Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own anything from this story, nor do I make a profit from it.
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I find myself in some sort of void. Well, I'm guessing that that's what it is, based on the descriptions that I have read in various different works of fiction describing it. Though, I'm still not very convinced as to the validity and accuracy of those descriptions, primarily because it is very difficult to understand something as abstract as the void.
I can't see anything in here. I'm fairly certain that I don't even have a corporeal form, since I can't feel anything, and I can't speak nor move and yet I don't feel confined.
I wonder if this is where other people go when they die or if I'm a special case?
I've never had a very good sense of time, but i'm quite sure that I've been here for a very long time. I've mostly just spent it contemplating on why it is that I am here. Unfortunately, even after all of this thinking, I still don't have a clue. Is this the afterlife or is it some sort of hell? Regardless, I really do want to leave.
I'm all alone, with only my thoughts to entertain myself in this all encompassing nothingness. I can feel my sanity slowly chipping away, little by little. Devolving into insanity is a somewhat worrying prospect, one that becomes more probable the longer I stay here.
I really hope that some R.O.B. or the Gamer System, if such things even exist, will eventually appear and tell me that they're going to be transporting me to a new world. Though, realistically speaking, it probably won't happen. But hey, a guy can dream.
The story of how I got here is actually rather funny.
I might as well reminisce a little bit, in an effort to pass the time. Though, I wonder if the concept of time even exists in here; if the concept of space and matter don't seem to be present, why should time? And yet, I can only recount the thoughts I had from a linear perspective. Meaning that it does exist. However, the concept of non-linear time is anathema to me. Therefore, it's very much possible that my prior conclusion is untrue, and that time isn't present in here.
Now, on to my story. I was walking home from school. I hadn't done this in a very long time since all the schools had been closed for quite a wile because of the virus. They just reopened today, even though the virus still hasn't been dealt with. I don't really consider it a smart decision on their part but whatever.
It had been a rather crappy day in my unbiased opinion. But it was finally over and I could go back to my comfortable little room and escape into the world of my books.
Now, I kind of wish I could say that I died after getting hit by a truck. Partially, because it would be less embarrassing, but mainly because that would give credence to my hope of being isekaied. Unfortunately, I didn't die by getting hit by a truck. I died by choking on a chocolate bar.
Yes, I'm aware of how pathetic that is. I'm not even fully sure as to how such a thing happens, but it did, and now I'm dead.
Though, I have to say, or rather think, since I can't seem to be able to speak in this place, that if this is the afterlife, it sucks. Like really, what is one supposed to do in here. At least give me someone to speak to, for God's sake.
Anyway, I guess this shity existence is my life now.
And just as I thought that, the void is suddenly gone and I begin to feel as though I'm falling while hundreds of microscopic needles prick my skin.
After some time, this mildly painful feeling begins to slightly increase, little by little, until it becomes an overwhelming agony, and I begin losing my sense of self. Before I'm fully consumed by this sensation, I amusingly think to myself that this is still better than going to school.
This seems to go on forever. You know what, the void doesn't suck as much as this. I'd rather have insanity inducing boredom as opposed to insanity inducing pain. Though, I get fucked either way.
Eventually, the pain starts to go away, and I begin to feel as though I'm lying on some sort of semi-rigid surface.
After what felt like minutes, almost all of it leaves my body and I can finally think. I open my eyes and look around.
God I hope that I got Isekaied.
I seem to be on a bed, in a poorly lit room with dozens of other beds and people on them. I get off the bed, trying to not make too much noise, but miserably failing due to the very creaky bed frame and the less so creaky floor boards. I throw a glare of impotent anger at my terrible bed, consisting of a bed frame barely held together by what appears to be some rusty nails, and a mattress with quality lower than the IQ of a fish.
As I make my way to the window, wanting to inspect my appearance, I notice that everything around me is somewhat bigger than usually, or perhaps I'm smaller. I get my answer when I get to the window. I can't see my reflection all that well due to the dark and the fact that it's a window rather than a mirror.
From what I can make out, it would appear that my facial features are smoother and rounder and that I'm shorter. If I'd have to guess, I would say that I'm around five years of age. I'm a kid! I realize now that the people on the beds are other children and that this is most likely an orphanage, it's also possible this is a hospital but unlikely, given the low quality of the beds.
I don't really know how to feel about any of this shit, or what to do now. Though, I honestly don't want to concern myself with anything right now. I'm too fucking tired, and everything hurts. Also, at this moment of the night, I probably can't do anything without drawing unnecessary attention to myself. But mainly, I'm too tired to think. I want to get some sleep. I'll deal with everything tomorrow, when my mind is better rested.
I go back to my uncomfortable death trap of a bed and fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the starchy pillow.
I wake up the next morning, feeling some mild pain in both my neck and back, both of which are due to this terrible bed. I also get a feeling of pressure that I can't quite pinpoint. Seriously though, how can the beds be that bad? Is this place so fucking broke that they can't afford better beds or do they just like to inflict pain upon their wards?!
Needless to say, I'm kind of grumpy. I didn't get much sleep, and I also did just die.
In any case, I get up and follow the other children to wherever they're going. Most of them, if not all, look pretty rough for their age. Some have little bits of dirt on their faces. Do they not shower? And the clothes that they wear look pretty damn outdated, to the point where it would be harder to find such attire than to just get some modern-looking second hand clothes.
This gets me a little curious. It's possible that the orphanage just uses really outdated clothes that they got before the 2000s, but that's improbable to the point of stupidity. It's much more likely that it's just not 2020. All of this is assuming, of course, that this is a different world.
I don't really know what to think. I died and woke up as a kid. What is one supposed to do in my situation? Ok… Let's just start small, like finding out the date.
I walk up to two older looking kids, probably around ten or eleven. They're conversing with each other in terribly accented English. At the very least, I seem to be in an English speaking country. That or they're foreigners, but I would say it's the former.
"What's the date?" I ask the taller of the two. He's wearing some sort of weird hat, a cap, I think it's called. Also, based on the kid's accent, I'm probably somewhere in England.
I also notice that my voice sounds very childish. That's to be expected, of course, given the fact that I'm a five year old child. It is, nevertheless, still off-putting in a way, since I haven't really gotten the chance to get used to it.
"Uh... what date? Twenty-sixth of September." He says in his barely comprehensible accent.
"Would you kindly tell me the year as well?" I politely ask.
"I don't know" he says each word slowly for some reason.
In a way, it does make a little sense that he doesn't know. The current year is such common knowledge among people that the caretakers here probably forgot to teach the kids. That or this kid is just dumb, something I'm more inclined to believe based on his looks and the way he speaks.
So… it's the twenty-sixth of September. I still need to find out the year.
