Chapter 44:  Hogwarts Express

[ September 1st, 1973. England, London, Platform 9¾. ]

"Be careful, son," — despite the memories, Ariel walked with me all the way to the platform. Her simple yellow dress — now unable to hide her prominent belly — was made of acromantula silk, drawing the eyes of those who recognized its value. Even more attention was drawn by the medallion around her neck — a gift from me — and the ring with interchangeable stones on her finger. That ring had become a status symbol, too complex for apprentices and too expensive from the masters, so it was often made to order.

This actually worked in our favor — reputation is everything to the masters, and patent fraud was rare. The Dubois family's law firm, which we hired for a percentage of court winnings, kept a close watch for violations. It was in their interest to find them and collect hefty fees.

Like Ludwig, I wore classic wizarding robes — mine dark blue with golden runes, his dark gray with white ornamentation. Underneath, I had a dark red turtleneck, white shirt, and black trousers. It all looked simple, but was actually expensive and heavily enchanted — for temperature, waterproofing, and auto-adjustment. Perfect for a growing boy.

"All right, Mom, you take care too," — but honestly, unless someone killed my family instantly and without warning, no one could harm them. I'd reconfigured the portkey-breakers to send them straight to Availon at the first sign of trouble. If they were injured or arrived with strangers, they'd be put into stasis. I decided a second suitcase was an unnecessary risk — you could not only kill, but also deceive, threaten, or subjugate.

"I know I'm not your father. But I want to say — you're a fine young man, Arthur. If you ever have problems, reach out. Though, after being trained by Richard von Mayer, I doubt there's much you can't handle," — Ludwig offered his hand. I shook it — firmly, but not too hard. Handshakes are an art — too strong is aggression, too weak is weakness.

"I'd have liked a father like you, Ludwig. And since you'll be the father of my sisters, you're already part of my family," — I replied, and he nodded.

I couldn't call him "father" — I had my own — but that didn't make Ludwig any less of a good man.

All around us, similar scenes played out — children saying goodbye to their parents, each in their own way. Aristocrats mostly nodded solemnly, mothers showing a bit more feeling. Ordinary magical families laughed and fussed, sometimes too emotionally. Magic does affect the mind, but not that much. And some of their outfits — a wild mix of centuries and even genders — made me wonder if they ever studied the Muggle world at all.

I couldn't really pick out the half-bloods. Only the Muggle-born, like outcasts, came alone. They weren't allowed onto the platform — the portal simply wouldn't let them through.

As for me, I could have gone straight from the Ministry, where I'd registered with my parents an hour ago, directly to Hogwarts by Floo. But then — wouldn't I risk exposing Availon? Who knows what spells are on the headmaster's fireplace?

"Ludwig, Mom, I'm off. See you soon," — I hugged them both, noticing I was now taller than my mother and nearly as tall as my stepfather, then went to find a compartment. There were no assigned seats, the train was almost empty, and I didn't know anyone anyway. Forcing myself into a group of old friends, especially among aristocrats, would be bad form and put me at a disadvantage.

So I found the first empty compartment. It was cozy, decorated in the style of nineteenth-century carriages — an interior I'd seen as a child, having first been born in 1923. My suitcase, camouflaged, took its place on the luggage rack. If someone else came in, I'd just suspend it under the ceiling — floating luggage would look odd.

There was still almost an hour before departure, so I decided to review everything I'd managed to accomplish in nearly four real days.

First, I'd gathered all the ingredients. Money solves many problems, and connections solve even more. For several thousand gold galleons, they found me two liters of contraband dragon blood from an opal-eyed dragon — the very one I'd released. My old friend had been caught in Australia and brought back to the Romanian reserve. During transport, the stunned dragon had "accidentally" been injured.

There's no such thing as "voluntarily given" blood. Sometimes, someone tortures or injures a magical creature, and it curses its tormentor in revenge — but that's rare, and only with sentient beings.

With unicorns, the "curse" is simpler — their blood is overflowing with prana and mana, but while a human can process mana, prana is completely unsuitable. With constant consumption, you lose the ability to produce your own life energy. Hence the rumor that drinking unicorn blood will curse you.

