Sitting down on the bed, he began reviewing the memories in greater detail, studying Severus's personality and history. For a full hour the smile never left his face — though it was not a cheerful one, but sad.
They drove the poor boy all the way to a noose, and all because of a woman… — Grid felt sorry for Severus. To lose his mother, to endure constant humiliation, to be betrayed by the one he loved more than life itself, and in the end to be defeated by his own spell turned against him by an enemy who was also his rival in love… As he reviewed that moment, the Archmage felt nothing but resentment. But those were not his emotions — they were Severus's. Children. Such children… — Grid thought with irritation, purging all the emotions and feelings that had also been embedded in the previous owner's memories. He pitied the boy, but he had no desire to lose his own identity.
When he opened his eyes again, the clock read midnight.
Already past midnight. The "inspection" dragged on quite a bit. Still, it's far too much information — I'll need to adjust the block settings slightly so the memories flow to me gradually. — the mage thought with mild annoyance. And this world is rather poor, especially in terms of magic. How far behind it is… — he slid a dark wand from his sleeve and waved it with a nostalgic smile. A focus… I only used one when I was first learning magic, and even then just for a week. I need to get rid of this crutch as soon as possible, or rework it into something more interesting. — He closed his eyes, waved the wand, and whispered almost inaudibly: "Katharismos." — A cool air enveloped his body.
A few seconds later he opened his eyes, ran a satisfied hand through his hair, sniffed his clothes, and examined his nails.
"It works." — In his world, this had been a basic spell that every self-respecting mage was expected to know. There had been times when he became so absorbed in studying something that he simply forgot what time it was, and this spell had come to the rescue, instantly cleansing both clothing and body. It could be applied not only to oneself but to one's surroundings as well — though at a greater cost of magical energy. "In that case, for now it will be simplest to use spells from this world and keep my own for the direst emergencies." — For a moment, a bloodthirsty smile crossed his face. He extended his hand and whispered almost inaudibly: "Mavri Floga." — A black flame the size of a ping-pong ball ignited at his fingertip. "There it is…" — He gazed at the little fireball with something like affection.
That flame had saved his life more than once. He had created this spell himself upon reaching the rank of Archmage — it contained all his knowledge and nearly five years of uninterrupted research. With it, he had once slain a Great Archmage: a being that no nation had ever dared to offend, for it could have razed any of them without effort.
"Still, it's too early to use it," — he said with regret, extinguishing the flame. "Ten seconds, and already such an enormous strain on the magical core. It isn't capable of absorbing a sufficient volume of magic yet — that needs to be addressed quickly." — He extended both hands, and all the nearby objects rose into the air, though only for a few seconds before slowly descending back to the floor. "Telekinesis… I did get lucky with this body, all things considered. By this world's standards it could genuinely be called a true genius. A talent for alchemy, a solid magical core at the Master level, the ability to use wandless magic as they call it here — what more could one ask for?"
With a faint smile on his lips, he dropped onto the bed.
I want to live this life to the fullest. And to make sure no one troubles me, I need to become strong enough that no one can threaten me — that shouldn't be a difficult task. Three years should suffice. Five at the most.
With those thoughts, he fell asleep. In his dreams he saw his smiling parents, his brother, his friends, and the one he had once loved. They were all saying goodbye, walking toward a brilliant white light. And no matter how Grid ran after them, he could not catch up — yet despite the sadness of that farewell, a happy smile remained on his face all the same. For he had managed to see them, just as he had wished, before the end.
Waking early in the morning, Grid glanced at the clock and rose from the bed with a heavy sigh, a tired smile still resting on his face.
"Why are these classes so early?" — Drawing his wand and waving it, he felt the fatigue begin to drain from his body. "That's better." — He waved his other hand toward the clothes lying nearby; they flew toward him and hovered in the air. He dressed with practiced speed: shirt, long black trousers, a matching black jacket, and a black robe settled over his shoulders. What class do they have now…? — he paused to think, and Severus's memories surfaced. Not a class — O.W.L.s… Examinations. Never liked them. — Walking to the wardrobe with its large mirror, he opened the top drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Right. Twelve exams in total. He already passed ten with an Outstanding — the mark of a dedicated reader, clearly. Only Potions and Transfiguration remain." — the young man nodded with a satisfied smile. "Potions won't be a problem — it was his favourite subject. But Transfiguration… He excels at it, but I should review it and get used to the magic here." — Rummaging through the wardrobe, he pulled out a Transfiguration textbook and frowned slightly. "Where's the Potions textbook…?" — In that same moment, an image appeared in his mind: a girl with long red hair, green eyes, and a bright smile. Lily… So he lent it to her. — He sighed. Fine. I'll retrieve it today. I'd rather his spells stop leaking out any further. — Glancing at the clock once more, he put on his shoes and left the room, heading down the staircase toward the common room.