The problem is that I don't know why I'm doing any of this. This entire situation has me feeling so frustrated and confused.
That pressure I was feeling has been slowly increasing since I woke up. At this point, it has become a feeling of suffocation. I find myself having trouble breathing. My heart beat has increased so much that I can hear it. I can feel it as well, in my chest, as though it's about to burst. I don't know what to do, where to go and what to feel. For the love of God, I just died! Why does learning the year even matter!?
I snap out of my mini panic attack, and deeply inhale and exhale in an effort to calm myself down. I repeat this until I'm calm, or at least less hysterical. It's very hard to look like you're not having a mental breakdown when you really are. At least I do partially succeed. Now I actually get why Gamer's Mind is such an important tool for all of those fictional characters who end up in a different universe, and have the Gamer system.
Very well, for the sake of simplicity, I will assume that I did get transported to a new world, and act accordingly. The reason for this is because I've read too much fiction where that's the case and the circumstances the main characters are all put in are similar to the ones I'm in right now.
I need to gather more information.
I'm also not in the best frame of mind. I'm sleep deprived, have just been through a traumatic experience, and to top it all off, I'm in an unfamiliar environment. I just feel so lost. This is nothing like those transported-to-another-world stories I've read.
I resume my following of the others. All the while trying to relax and to keep my mind occupied with other things to avoid having another panic attack.
Things should sort themselves out eventually. I hope.
After walking through a hallway and down a few sets of stairs, we get to a cafeteria. It's really more a large dining room adjacent to a kid's playroom. There are several tables placed on the left side of the room and a few toys, most seemingly made of wood, scattered on the floor on the right side.
By now, I've managed to calm myself down.
I make my way towards a chair. As I'm about to sit on it, a stupid looking kid around the age of 7 decides it would be funny to steal it from me. He grabs and pulls the chair away from me and sits on it, all the while looking at me with a smug expression.
'So you have chosen... death.' I amusingly think to myself. That does actually cheer me up a bit.
Apparently, enough for me to crack a small smile. The kid seems a tad bit confused after looking at me smiling. He probably expected me to be indignant about him stealing my chair. He quickly regains himself though, and opens his mouth.
"You snooze, you lose" he arrogantly says, obviously hoping to get a rise out of me.
"Fuck off" I say absentmindedly, my slight annoyance at him steeling my chair long gone. Also, I'm really not in the mood to deal with him.
I'm about to leave, but the stupid kid gets up and pushes me on the floor. Granted, he does look seven and It is kind of my fault for not just walking away earlier, but still...
Unlike with the chair, this does actually succeed at angering me, quite well in fact. I get so angry that I don't even mentally remark how revoltingly dirty the floor is. Oh, I suppose I just did. But really, is this little sack of shit serious right now? Also, what the fuck's up with the floors, I swear, there is so much dust and grime everywhere, does nobody clean in here?
This is actually just what I need to pull me out of my funk. My sad and depressed mood is replaced with one of anger.
I get off the floor and notice that some of the other kids are looking at us. Unfortunately, as I'm about to throw my retaliatory punch at this shithead, I see from the corner of my eye that one of the caretakers is about to walk in the room. So I settle for glaring at him as he looks at me with such pride and self-satisfaction, as though he's accomplished something of great significance.
I walk over to another one of the chairs situated in front of another table and just sit and keep on glaring at the piece of shit that pushed me, even as someone distributes the soup and, after saying grace, we begin to eat. He glares back, but as the time goes on and my glare doesn't relent, he stops looking at me and starts focusing on eating his soup, but much to his surprise, I don't stop. He starts to visibly become uncomfortable with my incessant glaring. Truth be told, at this point, I'm not even mad at him anymore, I just find the way that he fidgets under my glare to be amusing.
However, when the caretaker, who's definitely a nun, looks away, the kid throws a chunk of solid bread at my head and it makes contact. If the dumbass' intent was to reignite my prior fury at him, then he succeeded. For a small moment, at the height of my anger, my vision gains a yellowish tint, but I pay it no heed, too focused on my fury.
As I'm about to get up, walk over to him and punch him straight in the throat, consequences be damned, the soup in his bowl violently explodes, splashing him in the face as a result.
I take a few deep breaths in an effort to regain my calm, this causes my vision to go back to normal.
I continue eating while gleefully watching one of the nuns angrily scolding the kid. Apparently, his name is John.
I wonder if I had done that with the soup just now. It exploded right as I got the angriest. But I wasn't anywhere near the soup, so how? And what was that yellowish tint in my vision? Did it have anything to do with the bread?
I quickly finish my soup, which is just a few pieces of potato and some vegetables floating in semi-warm water. I then follow the lead of the other children. The younger ones, who seem to be about my age, go to the playroom side of the room and do things that kids do. Meanwhile, the older children start picking up the bowls and leaving the room, presumably going to the kitchen to wash them.
I grab the chair that I am sitting on and carry it over to the right side of the room near the corner with the fewest kids.
Right, now I finally have some time to think and process everything that has happened to me. I'm most likely somewhere in England. The question is, what's the date? Because I know for a fact that this is the past. Apart from the light bulbs, there isn't a single electronic in sight. That's just not normal in 2020.
I get up and walk to the nearest window. I get my confirmation when I look outside, at the clothes that a person walking past is wearing and at a poorly parked car, both of which don't fit in the twenty-first century but aren't that far off.
So I am in the past!
I go over to the only adult in the room. A nun, seemingly in her 30s, sitting on a leather chair and reading a book, though I can't read the title since her hand is on it.
"Excuse me ma'am?" I ask, trying to get her attention.
She looks at me, closes her book, putting a marker at the page she's on, and asks, "what is it?"
"What year is it?"
"Sam" she says, looking at me with a modicum of disappointment, "didn't we just give you, kids, a lesson on the days, months and years?"
Sam? Is that my name in this world? It's such a fucking common name. Never mind, getting back to the conversation.
"I'm sorry ma'am, I forgot." I say, trying to sound abashed.
"Do you at least remember the days and months, or did you forget those, too?" She asks, beginning to get on my nerves. Granted, I am very cranky at this point, so it's not all her, but she isn't helping my mood improve with her condescending attitude. Though, taking care of a bunch of annoying and loud brats all day probably isn't helping her mood either.
"Yes ma'am, I remember them." I say, I'm already sick of this conversation.
"Is that so?" She asks sceptically. Glancing impatiently back to the book she was reading. It would seem that she shares my sentiments about this conversation. She's probably at a very interesting part of the book.
"Yes ma'am" I reaffirm.
"Normally, I would quiz you on them, but luckily for you, I don't have the time. I have things to do." She says, acting as though I was lying, then picks up her book and goes back to reading.