Werewolf and acromantula blood was even easier — they're sold openly in the markets. Werewolf organs are forbidden, but they donate blood for money. Their regeneration allows them to lose up to two liters without much trouble, especially after transformation.

Why did I need liters of blood? That's another story — and I let myself drift into memory.

…

"Good day, sensei. I've come bearing gifts," — teleporting to Ryozanpaku, I saw the giant being fed by two veela twins and greeted him. I'd thought long and hard about how to ask Hayato for blood. It's not exactly like borrowing a cup of sugar from a neighbor. In the end, I decided that since my sensei was a simple man, I'd be simple too. "Kori, Lori, hello to you both. Did you get your share of happiness?"

"A big share. Huge," — Kori replied playfully, while Lori blushed.

"Don't embarrass my student — he's still too young for that," — Hayato chided. Yeah, right. I go to brothels every week, hiding from Dorothea. Otherwise, I'd have to spend ages explaining not what sex is, but why not with her. And the scariest part is, I don't even know the answer myself, except that she's still completely immature as a person. "So, what's your request?"

"Can't I just come with gifts?"

"Arthur, I haven't been alive just one day. My birthday's not for another month, and you only bring gifts to Miu and Shizuha," — he grumbled.

"Hey, what about the two cases of first-class firewhiskey?" — I protested.

"Oh, right, I forgot. Shizuha saw us then and… Well, everyone got some. But I can see something's bothering you."

"Well, I, uh, need your blood," — I said, feeling the considerable ki that bypassed the veela without touching them. "Not like that. I mean as a liquid. I need it for a ritual."

"Oh, you should have said so!" — he laughed thunderously. "Girls, I'll be right back."

"So, how's life here?" — I asked the twins as the old man went into the dojo.

"He's kind, gentle," — Lori said, closing her eyes in contentment.

"And a sexual giant in bed, he's got a—"

"Kori! Not in front of strangers!"

"He's not a stranger!"

I chuckled. "I'm glad you're happy, and making my sensei happy too."

"Here you go, student," — Hayato returned, carrying a wooden bucket — at least ten liters — filled with blood. It even smelled metallic.

"Um, you overdid it. I don't need that much," — I said, unsure how to react.

"Really?" — he scratched his head. "Well, take it anyway. Might come in handy."

"You're in rare form," — I said, moving the bucket into my soul's storage. It was like shoving an elephant in there, not a bucket. In return, I pulled out a youth potion, a ring of my own making with Sumerian charms for minor healing and prana restoration, and a leaflet with instructions. "Here, take this. Don't consider it payment — I'd have given it anyway."

"Thank you, Arthur."

"Most importantly, read the instructions first. And drink the potion yourself — otherwise, I know you, you'll give it all to the kids. If someone else needs it, tell me and I'll bring more." Maybe a titan's descendant doesn't need it, but I don't know how old Hayato is. No one does, not even Saiga. "Now, excuse me, I have to run."

"Ah, youth — always running, always in a hurry. That's good! That's how young people should be," — he laughed, hugging the twins with his huge hands.

"You're still something yourself, and after the potion… Well, you'll see," — I said goodbye and teleported away.

I still had a lot to do, and time in the real world moved much faster than in Availon.

…

Hayato's gift led me to blood-thickening charms from the appropriate school. Vampires use them so they don't have to store hectoliters of blood, and potion-makers for the same reason. These charms reduce blood volume without damaging its structure, and you can restore it at any time. I decided to use thickened creature blood, since the ritual would only benefit — the form would be fixed more strongly.

But I still hadn't managed to perform the ritual; it's best done in the real world. Absorbing salamanders and such can be done, since they're small, but the form-fixing ritual is no joke — a circle ten meters in diameter, all inscribed with runes.

