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- Not in time... - Albus sighed sadly, looking through his disheveled, gray hair at the half-ruined home of his dear students.
Though it had been quite a long time since James and Lily had left the walls of Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had never stopped considering them his dear students. As, in principle, did all graduates of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And even some who never graduated, for one reason or another. Hagrid, for example.
Even though he was halfway through his teaching career, to his small shame, he still had his favorites from the various yearbooks, which he sometimes kept an eye on even after graduation.
Such could include not only the students of the lion's department, as one might think. And while there is some truth in that, Albus also has his favorite students, both from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and, who might have guessed, from Slytherin.
And so, now he stands before the trashed house of some such students, whose fate he was interested in not only because of their invaluable contributions to the right cause, but also for deeply personal reasons.
- Had Sirius betrayed them? - He whispered in astonishment as he looked around at the front door's wide open doors.
Albus was no stranger to the generic madness of the Blacks. Perhaps because of the frequent incestuous marriages, or perhaps indeed because of a particularly tricky family curse, it was quite common for a member of the Black family, for whatever reason, to lapse into silent - and often not particularly - madness.
Usually, it manifests itself in the form of fixation on some idea fix, because of which, the wizard of the infamous family, simply does not notice his surroundings, and does not see any obstacles in his way. It also happened that the madness was manifested by an excessive obsession with a significant person, and it was not necessarily a crush. Although there have been such cases, too.
But the main trait that united every madman of this family was the determination to go all the way.
And now, Albus was frantically pondering why one of his most loyal supporters might have fallen into this very generic madness, trying to remember all the possible preconditions that might have manifested since school, and which he had apparently failed to notice.
"It's no use." - Albus rendered his verdict. - "It's been too long since Sirius graduated from Hogwarts." - He sighed helplessly. - "I'll have to go back to the memory maelstrom, and carefully review all our encounters with him."
But suddenly, Albus heard a bitter male cry coming from the living room.
"Or maybe I can find out firsthand." - He thought, quietly approaching behind the kneeling man who was leaning over the mangled body of his best friend.
Slowly pulling his wand from under his broad sleeve, Albus pointed it calmly toward the hunched, grief-focused man.
Without making any intricate movements, and without uttering any words, Albus mentally cast the spell of sleep on the kneeling madman, immediately picking him up with a spell of levitation for living beings, so that he would not fall directly on the body of his dead friend.
After setting the sleeping Sirius aside, Albus gently laid him down on the miraculously surviving bed, and cautiously strode toward the second floor.
"I'll deal with Sirius later. As much as I hate to resort to brute legiliments, I need to know what motivated him at the time of the betrayal. Though even if the reason for the betrayal was still the same Black's madness, I doubt that fact would save him from a life sentence in Azkaban." - Albus sighed sadly. - "Well, I guess I can at least manage to save him from being kissed by a Dementor. Still, as much as the Ministry justifies the need for such a sentence to exist, I'm convinced that no one deserves such a horrible fate as soul-eating."
Halfway up, Dumbledore moved on to more pressing matters:
"But right now, that's not of paramount importance. The most important thing is Harry's safety." - Albus remembered his main goal. - "I'm sure the boy survived. Still, there's a reason I gave that dark treatise to James for safekeeping, one I've had lying around since the days of my friendship with Gellert. I was sure Lily would be interested in the unknown book in the vault."
Despite his reputation as a light wizard, Albus knew a lot about dark magic. So much so that his knowledge could rival that of his former disgraced apprentice, Tom Riddle, who had earned the title of Dark Lord through his terrible actions. Still, his friendship, however former, with the once most powerful dark wizard of his time had its unwelcome imprint.
"Though if it weren't for my deep theoretical knowledge of the dark arts, I never would have known about such an unusual ritual." - Albus muttered thoughtfully.
Ritual magic. Albus had never had a good relationship with this branch of magical science. And not because he knew little about it, as some loyal aristocrats to the dark arts might think. No.
On the contrary: Dumbledore knew a lot about ritual magic. And especially he knew a lot about its complexity, its risks, and especially about the consequences that come if the ritual is performed incorrectly. Ritual magic does not forgive mistakes.
But most of all, it was the rituals tied to sacrifice that he disliked. "The darkest, and most unnatural magic there can be." - In Albus's opinion.
But the ritual of voluntary sacrifice he once found, he could in no way equate with those horrible bloody rituals that require the taking of someone's life. "After all, what is the highest expression of love but the voluntary sacrifice of one's life, for the sake of someone else?" - Albus thought convincingly. - "If I had a child, I would not hesitate to perform such a ritual on my child. And I'm pretty sure Lily did the same. The beacon on the ritual page worked, so she couldn't have missed it."
As he approached the entrance to the room where Harry was supposed to be lying, Dumbledore pondered the reason for such secrecy:
"I couldn't openly suggest that Lily perform this kind of ritual, as from the outside, it would look highly inappropriate. And it's quite possible that this information would have gone out. And not only would it break the trap, it would also damage my reputation. And I can't allow that to happen. Especially not at a time like this." - Dumbledore concluded.