She doesn't even answer my fucking question!
"Excuse me Ma'am? But you didn't tell me what year it is." I say, politely of course.
She repeats her previous actions, marking and putting away the book, but this time more forcefully. Then turns to me, looking mildly annoyed.
"What is it now, boy?" She says, louder than last time, with irritation dripping from every word.
Well fuck you, too!
"You didn't tell me what year it is." I say politely, not letting my real thoughts show.
"Oh… right" she says, just now realizing that that was the reason I came to speak to her in the first place, "it's 1985, now go and play with the others!"
Then she goes back to the book, which I can now see is 'The Secret Cases Of Sherlock Holmes'.
I go back to my original spot to think. So my name here is Sam and it's 1985.
Wait, if it's 1985, and I look five years old, that would mean that I was born around 1980, which is the same year Harry Potter was born. It seems like a long shot but that explains why that kid's soup exploded when I got angry. It could have been accidental magic. The Harry Potter world is one of the few that I know very well. It would make sense that, if some deity were to send me to a fictional world, it would be The Harry Potter one.
But then again, this is all just conjecture. I could be in another fictional world, just in a normal parallel world, or even be back in time. The second and last theories don't explain why the soup exploded though. But that could just have been something else.
There is also the little fact that the caretakers in this place are nuns, meaning that this is most certainly a religious institution. That would explain why they said grace before we ate. I'm not entirely happy with this, considering that I'm not the biggest fan of the abrahamic religions. Nevertheless, my situation could be worse. I should be grateful that at least I wasn't reborn in a world like Warhammer 40K.
Though, if this is the Harry Potter universe, and if I am really a wizard as I suspect, then I should try to hide it from the nuns. Religion and Magic isn't a good combination.
I need more information. I should inspect my appearance, seeing as I still don't really know what I look like.
There's probably a mirror in the bathroom. But I don't really know where it is and I don't want to ask that bitch of a nun, because I would most likely get in trouble for disturbing her reading again. Fortunately for me, it's at about that moment that the older kids come back from the kitchen.
I walk over to one of them. He's average looking, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes and an air of mediocrity around him. He's hanging out with some other, meaner-looking kids. One of them even has an old-looking scar on his face, going from above the right side of his eye all the way down to the left side of his lips. It makes him look sort of ugly, but in a distinguished manner. He also looks pretty damn miserable for some reason, I'm guessing it's probably due to the scar.
"Could you please show me where the bathroom is?" I say, getting right to the point. I don't want to spend anymore of my time around people after the shit turn of events I've had. Since I died, it has been one shitty event after another. Hell, even before I died my day was terrible. I'm so fucking done with people.
The average-looking kid looks at me and asks, "could you please repeat yourself, I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that?"
Huh! This kid speaks fluent and comprehensive accent-less English! From my brief experience in this place, that seems to be rare, even the nuns are a little bit difficult to understand. He's most likely American.
My thoughts about him being unique are confirmed when I overhear the conversation that the others are having among themselves. It's a bit more understandable than that dick John, but still outside of my comfort zone.
"I asked if you could please tell me where the bathroom is." I say. For a moment, he seems surprised. Though, I can guess why, he probably wasn't expecting a five year old to be able to speak fluently. The nun would probably have also been perplexed if she had paid attention and wasn't so preoccupied with her book. It could also be my unique American accent, one that he, too, seems to have.
"Are you American, too?" He asks excitedly, confirming my assumption. Truthfully, everyone's accent probably isn't as bad as I'm making them out to be, with the possible exception of that first kid I spoke to. The real problem is the fact that I'm not really used to this dialect, and so I have trouble understanding some of the spoken words. I've also been in a pretty damn bad mood considering everything that has happened since this morning.
"I'm afraid not." I say, the disappointment on his face is visible. He's not very good at hiding his emotions. "I'm Canadian."
"Oh!" He says, suddenly happy again, and continues, "that's fine, it's basically American," and while I could correct him, I choose not to. It's best if he thinks we have something in common, seeing as that would motivate him more to help me out.
"Well, in any case, could you show me where the bathroom is?" I say.
"Sure, sure, follow me" he says, eager to help. As we exit the playroom/cafeteria, and begin walking through a hallway he asks, "hey, how come you asked me and not Mrs. Buckminster?"
"Buckminster? Is that the nun's name?" I ask, and at his nod of confirmation, I continue, "she seemed very angry the last time we spoke."
"Yeah, I don't like her either, she once called me 'stupid boy' when I broke one of the chairs by standing on it!" He says, as though that was the gravest insult one could get.
"Hey, you never told me your name. Mine is Sam." I say, curious as to the kid's name.
"Oh, my name's Jeff." He says. That slightly improves my mood. The meme doesn't exist yet, but that's what makes his reply funny.
I do, of course, manage to keep my face straight and reply, "that's a very cool name." I say, a smile at the unknowing joke he made appearing on my face after a moment or so.
The boy mistakes my smile as one of happiness rather than humour, it would seem. Fortunately, before he can say anything, we arrive at our destination.
"Well, this is the bathroom, I know my way around this place really good, so if ever you need my help, just ask." He says boastfully. He probably thinks we're friends now, though he is only ten or eleven so his interpretation of the word friend is probably somewhat loose. "And also, the bathroom is kinda gross, so be warned."
I get the feeling that he plans to wait for me to finish so he can bring me back to the playroom, so I preemptively shut that down.
"Thanks, by the way, you can go now, I can find my way back, so you don't need to escort me." Left unspoken was that I don't want to talk to you anymore, my social battery is in the negatives at this point.
"Oh... ok" he says unsurely, and then proceeds to walk away. He probably doesn't believe that I can find my way back, I am five after all.
I walk in the bathroom, look around, and nearly lose the contents of my stomach right after my first inhalation. And I thought the floor of the cafeteria was bad. Next to this, it's a suite at a five star hotel. It looks like the last time it was cleaned was when Jesus was still around.
Firstly, the floor is abysmal, there's a fucking puddle of what appears to be piss on the far left corner of the room. Second, not a single one of the toilets seems to be in working condition, most are un-flushed. Furthermore, all but one of the mirrors are broken. And finally, the whole place reeks.
All in all, this place makes me reconsider how bad it would be if I had been reborn in the Warhammer 40K universe. But seriously, how the fuck is this place still running? Were the standards that low in the 1980s? And would it kill them to wash this place once in a wile.
The caretakers definitely have a nicer and cleaner private bathroom somewhere, and I am going to find it, even if it kills me. But alas, not today. Today I gather information.
I walk up to the mirror and, for the first time since I came to this world, take a good long look at myself.
My attention immediately lands on my eyes. They're a very beautiful and captivating dark blue, the kind you could get lost in for hours on end.