Overall, I felt confident. I'd done what I needed, read all the information about the Blacks that I could get and that my teacher provided, so all that remained was to think. I didn't make any special plans, since everything could be completely different on the spot. But from what I knew, the following emerged:

The Blacks — a classic right-wing radical pureblood family, founded in the twelfth century by the English dark wizard Orion the Mad, who became infamous for his insatiable craving for not just dark, but the blackest magic: demon worship and sacrifice. Don't confuse a demon-worshipper with a demonologist — the former serve demons for power, the latter subjugate and exterminate them. Hence the family name: Black, as in darkness. At that time, necromancy and maleficium weren't even considered dark. To be truly recognized as dark, you had to go to extremes.

The Blacks themselves later conveniently forgot their founder, though they kept his tradition of naming children after constellations, and his symbol — the Grim, taken from his familiar, a hellhound.

But enough about that. Besides their penchant for the dark arts, the Blacks are famous for their numbers, wealth, and connections with almost every family on the Sacred Twenty-Eight list, with whom they intermarried over the years. Who else could they marry, given their views?

They're also known for their madness and general instability, which, according to Phineas, is due not only to the degeneration of all English purebloods and close-relative marriages, but also to a hereditary inclination toward the dark arts. But as I've said, there's nothing inherently wrong with darkness if you control it, and it doesn't control you. Rot is worse.

In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the Blacks reached their peak, both economically and politically. Their family members were Hogwarts headmasters, Ministers of Magic, and almost always held important posts in the Ministry. Only in the mid-twentieth century, after Grindelwald's defeat, did their influence begin to wane. Less radical purebloods started turning away, preferring to negotiate and compromise with Muggle-borns. Even their constant allies were puzzled by the Blacks' stubbornness, even when it cost them dearly.

For example, a young master healer once asked for the hand of one of their daughters, with whom he shared mutual feelings. Instead of seizing such a gift, they drove him out in disgrace and punished their daughter. All because he was Muggle-born.

After Phineas was exiled and his grandfather died, there was no one left to stop the family's radicalization.

So, at present, the Black family is quite large, but only two from the older generation are worth mentioning — Orion and Walburga Black, the current head and his wife, who are the main problem. They live by the motto "Pure blood forever," and care little for the opinions of family members. According to Phineas, Walburga was delighted when her niece Bellatrix joined the Knights of Walpurgis and held her up as an example.

To me, this is wild. I'd understand if the Blacks themselves had created such a group or wielded real power in it. But no — Bellatrix, as is known, hasn't even entered Gaunt's inner circle, though she desperately wants to. I suspect this is manipulation on his part — after all, forbidden fruit is sweeter, and it gives his group an elite reputation. It also lets him disguise the slave brand as a mark of power.

But I can only influence the younger generation.

…

[Regulus Black], born March 15, 1961, entering second year, Slytherin. Little is known about him; he's quiet and reserved, and has inherited his family's views on blood purity. Recruitment priority: medium.

[Sirius Black], born November 3, 1959, entering third year, Gryffindor. Known for constant pranks and a rebellious streak, even Phineas's informants have heard of him. He seems to act "to spite" his family, but it's unclear if he actually cares for Muggles — same as his friend James Potter. Recruitment priority: high.

[Narcissa Black], born December 17, 1955, entering seventh year, Slytherin. Engaged to Lucius Malfoy, though her feelings are unknown; she's cold and unemotional, though it may be a mask. Recruitment priority: medium.

[Andromeda Black], born June 26, 1953, married to Muggle-born wizard Ted Tonks — the same master healer. She gave birth to a daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, just a month ago. Her very existence fulfills my teacher's request. She avoids politics, was disowned by her family, and continued the Black line under a new name. No point recruiting her, but I could supply her with my breakers.

[Bellatrix Black], born June 3, 1951, married to Rudolphus Lestrange — apparently at her parents' insistence. No children, and by all accounts, the couple is extremely cold. She's fiercely devoted to Gaunt, which raises questions — did he brainwash her? Admiration or even love I can understand, but obsession is something else, especially since Voldemort is known as a Legilimens in certain circles. For now, I can't reach her, so recruitment priority: low.

…

I was pulled from my thoughts not by the train starting to move, but by a sudden surge of emotion that cut through the usual cacophony of children's and teenagers' feelings — hope, sadness, nostalgia, joy, lust, infatuation, and all the other delights of youth. But these emotions were far from positive.