The common room was tastefully furnished. Tapestries and portraits of the greatest witches and wizards to have graduated from the house hung upon the walls. Along the walls stood antique dark-wood sideboards. Despite the presence of fireplaces, the room was cool and rather gloomy, lit by a pair of lamps casting a murky green glow.
The institution where Severus studied was called Hogwarts, and it was the only one of its kind in the country.
There were four houses in total: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Which house a witch or wizard was sorted into was determined by the Sorting Hat, which assigned them based on their character. Nobility and bravery — Gryffindor; wit, a sense of humour, wisdom — Ravenclaw; perseverance, diligence, and honesty — Hufflepuff; cunning, ambition, and resourcefulness — Slytherin. Severus himself belonged to Slytherin, which was composed largely of nobles and aristocrats from families of purely magical lineage.
Surveying the common room and the teenagers and children darting about, a pleased smile crossed Grid's face.
It's like being thrown back into childhood!
Walking past his "classmates," what struck him as odd was the absence of anything resembling open contempt — only a mild displeasure mixed with envy, and even that in isolated cases. Most of them were entirely indifferent to him. He thought about it briefly and understood why.
The future… The majority of them are future heads of their families. From the moment they set foot in this place, they begin building connections and cultivating good relations with those who may prove useful to them one day. And making enemies of someone with the potential to become an exceptional Potioneer — someone like Severus, the "Prince of Potions" — is something no one is eager to do. After all, life can take any turn… — As this thought settled in his mind, the image of a man with long silver hair surfaced. Lucius Malfoy… He was still maintaining his connection to Severus. Well… aristocrats are the same in my world as they are in this one. — Shaking his head, he left the common room and set off at an unhurried pace toward the Potions classroom, moving through the dark corridors with their vast medieval-style windows.
A few other students from various houses were heading the same way, but Grid paid them no attention, merely glancing around with mild curiosity.
Even though all of this already exists in my memory, it still feels as though I never left my own world. Everything is exactly the same… Perhaps I should take over this place eventually.
As Grid made his way toward the classroom, he came across a rather interesting group: Lily herself — the very girl Severus had loved — along with the four who had tormented him all these years.
You chose the wrong one, Severus. Entirely the wrong one. — Shaking his head, he headed toward them.
The four boys, noticing Grid approaching, merely smirked. The girl, however, turned away, as though she had no intention of speaking to her former friend.
"Snivellus, coming back for more? We told you to stop approaching Lily — she doesn't want to talk to you." — A boy with short, unruly dark hair and round-lensed glasses stepped forward from the group, chest puffed out.
"Is that so?" — Grid nodded thoughtfully, feeling an irritation rising from somewhere deep within his memory. I'll need to review those memories again — it seems I missed some emotions. "I won't take much of your time, and you're welcome to keep her. I have no interest in this Mudblood." — he said with a faint smile, watching the teenagers' faces fall. "I simply need her to return a book she borrowed from me. She is not worthy of it."
In Grid's world, the spells a wizard created were his honour and pride. Their creators never entrusted them to anyone — with the sole exception of those closest to them, people the mage trusted as he trusted himself. And those who passed such spells on to others could be killed on the spot without trial — that was a mage's absolute right. That was why Grid wanted the textbook back. Useless as those spells were now, they were still something Severus had once created.
"Apologize to her! Right now!" — James grabbed Grid by the jacket and snapped.
"Get your hands off me."
"I said apologize imme—" — but he never finished the sentence. His eyes went wide. He released the jacket, clutched his throat, and dropped to his knees.
"I would have hit you, but I can't bring myself to hurt animals." — Grid shifted his contempt-filled gaze from James writhing on the floor to the others, and found three wands pointed at him.
"What did you do to James?! Stop it right now!" — a boy with dark curly hair and grey eyes cried out. "Or else—"
"I simply asked the Mudblood behind your back to return my textbook. Your friend attacked me first." — He shrugged and caught his textbook as it flew to his hand. "You see — quite simple. All of this was unnecessary." — Grid said with a smirk, glancing at the girl's furious face. He released the telekinetic grip on James's throat and walked past him toward the Potions classroom. "Go on, Lily — comfort your animal. You always did have a thing for stags."
"I'll kill you!" — James shouted in fury, pointing his wand at Grid's back. "Bomba—!"
But again he was not allowed to finish: his wand flew from his hand, and his mouth disappeared.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor," — came a rough male voice.
Before the stunned group of five appeared the Head of Slytherin House, Horace Slughorn. He was a middle-aged man with neatly combed straw-coloured hair and a magnificent moustache, a rather stout figure dressed in a three-piece suit. In his hand he held his wand, aimed squarely at James.
"Mr. Potter! Explain yourself immediately — why were you attempting to use a spell such as Bombarda on Mr. Snape?! Do you have any idea that you could have seriously injured or even killed him?!" — the man exclaimed furiously.