After a few minutes of mesmerizingly staring at them and taking in every small detail, I move on to my other features. I'm still five, so I have quite a bit of baby fat left, but I can tell that when it's gone, I will look very regal, mostly due to my very high cheekbones, a trait common among the nobility. I also have wavy raven black hair, though it is kind of greasy from a lack of washing.
I move back in order to inspect my frame.
I seem to be of average height for a five year old, so that's good. Unfortunately, because I'm so short, I can't really see my lower body in the mirror, I can barely see my upper body. The clothes I'm wearing aren't that bad either, consisting of some brown pants, a gray long-sleeved shirt and some sort of thin jacket.
In my genuine and unbiased opinion, I look really fucking good.
Seeing myself clearly for the first time and how good I look does wonders to improve my mood. I'm actually quite pleased. Seriously, it could have been much worse, so I'm pretty damn grateful.
Now, time to do the second thing I came here for. I want to check if it was just my imagination or if it really was magic that caused that bowl of soup to explode. I do remember something in the books about accidental magic and a child's emotional state being linked, but that's about all I remember. It would explain why the soup exploded when I was at my most angry.
Should I test it by trying to get angry at something? Or should I try to focus and recreate it in a different way? There is probably a controlled version that most likely has to do with focus and will power, while the uncontrolled has to do with emotional upheavals.
My attention drifts to a soap dispenser. I extend my hand in its direction and try to direct all of my focus completely and utterly on it, willing it to move. Predictably, I fail; however, I don't let that deter me. I try again and again, and yet every time, with no exception, I fail.
A minute passes, two, ten, thirty and finally, at the one hour mark, I stop. I feel so frustrated, this was such a fucking waste of time. I don't even know for sure that this is the Harry Potter world, I'm basing all of this on a fucking exploding bowl of soup. And I just spent one fucking hour in this disgusting smelly room, waving my hand around like a lunatic.
ONE FUCKING HOUR!
Right as I think that, and get angriest, I feel a strange tingling sensation and the mirror cracks, roughly pulling me out of my thoughts. Did I do that? I guess the anger way works. My vision also gets that yellowish tint again. As I inspect the mirror, my attention drifts to my own reflection within the biggest unbroken chung. Something is up with my eyes, more specifically, my irises. I quickly run closer to the mirror to get a better look at them.
The outer most contours of my irises are a violent and bloody red that exits the borders of my irises and leaks out ever so slightly into my sclera. Meanwhile, their inner and middle part is a powerful-looking yellow, both being luminescent, but the yellow much more so than the red.
Holy absolute motherfucking shit! I have Sith Lord eyes! That's actually breathtakingly awesome!
Unfortunately, they soon revert to luminescent electric blue and a moment after that, into my original dark blue colour. So, it would appear that my Sith Lord eyes only make themselves known when I experience a large enough influx of negative emotions, such as anger. That was probably what that yellowish tint in my vision was after I got hit in the head with that piece of bread.
The electric blue eyes though, I'm not so sure about. If I have to hazard a guess, however, I would say that this would be the colour of my eyes when I use magic that's not based on negative emotions.
My emotional state is also an interesting topic. In my previous life, I was calm and very slow to anger. Now, however, I seem to be very short tempered. I wonder if that has anything to do with my Sith Lord eyes and new child body.
If this really is the Harry Potter world and I really am a wizard, then I should learn occlumancy as soon as possible in order to control my emotions. I don't want any more panic attacks and nervous breakdowns. There are also countless other reasons to learn occlumancy.
Really! Occlumancy is such a useful branch of magic, any wizard worth their salt would endeavour to learn it.
I again bring my undivided attention to the soap dispenser, willing it to move. This time, however, I also bring to the forefront of my mind, the tingling sensation that I briefly got when I inadvertently broke the mirror. It's possible that that sensation was my magic coursing through my body.
After one or two minutes of repeatedly trying, to my absolute shock, it actually fucking moves. Granted, it isn't much, but it's still something.
I look in the mirror and find my guess to be correct. My eyes have indeed become a beautiful luminescent electric blue. A second later, they automatically revert back to a dark blue.
So, when I use regular magic, my eyes take on this colour, and when I use magic elicited by negative emotions, my eyes become like those of a Sith Lord.
Well, you know what they say. The eyes are the window to the soul.
Anyway, I have been away for quite some time, I should probably be heading back. The average looking kid, whose name I already forgot, might think I got lost and come looking for me if I don't.
I begin making my way back to the playroom. When I get there, I'm greeted with an empty room. Everyone has gone somewhere. I walk to the chair that I left, on the right side of the room, and sit.
So, this is most probably the Harry Potter universe, it is the only fictional world I know that fits most of the criteria. But that doesn't explain the Sith Lord eyes, something from the Star Wars universe. It's possible that this is the Harry Potter world, but with some differences here and there, such as wizards and witches having Sith Lord eyes when they get angry. It's also possible that this is the original HP universe and Sith Lord eyes are unique to me. Hopefully, it's the latter.
I spend some more time contemplating, and then, when I mentally tire myself out, I just settle for closing my eyes and drifting off into the land of dreams.
I'm awakened an undetermined amount of time later by a kind-looking older nun with glasses.
"Did you stay awake after bedtime last night Sam?" She softly asks.
"Yes" I say, hoping that she would just leave me alone. I just want to fucking sleep. My entire body feels so heavy, and my eyelids even more so.
"Well you shouldn't go to sleep now, little one, it will ruin your sleep schedule." She lightly chastises me. "Now go outside and play with the other kids".
"Ok ma'am" I say. I then remember something that I want to know and ask, "could you please tell me the date of my birth?"
She looks at me oddly.
Shit, I fucked up!
Unlike the other nun, this one is perceptive, and caught on. Five year olds shouldn't talk like that. I really do have to try to emulate the other five year olds more if I don't want to draw attention to myself.
"I'm afraid I don't know it, sweetheart, but I could go and check." She says, this time it's in a much more reserved tone.
"Thank you ma'am" I say.
I walk out and turn right. Apparently, that's the wrong way.
"The court yard is on the left Sam" the nun says behind me.
"Oh" I say, making a 180 and walking past the nun who's just standing at the entrance to the playroom, and staring at me.
I hope she forgets about my slip, but get the feeling she won't. Well, this sucks, one day in and I already have a watcher.
After walking down the corridor for sometime, I get to a decently sized courtyard full of kids playing around.
I decide that making friends would go a long way to help me blend in. Luckily for me, I already have one person who considers me a friend, so I decide to start from there. I walk over to Jeff and his group, and get to work.
