load in a complex way, and under the constant influence of gravity the body may develop differently than it should ¡°this is not here.


    Having entered the house and washed off the sweat that had appeared from the intense concentration in the shower, I went to empty the refrigerator, and then, until the evening, sat with books, occasionally interrupted by a kind of gymnastics, squats and push-ups. Trivial, but useful.


    In the evening my parents came home from work and over dinner I shared with them my impressions of the books I had read.


    In this vein, one day after another flew by. Every week I renewed the magical contours in my body, read a variety of books, got irritated by the uselessness of the computer, persistently did physical training, tried to eat and drink a lot.


    My memory worked perfectly, and I really remembered everything the first time, and not only literally, but also in a certain sense, with the understanding of what I read and saw. Textbooks on local magic gave me some idea of ??the school of magic in this world. It combined both witchcraft through will, desire and fantasy, and through various runes, mathematical calculations, interpretation of the meaning of numbers for mystical meaning, and so on. For example, transfiguration. From experience I can say that it is possible to transform one object into another by means of naked will. However, textbooks talk about the need to know formulas and precise calculations. This can also be called correct, because the mind gives form to magic. Let me express myself not entirely correctly, but by passing energy through the prism of the mind holding the magic formula, at the output we really get the desired transformation.


    Spells are witchcraft through gesture, word, will, fantasy. Yes, you can cast spells without all of this, if you have the appropriate energy in large quantities and a couple of basic contours and symbols, but here... It''s all somehow strange.


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 14

    I learned the sparse ¡°instructions¡± for spells, and there¡¯s no other way to say it, according to the curriculum for three years and a few household spells from my sister¡¯s notes. It¡¯s hard to draw conclusions yet, and it¡¯s worth looking at wizards in their natural habitat¡ªat Hogwarts.


    Hermione never showed up at the house; she just wrote back via owl that she would be going straight to Hogwarts from some Weasleys, wishing everyone well, peace, chewing gum, and that she was doing just fine. That¡¯s all. The impudent bird didn¡¯t even wait for an answer¡ªshe handed over the letter and flew away. Oh well.


    My physical condition improved a little in August, which is not surprising. Life energy, youth, a growing healthy body that is becoming even healthier by the hour, abundant food, and life on schedule¡ªit would be a sin not to develop! Of course, I did not become an athlete¡ªa completely normal thirteen-year-old guy, above average, my face became a little more handsome, my hair is still black, and my eyes are blue. Now at least they do not want to feed me as soon as possible. True, I had to update my wardrobe a little again, but this concerned only ordinary things¡ªthe school uniform and robes I bought adjusted themselves to size¡ªI think this is a product of local enchantment or artifactory. It is a pity that they do not use constructs and seals here, and it is almost impossible to understand something just holding the thing in your hands.


    On August 31, I was packed and equipped for the trip to Hogwarts. All the necessary things and purchased accessories, books, stationery, socks, underpants, and other junk¡ªeverything fit safely into the triangular backpack on one strap that I begged from my parents, bought, and personally enchanted myself. Yes, one of the few constructs that I know¡ªfor creating a travel bag. I often had to use it when traveling.


    About the conditions in terms of parameters¡­ Well, it¡¯s hard to judge. The bracelet adapts to my successes, and it¡¯s just as hard for me to train as it was the first time, but I can do not just a couple dozen different movements or a ten-minute warm-up, but a full series of movements and almost an hour of exercises that are somewhat reminiscent of wushu. Or is wushu reminiscent of elven training complexes-dances?


    Witchcraft¡­ Well, yes, I have memorized, but not learned the spells. The reason for my difficulties is very simple¡ªI direct magic with threads, so to speak. The fragments of lives were so dashingly embedded in my soul that it was easy to regain control, but another problem arose¡ªa reflex. Almost all magic, all the constructs, runes, and other things that I brought with me from these fragments required precise and subtle control of energies, the ability to direct them strictly and only in the form of threads, preventing dissipation. This plays a cruel joke on me, because I unconsciously direct them like that, and local witchcraft is based on trails of magic released through a wand. Precisely trails, like streams of smoke, and I have not practiced this. But, I think, it is just a matter of time and practice. You need to learn to ¡°let go¡± of the magic, and only then feel, realize, and learn to make these trails consciously, without a wand.


    In general, nothing is clear about local magic, but it is very interesting.


    ---


    On the morning of the first of September, I was fully prepared for work and defense, having dressed in advance in a school uniform of trousers, a shirt, a jumper, and a tie. Of course, I couldn¡¯t do without shoes. Good patent leather boots, although they are still half-boots. Robes and other personal items were in the backpack, like everything else, and the school trunk was traveling almost empty. I did not disdain and imposed a whole complex of magical contours and enchantments on clothes to improve their practicality and durability along with maintaining comfortable conditions. In honor of my first sending to school as a student in general, and to Hogwarts in particular, my parents decided to be late for work. I was not facing a classic trip by train and boats, but being sent by fireplace, and not in the morning, but almost in the evening. Therefore, I listened to instructions on good behavior, worries, etc. Only at half past six in the afternoon, the doorbell rang in the house.


