I opened my heavy eyelids with difficulty. My head was hurting terribly, my stomach was churning, and my throat was so sore that I started coughing wildly and, turning over on my side, started vomiting blood and bile. What the…? Where am I? And, most importantly, who am I?
No, I didn't lose my memory, on the contrary, I had too much of it. Two personalities, two "full packages" of memories in one head. It's no wonder that it's splitting with pain because of the ritual. Occlumency kicked in, life became a little easier, and I happily pressed my cheek to the cold marble floor, enjoying the fact that the headache was almost gone. It's good that the rituals are performed strictly on an empty stomach, otherwise I would be lying around in my own vomit right now. You can't eat, just like before taking a blood test. Stop. What the hell is a ritual?! Or, uh, what the hell, blood tests?! Which sounds more wrong, some kind of dissonance in my head.
Fuck, how shitty... I didn't even try to get up, I lay on the cold floor and, turning my head to the side, looked at the situation around me.
There was something to look at. I was lying in the center of a pentagram drawn in blood. My blood, prompted by the memories of the original personality that occupied this body from birth. Yeah, I get it. So much for the ritual, and even with blood tests. The full set. Black candles were burning out at the edges of the five-pointed star, and the wax flooded the rune pattern, blocking some magical highways, disrupting the correct and measured flow of mana. That's one of the reasons why there are two of us now. Or is it still one?
I focused on myself, trying to figure out what happened and how I ended up like this. Occlumency helped to sort out the mess in my head. A surprisingly well-developed skill. Why would Amos be so worried about the contents of his skull? Is there something in there that is better for others not to know?
Amos. Amos Sunhide. My new-old name. Muggle-born wizard. Fourth year. Hogwarts. Mmmm, how interesting, so now I am, therefore, a real wizard...
"You are a wizard, Amos," a bearded old man told me when I turned eleven and received a letter from the school of witchcraft and wizardry. And no, it was not Dumbledore.
Well, of course, for the sake of some mudblood the headmaster himself, who, concurrently, is also practically the first person of the state (although the Minister of Magic would claim the opposite, but who cares about this weakling), would personally condescend to travel to the world of ordinary mortals? HAHAHA. He didn't even go after Potter himself, he sent his minions.
No, it was our Care of Magical Creatures teacher. An old crippled wizard, Silvanus Kettleburn. But the professor was a real enthusiast of his craft. Honestly, such dedication was captivating, because I can't imagine what kind of money they should pay for such a constant risk to life. Aurors, compared to magizoologists, are just lucky with a cool and stress-free job. Kettleburn was missing a couple of limbs, which were replaced by prostheses, and also eyes, and that's just what was visible. I will never mess around with chimeras. Thank you, infernals are better. At least they are obedient to their creator. Stupid, really. Wait, why do I need infernals? Oh, I see, I already have a couple. I can feel them by the creator-servant connection. Guarding the ritual site... Amos-Amos, what kind of fruit are you? How old are you? Am I some kind of new Dark Lord? A Muggle-born Dark Lord? What nonsense. Who would join my army?! There are only a few like me, and the highest-ranking aristocrats would only laugh at such a prospect... Oh, yeah, and there are the Infernals... But if I were to think of creating an army of the dead, I would immediately be impaled. Or worse, in Azkaban. I need to dive deeper into my memories and figure it all out.
So, what do we have next? An incomplete family, in which there was only me and my mother. My father went out for bread, so to speak, back when I had my/his first magical emission. Spineless weakling. So what if he set fire to the curtains next to the cradle on a dark moonless night, well, it happens, what can you do. Although children's laughter can sometimes cause terrible horror at such moments, I agree. The poor guy probably thought he had witnessed the birth of a new demon king, no less.
By the way, that was the first and last time I damaged our property with magic. I never had such strong emissions again, rather the opposite, only very unnoticeable and weak ones. Wait, me? Oh yeah, it seems our personalities are constantly assimilating, becoming one whole... and it's not even about memories and recollections, but about souls. Two became one. I've gotten fat, heh, I barely fit into a mortal body. Okay, kidding, I have no idea how it affected me. I hope it was somehow positive. In the books that the last one I read, it mostly led to an increase in the strength of the soul, but... I don't feel anything like that yet. I'll check later.