One month later
It takes the old nun a little over One Fucking Month to tell me my date of birth, and even that's just because today is my birthday. Apparently, I was born on March 6, 1980, meaning that I'm just now turning five.
During the beginning of this month, I had a few more little moments of existential panic. Luckily, as the days went by, I managed to slowly come to terms with what's happened. Consequently, I no longer have them. Time heals everything, I guess.
I made friends with quite a few of the older kids and even one of the younger ones. I also found out how difficult it is to act like a kid, and just decided to act my mental age.
This made the old nun very suspicious, the more I acted mature, the more suspicious she became. Eventually, she took to watching me like a hawk, following me around from time to time when I wasn't in my room, and trying to convince the other kids not to be friends with me. The last one partially worked, some of the kids did stop hanging out with me in their free time. I'm certain that she personally knew the kid whose body I'm in right now, and that's why she was so perceptive to my change in behaviour.
I think she's convinced that I'm possessed by a demon.
And I also found out that her name is Dorothy.
I'm currently sitting on my bed in the large room I originally woke up in. Apparently, when you turn eight, they give you a small private room, and all of those rooms are next to the one I'm in.
I practice my magic whenever I get the chance, such as right now. The classes for the younger kids ended early today, so we have more free time than usually. The others are spending it outside playing. Meanwhile, I'm trying to make a piece of paper, lying on the edge of my bed, float.
I don't have my hand out so as to not draw attention if anyone walks in. I'm actually holding a bible open while doing this exercise, so that if anyone walks in and asks what I'm doing, I can say that I'm reading the bible, like a good little Christian.
Honestly, the worst part of this is the fact I have to pretend to believe in this nonsense. If I contradict them about religion in anyway, not only will I draw attention, but I'll also get in trouble.
As for my progress with my magic, it's laughable. I was originally only able to make something slightly move, now I can make it slightly move a little bit more. The difference is barely noticeable, and yet I practice religiously, no pun intended.
Three years later
I finally got my own room. Though, it's pitifully small, only containing a slightly better bed, a wooden chair, a desk and a small closet. The one part I do like about it, aside from the privacy of course, is the window in front of the desk. It offers me a nice view into the backyard. I can also see the moon, in all its glory, at night.
The hardest thing for me, so far, was to cope without the internet. I managed to get to a point where I no longer really crave for it, but still miss it.
I'm in my room right now, sitting on my bed, my eyes an electric blue as I'm trying to make my toy car fly in a circle, and partially succeeding.
I made a breakthrough of a sort about a year and a half ago. I was trying to blast my magic at the target and willing it to move. That was apparently the wrong way to do things. I finally succeeded when I tried to visualize the magic leaving my body like a tendril and reaching the target, making it move. It doesn't help that I can't feel my magic as well as I'd like. I hope that I'll eventually overcome this hurdle.
I accidentally drop the book as something dawns on me. If I am in the Harry Potter world, what are my long-term plans?
I have a shit ton of knowledge of this world, what do I do with it? Well, firstly, Voldemort has to die, that's non-negotiable. Not for any noble reason, though, I don't care what he does to others, but he's also a danger to me. Second, I need to somehow achieve immortality, which I know for sure is doable with the help of magic. Finally and most importantly, I want to become god level powerful, to wandlessly hurl fireballs at my enemies, and make them cower and shutter in fright when they hear my name.
All of those goals sound more like pipe dreams rather than real and attainable, but with my in-depth knowledge of this world, I can achieve them.
As for my short term plans… blend in and don't attract the attention of the powerful.
All of this is assuming that this is the Harry Potter universe. I'll probably know soon enough.
Three years later
It's a Sunday and I'm sitting on my bed, practicing my Magic. Over the years, I've slightly expanded my arsenal of abilities. In addition to magically moving stuff around, which I've gotten pretty good at, I can also change the colouring of items, and slightly alter their shape, though I suck at the latter. I've spent so much time practising my magic, that my eyes might as well be a perpetual luminescent electric blue. Speaking of eyes, I hadn't been able to summon my Sith Lord's since that day in the bathroom.
As for the kid who threw bread at me all those years ago, he actually became somewhat less juvenile and more behaved about a year after my arrival in this world. That still didn't stop me though from using my magic to bully him. Sometimes, when he'd pass by a cross in the corridors, I would magically spin it upside down. It was the other kids who noticed it first, and then after a few more times the staff also began to notice the crosses turning upside down when he'd pass by. After a few more times, he became a social pariah. Even the less fanatical nuns have become weary of him.
I also have some other, more fun ways to torment him. I would push him on the floor, knock over his food when he ate, and pull back his chair right before he'd sit, all of which I did magically and from a distance while making it look like an accident. Only the old nun suspected me.
Speaking of the old crone, she finally stopped following me around. Unfortunately, in order to compensate for that, she's become even more passive aggressive with me. Before, when she saw me, she would scowl; now, she literally looks like she just ate a lemon. Still, she does hide it from the other nuns.
Honestly, I can understand why she's like that. From what I could learn, the kid whose body I'm in was a trouble maker, and she spent a lot of time with him during detention, so she knew him very well.
The more I think about it, the more I realize how much of a wonder it is that I didn't raise more red flags from the other nuns as well. From an outside perspective, I suddenly changed the way I acted and became extremely mature and well mannered, relative to my physical age.
Come to think of it, by now, shouldn't I be around 22 years mentally? That's Odd. I still feel sixteen. Though, it's not like I would be able to tell if I got more mature. Oh well, something to ponder for later.
I hear a knock on my door and the voice of Christine, one of the younger, less fanatical nuns, call out. I tell her to enter and when she does, and I look in her direction, I nearly have a heart attack. Not because of her, but rather, because of the old bearded man standing behind her.
"Sam, this is Mr. Dumbledore. He's here to speak with you." She says.
Holy shit! It really IS the Motherfucking Albus too-many-names Dumbledore, in all of his glory! Well, that confirms it, this is the Harry Potter universe. I had honestly begun to suspect I was wrong, and that I was somewhere else.
I don't let my real emotions show, and put on an expression of shyness.
"Please, call me Albus. Mr. Dumbledore makes me feel old," he jovially says to the nun, making her let out a small but real laugh. It's funny because he looks ancient.
"Well, call me if the two of you need anything," she says, glancing between the two of us. She only said that to make herself sound nice, but in truth if Dumbledore wasn't here, and I called her because I needed something, she definitely wouldn't help unless it was very necessary.
"Will do." Dumbledore replies as she's leaving the room.
FUCK! I didn't think it was today! It's really hard to look shy on the outside while trying to not have a panic attack on the inside. I suppose they would send a staff member rather than a letter of acceptance, I am, supposedly, not aware of the magical world after all. Now I'm all alone with the most powerful fucking wizard in the entire world.