Fear, horror, despair — a silent scream for help. It came from the next car, where, if I wasn't mistaken, the fifth-years sat. I'd ended up with the sixth-years, who were fewer in number, so although people glanced into my compartment, no one had joined me yet. They probably went to their established groups.

It was easy enough to walk between cars, so I didn't have to go outside. My instincts screamed trouble, but how could I ignore a call for help when I could do something? How could I call myself a student of Hayato and Phineas otherwise? What had I been training for, if not moments like this? Doubts appeared and vanished instantly.

The door from which the emotions emanated was the third one down, sealed with locking and silencing charms. Not simple ones, either — tricky enough that you couldn't remove them with a basic finite. But they fell away under finite maxima, and I immediately heard voices inside.

"Stop being difficult, mudblood! Or do you want our Lord's next raid to target your Muggle family, MacDonald?" a teenager sneered, his voice cracking.

"No, no, I'll do anything, just don't hurt them," a girl sobbed.

That was it. Time to break some faces.

I burst into the compartment and saw the following: several degenerates had pinned a half-dressed girl in the aisle. Two held her arms, another spread her legs, and a fourth was already unbuttoning his fly, grinning in anticipation.

No one expected me. I hit them all with nonverbal Stunning Spells, then closed the door and layered it with charms so no one passing by would even notice it existed.

I didn't need explanations, threats about their parents, or to boost my ego by humiliating juvenile degenerates. I already understood everything, even without true sight, which showed me that these were real scum — marked, and utterly without boundaries. The girl was no more than thirteen, and the bastards themselves were fourteen or fifteen.

Summoning my suitcase with the ring, I set the coefficient to 1:1000 and tossed them in by the scruff. I fixed the girl's clothes and, erasing the last few unpleasant minutes from her memory, suggested she'd simply fallen asleep. I'd saved her, so I could allow myself that liberty. If her parents pressured her, she might give me away as her savior.

She'd wake up in about fifteen minutes, but would anyone miss the bastards? It seemed not, given how prepared they were. The train ride was about eight hours, which meant I had seven thousand very interesting and educational hours with these juvenile rapists. That was more than enough, so I set a smaller coefficient for efficiency and went inside.

As expected, anything that entered ended up in stasis.

"Oh, and who's this?" — naturally, Dorothea was there.

"These are… let's say, unpleasant people," — I said, not wanting her to see what would happen next. "Did you finish what I assigned you?"

"Oh, I forgot! But I'll do it, I promise!" — she ran upstairs, mostly because she'd felt some of the emotions that had broken through the barrier. After such a connection, talking to ordinary people feels castrated.

Speaking of castration — not a bad idea, but that could wait. First, I stripped them naked — who knows what tracking artifacts or other things they might have? Then I brought them out of stasis, sat them on chairs conjured from thin air, and revived them one by one with nonverbal Enervate.

"What? Where am I?" — the first was a thin boy with a long nose and a shock of red hair.

"I ask the questions. Who are you?" — for secrecy, I cast an illusion of a robe with a deep hood, two amber eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Amycus Carrow. Do you know who I am?" — he tried to swagger, but I could feel his fear. I wasn't one of those who enjoyed it — fear is sticky and cold, like stepping in dung. I don't understand dark wizards who get off on it.

"I'll find out. Legilimens!" — I pointed my wand at him. You can do it without the incantation, but it's easier this way — it breaks through weak mental barriers. And if he gets a bit stupider, so what? Rapists aren't pitied in any society I know. In Sumer, they were hung by the balls and burned alive.

What can I say? The guy was pureblood in the worst sense. Taught from childhood about his superiority, his "minor" pranks — killing animals, bullying house elves — were ignored. What else could he become after joining Gaunt's ranks? And Gaunt is happy to brand even children. I rolled up his sleeve and saw the mark: a black snake forming a figure eight, with a skull on top.

I'd deal with that later. I'd activated every concealment charm I could. Knocking out Carrow, I moved to the next.

Walden McNair, Evan Rosier, and Avery McNeal — the others. Their stories were similar, though Rosier had initially refused to join in, but gave in anyway. MacDonald was their second victim; the first was Melisandra Crystal, a fifth-year Gryffindor, three months ago. They raped her, erased all traces, and wiped her memory.

