Back in his bed at the Atkins home, Renauld watched the snowy owl rest on her perch beside the window. He hadn't named her yet. That would come later.
The freckle over her eye glinted in the moonlight, like a wink from fate.
He still wasn't sure if this was a sign of things going off course—or finally on course.
In the quiet of his room, he muttered, "I am not Harry Potter."
The owl blinked, unimpressed.
"No pressure, then."
The next day arrived on the wings of song—robins, thrushes, and wrens calling joyfully through the morning hush. The sun, in all its golden splendour, shyly cast its light upon the leaf-tips, as if Apollo himself peeked from behind a curtain toward Mother Gaia, seeking her attention with hesitant awe. A spring wind whispered in from the north, gentle enough to make even a stranded sailor forget the tempest and hum a jaunty tune.
The world felt alive again. The house had already stirred to life, filled with clatter and footfall, breakfast chatter echoing off the walls. And Olenna—having stayed in for the night—sauntered down the stairway, her presence quiet but woven into the fabric of the morning.
"Alright children, I have some good news now. Listen up. Since you, Hannah dear, are starting Hogwarts this year. I have decided to hand you both an allowance of 5 galleons each week. Spend it wisely. Don't waste it trivialities, if I find that you have been unnecessarily wasteful or reckless, you will find your allowance mysteriously reduced. Don't come whining then. "
"Yes mom" they both intoned. While internally, both were equally excited.
"Now of course, if you let's say you score an outstanding in a subject at school, you will find your allowanced increased by a galleon, two subjects then you will have two more galleons and so on. Similarly, you can also increase your allowance by other means while at school. Pretty good deal don't you think?"
"But mom, how will I increase mine, it's still three more years until I get in."
"You have got nothing to complain about Renauld, you are getting an advanced allowance of three years for free, While, she will only do so from now."
Well, when did I get so whiny? Oh, these are those childish instincts. Really can't help them really, having a sibling and everything. I could afford to be a bit childish really being the younger one. My sister knew it and patted my back. "Cheer up Rennie, I will send back sweets to my ickle baby Rennie okay?"
There was a tick mark on my forehead, but I nodded despite myself. After a while, I grinned cause these three years are gonna be a blast with the allowance. 'Oh shite I require an account or something to store the money damn it'. So I asked my mom before she could apparate.
"Well, we do have to store the money! right? Cause I don't really don't know what to spend it on now."
There was a gleam in her eyes, I could see that she really liked that question, "I thought that you would never ask. But you don't have to worry about that now. An account has been created in both your and your sister's name, where the funds would be deposited weekly. You can access it when you begin your first year Renauld." She said cheerily. While sister further massaged my back, speaking fake assuages of consolation, in the same way an elder sibling does at a victory. She was smart enough to know it.
After Hannah left for school, the house grew quiet.
Too quiet.
Renauld didn't miss the chaos, per se, but he missed her. The impromptu wrestling matches. The endless squabbles. The hair-pulling (his and hers). He even missed being called "Bratlord the Third."
He spent his days playing football alone, writing imaginary letters to "Professor McGonagall" about the inefficiency of the house point system, and practicing wandless magic. (Badly.)
It was only as an afterthought did he realise the timeline that they were in. Hannah was just a year younger than the Marauders, Lily and Snape. So that means that by the time I start my tenure at Hogwarts, they will be in their owl year. 'This is getting interesting' he mused.
He also avoided Beth—the neighbour girl—after she saw him scream at a moth and laughed for twenty minutes straight. Her brother John, however, was still his occasional guinea pig. I always operated on the principle of, if something is taken from you, however small or mundane. Take something from them as well, for daring to think of crossing you.
The days went on in a dreary stumble. He went to a local school. Where the content was suffocatingly boring, as primary school is supposed to be. Thankfully the children were studious. It was one of those boarding schools attended by ones with some means.
It started in primary school.
"Oi, Four-Eyes Junior," snorted Callum Thistlewood, a towheaded boy with too much chin and not enough sense. He said it like he'd invented it, like it was clever, like it didn't sound like the first insult to stumble out of the mouth of a toddler with a mild concussion.