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    Professor McGonagall personally came for me, made sure I was okay and ready for school, and even apparated with me to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. The feeling of being moved in such a brutal way, when you are literally dragged through a puncture in space the size of a needle¡¯s eye, was indescribable, and in an attempt to normalize my ¡°inner world,¡± I did not even notice how we flew away through the fireplace to another pub, gloomy and stern. The barman there was a match for the pub, tall, powerful, bearded.


    ¡°Hello, Aberforth,¡± the professor greeted, receiving only a nod.


    There were no visitors in the pub, and we didn¡¯t linger; we left straight away.


    The fresh air was incredibly pleasant, and I even allowed myself to stop a little and take a couple of deep breaths.


    ¡°Is everything alright, Mr. Granger?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, Professor. The air here is painfully clean.¡±


    ¡°Nature, lake, forest. Hogwarts is in a very good place both from a magical and natural point of view.¡±


    ¡°I completely agree with you, Professor.¡±


    The weather outside was cloudy, and I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if a thunderstorm with rain soon broke out; ahead, at the end of the path, wooden and stone houses with high and sharp roof slopes were visible. The soft light of the lights was burning in the houses, and everything would be fine, but the weather was gloomy. And a strange feeling¡­


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong around here, Professor,¡± I remarked as we walked to Hogwarts.


    ¡°The castle will be guarded by Dementors this year,¡± McGonagall said sternly.


    ¡°And when did the school turn into a branch of Azkaban?¡±


    ¡°Do you know about Dementors and Azkaban?¡±


    ¡°I like to read and collect information. This is important.¡±


    ¡°I agree. The Ministry of Magic took such measures in connection with the escape of Sirius Black.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard about it. Even ordinary people were warned about it on the evening news.¡±


    Some tiny fragments of knowledge about Dementors were spinning in my head, and I clearly didn¡¯t get them in this world¡ªhere only from books. The *Patronus* spell, which is related to the highest Light Magic, as it is called here¡ªthat¡¯s their weakness. I will definitely need to study it.


    When we passed the village and almost reached Hogwarts, literally in front of its gates, I felt a sharp cold; steam came out of my mouth, and in magic, I felt the clear presence of a rather advanced undead. Sharply turning on the spot and pulling out my wand, I pointed it at the five subjects that appeared. Enormous black robes hovering above the ground. Dark holes under the hood, the hems of the robes were torn, like the sleeves, the rags of which seemed to move under water¡ªsmoothly and slowly.


    The professor didn¡¯t hesitate to turn around and point her wand at them. Some negative¡­ negative negatives, you can¡¯t even say it any other way! As if someone was desperately trying to shake up my bad memories, plunging me into depression. It won¡¯t work¡ªI¡¯ve long ago hung a bunch of protection on my mentality. But how disgusting. Even the professor turned pale.


    ¡°This is not the wizard you are looking for,¡± the professor said sternly. ¡°There is no Sirius Black here.¡±


    The Dementors hung in the air for a while and flew away, and McGonagall quietly took a breath, as did I. I have several methods of fighting the undead in my stash, but I have not tried them with a magic wand, like many other things¡ªthis concentrator and conductor is quite unique and directs magic in a slightly different way from the usual. There is no talk of wandless magic, as I can do¡ªsuch abilities should be kept secret, and then they will be aces up the sleeve.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± McGonagall said, more sternly than before.


    A couple of minutes later, we walked through the tall double doors of the main entrance to Hogwarts and walked along rather dark corridors. The sound of footsteps on the stone floor echoed loudly along the corridors and was lost there, in the darkness under the ceiling, where almost no light fell¡ªit was dark outside in the evening, and the lights in the castle were not turned on. Was it the wrong time? Were they saving on torches?


    Here McGonagall led me to the large doors, lightly pushed them with her hand, and we entered the large hall. Four long tables stretched almost the entire length of the hall, and on the other side, there was a small podium on which stood another table, perpendicular to those four. Behind it, a small man in a tailcoat and green robe was already sitting, bored. Moustache, neat round glasses.


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 15

    As we walked towards that far table on the podium, the little man perked up and looked at me with interest.


    ¡°Minerva,¡± he said, ¡°this is young Mr. Granger, I take it?¡±


    ¡°Exactly, Filius,¡± McGonagall nodded and turned to me. ¡°Sit somewhere nearby for now, at any table. The other students will arrive soon. You will be the last to undergo the Sorting Ceremony.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Professor.¡±


    I sat down on a bench at the first table I came across and began to wait. A few minutes later, the teachers began to gather and sit at the table I was led to.


    ¡°Mr. Granger,¡± a familiar voice said from behind, and turning around, I saw the Headmaster.


    ¡°Hello, Headmaster.¡±


    Dumbledore smiled into his beard, and the light was reflected intricately in his half-moon glasses.