"Mr. Vali, I brought you a letter," he says in his trademark benevolent grandfatherly tone, and hands me the letter.
Vali!? That's my last name? That's… actually pretty damn cool. How is it that in six years my last name has never come up?
"O-ok mister," I quietly say, putting on my best nice and shy kid act, all the while avoiding eye contact with him, seeing as he might be in the mood for some mind reading.
"May I?" He kindly asks, gesturing over to my chair. He appears to have bought my act.
"Yes sir." I stutter out.
"No need for formalities my boy, just call me Albus," he says, again in that annoying grandfatherly tone of his. Most people would probably find his tone calming and reassuring, but for some reason I really don't.
I open the letter and read.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Vali,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
And then the second page contains a list of items that must be purchased.
I turn to him and say, "I don't believe you, magic isn't real." my tone becoming a little bit more confrontational. It's a lie, of course, but I have to sell the act.
"Have there not been weird events happening around you, events that you cannot explain?" He asks, giving me a knowing smile. "Try to think back, and see if you can remember."
I pretend to hesitate for a moment and say, "once a boy pushed me and I got mad and his soup bowl exploded."
"That, my boy, is what's called accidental magic. It's a phenomenon that only happens when a magical child's emotions become too erratic." He explains.
"Then… if magic really is real, can you prove it?" I ask, my tone gaining an uncertainty to it. I, of course, already know the answer.
In reply, he just chuckles and then brandishes The Fucking ELDER WAND with his right hand and points it at me. Gently but suddenly, I am magically yanked from the floor. I feel a strange tingling sensation, akin to the one I feel when I focus on my magic, but slightly different, as though it's not mine. It must be what Dumbledore's magic feels like.
"Ok…ok mister, I believe you, please put me down!" I frantically stutter out as I slightly thrash around in the air. Not to toot my own horn here, but my acting skills are actually quite good. Although, it is very unnerving to have The Elder Wand pointing at you, which kind of helps my act.
He does, of course, put me down, genially chuckling all the while.
"So… I'm a wizard," I state more than ask after a moment of silence.
"Yes you are, my boy," he nevertheless answers.
He gives me some time to process this. Though, I'm not actually thinking of that, rather, I'm trying to figure out how to get my hands on The Elder Wand.
After some time of me pretending to process this 'revelation', I speak up again.
"Mister-"
"Albus please, call me Albus," he politely interrupts.
"Albus, were my parents wizards?" I ask with a hopeful and slightly meek tone, not really caring one way or the other, but I still have to keep up the act.
He looks at me mournfully and says, "I'm afraid, my boy, that I don't know. Magical children are sometimes born to non-magical people. It's most likely that that's the case with you. I say this because I don't recognize the name Vali."
"Oh," I say dejectedly.
After giving me a moment to process this, he claps his hands, "now, mr. Vali, it's time to go and buy you your school supplies," he genially exclaims, succeeding at livening up the atmosphere.
"B-but, I don't have any money!" I worriedly blurt out. In truth, I already know that Hogwarts has a trust fund for exactly this kind of situation, yet innocent and ignorant I must act. This acting is getting tiresome, and we're not even halfway done.
"Do not worry yourself, I will be paying for you," he says.
Fuck you! Trying to act benevolent. It's not even your money, it's the school's trust fund for orphans.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Yes," he chuckles.
"Ok then," I say, "where do we go to buy the stuff?" I ask, again, already knowing the answer.
"Diagon alley, in London," he answers.
He gets up and extends his left hand.
"We will be getting there with magic, apparition is what Muggles would call teleportation," he says with a smile.
"You can teleport!?" I ask, acting very excited.
In reply, he widely grins and says, "Grab my hand, and be warned that side-along apparition is somewhat uncomfortable."
I grab on and in the next moment, I feel the sensation of being squeezed through a tube. One second later, we're in a crowded alleyway with many shops and people walking around.
"Ugh, you were right, that was kind of uncomfortable," I say. In reply, he just chuckles.
He takes me to a rundown looking pub called The Leaky Caldron. Of course, I already know this place but I still have to ask, "The Leaky Caldron?"
"Yes, it's through there that we get to Diagon Alley," Albus says.
We walk in and after Dumbledore exchanges some pleasantries with Tom, the bartender, we walk through the other exit and get to the other side of the pub.
"Mister Albus, this is a dead end," I say, knowing it isn't.
"Things aren't always what they appear to be," is his reply.
I really just want to go to sleep already. I know it's only four in the afternoon, but after my exhausting day of magical practice, and this acting, It's no wonder I'm so tired.
I had actually begun trying to levitate multiple items all at once, in an attempt to train my multitasking.
He walks over the the brick wall and taps a few bricks. The wall folds in on itself, as it did in the books and movies and in the thousand fanfictions of Harry Potter that I've read. Yet, it still manages to look cool.
What doesn't look cool is what's behind the wall. A lot of people dressed in robes and even some with pointy hats. Most of them appear to be families, probably also shopping for school supplies.
And here comes my social anxiety. The more I look around at all the people, the more uncomfortable I feel. On the plus side, it is helping me with my shy act.
"Now, our first stop will be gringotts, the goblin bank, we will need to make a withdrawal," he says, beginning to walk.
I follow him from behind. As we walk, I begin to ask myself questions.
Why did Dumbledore himself come to the orphanage? Why not send a staff member? Were they too busy? That's unlikely. So then why? And wasn't the philosopher's stone fiasco supposed to be this year? Dumbledore should be really busy setting up the challenges at the third Corridor. Him coming here to introduce a random kid to the magical world makes no sense.
And that's when it hit me. Voldemort was also an orphan, Dumbledore failed to see the psychopathy in Tom Riddle, which in turn resulted in him becoming Voldemort. The likeliest scenario is that Dumbledore wanted to make sure I wouldn't turn into another Voldemort.
My opinion on Dumbledore isn't all that favorable. He is perhaps the most benevolent person in the Harry Potter series, but there in lies the issue, he is always in pursuit of the greater good. He allowed Harry to be placed in life-threatening scenarios almost every single year, and he repeatedly prevented Harry's friends from contacting him during the summer after fifth year, right after the death of Harry's godfather, when he needed support the most. He was also the one who placed Harry with the Dursleys, a decision that would heavily damage Harry emotionally. And perhaps the worst one by far, he convinced Harry to sacrifice himself. In Severus' words, Dumbledore has been raising Harry like a pig for slaughter. All for the greater good.
I honestly don't really give a shit about Harry, but if Dumbledore was willing to do all of that to a boy he actually cared about, what's to stop him from doing worse to me? In his eyes, I'm someone who has been placed under similar circumstances to those that Tom Riddle as a kid faced, the same ones that caused him to become a monster. From his perspective, I am a potential future dark Lord.