Carefully, without making the slightest creak, as if by magic, the dark spruce door opened its casements, revealing to the elderly wizard a rather unsightly picture.
- Eh... - Albus sighed heavily, involuntarily slumping his shoulders.
Looking at the lifeless corpse of his dear student, as well as the crumpled robe of his fallen into the darkness, Albus felt as if a multi-ton burden had just fallen on his shoulders, which by its incredible weight did not allow him to move even a millimeter.
As much as Albus would have liked it, Plan B, in case Voldemort could still somehow get through Fidelius, was successful.
Dozens of ways to avoid such an outcome began to run through his mind.
But after some thought, he said doomfully:
- There was no other way out. - Dumbledore assured. - "Fidelius is the best defense against unwanted attention. But like every spell, it has a weakness, namely, the human factor. And moving to another continent would not close that weakness."
Throwing off his stupor, Albus wandered leisurely toward Harry's cradle.
"We need to make sure the blood protection lasts at least until Harry comes of age." - Puzzled Albus. - "Perhaps if I send him to Sister Lily..."
But then Dumbledore stops mid-sentence, having walked the distance at which the contents of the cradle, or rather its absence, become visible to him.
- I wonder how much Blue Planet would give to go to such a wonderful place? - Momonga thought aloud, scrutinizing the yellowed oak leaf he'd plucked, which, by some miracle, was still attached to a big tree branch that had grown bald.
It was still dark night in the sky and on the horizon, which prevented the golden autumn landscape from properly coloring the forest adjacent to the village. But for Momonga, the gloom didn't matter. To him, the whole world was as clearly visible as clear daylight.
At first, Momonga saw fit to go out to the nearest town to rent a room at some inn. But then, remembering his appearance, he prudently decided not to disturb the local population with his appearance.
"It's hard to imagine clothing in which I could not stand out among the locals." - Momonga pondered. - "The only thing that could completely disguise my lich appearance would be full lapel armor, or a shinobi suit, along the lines of Nishiki-san's outfit. But this disguise would be relevant if I were in medieval society." - Satoru thought.
"Anyway, with my height at over two meters, there's no way I'll be able to blend in with the crowd." - Momonga admitted. - "All the appearance disguises, unfortunately, rest in the treasury. All I have to do is put on a mask and gloves, and wrap myself tightly in my robe, hoping that a particularly strong gust of wind won't expose my bare ribs." - Satoru sighed wearily.
- Perhaps I can find some alternative. - Said Momonga, clutching the oak leaf tightly.
Momonga picked up the golden staff that had been hanging in the air until then, and slowly strode toward the small clearing.
- Pshhhh. - I heard something from below.
Momonga looked down at the little bundle in his hand, and saw a baby face with a red nose peeking out peacefully asleep.
"That's right, it must be the middle of autumn." - It suddenly dawned on him.
Because of the total pollution in the atmosphere, the division into seasons had only a formal meaning from now on. Right now there could be abnormal heat and drought, an hour later acid rains, and tomorrow morning there could be heavy frosts with black snowfall. It got to the point that the services presenting the weather forecast began to close one after another, losing their relevance due to their inability to predict the weather at least approximately for the next hour.
As a result, by now there are only a few paid services with fairly expensive subscriptions, owned by the one megacorporation with the best meteorological equipment. But what can you do? We have to find some money to get up-to-date, vital weather information.
"I might be able to find something with cold protection." - Momonga pondered.
Opening his inventory, Momonga found the item he was looking for within seconds, which looked like a blue, angular ring, as if hollowed out of a solid topaz.
"Jotunheim's Wanderer Ring," Momonga recalled, "created from the crystallized blood of a Jotun. Protects against the unbearable cold of Jotunheim, as well as giving a small resistance to ice and freezing attacks. Class: Rare. To me, it's a trash item. Not only because of the low classification, but also because of my complete racial resistance to cold. And how did it just appear in my inventory?" - He wondered. - "I guess I haven't got everything out of the things my co-guildmates handed me yet."
Carefully picking up the child's hand, Momonga tried to slip a huge, for a heady toddler, ring onto the little finger.
As in the game, the ring embraced with a dim glow, and shrank to the size of a child's index finger.
Now, on the boy's left hand, a blue crystal ring flaunted with an icy glow that prevented the surrounding cold from reaching its owner.
"Some of Yggdrasil's mechanics remain." - Momonga thought curiously, watching the artifact in action. - "But the question is another: how many of these shards will there be?"
Watching the boy's face take on a healthy blush again, Momonga remembered:
"We need a temporary shelter." - He decided. - "The Fortress Creation spell is out. The surrounding trees are too low to camouflage the thirty-foot tower that grows when the spell is cast. I have no other building spells." - Momonga sighed. - "You could create a small house with multiple applications of Object Creation, but that would be too long and too painful. I might have something suitable in my inventory."