    ¡°How do you like the Great Hall of Hogwarts?¡±


    I looked around, taking in the illusion of a dark, cloudy sky on the ceiling. The Headmaster waved his hand, and a multitude of burning candles appeared above the tables, floating in the air.


    ¡°Interesting charms on the ceiling, sir.¡±


    ¡°Very¡­ capacious, yes,¡± the Headmaster nodded. ¡°Well, the students are already approaching. I think I should take my place too.¡±


    The Headmaster walked up to the teachers¡¯ table and sat down on a large throne-like chair. Soon, all the seats at the teachers¡¯ table were occupied. They were quite colorful people, from stern and gloomy to cheerful and positive. There was even a huge, shaggy man with a shaggy beard. Probably some kind of half-breed.


    Literally a couple of minutes later, students of different ages poured into the hall in a crowd. Some of them were a little wet, rumpled, lethargic, pale, and frightened, but they quickly came to their senses. Each one was wearing a school uniform and robes with colored linings. They sat at tables according to color¡ªI sat behind those in blue. Ravenclaw, if you believe *Hogwarts: A History*.


    Quickly taking the robe out of my backpack, I threw it on and turned around as if I had been sitting at a table. They paid minimal attention to me, talking about their own matters. As it turned out from these conversations, Dementors visited the train with children, and many became ill¡ªthis undead has a very pernicious influence.


    For about ten minutes, the hall was quietly humming with voices, and then the doors of the hall opened again, and Professor McGonagall led a small crowd of applicants behind her. The first-years did not look very good. Lost and shocked, but they quickly came to their senses, looking at the beautiful illusion charms on the ceiling.


    The professor led them to the podium. They brought out a stool and placed the Sorting Hat on it. It seemed to come to life, and a semblance of a face formed from the folds, which immediately began singing, missing the notes.


    After such a peculiar concert, Professor McGonagall took the parchment and began reading the names of the first-years from it in alphabetical order. The named one came out of the crowd, sat on a stool facing the faculty tables, and the Hat was placed on his head. The Hat either immediately or after a moment¡¯s thought loudly shouted the house in which the first-year would study, after which the Hat was removed, and the student went to the table of his faculty.


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    As I noticed, the distribution was more or less even, but Gryffindor still got a little more students. Hmm, and Hermione is a Gryffindor student.


    The professor did not go anywhere, although the first-years were over. Then the Headmaster stood up from his seat, approached the lectern, on which a golden animated owl with spread wings and a pair of candles on candlesticks flaunted.


    ¡°Before finishing the distribution ceremony, I would like to say a few words,¡± said the Headmaster. ¡°To begin with, today, for the first time, not only first-year students came to us as students, but also another young man. Two years ago, due to health reasons, he was unable to enroll in the first year with everyone else and was undergoing treatment. This year, to our general joy, he will be able to join our friendly team.¡±


    Dumbledore nodded, and McGonagall looked at me and said loudly, like the previous names:


    ¡°Granger, Hector.¡±


    I stood up and walked briskly to the stool, turned sharply, throwing up the hem of my robe, sat down, and immediately a hat was placed on my head. Silence. Silence. A light mental scan that does not affect memory but evaluates personality.


    ¡°How interesting, yes¡­¡± the Hat¡¯s voice came from all sides.


    It looks like some kind of mental transmission.


    ¡°¡­And where should I send you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, dear Hat,¡± I mentally directed the words to this interesting artifact. ¡°I wasn¡¯t prepared for such a question, and I don¡¯t have any personal preferences. Look, my sister is in Gryffindor.¡±


    ¡°Determined and goal-oriented, I see. You, young man, would look good in Ravenclaw. I feel that you can be a very extraordinary person. Hufflepuff will welcome your hard work with open arms.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to belong to any faculty to display the proper character traits. It¡¯s just your own choice.¡±


    ¡°Well, in that case¡­¡±


    ¡°Hufflepuff!¡± the Hat shouted across the hall.


    The gnome inside me rejoices. If the books are to be believed, a friendly team, work, and life in the dungeon await me. If only someone would supply me with some ale and meat. What nonsense is this in my head?


    The Hogwarts faculty is one family. At least these are the words of Professor McGonagall that the first-years quoted as we walked to the Hufflepuff common room after the end of the festive feast. Despite the joy of admission, the children could not ignore the news that the school would be guarded by the Dementors of Azkaban, and if their anxiety was purely emotional, then mine was from the knowledge of what was in the books and from the sensations of their magic. And yes, I walked with the first-years, but in fairness, it should be noted that the Hufflepuff students basically walked in one crowd; that behind the ostentatious friendliness, behind the smiles and cheerful conversations, they hid real worries and fear in their eyes.


    I hadn¡¯t been attacked with questions yet, although I was accepted easily at the feast table, without going overboard in excessive caution or, on the contrary, friendliness. The prefect, Cedric Diggory, was a rather tall, brown-haired man with unruly hair and a polite smile that seemed to be stuck to his face. On the way to the common room, he told me various little things about these gloomy stone corridors of the school, about the best way to get to the Great Hall, and about when and where you can get from the main tower, where all the stairs move.