Whether this is good or bad, only time will tell, but more on that later. For now, I'll consider myself Amos, since it so happened that Sunhide's body is alive, but my previous one, in another distant world, is absolutely dead. We are all mortal, let's not forget about it.
Let's continue to analyze the memories of my new-old self. The family of two was not poor, despite the stereotypes and the harsh truth of life in general. Why? It's just that Amos's mother, or rather mine, was a beauty, the likes of which you'd have to look for.
Black, like a sunless sky, hair, the same eyes, because of which even the pupils practically merge with the iris, turning into black pools of a deep abyss. It looks mesmerizing, and if I weren't sure that she was an ordinary person, I would definitely think that she was a witch, such a charming and beautiful woman she was. I will not talk about other virtues that nature gifted her with, because it is very indecent to think that way about your mother. Let's stop at the fact that she was a very beautiful young woman.
I don't even know how superstitious a bastard you have to be to leave such a beauty because of one curtain that caught fire. If I were in his/my father's place, I wouldn't run away even if I caught her making meat broth from human remains.
Where, I wonder, will this idiot find someone better than her. And she's also smart and caring beyond measure. A combo that's not easy to put together, I tell you. No, I'm not sexist, the situation is similar with men. Have you seen smart and handsome jocks lately? Exactly. As an exception - please, on a permanent basis... Doubtful, let's say.
So, she earned a good income, being the chief secretary of a large company, whose main office was located just near our house in central London. And a three-room apartment in central London costs a pretty penny. In short, we weren't poor.
Mom didn't bring men to our house either, but I'm almost sure that she had someone, maybe even their director. Not a bad match, because I saw this guy once. Quite neat and not at all old. So intelligent.
But Amos reacted extremely negatively to anyone who competed with him for his mother's attention, so it is quite logical that the woman avoided introducing him to her suitors in order to avoid hysterics and scandals. A fucking egoist. But he sincerely loved his mother. Almost the only person he had positive feelings for, not counting one more person, but we will return to her later.
Anyway, now everything will change and the new Amos (that's me) will not poke his nose into the affairs of my mother, who dotes on me. She more than deserved happiness, putting up with this selfish and malicious asshole, who got his good looks from his mother.
Only a slightly square masculine chin he inherited from his father. More precisely, me. Damn, when will I stop seeing double in my head?
Anyway, my mother gave me everything she could give. A good childhood, full of love and care, an excellent education (Everything that private tutors and schools could give until the age of eleven. There were also various sections, like boxing and taekwondo), a comfortable existence and a beautiful appearance. The future of little Amos promised to be cloudless and wonderful, if not for the letter from Hogwarts. Then everything changed.
The world of magic and sorcery, the world of opportunities to ascend and stand above other people and wizards, the world ... which is extremely cruel to beginners who first embarked on the path of magical art.
For Amos, who was a little spoiled by life, the realization of his insignificant position in this new world was a painful blow. It was even worse for orphans from municipal shelters, who for the first time ended up in this brave new world with nothing at all. But not that much. For all Muggle-borns, life was a series of serious trials.
Whether it was the banking system that limited transactions from pounds to galleons, or the laws and regulations that seemed frozen in the sixteenth century and generally seemed to exclude the very concept of "rights of Muggle-born wizards."
Rather, it included a long list of their duties and punishments for violating numerous murky and ambiguous laws, treaties and contracts. Amos read more than thirty books on the subject, overcoming his boredom and reluctance, and still could not really figure out what was going on in this damn Wizengamot.
It seemed that the entire judicial system consisted of a pile of some useless nonsense, in no way connected to each other. The only thing that was written there in black and white were the privileges and rights of pure-blood wizards, which he was definitely not.
And Amos checked. He cherished hope for something, but - no. He was the first wizard of his kind. Not a bastard, not a distant relative of an extinct ancient bloodline, just... no one. And this scared and angered him.
