Sitting on the bed, Alan began reviewing the memories in more detail, studying Severus's personality and history. For a full hour, the smile never left his face, but it wasn't cheerful. It was sad.
"They drove the kid straight to the noose, and all because of women..." Alan truly pitied Severus. Losing his mother, enduring constant humiliation, being betrayed by the person he loved more than life, and in the end, being defeated by his own spell when his enemy used it against him, an enemy who was also a rival in love... When Alan replayed that moment, he felt only resentment... but that wasn't his. It was Severus's. "Children. How childish they are..." Alan thought irritably, stripping away the emotions and feelings tangled in the memories of the body's previous owner. He pitied Severus, but he refused to lose himself.
When he opened his eyes again, the clock already read midnight.
"Past midnight already. That 'examination' dragged on far too long, and it's still too much information." Alan felt a flicker of annoyance. "I'll have to adjust the block so the memories seep in gradually. And this world is pretty miserable, especially when it comes to magic. It's so far behind..." He drew a dark wand from his sleeve and gave it a nostalgic wave. "A conduit... I only used one when I was learning magic, and even then, only for a week. I need to get rid of a crutch like that as soon as possible, or remake it into something more interesting. But for now..." He closed his eyes, flicked the wand, and whispered, barely audible, "Katharismos." Cool air wrapped around his body.
A few seconds later he cracked his eyes open and, satisfied, touched his hair, sniffed his clothes, and checked his nails.
"It works." In Alan's world, this was a basic spell every self-respecting mage was expected to know. It happened that you got lost in study and forgot the time, and this spell saved you, instantly cleaning both your body and your clothes. It could be used on your surroundings too, though that cost a little more magic. "If that's the case, then for now it will be easier to use spells from this world and keep my own for the most extreme cases..." For a moment, a bloodthirsty smile flickered across his face. He held out his hand and whispered again, "Mavri Floga." A black flame, no bigger than a ping-pong ball, bloomed on his fingertip. "There it is..." He looked at it with something like affection.
That flame had saved him more than once. Alan had created the spell himself when he reached the rank of Archmage. It held all his knowledge and nearly five years of uninterrupted research. With it, he had once killed a Great Archmage, a being no state would ever dare offend, because destroying a country would be effortless for someone like that.
"Still, it's too early to use it," Alan said, irritated, as he extinguished the flame. "Ten seconds, and my magical core is already under that kind of load. It's not capable of absorbing enough magic yet. I'll have to fix that as soon as possible." He spread his hands, and nearby objects rose into the air, but only for a few seconds before they drifted back down. "Telekinesis... Still, I got lucky with this body. For this world, it would be called a true genius. Talent for alchemy, a strong core at what they call 'Master' level, and the ability to use what they call wandless magic. What more could I want?"
With a faint smile, Alan dropped back onto the bed.
"I want to live this life to the fullest. And if I don't want anyone interfering, I need to become strong enough that no one can threaten me. That shouldn't be difficult. Three years should be enough. At worst, five..."
With those thoughts, he fell asleep. In his dream he saw his smiling parents, his brother, his friends, and the one he had once loved... They all said goodbye and walked toward a bright white light... No matter how Alan ran after them, he couldn't catch up. Still, no matter how painful it was to say goodbye, there was a happy smile on his face, because he had seen them, just as he had dreamed, one last time before the end...
He woke early, glanced at the clock, and climbed out of bed with a heavy sigh. A tired smile still clung to his face.
"And why do classes start so early?" Alan drew the wand to his hand, flicked it, and felt the fatigue drain from his body. "Better." He waved his other hand toward the clothes on the floor. They flew to him and hung in the air, and he quickly dressed in a shirt, long black trousers, a black jacket, and finally a black robe settled over his shoulders. "What do they have now...?" He paused, and Severus's memories surfaced. "Not a lesson. OWLs... exams. I've never liked exams..." He went to the wardrobe with the big mirror, opened the first drawer, and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Twelve exams total. He's already passed ten with Outstanding. You can tell he loved books. Only Potions and Transfiguration left." Alan nodded, satisfied. "Potions won't be a problem. It's his favorite subject. But Transfiguration..." Though Severus handled it well, Alan still needed to review it and get used to this world's magic. He rummaged through the wardrobe, pulled out a Transfiguration book, and frowned slightly. "And where's the Potions textbook...?" The next moment, an image rose in his mind: a girl with long red hair, green eyes, and a bright smile. "Lily... so you gave her the textbook. Fine. I'll take it back today. I don't want his spells leaking out anymore." He checked the clock again, put on his shoes, and left the room, heading down toward the house common room.