    ¡°And here,¡± Cedric pointed to a large still-life painting, ¡°is the Hogwarts kitchen. To get there, you need to tickle this painted pear.¡±


    He pointed his finger but did nothing.


    ¡°The entrance to our living room is already very close.¡±


    And indeed, we walked another ten meters, turned a corner, and saw large wooden barrels stacked horizontally on top of each other. They were so big that an adult could crawl through one of them, just bending over a little.


    ¡°The entrance is here.¡±


    Although there were guys from other years with us, who obviously knew how to get into the common room, they were standing nearby and waiting for Cedric to demonstrate to the newcomers how to do it. He knocked in a strictly defined rhythm on one of the barrels, and the bottom of the other opened like a door.


    ¡°Here. The sequence must be followed. Come in,¡± the prefect waved his hand towards the passage with a smile.


    The faculty common room reminded me too much of something. A low domed ceiling with slightly slanted walls, an abundance of shelves with pots in which a variety of plants grew, creamy yellow colors with an abundance of wooden trim. The common room itself was not exactly in the dungeons¡ªthrough the high round windows, you could see the grass growing near the walls of the castle. It looked like a basement, a dugout¡ªyou can call it whatever you like. Many comfortable deep sofas and armchairs, massive but small wooden tables, a monumental fireplace, and¡­ And again, round doors, behind which, as I saw, the passages to the women¡¯s and men¡¯s rooms were hidden. Yes, these are not dwarf halls¡ªthis is some kind of hobbit hole!


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 16

    Everyone except me and the first-years wandered off in different directions, splitting into groups based on their interests. Most likely, though, many would head to bed, their eyes showing fatigue and relief¡ªnative walls would protect them. For us, Cedric delivered a speech about what a wonderful house Hufflepuff is, how friendly and hardworking everyone here is, and about the ongoing conflict between Gryffindor and Slytherin at the school. Because of this conflict, we need to ¡°keep our finger on the pulse,¡± and if we wish to befriend or interact with students from these houses, we should always keep in mind the possibility of arrogant aggression from Gryffindors and a cunning setup from Slytherins, since, to everyone¡¯s sorrow, many consider our house a den of narrow-minded blockheads.


    ¡°Hector,¡± the Prefect addressed me familiarly, having previously instructed several students to settle the first-years. ¡°You were enrolled straight into the third year, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I nodded seriously in response.


    ¡°No need to be so formal,¡± Cedric said, keeping the smile on his face.


    I don¡¯t know why, but it didn¡¯t seem natural to me¡ªor rather, not so much unnatural as forced. Yes, that fits better.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move aside,¡± he said, gesturing invitingly to a free sofa. In the armchair next to it, a terribly decent-looking guy my age, with a meticulously neat parting in his dark hair, was gazing boredly into the fireplace.


    ¡°Justin,¡± Cedric said to the guy in the chair.


    ¡°Huh? Yes?¡± The guy looked at us. ¡°Cedric. Something happened?¡±


    ¡°You could say that,¡± the Prefect replied, turning to me. ¡°You see, Hector, it¡¯s customary at our faculty for first-year students to go to classes and breaks with Prefects or responsible persons at first¡ªto get acquainted with the routes, the castle, the classrooms, and all that sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°I think I understand the difficulty,¡± I said, nodding again and mirroring Cedric¡¯s smile.


    My gesture made him pause for a moment, but he resumed speaking almost immediately, and it seemed to me he even gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.


    ¡°Of course, we usually assign some seniors to the first-years initially, but it¡¯s all strictly optional, and this year, there won¡¯t be enough seniors available for the first-years even one-to-one¡ªnot to mention a third-year student. Justin¡­¡±


    Diggory turned again to the guy, who had been listening attentively.


    ¡°You won¡¯t abandon a new comrade in trouble, will you? Will you help Hector get settled in?¡±


    ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You, Justin, Zacharias, and Ernie.¡±


    ¡°Our schedules might differ.¡±


    ¡°What? Oh, right, how could I forget. Hector, what extra subjects did you take?¡±


    ¡°Additional? They didn¡¯t tell me anything about that.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Cedric pondered, while Justin sat quietly, staring at the fire in the fireplace. ¡°But do you have textbooks for all subjects?¡±


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    ¡°Yes, for all of them, generally. Even that jaw-dropping book on Care of Magical Creatures.¡±


    ¡°A jaw book?¡± The Prefect looked surprised, casting a questioning glance at Justin, who flinched.


    ¡°A terrible book,¡± the boy winced. ¡°At first, I was very surprised. But now, knowing that Hagrid will be the teacher, I understand why this particular book appeared on the lists.¡±


    For now, all I could do was shift my gaze between Cedric and Justin, playing the role of a simple yet understanding and reserved boy¡ªthough I am one. And that book is indeed amusing¡ªbig, with an eye, and it behaves like a huge living jaw. I almost immediately realized you need to stroke its spine to open it calmly and read¡ªa very distinctive ridge on the spine.