And then, in the second year, when he had already gotten used to it and resigned himself a little, the bullying began. The first year, by tacit agreement of all parties, was untouchable, but starting from the second, the "newbie protection" ended, and for people like him, the picture of the world changed dramatically. Rose-colored glasses were smashed to pieces in a row, without exception, without removing them from their eyes, so that the sharp glass of broken pink lenses painfully dug into the eye sockets, forcing them to cry bloody tears.
And Amos cried. I can't blame him, for a twelve-year-old homeboy, his life took a very unpleasant turn to the very bottom.
He could only visit home during the summer and Yule holidays, but now he spent most of his time at school, where his life was far from sweet. Children can be very cruel, and especially wizard children... aristocratic wizard children... Ugh!
Well, Snape from the canon was not the only one who was subjected to cruel bullying at school, no, he was lucky, because at least his own people did not touch him, due to the patronage of Lucius Malfoy, who knew about the boy's talent in potion-making. Apparently, he was able to recognize the Prince even before he himself learned about his heritage.
The marauders could not bother him twenty-four seven, but Amos's classmates, among whom the absolute majority were pure-blooded wizards, could very well. Petty fascists. Even though he studied in Ravenclaw, supposedly the most reasonable and wise faculty. Maybe by the seventh year, his graduates would live up to the fame and stereotypes of the Ravens house, but certainly not at the very beginning of their journey.
The teachers and the headmaster mostly didn't care, as long as no one was killing anyone. Even their dean, Flitwick, couldn't help him much except sympathize. And he gave him good advice. Advice that Sunhide truly listened to. Become stronger and fight back against his bullies.
No one would bully someone who could, without a twinge of conscience, launch a dark curse at the back of an offender from around the corner. Avada Kedavra made everyone equal. In the face of death, both the noble Lord of magic and the mudblood were united in their helplessness. The vindictive Amos interpreted this advice very clearly, having already managed to become embittered towards the whole world and dreaming of revenge on all those who had offended him. Perhaps someone had once given similar advice to Flitwick, and he, in turn, passed it on when the time came. The half-goblin certainly didn't fare any better at Hogwarts, but he didn't become embittered at the world like Amos.
What did that idiot do? Oh, well, you'd have to be a particularly lucky (or unlucky, depending on the end result in me) bastard to get into the forbidden section of the library unhindered and stumble upon a special grimoire on the darkest arts. Thanks to the senior who paved the way for him through the barriers, striving for forbidden knowledge.
The second-year who accidentally fell asleep in the library didn't miss his chance, awakened by a slight noise in the empty library. He grabbed whatever was at hand and hit the jackpot.
The grimoire was not as dark as the one that Tom Riddle had found, but it also definitely contained spells and knowledge that would have landed Amos in Azkaban for life. Mostly curses and rituals of dubious meaning. But the boy didn't care, he craved power. Power and knowledge, which in the world of magic were almost the same thing. And he got what he wanted.
At the end of his second year, he performed a ritual on himself. Luck was on his side, and he didn't screw up, as he thought then. Later, much later, he was able to understand how thin the ice was under his feet at that moment. By chance, he survived, and the ritual was a success. As if magic itself favored the novice dark wizard. Or was it a blessing of darkness? Morgana knows...
What did he get? Superpower? The ability to kill enemies with one look, like a basilisk? The method of making a philosopher's stone?
No, it wasn't. He perceived what he had received as nothing less than a prophetic gift. A vision of the future. That's what he thought. But in reality, he was simply looking beyond the edge, defying the boundaries of time and space, even death itself. A little bastard who had just entered his third year at Hogwarts was able to do something that even the greatest wizards of the past had not dared to attempt.
More precisely, there were no known or written records of successful cases of this kind, but who would write about such a thing anyway? Idiots did not become strong. Except for Amos. But he was an exception.
In general, he managed to scoop up the memory and knowledge of one distant star-soul from another, parallel world, which was alien to magic, but not the creativity of thought. However, such knowledge was strictly limited by the world law, so all he could get was the knowledge that concerned his world. And it so happened that the object to which he connected directly had this knowledge. Alexander was a big fan of the Harry Potter series.