The house common room was furnished with taste. Tapestries and paintings of the greatest wizards who had graduated from this house hung on the walls. Antique dark-wood cabinets stood along the sides. Despite the fireplaces, the room was cool and gloomy. It was lit by a pair of lamps that glowed a dim swamp-green.
The school where Severus studied was called Hogwarts, and it was the only one in the country.
There were four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. A magical hat decided where a student would go, sorting them by their traits. Nobility and bravery meant Gryffindor. Intelligence, humor, and wisdom meant Ravenclaw. Persistence, hard work, and honesty meant Hufflepuff. Cunning, a thirst for power, and resourcefulness meant Slytherin. Severus himself belonged to Slytherin, where most of the students were nobles and aristocrats from pure wizarding lineages.
As Alan scanned the common room, watching teenagers and children scurry back and forth, a satisfied smile appeared on his face.
"It feels like I've returned to childhood!"
As he passed his so-called classmates, the strangest thing was that he saw no real contempt, only occasional dissatisfaction mixed with envy. Those were rare. Most didn't care about him at all. After thinking for a moment, he understood why.
"The future... Most of them will be the heads of their families one day, and from the moment they step into this place they start making connections and building relationships with anyone who might be useful later. No one wants to spoil relations with a potentially excellent potion-maker, especially someone like Severus, the 'Half-Blood Prince.' Anything can happen in life..." As he thought it over, he pictured a man with long silver hair. "Lucius Malfoy... and he still kept in touch with Severus. In my world or this one, aristocrats are all the same." Shaking his head, Alan left the common room and headed at an unhurried pace toward the Potions classroom, walking through dark corridors with huge medieval windows.
Along the way, several students from other houses followed, but Alan paid them no attention. He only studied the surroundings with mild curiosity.
"Even though all of this is in my head, it still feels like I never left my world. It's exactly the same as there... maybe I'll seize this place someday."
On the way to the classroom, Alan ran into a group that was hard to miss: Lily, the very girl Severus had loved, and the four boys who had bullied him for years.
"You chose the wrong one, Severus. The wrong one..." Alan shook his head and walked toward them.
The four boys noticed him and smirked. Lily turned away, as if she had no intention of speaking to her former friend.
"Snotty, do you want more? You were told not to come near Lily. She doesn't want to talk to you," said a boy with short, messy dark hair and round glasses as he stepped forward, chest puffed out.
"Is that so? I see." Alan nodded, and irritation stirred somewhere deep in the borrowed memories. "I'll have to look through them again. I missed a few emotions." He smiled lightly at the boys' stretched expressions. "I won't take much of your time. Keep her if you want. I'm not claiming this 'Mudblood.' I just need you to return the book I lent her. You're not worthy of it."
In Alan's world, the spells a wizard created were honor and pride. Their creators never entrusted them to anyone. The only exception was for the closest people, those the mage trusted as deeply as himself. Anyone who passed such spells to others could be killed on the spot without trial. So Alan wanted the textbook back. The spells inside were useless to him, but they were still something Severus had once created.
"Apologize to her. Right now!" James shouted, grabbing Alan by the jacket.
"Hands off."
"I told you to imme..." James didn't finish. His eyes went wide. He let go, clutched his throat, and collapsed to his knees.
"I'd hit you, but I don't kick animals." Alan raised a contempt-filled gaze from the writhing James to the others and saw three wands pointed at him.
"What did you do to James?! Stop it right now!" demanded a boy with dark curly hair and gray eyes. "Or else..."
"I asked the Mudblood behind you to return my textbook, and your friend attacked first," Alan shrugged as his book slid neatly into his hand. "See? It's simple. We could have avoided all this." He smirked at Lily's furious face. Then, as he released the pressure on James's throat with telekinesis, he walked past them and continued toward the Potions classroom. "Go on, Lily. Comfort that animal. You like deer, after all."
"I'll kill you!" James spat, lifting his wand at Alan's back. "Bomba...!"
Again, he didn't get to finish. His wand ripped out of his hand, and his mouth vanished.
"Minus fifty points from Gryffindor," a rough male voice said.
Horace Slughorn, Head of Slytherin House, stepped into view before the stunned five. He was a middle-aged man with neatly styled straw-colored hair and a thick mustache. He was rather plump and wore a three-piece suit. His wand was aimed at James.
"Mr. Potter! Explain immediately why you tried to use a spell like Bombarda on Mr. Snape! Do you understand you could have seriously injured him, or even killed him?!" Slughorn demanded, furious.
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