Chapter 3

The classes were slow, boring, and almost useless. Of all the knowledge they offered here, the only thing I needed was a knowledge of the language. The rest was useless, hehe. But, all things must come to an end at some point, so we were again lined up in lines and led back under the control of Mrs. Petters, who was screaming, trying to bring discipline to the children.

As we arrived, I noticed that the elders pretty briskly rearranged themselves and ran to work. Uh-huh, as I recall, they have 40 minutes before their shift starts. Whoever doesn't make it in time gets fined. Considering their pay, one fine eats up almost a third of the payment. Then what's to live on? So they run like hell.

The shelter workers just laugh at that. This is free entertainment for them. For their "favorites" it is also not a sin to organize some kind of task right before they go out. However, it doesn't happen very often. After all, Mrs. Cole keeps track of the attendance, and the money from it goes to her, as well. In fact, I'd say she gets most of the money.

Of course, it's not a fact, it's not a fact... Maybe I'm imagining things and that's not how business is done at the orphanage, but something tells me I'm not far from the truth. It is easy for a modern person to see such "delicate" semi-criminal schemes.

After lunch there was a conditional free time. Conditionally is because the educators were no longer involved in my life, school was over, and there was no work yet, 3 years before it. And the unofficial is the older guys that "went down a crooked path." They are always looking for new things to do, they constantly need new people to "catch up" . And there was enough work for such cases.

The past me often took part in many adventures, without going on to anything serious, though. Open theft, for example. Though there were plenty of offers. As I mentioned earlier, Wolfgang was a "straight guy" which made him a great potential gang member. Well... frankly, if it weren't for magic, this is what I would have done. It's better to try my luck with my knowledge and experience in illegal but satisfying affairs than to "honestly" work for a penny, literally and figuratively, and die at 30-40, from lung and general wear and tear of the body.

But today I cleverly avoided other people's attention by quickly sneaking out on the street after lunch. I have a couple of conditional private places here where I need to try something I've wanted since I "got here". Magic.

The abandoned basement of a half-ruined house might have caught a lot of people's attention if it hadn't been for a once-broken sewer pipe. No one bothered to repair it, of course. Now the place had a corresponding smell. Powerful and suffocating. However, there was a way to minimize it by standing in one of the well-ventilated rooms. Without half the walls and with broken windows. But come on, it's silly to expect any better.

The warm feeling in my chest literally wanted to spill out. I didn't fight it.

"Wow" of course it was an attempt at lumos. The easiest, most conditionally safe spell in the entire series of books. A small ball of soft light appeared at my fingertips. It was so easy...

Was that normal? Or is my "character" playing a role here? "Magically gifted at the level of Riddle," huh? I hum in my head. If Tom is that strong, it's no surprise that he's going to have a future Dark Lord career. The Force allows it.

Creating a ball of light, I felt the invisible inner spring finally relax. I did it. I'm a wizard.

The next few days were one and the same. Wake up, stand in line for the bathroom, then a meager breakfast, a miserable school program, lunch, and free time. No homework was given, it seems Father Ricardo didn't care about our education. Rather, he wanted to recruit new slaves, oh, I mean, of course, helpers. Mm-hmm, that's exactly right. I'm sure that after the orphanage, a fair number of the students would not mind joining the church. Thanks to our priest for that.

I now devote my free time to training in my "secret place". Obviously, this is no secret, because I'm sure that anyone interested in my disappearance would know about it right away. Except that no one needs me.

The older guys weren't really looking for me. What was I to them? A promising seven-year-old, nothing more. Doesn't catch their eye? Well, there's plenty of others. Maybe not as smart or skillful, not as lucky or strong, but they're the ones asking to be "on the case."

But no matter what, I still switch my "secret places". There is another one, also the basement of one of the houses closest to the shelter, which is next to the church where we study. Only three families live in that house, as it is in a state of collapse. It is a miracle that anyone would risk their lives by staying there. The members of those families rarely spend time at home, only in the mornings and evenings, no children. That works for me.

The basement itself is not locked, just covered with a couple of boards. Just enough to put them neatly in place not to raise suspicion. This place was found last year by chance, once last me noticed a man coming out of this place. He began to wonder what he was doing there. Nothing was to be found.

The basement itself wasn't as damp as I feared. There weren't even any rats, which was nice, though. This is where I first begin to train my power: I scooped from the source and directed this unstructured Force at the wall, wishing to break through it.

There were no effects, no rays or anything like that, just dust and some stone crumbs flying from where I put the "punch". It was like being hit with a stick. Well, it could have been worse. Now I clearly understand that I won't be able to do the "meat grinder" at breakfast for a long time to come.

Of course the knocks could have attracted unwanted attention, but I wasn't lazy to check the house before visiting. And the tenants were hard-working, going to work every day. There was, of course, the danger of being seen... but nothing I could do about it. And I switched my places. Besides, my age played a role. At the most, I would have been told not to hang around and that would have been enough for the first time. After that, I would have started to look for other options.

My thoughts did not distract me from my training. The magical source pulsed in my chest, trying to release more energy. I tried the cut instead of the punch, and it worked better, a distinct wide scratch on the wall. I nod thoughtfully, it will have better results in combat, but I shouldn't hit an orphan like that, they might die.

I try to strengthen or weaken my attacks, it's not bad, but I quickly run out of energy. I need to measure how many attacks I can perform and then train them, increasing the quantity and quality.