What else, except a vision of the future, could Amos consider those revelations that he gleaned then? Harry Potter had not even entered Hogwarts yet, and Amos already knew what awaited the hero of magical Britain in his first two years. It was delight.
In addition to sacred knowledge from beyond the edge, Amos also studied the dark grimoire, gradually imbuing himself with the essence of dark magic. He planned to become a malefic ritualist. He had every chance, because he had a huge inclination for these sciences. Dark curses were the kind of power that could bend even the unyielding ancient families of the wizarding aristocracy, and that was exactly what he needed. For revenge. To bring to their knees those who dared to bend him.
The ritual he performed could be repeated no more than once a year, and Sunhide was smart enough to follow the recommendations. He had already managed to understand well that safety precautions in the magical world occupied a special place in the lives of wizards. Either this, or an early, painful death.
The following year, Amos learned about Potter's life in his third and fourth years. And also... about the Room of Requirement. Sunhide did not climb onto Privet Drive, or into the secret room of the basilisk, sensibly fearing the consequences of the decision made and his sudden death, but he used the Room of Requirement to the fullest, absorbing forbidden and not so forbidden knowledge, like a robot vacuum cleaner.
By the end of his third year, Sunhide had learned to fight back, so much so that his peers now thought twice whether a simple game was worth getting some non-lethal but nasty curse.
Sunhide had studied the dueling code well, the only thing, besides Avada, that could make him equal with the nobles, albeit for a short period of time, while the duel lasted. But this time was enough to put the acquired knowledge into practice, even if he lost completely, without consequences for himself, in the form of Azkaban.
Yes, he could be beaten and thrown off the platform like a beaten dog, such cases were especially relevant at the beginning of his dueling career, but this beaten dog always, at least once, managed to bite its enemy.
And one bite of a dog, if it is sick with rabies, can promise big problems primarily to the victim of the bite. Curses were his element. Even if most of them did not work instantly, but, on the contrary, lazily spread over the affected targets, this was more than enough to make them reckon with him, because it could even play into his hands. Leaving the dueling platform, proud aristocrats did not even guess what range of sensations awaited them a little later, when they would forget about the duel.
Over time, he also learned to win duels, and not just bite back painfully and be a punching bag. And then his life changed a little again. This time, even for the better.
Now all the small fry were afraid to touch him once again, and the loudmouths and clowns who regularly wiped their feet on him, closed their mouths, not wanting to spend sleepless nights suffering in the toilet or in the infirmary.
He only had the most serious enemies left, with whom he had hooked once and for all. He did not even doubt that as soon as he graduated from school, they would come for him themselves, or use their power and family money to kill him, or do something even worse to him. Amos had become too arrogant and drunk on power. But he had already realized this, and knew that his only chance to survive was to become an even stronger and more dangerous wizard. While Hogwarts still protected him, he had time. But as soon as he graduated, the "children's" laws would stop protecting him and retribution would come.
That summer Amos spent his holidays in the wilderness, having persuaded his mother to send him to the middle of nowhere, supposedly on a camping trip with his school friends. In reality, he got off on the way there, bewitching the guides and the bus driver, and he himself made a forced march through the dense forest, to the ancient burial mounds, where, according to the ancient scrolls stored in the archives of the room on request, a whole circle of ancient druids rested and was their place of power.
There he conducted another series of dark rituals on himself, which again went like clockwork, strengthening him and increasing his affinity with darkness. Now there was much more power in him than in a talented Muggle-born. Amos almost caught up with those arrogant snobs from ancient families who were so proud of their exclusivity.
The darkness took care of its new favorite, giving him luck for ten. Everything that could go wrong, did not go right, but… gave a purely positive result, oddly enough.
The clumsy Sunhide believed that it was all about his natural talent and genius, and not blind luck that never ended. Maybe he was not so wrong, and he really did have a huge hidden talent for dark magic, otherwise it was simply impossible to explain such incredible luck.