    ¡°I see,¡± Cedric smiled again. ¡°Hagrid is truly unique. Look, Hector, you need to choose two additional subjects: Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy.¡±


    ¡°In that case,¡± I said, thinking for a moment, ¡°Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes.¡±


    ¡°An unexpected combination.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Justin nodded. ¡°We all chose Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, or Muggle Studies. Nobody cares about the rest. Hector, why Care of Magical Creatures and Runes?¡±


    ¡°You can figure out the other subjects yourself; the books there are quite clear. Understanding animals is best done through contact with them, and books on Runes are too abstract. Muggle Studies¡­ well, you understand.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Cedric agreed with a nod. ¡°A questionable subject for a Muggle-born. I¡¯ll talk to the other Prefects about the Runes. And one more question: How are you with magic?¡±


    ¡°Practical training in subjects? Or theory?¡±


    ¡°Both.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve learned all the theory, no practice at all. But I pick things up quickly.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, let¡¯s check,¡± the Prefect said with another smile. Taking a wand from the inside pocket of his robe, he pointed it at a sheet of parchment lying on the table nearby.


    The sheet quickly transformed into a feather without any visible effects.


    ¡°Take out your wand and cast a levitation charm on the feather.¡±


    Pulling my wand from the holster on my forearm¡ªwhich I hadn¡¯t even noticed I¡¯d crafted from my mother¡¯s old, worn-out boot, its box destined for the trash¡ªI made the correct swing, released my control over the magic, and said:


    ¡°*Wingardium Leviosa.*¡±


    The crumbs of my magic rushed to the wand and emerged as a sort of trail, enveloping the feather. Yes, it lifted off and hovered happily above the table, obeying my wand¡¯s movements. But I didn¡¯t sense any particular structuring or anything else. The magic, in an almost unaltered form, seemed to wrap around the feather, leaving a simple channel for interaction. What¡¯s happening? Why? Nothing¡¯s clear, but it¡¯s very interesting.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Cedric nodded contentedly, smiling at me. ¡°And you haven¡¯t tried this spell before?¡±


    ¡°No, nor any other magic in the program.¡±


    ¡°Impressive,¡± Justin remarked, eyeing the hovering feather with interest as I canceled the spell. ¡°You¡¯re just like Hermione¡ªyou cast spells with almost no practice. We¡¯ll get through the material quickly then.¡±


    ¡°By the way,¡± Cedric perked up, sitting a bit more upright with an air of importance, ¡°are you, Hector, by any chance related to Hermione Granger?¡±


    ¡°Yes, her brother. Does it matter?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Cedric shook his head, though Justin disagreed.


    ¡°Well, she¡¯s the best student not just in our year, but overall. Her studies are always perfect.¡±


    ¡°Okay, guys,¡± Cedric said, standing up from the couch, and we followed suit. ¡°I won¡¯t keep you any longer. If I¡¯ve checked the schedules correctly, your classes start with Potions tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Oh-oh-oh, no,¡± Justin groaned, prompting a kinder smile from the Prefect this time. ¡°Come on, Hector. I¡¯ll show you the room. And don¡¯t worry about the magic¡ªwe¡¯ll definitely help, and we¡¯ll manage it ourselves.¡±


    We left the gradually emptying faculty common room, passing through the round doors into a corridor lined with several more doors¡ªyes, also round. Hobbits, honestly!


    The room where I was placed with the other third-year boys followed the same light color scheme as the faculty common room, with round windows too. Four of the six deep niches housed fairly large wooden beds with yellow canopies, matching the lining of the faculty students¡¯ robes. A thick curtain allowed you to separate yourself from the common space, creating a cozy personal corner. Each niche had room not just for a bed but also for a chest, and even a small table with a chair. The room itself was spacious, boasting a large table, chairs, a sofa, armchairs, and two of the remaining niches, which had clearly been turned into storage nooks by a student¡¯s hand for various items that didn¡¯t fit elsewhere in the room.


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 17

    ¡°Yo!¡± a blond boy with a haircut mirroring Justin¡¯s waved his hand at Justin and me. ¡°Hector, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    He and another boy rose from their chairs and approached, extending their hands.


    ¡°Ernie Macmillan,¡± one introduced himself. ¡°Let¡¯s get acquainted.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m Zacharias Smith,¡± said the second, nearly blond boy.


    ¡°Hector Granger,¡± I replied, shaking their hands.


    ¡°Shall we talk or sleep?¡± Zacharias asked, casting a tired glance at us.


    ¡°Sleep, of course,¡± Justin replied. ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s Potions.¡±


    ¡°On the first day? A nightmare!¡± the boys groaned in unison, and Justin pointed at my school trunk, which stood beside the bed in one of the niches.


    ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve been assigned here. We¡¯ve got four guys in our year now.¡±


    ¡°And the girls?¡±


    ¡°Two.¡±


    ¡°So few?¡±


    As we began preparing for bed, I learned where the proper bathroom was¡ªbesides a shower or bath, that is. The shower is shared and located at the end of the corridor; a bath doesn¡¯t exist at all, unless you count the pool reserved for the older students.


    ¡°They say,¡± Justin began when everyone was climbing into bed¡ªZacharias had already passed out without even closing the curtain to his nook¡ª¡°that the late seventies and early eighties were tough years for kids. There are fewer of us now than in previous years.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Well, they say it was a full-on civil war by local standards. The numbers aren¡¯t huge, but given magical Britain¡¯s tiny population, when you convert it to percentages and coefficients¡­¡±


    ¡°You sound so smart¡­¡± A pillow whizzed from one niche to another.


    ¡°Ow¡­¡±


    ¡°Go to sleep already, and¡­¡±


    ---


    Morning in the new place didn¡¯t trouble me at all. The elf in me had wandered for centuries, greeting each day in a new spot. Part of the dwarf¡¯s memories felt a twinge of sadness at how much the layout and design of the faculty common room resembled hobbit dwellings. Well¡­ a dwarf may be a dwarf, but how I itch to call him a gnome!


    I woke before the others¡ªhabits and schedules are hard to break. After a quick warm-up, I headed to the shower, where a couple of guys were trying to shake off an obvious hangover, dunking their heads under cold water. Ignoring them, I completed my hygiene routine and returned to the room. The others were still asleep, but time waits for no one! According to the schedule I¡¯d found among Hermione¡¯s books and notebooks, breakfast was nearing. Spotting a metal round tray on the table, I grabbed it along with a nearby spoon. With a simple magical construct to amplify sound, a swing, and a strike¡ª


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    The metallic clang echoed through the room.


    ¡°Get up!¡± Another strike. ¡°You¡¯ll sleep through Potions!¡±


    That last phrase hit the boys¡¯ consciousness far harder than the clanging, sabotaging their sweet slumber. They jolted awake and shuffled to the shower like sluggish sleepwalkers, returning soon after with clear displeasure in their eyes.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be late, or we¡¯ll have to rush breakfast,¡± I shrugged, unembarrassed.


    Justin walked to his alcove, pulled out his wand, and cast *Tempus*, revealing an illusory clock face.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Quickly donning the school uniform¡ªtrousers, shirt, a tie in faculty colors, a dark jumper with sleeves and the Hogwarts crest, and a robe with a yellow lining¡ªwe stepped into the common room. The atmosphere buzzed with life, though students didn¡¯t linger long, leaving as soon as they¡¯d gathered their comrades or finished packing their school bags.


    ¡°I was starting to think I¡¯d have to wake you lot,¡± the Prefect approached from the side, flashing his signature smile.


    ¡°No need,¡± Zacharias muttered, glaring at me, his tousled blond hair left uncombed. ¡°Hector already woke us in the cruelest way.¡±


    ¡°And how, if it¡¯s not a secret?¡± Cedric asked.


    ¡°He banged on the iron tray like a lunatic and yelled, ¡®Get up!¡¯¡± Zacharias grumbled.


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± the Prefect said with a dismissive wave. ¡°That¡¯s nothing! I know a tricky spell¡ªHector, I¡¯ll show you later¡­¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the boys shouted in unison, recoiling half a step.


    ¡°Okay, jokes aside,¡± Cedric said, pulling several thin sheets of parchment from the inside pocket of his robe and handing them to us. ¡°Your schedules. And this is¡­¡±


    He handed me an extra sheet.


    ¡°Fill in the additional subjects you¡¯ve chosen. These forms were completed in second year, but, well, you understand.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Got a quill?¡±


    We stood near the exit from the boys¡¯ wing, those round doors still irking me¡ªI hope I¡¯ll get used to them. Beside us was a table cluttered with various office supplies and odds and ends, including inkwells and a couple of quills. We approached it, and I laid the form on the table, deftly dipping a quill in an inkwell and filling it out with swift precision.


    ¡°Wow!¡± Zacharias exclaimed, unable to hide his admiration. ¡°My father would¡¯ve built me a monument in my lifetime for handwriting that gorgeous!¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Cedric nodded, smiling. ¡°The Hogwarts invitation letter looks like cheap scrap paper next to this.¡±


    ¡°It just came out that way,¡± I said modestly.


    No surprise there¡ªwriting with a quill is one of those daily habits an elf picks up over a lifetime.


    ¡°Well then,¡± Cedric said, taking my form and briefly admiring the handwriting before continuing, ¡°I entrust our new guy to you.¡±


    As soon as the Prefect turned toward the gathered first-years, my classmates dragged me back to our room.


    ¡°Did you get the schedule?¡± Justin asked, more rhetorically than not.


    ¡°We did,¡± Ernie nodded, having been mostly silent lately.


