Chapter 9

Knock, knock, knock, the wheels of the locomotive pounded, carrying the students to their summer vacation. One hundred and twenty gallions for hard work in the greenhouse, plus fifty liters of concentrated potion base extract, that's about another forty gallions. It has not been a good year financially. I've worked hard, but I've gotten very little out of it. I didn't even get to read much in the Room of Requirement.

The only really positive moment — more than three thousand books were transferred to the Grimoire. Well, and the practice in many areas of magical science was very solid. Only there were no tricky problems to solve. At last I was fifteen years old, which led to a jump-like growth of power, and solid, not in vain I worked. I didn't reach the average level of teachers. It feels good, damn it.

The most epic event of the year, in my opinion, is that the snakes have a new dean. He turned out to be Mr. Snape, known to all fans of the scar-headed boy. According to the canon he was supposed to appear earlier, but apparently something went wrong. A young man, a bat-like knight of sad character. A bitter boor convinced he's surrounded by idiots who mistake his rudeness for sarcasm. In short, a freak with a lot of complexes. I didn't like him at all. Ego at the expense of the students, no, no, no. He may be a good wizard, but he's a lousy human being.

The recipes in the textbooks are old and nonsense, mine are better, hand-face and no words. I myself am well versed in the delicate science of potions, and I understand that the textbooks give optimal methods for the layman, in some places even simplified for children. As far as I'm concerned, this wingsless mouse deserved his fate. Of course I didn't start a conflict, I'm not the hero of all magical Britain, but I tried to stay as far away as possible. Which wasn't hard, given the general trend. It seems that in the near future the number of those who want to study the subject in depth will come to nothing. The only ones left would be those who couldn't get into the coveted profession without potions.

After arriving at the station, Fireplace moved to the magical district and went to the bank. The goblins didn't make much of an impression. Ugly by human standards, evil, gray-green, toothy, and somehow smelling strange. Not that unpleasant, but not violet-scented. They answered the polite greeting with their lips and tried to look down as if at an empty place. They had forgotten how the last rebellion had ended, when the flames of hell had raged in their underground caves. I exchanged a hundred galleons for pounds, took a pamphlet with a list of bank services, said goodbye to the clerk as coldly as I could, and left as proudly as I could. I sold the barrel with the extractor and went out through the fireplace into ordinary London.

The chest, reduced by enchantments, lay in a pocket enlarged by them. A complex of muggle-repelling charms, a walk to the nearest second-hand store of the type. I'm going to the orphanage, after all, it's a little strange to be dressed in too quality, because orphanages usually get new clothes in the fall and spring. And now it's the last third of June. I bought jeans, t-shirts, underwear, a gym bag, and at least a few other things. I went back to the bar and rented a room for the day, and I had upset Tom off that I wouldn't be staying with him this summer. I changed in the room, did some magic on my things, packed, did the rituals, read, and went to bed.

In the morning, after exchanging a few pounds for change, I decided to call the orphanage. To my surprise, I found out that they had moved and that all I had to do was go to the town of Little Winging. Fate. All roads lead to King Cross Station, hehe. From there I could take the local train to my destination. I wonder if Dumbledore knows about this. I don't really care, though. If anyone has any complaints, it's silly to take them up with the boy. What can he do, poor boy? I bought a ticket, ate a sandwich, and admired the pastoral landscape beneath the clatter of wheels.

The headmistress, who had received a letter about the student's transfer, picked up the phone and gave the necessary orders. Caretaker allocated a set of clothes, the teacher indicated a bunk in a room for four, the guys who live in it, as in general, and all who interacted with me, showed no interest and nothing surprised. Magic. I showered, ate lunch, changed my clothes and walked around the neighborhood. Of course I walked over to the Privet Drive, how could I not look at the boy who survived.

What to say, an ordinary five-year-old boy, not dressed with a needle, of course, it is obvious that the clothes from someone else's shoulder, and this big shoulder was found nearby and was busy trying to tear off the head of a toy robot. However, everything is neat, twisted and tucked where necessary. Bicycle glasses were there, but they were pretty decent. There was no scotch-taped temple, no damaged lenses. There wasn't much magic in the house. Harry and Dudley certainly had power. Still, I didn't want to risk any magic around the kids.

I went to the supermarket, bought a pair of ordinary sunglasses, and used them to cast a spell to detect magical structures and auras. I invested everything I had, but it will only last half an hour at most. I put this temporary artifact on my nose and rushed to house number four.

I have no idea what blood protection is supposed to look like, I haven't gotten into that stuff yet, but I doubt it looks like Signal Charms, with an Attention Divert and Eyes Avert spell. An interesting modification of the latter, by the way; apparently they're constantly updating analogs on the little Potter.

There were a few other charms that could not be identified, I only managed to understand that they were something from mental magic, and judging by the characteristic areas, they are also copied on the chosen one. Whether they have a general effect or not. The charms from the glasses were gone and I couldn't afford new ones now, it was a heavy spell and the material wasn't suitable. Plastic, damn.

Well, let's think logically, based on canon and current knowledge. So, here we are: a Muggle family that doesn't like and fears magic. They have to raise a Chosen One who is strong enough on the one hand and willing to sacrifice himself on the other. The first — it is necessary that Voldemort, when they meet, at least some fear, with the second and so all is clear. Moving on. Potter Sr. and his wife are hiding in a miserable little house, not a family manor.

Even if it has been destroyed, it can be rebuilt with money and protection can be installed. No one is forbidding the same Fidelius protection. Even if the source of magic was destroyed, the ancestral stone and the altar broken, Harry's father would be a much stronger and more powerful wizard in the area, imbued with the magic of generations of relatives. And Lily, as a wife, if she had a magical marriage, would have gotten some bonuses. And the little one would have grown up in an environment saturated with native magic.

I, of course, can allow a lot of options, but if we use the principle of Occam's razor, the most logical and simple — the father of the chosen minimum is banished from the family, without excommunication, but with a loss of rights, his marriage is also not magical. So the manor is contraindicated for this couple. Or a very simple option, both of Harry's parents were under a banal Imperio. Though it may not have gone against parental instinct. I remember in the canon, Crouch Jr. dropped the subjugating one, and he had much less motivation.

Maybe they didn't like the firstborn. Well, that's another possibility. The boy is from rich family, his wife probably is, to match, both are young, and here is a back-breaker who does not allow himself to live to the fullest, and even an evil dark mage. Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's not get carried away. Let's keep it simple. Five years old, it's time for childish outbursts. All it takes is a little emotion-boosting charm, and that's it. Harry glues a plate together or makes a toy float, the family freaks out, the spell works. It was a piece of cake for the Headmaster to calculate that the Dursleys would try to weed out the boy's oddities.

Then comes the hard time for the boy. Physical work and preventive hunger strikes with beatings by his cousin. Magic begins to actively compensate for what's missing by feeding the physical body. As a result, we have a perverse but undeniably effective way of developing the third option. The child is forced to constantly drain itself of energy. His potential is quite decent, so by the fifth year he will be stronger than the average graduate. I'll have to keep an eye on him, there's nothing to do this summer except work with HECC and self-development.

I don't have any money, the wand is on the control, you can make another one of course, but it's a lot of work and I won't have time until the end of the summer even if I could buy everything I need. I'd better stock up on silage and extract, and I'll collect an unaccounted for concentrator to run magical streams at school, I just need to remove the parameters from myself in advance to buy the necessary ingredients.