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.

— 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?

— 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.

— 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.

- 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 – 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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