    ¡°Let¡¯s pack our bags now so we don¡¯t end up scrambling like everyone else later,¡± Justin suggested.


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± I agreed, eager to try the tactic myself.


    As we prepared for the day and returned to the common room, I couldn¡¯t help but notice that almost no one carried a standard school bag¡ªthe dress code here seems less strict than with the uniform. My personally enchanted triangular backpack wouldn¡¯t stand out too much, then.


    We weren¡¯t the last to reach the Great Hall for breakfast, nor the first, so the hum of students filled the air from all sides. As we took our seats at the Hufflepuff table, plates of porridge, sausages, buns, and other breakfast fare appeared before us. Ernie Macmillan, noticing me scanning the faculty tables and the students seated there, launched into a monologue about the school¡¯s current ¡°political¡± situation¡ªwho was who, a certain Harry Potter, a half-blood who¡¯d offed the local Dark Lord as a baby, and all sorts of tidbits I¡¯d mostly pieced together from Hermione¡¯s books. True, I¡¯d had to read between the lines in those books, but now I at least understood who boasted what blood status, which Houses paid lip service to ignoring it while secretly caring deeply. To my delight, Hufflepuff didn¡¯t fuss much over such things, though in practice, pure-bloods still held more social weight. Nothing new. Still, my observations naturally led me to some conclusions on a different matter.


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 18

    Hufflepuff stood out for its herd mentality¡ªin a good sense, of course. The House seemed more united. These conclusions came from subtle details: the way they exchanged glances, how they sat, the nature of their smiles¡ªthough you¡¯d only notice if you looked closely. Otherwise, they were just familiar faces sharing common topics and interests.


    Ravenclaw is a house of eccentrics. They distinguished themselves in small ways, even tweaking their school uniforms to add a touch of individuality without breaking the dress code¡ªa stitched detail here, unusual shoes there, rolled-up sleeves, an extra frill, or at least a homemade bracelet. They¡¯re obvious loners too¡ªkeeping their distance and respecting personal space was clear, as was the fact that many of them, even at breakfast, watched videos or earnestly discussed what was unmistakably magic, judging by their hand gestures.


    Gryffindor is an explosive mix of everyone. Truly everyone. From prim types eating breakfast with haughty stares at the chaos around them to disheveled slobs with wild grins and restless energy. You could find any personality in that house, but with a bit more observation, a shared trait emerged despite the variety¡ªan immediate, slightly aggressive reaction to anything that irked them. That¡¯s how I¡¯d describe it, at least.


    Slytherin is a breeding ground for kids with aristocratic pretensions. No, not all of them act like princes and princesses. But across the fragments of my memories, I¡¯ve brushed shoulders with the ¡°upper caste¡±¡ªor those who fancy themselves part of it. Let¡¯s be honest: the elf could boast a less-than-ordinary lineage, as could a couple of wizards. It¡¯s clear¡ªwhether from upbringing or a stern word from parents like ¡°Follow the seniors of the faculty¡±¡ªthat¡¯s what shapes them.


    Together, it¡¯s all hilariously absurd, and now I get why Dumbledore smiles as he surveys everyone from the staff table. I¡¯m sure that smile¡¯s a constant, except when it¡¯s out of place.


    I also spotted Hermione, who barreled toward the Gryffindor table like an unstoppable hurricane, scarfed down something without heeding anyone, and then bolted out¡ªall anyone caught was a flash of unruly chestnut hair.


    ¡°And you¡¯re Hector, right?¡± A blonde my age¡ªclearly a classmate¡ªsat across from us at the table, joined by a slightly plump red-haired girl.


    ¡°Exactly. You?¡±


    ¡°Oh, really,¡± the redhead blushed. ¡°Susan Bones.¡±


    ¡°Hannah Abbott,¡± the blonde added.


    ¡°Very nice,¡± I said, though honestly, not really.


    I just don¡¯t like redheads, and Hannah¡¯s smile felt¡­ toxic, somehow. It seemed genuine, yet it was as if she¡¯d scrawled something horribly offensive on your forehead and was waiting for the crowd to react. Still, everyone¡¯s got their quirks¡ªlike that smile.


    ¡°Our classmates¡ªand yours too,¡± Justin said, nodding toward them.


    I couldn¡¯t help but study his features. With his lush dark hair parted perfectly and his oval, slightly elongated face, he looked like a rich movie villain. That expression¡ªlike he suspected everyone of everything¡ªonly reinforced the vibe. Quite an interesting crew we¡¯ve got here, frankly.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you study with us from first year?¡± Hannah pressed on with her questions.


    ¡°I was sick. Since birth. But don¡¯t worry¡ªeverything¡¯s fine now.¡±


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    ¡°Got it,¡± she nodded.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you eaten already?¡± Ernie cut in, clearly irked, though the reason wasn¡¯t obvious yet. ¡°Let¡¯s go, or we¡¯ll be late for Potions.¡±


    ¡°Oh, by the way!¡± Susan chimed in as we rose from the table. ¡°Have you noticed everyone¡¯s got Potions at the same time now?¡±


    We exited the Great Hall and headed in a direction the guys knew well. Justin pulled the parchment schedule from his bag and studied it closely.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± he said. ¡°So, what¡ªdo we get to witness the eternal Gryffindor-Slytherin squabble? What a treat.¡± His voice dripped with sarcasm.


