He examined his hands, torn skin webbed with bandages, calluses earned through desperate struggle, and fingernails still bearing traces of vampire blood beneath their edges.
This was evidence that he'd approached this world with dangerous naivety.
"I need to change."
The words carried weight beyond their simplicity. His initial excitement about magic and fantasies of peaceful existence had been promptly shattered by harsh reality.
This world was beautiful and terrible in equal measure, wonder and horror existed in delicate balance, and power was the only currency that mattered.
Anger kindled in his chest, not toward the vampire that had tried to devour him, but toward himself. He wanted to be powerful. He wanted to dictate his own fate.
Magic is might, and I will do whatever I can to grow stronger.
Of course, he wasn't some maniac who would throw around his power for no reason, but the simple truth was that without strength, he was no one.
If Dalton hadn't arrived when he had.
The boy refused to finish that line of thought. Using the bed frame for support, he limped toward the door where fresh clothes hung from the knob: a white shirt, black shorts, and suspenders that spoke of the era's fashion.
The outfit looked appropriately childlike for his apparent age.
He grabbed the garments and peered into the hallway: stairs descended to the right, another door faced him directly, and what appeared to be a bathroom waited to the left.
As his gaze settled on the bathroom door, it opened of its own accord, and he stepped inside.
The door closed gently behind him, and the bath taps turned on without touch, filling the tub with perfectly heated water.
Magic sure is convenient.
He mused, beginning to appreciate the practical applications beyond flashy combat spells.
Removing the bandages proved excruciating. Halfway through the process, he found himself essentially peeling away layers of skin that had bonded with the magical wrappings.
Each strip torn free sent lightning through his nervous system, forcing him to clench his teeth and hiss through the agony.
Once freed from his medicinal bonds, he sank into the steaming bath with profound relief. Warm water seeped into open wounds, soothing inflammation and washing away the dried blood.
After bathing, he approached the sink and its mounted mirror, which was hung too high for him. So he unhooked the mirror and brought it closer, finally glimpsing his new appearance for the first time.
Short brown hair framed a youthful face, about eight years of age? Dominated by deep blue eyes that seemed to hold depths beyond his apparent years. Despite the recent trauma, he possessed an undeniably charming countenance.
Still no memory of a name.
He was frustrated, but there was nothing he could do. He quickly got dressed, twisted the doorknob and walked toward the staircase.
Strange vibrations drummed in the air; He could feel the thump in his ears, but could not make out whatever sound was causing them.
Muffling charms.
The boy descended.
The ground floor was a tavern rather than a private residence; multiple tables and chairs surrounded a central bar where Sophie worked with practised efficiency. Dalton sat with several associates, engaged in a serious conversation that became audible as he moved beyond the spell's influence.
Sophie spotted him immediately. "Oh, you look so cute, dear. Why don't you come and sit beside everyone? I'll give you something to eat soon."
She rushed to examine his condition, her eyes lingering on the raw patches where bandages had been forcibly removed.
Taking his hand, she guided him toward Dalton's table. The scarred man noticed his appearance first, a brief smirk crossing his features before professional composure reasserted itself.
I probably do look rather cartoonish in this outfit.
The boy couldn't help but smile despite himself.
Dalton cleared his throat and tapped the table for attention. "That's all for today. Our young friend here is probably anxious. As I told you all, he survived the attack when I chanced upon him, probably would have been eaten alive had I not heard that creature's horrid shriek."
His associates nodded gravely, their gazes assessing the child.
"You'll have to excuse us now," Dalton continued with stern authority. "We have much to discuss with the boy."
The men exchanged glances before rising from their seats. A series of sharp pops echoed through the room as they Disapparated in sequence, leaving only the three of them.
Sophie took a seat beside him as Dalton cleared his throat.
"I shared your situation with some people, asked around", Dalton began. "We couldn't find anything about your family for now, but you don't need to be nervous. I'll help you as much as I can."
Sophie's glance prompted Dalton to shift his expression toward encouragement, clearly attempting to shield him from whatever grim realities they'd uncovered.
Had someone really abandoned this body's original occupant?
The possibility sent uncomfortable thoughts spiralling through the boy's mind.
Did I take over when the real child died, or did my presence somehow displace him?
Such questions offered no satisfactory answers. One moment, he'd existed in the abyss, the next he'd awakened in a child's form with fragmentary memories and mysterious abilities.
If he'd somehow stolen this life.
I find no regret on my conscience.
His thoughts echoed with stark honesty.
I'm selfish, perhaps even parasitic, but I'll cling desperately to this second chance regardless of its cost.
His priorities had crystallised with brutal clarity. Peaceful existence was a luxury he couldn't afford. Only one thing mattered now: acquiring the strength to never again be helpless prey.
The boy's eyes drifted, trying to gaze into Dalton's to dig out more information.
"You are still young, boy," Dalton observed, noting his unfocused gaze. "I didn't expect you to be a natural Legilimens, but it's best if you learn to restrain that power. People don't appreciate probing of the mind."
Legilimency.
The mind arts explained his ability to read emotions through eye contact. It seemed that he had natural talent within this domain of magic. It was a welcome surprise.
"Times are hard right now," Dalton continued with sombre gravity. "The situation outside Romania is unstable. I'm sorry, but for now I cannot let you leave Romania. You'll be staying with us until we find your origins."
Romania. Eastern Europe, circa 1970s. The geographical confirmation aligned with his earlier observations about the era and architecture.
As the facts settled in his mind, curiosity bloomed. The boy probed further.
"Are you an Auror?"
His attire, the manner of speaking and the militaristic way of conduct. It would all make sense if Dalton were an Auror of some kind.
Dalton's sly smile suggested the question hit closer to the truth than expected. "Not exactly, boy, but rest assured, I'm an enforcer. It's my job to ensure safety within Bloodfly Alley."
Bloodfly Alley.
The name carried ominous implications, likely related to vampire activity in the region.
"You two should relax now," Sophie interjected, levitating a bowl of steaming chicken soup toward him. "Dear, please drink this soup. Careful, it's very hot."
As he sipped the nourishing broth, his mind raced with possibilities.
He realised with growing excitement that he'd demonstrated natural Legilimency without formal training or wand focus. The implications were staggering. If he could perform such advanced magic instinctively, what other abilities might be within reach?
The first to come to mind was Wandless Magic.
The domain of exceptional wizards, masters who'd transcended conventional limitations of requiring a wand or a focus. If possible, the boy wanted to achieve that too.
Lost in his fantasies of magical prowess and systematic acquisition of power, he barely noticed the continuing conversation around him.
His path forward had crystallised with perfect clarity. To learn everything he possibly could, develop his natural talents, and transform himself into a force that no creature—magical or mundane—would dare threaten again.