Well, I'd been wanting to practice mental magic and curses, but first, let's examine the mark…

…

[ Five days later. ]

"Hal, what do you make of the mark?" — I'd run it through every diagnostic charm and even a ritual of knowledge, sending all the data to the magicomp while I practiced curses on my test subjects, who now looked like dried corpses. I can't say I enjoyed it, but they'd made themselves available, and I really, really hate scum like this.

Moral and ethical questions only concern me when it comes to innocents. If someone doesn't respect others' rights, I consider that they forfeit their own. Not that I'd kill someone for littering, but like Hayato, I won't kill — I'll just leave a lesson for life.

"It's a slave brand, connected to others through protean or similar charms. It acts as a communication device and a beacon for Apparition. It's attached directly to the third shell, so removing it from the hand is useless, and destroying it is difficult — each brand is powered not only by the slave, but by all the others. The owner can inflict unbearable pain or drain mana. Judging by the structure, it uses magic from Kali priests in India. Can't say more," — Hal replied. Good thing Apparition to Availon requires a special portkey.

"Can we connect to the network?"

"Impossible. It's too primitive."

"What if we use voltmagic on the mark? Is that possible?"

"In theory, yes. If you drain all the mana, then hit it with a curse, few would survive. But the owner might cut the connection, and we'd only give ourselves away."

"Then another task. I need to create a bug based on this mark. And implant it… let's say, in the ear. Can you do it?"

"As you command, master," — Hal replied, and got to work.

Three days later, each test subject had a mark installed in their ear canal, made transparent so it was nearly impossible to spot, even with true sight. But Gaunt's mark glowed with a disgusting black spot. And they wore this abomination with pride! But I didn't care.

I wiped their memories, removed all traces of my experiments, and left them with a curse that corroded their reproductive organs on the astral level — they'd never work again. Even if they grew new ones, they'd be useless.

Returning, I saw the girl had already left, and we still had half the journey to go. Seating the failed rapists on the sofas and waiting until the corridor was empty, I slipped out and returned to my compartment — only to find it occupied. Not by sixth-years, but by third-years.

A pale Slytherin with unkempt black hair, a worn robe, and a broken nose sat there. Opposite him was a pretty Gryffindor with red, almost crimson hair, offering him a handkerchief from her purse.

"May I? I was sitting here, just stepped out… to take out the trash," — I said, not eager to find a new place. "Marlow. Arthur Marlow."

"Oh, yes, of course, please sit," — she said, moving over, embarrassed. Well, sorry, girl — I didn't expect to end up so handsome myself.

"May I?" — I asked, pulling my wand from the air. "Mister…?"

"Snape. Severus Snape," — he replied, though with a handkerchief in his nose, it was hard to tell.

"Aubeo, Episkey, Vulnera." The first spell numbed the pain, the second set the nose, the third stopped the bleeding. I wasn't about to show off minor healing, though I'd translated it into wand form — it was a bit weaker than word magic.

"Thank you," — he nodded. I looked at the only girl in the compartment, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, sorry — Lily Evans."

"Well, now we're acquainted. Very nice to meet you."

"Honestly," — the boy said gloomily, "I don't remember you, and you have no house badges. What house are you in?"

"Question for question: you tell me who beat you up, and I'll tell you where I'm from."

"Fine. It was Potter and his buddy Sirius. They have a group of four — Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter. They call themselves the Marauders." He answered calmly, but I could feel his hatred. What should I do with Sirius if he's such a bastard? Maybe I'd be better off catching a dragon or a nundu. Still, I shouldn't jump to conclusions — I haven't heard the other side. But attacking two on one… Not cool. Unless it's Furinji.

"Don't talk like that, Sev! They're wrong, of course, but…"

"And don't defend them just because they're Gryffindors," he snapped. Ah, the drama. He loves her, but she doesn't care. I'd rather not get involved, but the kids are practically broadcasting their feelings.