That's actually the only reason why I made friends at the orphanage, to appear like a normal 11-year-old, and to distance myself from Tom. Hopefully, after today he won't have any more worries about me.
I'm not really afraid of him killing me, since that isn't something he would do. However, just like with Tom Riddle when he was in Hogwarts, Dumbledore will keep an eye on me, if today doesn't go well, that is.
"We've arrived, my boy," he says, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look up from the ground and see the bank.
We enter and go through the standard process and 30 minutes later, we leave the bank.
"They didn't seem very nice," I say, referring to the goblins.
He gives me an amused smile and says, "they don't like wizards very much."
"But why?" I ask, actually not knowing the answer this time. I have a few theories but nothing solid.
"Historically, there have been many wars between the wizards and the goblins. The wizards have always come out on top. Because of that, there is quite a bit of animosity between the goblins and the wizards." he says, seemingly saddened by that.
"But then, why do we give them all of our gold, why not make a bank run by wizards," I ask, marvelling at the apparent stupidity.
He gives me a chuckle and says, "you are perhaps a little bit too young to understand the intelligence of the question you just asked. The goblins have a monopoly over the banking industry. The reason for this is because a few centuries ago, the wizards and the goblins signed a magically binding treaty giving goblins monopoly over the banking system."
"Oh," I say.
"We shall have to continue this discussion after we purchase your books," he states.
I look around, and sure enough, we have arrived at a book shop.
"This is Flourish and Blotts, one of the best book shops in magical Britain ," he says.
We go in and make our way to the teller, a tall black haired Asian man in his thirties. Dumbledore waves at the man.
"Jimmy, my boy, how have you been?" Dumbledore joyfully asks the teller. It's kind of weird seeing Dumbledore call a man in his 30s boy, but then again, from Dumbledore's perspective, the teller is young.
"Not bad Albus, not bad at all," the teller happily replies.
Dumbledore looks at me and says, "oh, where are my manners? Let me introduce you two. Sam, this is Jimothy Xaim," then he turns to the teller and continues, "Jimmy, this is Samael Vali."
The fuck? Samael? Jesus Christ, there's always something new about my name that I don't know!
"A pleasure," Jimmy says, extending his hand to shake.
"Nice to meet you," I say, accepting his offered hand. I almost say 'likewise' but that's a bit much for an 11-year-old to know, I think.
"A first year?" He asks.
"I think?" I answer, wanting to seem like I didn't know what he meant.
"He means, is it your first year going to Hogwarts?" Dumbledore interjects.
"OH," I say, acting as though I just understood, and turning to the teller, "yes, it's going to be my first year."
"Do you have any house in particular that you would like to go to?" He asks.
"I'm afraid that I have yet to inform young mr. Vali about the four houses," Dumbledore says.
"Well, no time like the present," Jimmy says, and continues, turning to Dumbledore and asking, "can I explain?" To which he receives a nod from the old man.
The teller turns to me and begins, "There are four houses in Hogwarts, these are Gryffindor…"
I zone out, already knowing this. I just nod every now and then to act like I'm listening.
His impromptu lecture can be boiled down to 'Gryffindor is for the brave-hearted, Hufflepuff is for the hardworking and social ones, Ravenclaw is for the academic and introverted, and Slytherin is for the cunning and ambitious.'
He then asks me, "so, what house do you want to get sorted to?"
I pretend to think about it and say, "I wouldn't mind being sorted into any of the houses, but if I have to pick, I would say Ravenclaw."
The teller smiles and says, "good choice, that was the house that I got sorted to as well."
"You always were very academically inclined. I don't think it came as a surprise to any of your old teachers when we heard that you became a teller at a book store," Dumbledore says while chuckling.
After some more banter between the two of them, the teller turns to Dumbledore and asks, "so the first year package?" To which Dumbledore just nods his head in confirmation.
The teller leaves for a few minutes to go and get the books.
While we are waiting, I turn to Dumbledore and ask, "Earlier today, you said a word, 'Muggle' I think it was. What does it mean?"
"Oh… that, it means non-magical, people who can't use magic." He says.
"Oh" I say, and then put on a mask of insecurity and continue, "sorry for asking all these questions, I know it can get pretty annoying to answer them."
"Nonsense, my boy, curiosity is one of the primary steps to greatness. Never be ashamed to ask questions," he says genially.
I nod my head.
At that moment, Jimmy comes back, holding quite a few books. He gives them to Dumbledore who takes out his wand and shrinks and pockets them. Dumbledore hands over a few silver coins and with a goodbye to the teller, we leave the shop.
"Where to now?" I ask.
"The trunk shop," he says.
After a few minutes of walking, we get to a small shop. We enter, and again, Dumbledore seems to know the teller. After a few pleasantries, Dumbledore orders a standard trunk with an extended compartment and a magical lock, and we leave.
We then head over to the potions shop. On our way there, Dumbledore puts my books in the trunk.
After purchasing my potions supplies, we head over to Madam Malkin's, a clothing shop. We get the second hand school robes and leave.
Finally, we go over to Ollivander's, the wand store.
"Albus?" I ask, trying to get his attention as we're about to walk in the shop.
"Yes Sam?" He says, turning his head to face me.
"Can wizards not do magic without a wand?" I ask.
"They can, but it takes an extraordinary amount of time. Why do all of that when we can just use a wand to simplify it all?" He asks.
I know for a fact that he knows wandless magic, and just because it takes a lot of time to learn doesn't mean it's not worth learning. Furthermore, without wandless magic, if your wand is taken from you, you are just as weak and helpless as a Muggle. It just seems like a very efficient way for the Ministry of Magic to control the population. Confiscate a criminal's wand and he no longer has access to his magic.
"I understand," I say. After all, while I could argue with him, it would just draw suspicion.
We go in the shop and are greeted by an old man with pale silvery eyes and white skin.
"Ah, Albus, I've not seen you in a while," he says with a big smile on his face, extending his arms to his side, his palms towards us, in a greeting gesture, and continues, now looking at me, "and I see you've brought a student shopping. I must confess, it's rather odd, you usually send a teacher for that."
Well, that just confirmed my suspicion that Dumbledore is trying to judge whether I'm going to become good or bad.
"Nice to see you, too. As for the child, all the other staff members are busy at the moment, so it fell to me." Dumbledore says, with an equally big smile on his face.
Ollivander looks at me and slightly bows, "hello Samael, my name is Ollivander, pleasure to make your acquaintance."
He seems to be an eccentric individual.
WAIT! How did he know my name? Did he read my mind? I didn't look him in the eyes.
I also bow, though rather sheepishly, and say, "hello to you, too. But how do you know my name?"