Amos should have died at least ten times already, from rollbacks or improperly performed rituals, but… these rollbacks and harmful consequences did not follow, even his health and appearance did not suffer. He only became even paler, but that was all. But his mistakes in the rituals seemed to be compensated by some natural inclination towards the magic of darkness, hidden inside the young dark magician.
Alexander, who was now Amos, was mostly able to draw an analogy with the board game "D&D". If a minimum of twenty points had to be rolled on the dice to perform a successful ritual, then Sanhide rolled fifteen to sixteen points, and the missing difference for a successful completion was compensated either by his insane luck or his possible talent for ritual magic and dark magic, adding another five fireproof points to him in total, which allowed him to get out of it unscathed. But even if this was so, even if his talent did take place, which the new Amos almost no longer doubted, then he still needed luck, because one day he could roll three ones. Then no bonuses would help him smooth out the consequences.
That's probably what happened that fateful time. Amos finished his fourth year at Hogwarts and again went to the ancient burial grounds of the druids. Next year Harry Potter was already entering the school and he was going to take full advantage of it.
But to do this, Sunhide planned to collect all the knowledge about the future hero of magical Britain. He wanted to take another risk, performing two rituals in a row, ignoring safety precautions and recommendations, although he had always followed them before. He really needed to get all the knowledge before Harry Potter entered, so as not to screw up on some little thing.
And what, since he never received a return and, despite numerous screw-ups (although with practice there were many times fewer of them), everything went well, then why not take a risk? Sunhide relaxed. The darkness spoiled him, just like his mother spoiled him in childhood, and so he paid for his carelessness and pride.
The first ritual went perfectly, he didn't even make a single mistake, so it was expected, but what was an unpleasant surprise for him was the second ritual that was carried out immediately after the first, which failed.
The connection between Amos Sunhide and Alexander Smith grew stronger every time this ritual was carried out, binding them with invisible chains, which neither of them suspected. Alexander himself fell into a coma, slowly losing his memory and essence, which flowed into another world.
The knowledge that Amos generously scooped up settled in his head, but was closed to him by the world law. But it was inside. Just sleeping. In addition to the "knowledge of the future", the sleeping memory of Alexander's entire life was accumulating in Sunhide's head.
Like an archived file that could not be opened until the data transfer was finally completed.
And the second ritual in a row successfully completed this transfer, along with the last knowledge, pulling out from Alexander, who had been in a deep coma for the last years, fading away not only the remnants of his memory, but also his soul and consciousness.
The two souls mixed, and Alexander's archived sleeping memories awakened and came to the fore, flooding Amos's own memories with their novelty and volume. There was no battle of souls or consciousnesses, they simply mixed, becoming a single whole. Alexander simply had more memories due to his longer lifespan. Thus, Alexander's personal matrix became dominant, although it acquired multiple features inherent in the former personality of the body's owner. Now they were united and inseparable, becoming something new. Not fully Alexander, but no longer Amos either. Something in between. An absolutely new personality, having taken from its recipients absolutely everything they could give.
"Bitch, how did I get into this..." Amos groaned, groaning as he got up on all fours. His back was starting to hurt from the cold stones.
He really didn't want to catch a chill in his kidneys, so he decided to get off his ass and do something. This wasn't Hogwarts, and a kind nurse wouldn't patch him up in a couple of hours at the government's expense.
Sunhide wiped the sweat from his forehead and wiped the blood from his blue lips with his sleeve, crawling to his bag, wanting to get to a bottle of water and quench his thirst. He succeeded, and the water brought long-awaited relief. It was followed by a general strengthening elixir, thanks to which the guy's health returned to relative normal. He laughed his signature croaking laugh, from which goosebumps ran down the spines of his enemies. Such a laugh never boded well.
- Got away with it again! Ahahaha, what a lucky son of a bitch I am! Oh, no, you can't insult my mother, that's sacred. But the darkness saved me again, albeit in such a peculiar way, for which I bow low to it. - After hesitating for a moment, I nevertheless really did bow low somewhere into the night darkness. It won't hurt me.