"Ahem, I promised to tell you about myself…" I began, but was interrupted by the compartment door opening. Two boys stood there — one with a mane of curly hair, the other with wild hair and glasses. Both brunettes.

"Snivellus, hiding from us here? Hiding under a girl's skirt again?"

"Could you take your undoubtedly important and urgent problems elsewhere? Or should I get up?" — I let a little ki leak out. That's when they noticed me. I don't know how they missed me before.

"No, sorry," — they said, quickly closing the door and hurrying away. Great, now I'm dealing with kids, as if Dorothea wasn't enough.

"Rude. No sense of tact. So, I'm an exchange student from Beauxbatons, entering fifth year," — I said.

"I thought you were in seventh," Lily said.

"I'm actually fourteen. I passed by external examination," I finished her off.

"You handled Potter and Black well. Thanks again."

"Severus, right?" I asked, and he nodded. "Remember, childhood grievances can be painful, but compared to adult ones, they're nothing. Jackals attack only when they see weakness. I see your clothes are worn — nothing shameful in that, but they're clean. A true king looks like a king even in rags; dress a pig in silk and gold, and it's still a pig. My advice: take care of yourself, comb your hair, and learn to maintain dignity in any situation."

"Easy for you to say. You're rich and handsome," he replied.

"I'm the son of an ordinary human and a veela. How do you think they treated me? Yes, I have certain talents and advantages, I won't deny it. But everything I've achieved, I earned myself. Surely you have some talent that will let you reach great heights."

"You said Muggle?" Severus looked thoughtful. Really a half-blood?

"Muggle-born?" I looked at Lily in surprise.

"Your parents are Muggles?" I asked.

"Yes, so what?"

"Judging by your age, your parents raised you until you were eleven — clothed you, fed you, cleaned up after you, right?"

"Yes, but — "

"And you've been in the magical world only three or four years, and already call them 'Muggles'? Don't you think that's at least ungrateful to the people who gave you life?" And possibly, they were close to awakening their own nous. "Think about it. And about the fact that this disdain for ordinary people is one of the main reasons people like us are treated worse than 'purebloods.' Also, decide what's more important — house solidarity or a friend. If my friend got punched in the nose, I'd defend him, not justify two idiots who gang up two on one."

The girl was clearly offended by my rebuke, but Severus grew more thoughtful. Smart guy, but blind to the obvious. Until he changes, he won't see not just his beloved, but any girl. It's not about his looks — girls care less about that unless you're a real heartthrob. It's about his behavior: insecure, angry at himself and others, closed off.

But that's just a passing interest. The more important question is — what's happening on this train? In the middle of the day, a student was almost raped, and no one saw or heard anything. I hadn't seen a conductor, a teacher, or even a prefect, though the charter says there should be ten — two for each house, plus two school prefects.

I decided to find out by walking to the first car. To my surprise, the entire car was locked with the same charms as the compartment of the four scumbags. Removing them, I didn't even need to go in — my enhanced hearing picked up the sounds of chaos, mayhem, and debauchery: a typical party of young men with burning eyes and girls with loose morals. The emotions were appropriate — no one was being forced — so I decided to return, having had enough adventure for one day.

Now it made sense why Avery had given a whole case of firewhiskey to the Slytherin prefect — Lucius Malfoy. What a mess this Hogwarts is.

Returning, I didn't see Lily Evans, which meant things hadn't worked out between them in my absence. That's not surprising. True friendship between a boy and a girl, especially at that age, is rare. Usually, one of them starts feeling something more — it's hard to be friends with someone you want to sleep with.

On the other hand, girls — especially beautiful ones spoiled by attention — don't know how to be friends. They're used to admiration, using it, often unconsciously. Any criticism is taken personally. If a friend scolds a friend for acting like a jerk, he can accept it or not, but it's normal. When a friend scolds a confident girl, she takes it as criticism of herself.

I've seen plenty of that — take Apolline, who made drama out of nothing, trying to manipulate me. I'm not saying all girls are like that, just those spoiled by attention. You can fix them, but it's hard. Easier to let life teach them.

I spent the rest of the journey dozing, and the gloomy teenager didn't disturb me.

***

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Thank you for the help with the power stones!!!