"I know the name of all who enter my shop," he says cryptically. Luckily for me, I'm older than I look, so it isn't as cryptic as it would be for someone my physical age. If he didn't read my mind, and he knew my name because I entered his shop, that means he used wards. That calms me down.
After some odd questions, Ollivander turns around and begins to rifle through his stuff. Pulling out a wand and handing it to me. As I take it, I can feel it's wrong, as though it's not meant for me.
"Well go on, wave it!" He prompts me.
I do as he says, and wave the wand. I can feel my magic coursing through the wand, and again I get that feeling of wrongness. A moment after my magic finishes traversing through the wand and leaves it, every window in the shop shatters.
Holy shit! I think I put a little too much power in it.
"S-sorry… I-I didn't mean to, it just happened" I blurt out, acting ashamed. In truth, I don't really give a shit.
"It's quite alright, it's not the worst thing that one of the new students have accidentally done." He says reassuringly. He then takes the wand from me and goes back to rifling through his stuff.
This continues for some time. The second wand causes a fire to erupt when I wave it. The third sends a wave of concussive force towards Dumbledore. That's when I get a glimpse of his skill. He takes out The Elder Wand and puts up a shield, faster than any man his age should move.
And so it continues.
Eventually, Ollivander hands me a wand that feels just right. Unfortunately, it looks ridiculous. It is much bigger than the others, and in my tiny child hands, it looks even bigger. It's straight and thin, with zero details. It really just looks like a long stick. When I wave it, a warm gust of wind blows over.
"This is the one!" Ollivander exclaims. "Elder wood with a dragon heartstring core, 13 inches and unyielding flexibility."
"Splendid" Dumbledore says.
"That will be seven galleons" Ollivander tells Dumbledore, he pays him and we leave.
As we walk towards The Leaky Caldron, the old man gives me an explanation about how to get to Hogwarts.
"Now, there are a few things you must know, my boy. To get to Hogwarts, you must take the Hogwarts Express, which will leave King's Cross station at 11 o'clock in the morning on the 1st of September. It's at the platform 9¾. In order for someone to get onto Platform 9¾, they must walk directly at the apparently solid barrier dividing Platforms Nine and Ten. I'll speak to one of the caretakers to see if they can take you to King's Cross station. The train ride is a lot of fun. You can meet so many people there, and make many friends. Oh… and two final things that I forgot to mention earlier today. The Wizarding world is hidden from the mundane one. That means that you cannot reveal the existence of magic to any Muggle, so no telling your friends, ok? You also cannot use magic outside of school or the Hogwarts express, that would be against the law."
"I understand, and thank you for all of this… Albus." I say, thankful that I'll finally get to go back to my room.
I look around and notice that it's getting dark. We've spent the entire afternoon shopping.
When we finally get to the orphanage, Dumbledore gives me my trunk, containing all my school supplies and goes off to talk to the owner of this place, leaving me with a final word of advice.
"When you get to Hogwarts, my boy, and begin to make friends, be careful that you don't get drawn into a bad crowd." He's most definitely talking about some of the Slytherins.
"I will, sir." I state with certainty and conviction, giving him a kind smile.
Fuck off, old man! Your pitiful attempts to endear yourself to me will bear no fruit, nor will you convince me to ally myself to your 'faction'. Now go and die already.
When he's gone, I store my trunk underneath my bed and lie down.
Ok… so I just spent the afternoon with the most powerful and manipulative person in the country, and perhaps even the world. I'm fucking certain that I never looked him in the eye once. Therefore, it's impossible for him to have read my mind. Good, that was the biggest of my concerns.
The question is, did he buy my act? Does he now consider me good? And, have his suspicions about me been alleviated?
Well… from the start, he probably didn't think that I would be another Voldemort. He just wanted to check, just in case. I also don't think that he was scrutinizing me too much today, so he probably missed my smaller slips, if I had any. All in all, I feel pretty sure that he won't be suspicious of me anymore.
This also means that I probably don't have to pretend to be friends with the other kids here. Good, more free time.
Thankfully, Dumbledore doesn't seem to have come into contact with the old crone. He would have been much more suspicious if he had.
I've also noticed that for the last few years, I have become kind of sociopathic and apathetic. I wonder if it has anything to do with the traumatic experience that I had, or does it have something to do with my Sith Lord eyes?
I yawn. I'm quite tired after today, so I guess I'll just go to sleep. I can ponder my mental state at a later date.
I shut my eyes and go to sleep. Planning on reading the books and practicing my wandless magic when I wake up. The canon events just kicked off, and things just got a lot more interesting.
Dumbledore's POV
Today was an interesting day. It had started out as any other. Though, that all changed during lunch, when Minerva absentmindedly mentioned that she has to go introduce a young boy to the Wizarding world.
Out of curiosity, I asked about the boy. When it came out that the boy is an orphan, my mind jumped to Tom Riddle. My greatest failure. I failed to see the darkness in him, or rather, I thought nothing of it. And because of that… because I did not help him when he was young, he became Lord Voldemort, and brought misery onto magical Britain.
Now usually, for orphans and the children from abusive homes, I would observe them during school to make sure that they don't turn out like Tom. Sometimes, though, I would be the one to introduce them to the Wizarding world. This gives me a better picture of their personality and overall character.
While I did have quite a lot to do, I decided to take a break for the rest of the day and offered to Minerva to introduce the child to the magical world instead of her. Naturally, she agreed, as that would give her a break for the rest of the day.
Now that I have finished my meeting with the boy, I have a pretty good idea of what he's like. He is a very clever youth, based on his questions about the goblins. He seems to be somewhat sociable, since he does have friends. He's also quite nice and polite, if not a little shy. I don't think I need to worry about him. He seems like a remarkable lad.
It lifts my spirits to see an orphan turn out so great.
Yet, I would still have to observe the boy, to make sure that I didn't miss anything. Tom was a very convincing actor in his teens.
Orphans generally turn out somewhat cynical. It would be for the best if young Sam didn't become friends with Harry.
Authors note:
If by some miracle, you have become invested in this story(I know, aren't I hilarious?), you should probably keep your expectations low. School will start soon, so I won't have as much time on my hands. I also don't even know where this story is headed, since I've been improvising up until now.
Also, if you enjoy danganronpa fanfiction, check out Valhalla's angel by TheSneezingSOAB.
I personally know nothing about danganronpa, but the fanfic's author is my friend, and from what I hear, his fanfic's idea is pretty original, unlike mine. lol
Finally, following and favoriting this story would really motivate me to write, as would leaving a review.
If you do leave a review, I would love some criticism, to see where I could improve. Keep in mind that this is the first story that I've ever written, and I'm still in high school.