    ¡°Gnawing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, Hector, you don¡¯t know,¡± Hannah said, walking beside me as we reached the main tower with its moving stairs. ¡°The feud between those two Houses is practically a tradition here.¡±


    Weaving through the crowd of students, we descended deftly into what seemed to be the dungeons. Torches and bowls of fire cast a warm, diffused glow¡ªunlike the dim evening of my arrival.


    ¡°The older students say it¡¯s usually a quiet conflict,¡± the blonde continued. ¡°But in our year, a few students turned it into an open, active showdown with all their might.¡±


    ¡°Is it true,¡± I couldn¡¯t resist asking the burning question, ¡°that there weren¡¯t magical skirmishes at school before them?¡±


    ¡°There were, of course,¡± Zacharias interjected, wedging himself between us. ¡°Something¡¯s always happening¡ªthe hospital wing¡¯s never empty. Personal conflicts are one thing; a crowd might start a brawl somewhere until a professor steps in. But it¡¯s another thing when it¡¯s over the color of a tie.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why we stick together as a group,¡± Hannah added. ¡°Our House isn¡¯t hostile to anyone, but you never know who¡¯ll get a brilliant idea.¡±


    ¡°Or set a trap,¡± Justin chimed in.


    ¡°Or just mock us,¡± Ernie Macmillan shrugged, breaking his silence.


    ¡°Has that ever happened? And fought back?¡± I asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s what we do,¡± Zacharias said with a shrug. ¡°Well, not us personally¡ªthank Merlin, we haven¡¯t had those problems. Hope it stays that way. But if someone gets offended, the whole House feels it, and the seniors sort it out in the end. That said¡­¡±


    Judging by the crowd of students our age from all Houses milling around an office door, we¡¯d reached our destination.


    ¡°¡­the trickiest and most hurtful issues come from Slytherins,¡± Zacharias continued, nodding toward two groups with scarlet and green robe linings. ¡°The toughest but easiest to handle in kind are from Gryffindors. And Ravenclaws? They don¡¯t care about anyone.¡±


    We quietly joined the other students, swapping polite nods with some.


    ¡°Oh my God, a Dementor!¡± a blond in green Slytherin robes shrieked, recoiling from a bespectacled, unkempt brunette.


    The brunette spun around, naturally seeing no Dementors. The move sparked unnatural laughter from the Slytherins and outrage from the Gryffindors.


    ¡°What was that scream you were shouting, Potter?¡± the blond sneered, flanked by two hulking guys snickering obsequiously. ¡°Mommy, mommy, no-o-o!¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Malfoy!¡± a lanky redhead¡ªclearly Potter¡¯s friend¡ªgrowled at the blond. I didn¡¯t like him instantly. Redheads and me don¡¯t mix.


    Justin nudged me lightly with his elbow, catching my attention. I tilted my head slightly toward him.


    ¡°Draco Malfoy,¡± he whispered. ¡°Heir and only son of the Malfoy family¡ªrich, influential pure-blood wizards. Cocky, cowardly, rude. They say he¡¯s the unofficial leader of his House. The redhead, Weasley, is from Gryffindor¡ªsixth son of a poor pure-blood family. Hot-headed, dim, brash, lazy, jealous. Most think he¡¯s a leech on Potter under the guise of friendship, though maybe they¡¯re actually mates. Ernie already told you about Potter.¡±


    ¡°Such detailed info? And you¡¯re supposedly Muggle-born,¡± I murmured back, still watching the squabble.


    ¡°My father taught me to analyze and compile quick profiles on people,¡± Justin replied.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Zacharias squeezed between us again, ¡°but you still suck at the first part.¡±


    ¡°True enough,¡± Justin admitted with a shrug. ¡°You¡¯re no pro at it either.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ Finch-Fletchley¡­ Finch-Fletchley,¡± I muttered, trying to recall where I¡¯d recently heard that name. The thought nearly clicked, but Hermione¡¯s arrival cut it short.


    ¡°Enough already,¡± my sister said, yanking the lanky redhead by the sleeve as he glared at Malfoy like a bull at a red flag.


    ¡°What, Potter,¡± Malfoy taunted, ¡°hiding behind a Mudblood?¡±


    Nothing new under the sun. Whatever the world, whatever the magic, people stay people. Even elves share a similar psychology, just with slightly shifted values. If there¡¯s a split between pure-bloods and others, that divide gets emphasized. If there¡¯s another distinguishing trait, it becomes a target for discrimination. For an elf, a dwarf, or many of my memory fragments, blood ties always matter. But force? That¡¯s not our way.


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