Reaching a small clearing, Momonga stuck his hand up to his elbow in his inventory and organized a search for a suitable item.
After digging a little into the anthracite portal, Momonga pulls out a large bundle of brown cloth, which with a wave of his hand unfolds into a medium-sized tent.
- How did I not throw that away? - He asked himself in amazement.
A camping tent is part of every newcomer's basic kit, regardless of their chosen race. It's a standard two by three meter cloth tent, of the two by three meter type. A temporary overnight shelter to replenish stamina, as well as a good shelter from mobs in the initial levels.
"I have some scrolls for building structures." - Momonga remembered. - "But it would be too wasteful to spend them for temporary shelter. I just need somewhere to wait out the night, and get to the nearest town. I must see what time I am in, as well as learn the local customs and ways. I can't rely on the movies and soap operas I've seen. Judging by the fact that there's magic in this world, then it's not impossible that I ended up in some parallel reality." - Satoru sighed. - "But it is also possible that magic existed in my world as well, but was carefully concealed by the government. And then, that trend was picked up by the corporants who took over the world."
Stepping sideways into the small tent that had its ceiling practically against the Overlord's skull, Momonga crouched down on a thin sleeping bag.
- Firmly. - Whispered Momonga. - "But bearable." - Satoru concluded mentally.
Turning to face the entrance, Momonga tried to lie down on the bast cloth the sleeping bag was made of. He didn't even think about climbing into it.
Finally, having made himself comfortable, and only by some miracle not waking the baby, Momonga, glancing at the staff hanging on the side, returned to his heavy thoughts.
"Several I recall, physical libraries were common at this time. Amazing," Satoru mentally exclaimed, "I never dreamed of seeing a real paper book in person before. I barely had enough money for electronic books."
- No, I've seen the plastic replica in the museum, of course. I even touched it with my hands. But I don't think it's the same. - Momonga dreamily stretched out, anticipating his encounter with a paper recorder.
- Woah!
Satoru was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a piercing cry against his chest.
The only thing he saw was a baby bursting out of the sheets and lying on his broad skeletal chest.
Sighing tiredly, Momonga turned his attention to the morning light streaming in from the gap in the entrance.
"It hasn't even been an hour." - Momonga snorted.
Taking the struggling child in his right hand and the staff in his left, Momonga leaned on the latter and began to rise from the makeshift recliner, straining the fabric walls of the tent with his broad shoulders.
"I have a feeling I'm going to have a hard time with these." - Satoru sighed.
Sitting down a little, and turning sideways, Momonga calmly stepped out of his cramped tent, and immediately returned it to its original form by pulling that one by the corner on the top.
Putting it in his inventory, Momonga, in anticipation, reapplied perfect invisibility to himself, and soared through the air, rocking the crying baby, trying to calm him down somehow.
Momonga swam to the trail he'd discovered the night before, and was about to resume his journey, but he was distracted when he remembered an important moment for the living.
- You haven't eaten since yesterday, have you? - He asked the little man. - "And I'm probably an idiot." - Satoru sighed, cursing himself and his sudden forgetfulness.
Leaving the staff hanging in the air, Momonga reached for his vault again, but already dipping his hand into the portal for something to eat, he wondered:
"Is he allowed to eat solid food yet?" - Asked himself an unexpected question. - "I'm not sure. But it's best not to take any chances yet. When I find the library, I'll get some books on childcare. Eh, why did I sign up for this?" - Momonga sighed, pulling out a crystal pitcher filled with peach juice.
"I'm not sure he'd be comfortable drinking from a glass." - Momonga pondered, putting the jug back in his inventory.
- Object Creation.
The familiar spell circle formed, and in a flash, a glass bottle with a teat on top appeared in Momonga's hand.
Momonga wanted to open the inventory again, but looking at his busy hands, he thought:
"But I can't go downstairs for a little thing like that?"
He tried to use the flight on the bottle, but to no avail.
"Useless," he sighed, "flying only works on animate targets."
Shifting his doubt-filled gaze to his right hand, Momonga thought:
"What if...? No," Satoru yanked himself away, "too much risk."
But looking at the great height at which he hovered, he mentally lazily stretched out:
"But when else will we get a chance to conduct such a curious experiment?" - He thought. - "And even more so, I'm going to have to insure it. And with my experience in using levitation, nothing bad should happen."
After a little more hesitation, Satoru found his conclusions convincing enough to give himself permission for this somewhat risky experiment.
Pointing his hand, which still held the empty bottle, at the baby, Momonga uttered:
- Enhanced Magic: Flight.
Momonga felt the usual slight heaviness leave his right hand, and noticed that the baby immediately stopped crying.
He immediately wiggled his black head, radiating the kind of uncontrollable curiosity that was characteristic of toddlers his age.
The boy, as if on instinct, began waving his little hands as if trying to hold on to the water surface.
After he did a little somersault in the air, he met the sight of his bright green eyes with Momonga's red lights, and unexpectedly for the latter, he began to laugh uncontrollably.