Toward the end of the training session, I try to summon lumos, as I did the first time, without words. A weak and trembling light soon appears in my hand. The source is tired, even though I feel I can apply two or three more "attacks," but then I collapse, unable to move even my arm. Time to finish up. I have to keep track of how long it will take me to recover.

I return to the orphanage. Larry greets me with a suspicious look. We don't communicate, but his eyes, the look of a rat... Clearly wants to pay me back somehow. Oh, why can't he just forget and drop it? He's just a kid, but no, he's holding a grudge. Maybe I should give him a preventative? I look thoughtfully at my neighbor. He was wary, and I began to feel fragments of feelings and emotions.

Envy, anger, hunger, hmm. Something distant in thought... Thinks I'm pulling some kind of deal with the older guys? Somewhat logical thought, but completely wrong.

The rats must be crushed, or I feel like he`ll make me troubles. But Larry's damaged reputation is playing against him. It's very much against him. Without saying a word, I sharply move closer and punch right into the solar plexus, making a fake sweep toward his face before punch. It was a kid's trick, but I wasn't a fighter, and I wasn't trained for it. But I've been in fights just like any grown man.

"You're a... kha-ha," he grumbled, struggling to stay on his feet. You can't hit him in the face, they'll notice, but the rest...

I throw him on the floor and twist his arm, cupping it until it barely audible crunch, and then begin to methodically beat his sides, shoulders, and back. Anything my right fist hits. I hit him hard, but not too hard, so as not to hit any of his organs.

The initial blow knocked the kid out of breath and he couldn't shout, except for a barely audible hiss and a cough. That played a part in preventing him from trying to call for help. It wasn't certain anyone would come, even if they heard him, but i don't want to take any chances.

"Understand, freak? " Stopping the punching, I tell him.

"Why...? " He cries, trying to free his hand, scratching the floor with the other.

Instead of an answer, I gave him a hard slap. He whimpered even harder.

" Do you get it now" It doesn't really matter what the reason is. But I need to get the message to him that I have one. That will take away most of his questions, making him think about what he did wrong. And most importantly, he will find the reason. At the very least, he was up to no good. At the most, he really did manage to do something. If anyone is interested, I can always feed them a story. That they'll believe me and not him is a hundred percent certain.

"Yes, yes" as I had to prove, "I won't do it again, but don't hit me, don't hit me...!

I let go of the hand of the kid who does not even think of getting up, instead he roars and tries to catch his breath. Well, that's one less problem. The main thing is not to beat him too much, or he will risk doing something stupid, like trying to attack me in my sleep. But if you moderately reprimand him, the cowardly jackal will only squint and wet his pants. That's all he's good for. So says my experience as a longtime teacher and my sense of legiliment.

The rest of the time before dinner was spent outside. The orphanage had a fairly large, but extremely poorly maintained athletic field. Like a playground... A half-overgrown wasteland with old iron soccer goals and a few horizontal bars.

Not many people visited it. Except for show fights. The place was poorly suited for sports because most of the year it was covered in mud that would not dry out because of the shade from the trees and the general dampness. Because of the thickets of grass in the air constantly flew gnat. There was a corresponding smell of rottenness, because the orphanage's kitchen staff threw out all kinds of waste there. For this reason, by the way, you could run into street dogs. A couple of years ago, a girl, five years old, got badly bitten by them. She was even sent to the hospital. She made it out of there. And she was lucky that the bites didn't hit her face. Past me saw the marks, she showed them to everyone - there was a decent chunk torn off her thigh, many smaller bites on her legs and arms. Young age played a role, medics promised an almost complete recovery. At present, only her barely noticeable limp reminds her of the incident.

Still, despite some risk, I spent my time on it, doing a trivial jog. I just didn't know what else to do. There was nowhere to study, I was tired of wizarding, and the source showed bottoms. Just sitting in a room?

Before, I would have gone to play with my buddies, or to the older boys who were constantly generating ideas for different adventures, but now, having an adult mind, I knew that I needed a base to live on.

I'm going to Hogwarts. There will be pure-blooded young wizards there. Who are taught all sorts of tricks from birth. I have to be just as good. Not in skills, but at least in bare magical power.

Physical activity, on the other hand, can help me a lot. I won't be fighting at hand-to-hand, of course, but in a magical battle my physical strength is just as important. At the very least I won't be exhausted as quickly. It's the only thing I can do right now. Maybe later, when I increase my reserve...

I fully recovered in a couple of hours after dinner - liquid soup, with chunks of vegetables, no meat. This is barely satiating, but orphan children are used to it. Nevertheless, after a meal, the magic recovers faster. How much faster? It is unclear, I need experiments.

But even without them I feel joy. I don't know if it's consider as fast recovery or not, but this way I can empty the source several times a day. And if, by emptying the source regularly, I could make my reserve refill rate go up? That would be even cooler!

After a few days of training, I was able to measure my reserve by writing it down in a blank notebook I had stolen from school: 44 lumos in a row was my current limit. After the 44th time, the lumos are weak and trembling, and I also feel a pulsation of almost zero emptied reserve. I decide to measure my magic in lumos, this universal spell used by both very young schoolboys and white-haired elders. Is 44 lumos a lot or a little? I think it's time to ask Riddle that question.