Although I've never suffered from superstitions, but with such a layout, you can't help but think about higher beings. There is magic here, so why shouldn't the Darkness be a completely living Force, as it was in the same Star Wars, for example? However, these are all idle speculations of a tired mind, because I didn't feel any response, so now I was a little embarrassed by my sudden impulse.
Scratching the back of my head, I spat on everything and went to change. No one saw me anyway, so only I know about this disgrace. It's time for me to head back home. I have even bigger plans for this vacation.
First, I need to urgently correct a serious mistake that the past Amos made, namely, a quarrel with his best friend. The only one, to be more precise. The petty dark mage had no more friends, due to his extremely malicious and vindictive character, not to mention his passion for dark magic. And they were afraid of him, to be honest. There was a reason for it.
Only Caroline Sharpheart could communicate normally with him, because she was, as it were, an even more vindictive and insidious witch than he was. I needed to make peace with her urgently, because it was Amos who was categorically wrong in this situation.
More precisely, the past Amos himself would never admit it, his pride would not allow it, but the new me was much wiser and was going to apologize to the girl, if necessary, even on my knees. First, he had to send her an owl, set up a meeting, indicating his intention to apologize and explain himself, and then do it in person, when he met her. Amos had never apologized, except to his mother, so he couldn't even imagine how to do it in front of a girl, but Alexander had extensive experience communicating with the opposite sex and knew how to smooth things over and resolve conflict situations. Not a ladies' man, of course, but not a complete layman in relationships with the opposite sex.
- A dumb pubescent teenager, he had to manage to fall in love with his best friend, and then have a terrible fight with her because of some noble, pretty upstart... Idiot. Although I understand him, or rather myself, a little, the girl is very beautiful and has always been on my side, even when I was at rock bottom. A beautiful face, fiery red silky hair falling like a ruby waterfall below her back, covering her ass, which, by the way, is also very nice, long slender legs, a thin waist... It's no wonder that the past Amos fell in love with her, although he himself did not understand it until it was too late. - I began to assemble my small tent camp, directing my infernals with the power of thought. I myself was lazy, and my weakness had not gone away. Let the dead do it. They will not get tired.
- So what if she slept with that disgusting, saccharine aristocrat? Everyone is doing their best. As if you don't know that her family is in a much worse situation than yours. There's a reason she avoids talking about her family. She's ashamed. Yes, she bent over backwards to get the secrets of their family, or so she thinks, in exchange for one night, but what did you want? - I continued to think, sitting down on a large stone covered in a soft layer of moss.
- She's not your property, not even your girlfriend, just your best friend, who, by the way, didn't even hide anything from you. Simple, but not simple, as it turned out. Fuck, she even wanted to share these secrets with you, for free, unlike you, an asshole, who didn't tell her anything about the secret room. You didn't really share your knowledge with her either, just the bare bones. Greedy paranoid. So what did you expect from her? Unearthly love? The fact that she remains our friend, ugh, mine, I wanted to say, is already a lot, considering the vile character of one dark magician. Caroline got this knowledge as best she could with what she had, and what about you? Fighting with her and calling her a whore was the stupidest thing you could do. - I sighed tiredly and took another sip of water from the bottle, continuing this monologue-dialogue with my past self.
- She broke his heart, you see... I found myself a hero-lover here. And you didn't break hers, with your dirty mouth? I'm her only friend, just like she is for me. How can she hear something like that from the lips of the closest person. I feel like such a piece of shit...
- It's lucky that she's an order of magnitude weaker than me in curses, otherwise she could have caressed me from behind for such words. I would have done the same in her place. First love, damn it. Hormones. Now I definitely have no chance with her, if only to return our friendship to the way it was... Oh, how much I will have to apologize and bend over backwards... why did the previous Amos screw up, and I, Amos 2.0, have to apologize? It will be very difficult to fix everything. I will have to fork out for expensive gifts, her favorite ice cream, and that's just once. I need to give her partial access to the Room of Requirement library, that's two. And ask for forgiveness in a way that Amos has never asked for in his life. Sincerely. That's three. I hope she will take pity on poor me and not add another twenty points on top, otherwise she might... Shit.
Edit: Just to be clear she is not the love interest so stop projecting;)