Renauld Swayne blinked slowly, then adjusted his very stylish, very circular spectacles with a sigh.He didn't really need it though, he simply wore them because it was the craze back then. He quite liked the John Lennon look weirdly enough.
The classroom, brightly decorated with alphabet posters and slightly suspicious paper-mâché projects, fell into an awkward hush. There was a tension that hadn't existed a moment before—thin and cold, like a razor hidden in silk.
It started in primary school.
"Oi, Four-Eyes Junior," snorted Callum Thistlewood, a towheaded boy with too much chin and not enough sense. He said it like he'd invented it, like it was clever, like it didn't sound like the first insult to stumble out of the mouth of a toddler with a mild concussion.
I blinked slowly, then adjusted my very stylish, very circular spectacles with a sigh.
The classroom, brightly decorated with alphabet posters and slightly suspicious paper-mâché projects, fell into an awkward hush. There was a tension that hadn't existed a moment before—thin and cold, like a razor hidden in silk.
Callum smirked. "Didn't your mum ever tell you not to stare? Creepy, isn't he?"
"I suppose that depends," I said pleasantly, "on how one defines creepy. Because personally, I find it far creepier when a boy worries this much about another boy's gaze. Projecting much?"
A few snickers fluttered around the room. But Callum wasn't clever enough to let it go.
"Bet your gran's a weirdo too," he added nastily. "Everyone says your family's mad. Maybe that's why you talk to yourself. Or why you keep notebooks full of weird symbols. You're mental."
There it was.
And I—who had let a dozen minor slights slide in the name of blending in—smiled.
The smile was small. Precise. Terrifyingly polite.
"Legilimens," I whispered. I remembered the feeling, the distinct sensation. I have had several bouts of accidental magic which can be classified as a form of leglimency. I have really wanted to know what others thought of me, perhaps that might be the reason for me finding this quite easy.
Of course, I wasn't supposed to know that spell. Nor could I properly cast it yet. But sometimes, when I concentrated hard enough—when the person was simple, and my intent was razor sharp—I could brush the surface. I just needed to remember what the bouts of accidental magic felt like, and the constant stagnation and ease of life ensured that I remembered, even if a bit rudimentarily.
Callum stiffened. Just for a second. Just long enough.
I didn't need to go deep. I could not even if I wanted to. I skimmed over his morning routine like a blade over water.
Then I stood. Yeah I can do with that. It's perfect.
"Do you know what's fascinating?" I said, my voice carrying across the carpeted classroom like the opening line of a fairy tale. "How the loudest bullies are always the ones most afraid. Of not being liked. Of being the dumbest one in the room. Of how his dad only ever praises his older brother. Of crying—loudly—when he got locked in the chemistry closet for three minutes and wet himself."
The room froze.
Callum's face turned crimson. "That's not—"
"Oh, I know you are wearing barbie panties underneath," I added, smiling wider. The rest of the 'mates' guffawed, clutching their bellies, some choking on their milk and cereals.
Callum ran.
The teacher chalked it up to "a difficult year" and "unresolved issues at home." No one suspected me. I remained, as ever, polite. Quiet. The boy who turned in neat homework and offered to feed the class gerbil.
And by the end of the term, Callum Thistlewood was gone. Transferred or perhapseExpelled, but he just could not bring himself to care. The stories varied. But he did not return.
I just smiled.
I had not lifted a wand. I had not been caught. And no one suspected a thing.
That was what made me special.
Tom Riddle had terrified the children in his orphanage with overt, unrestrained power. Me? I fit in. I played the game. And I won, because I know I am different, so I can play perfect chameleon. On top of that I had been this age, in my past life, just a couple of years before COVID, so it was actually quite easy to regain my childish instincts. And I had to in order to survive, I have read Lord of the flies by Golding, children are capable of heinous deeds yet still quite innocent, in a pretty roundabout manner. So, if I didn't fit in, and try to be an 'adult'. I'd stick out like a sore thumb, winning me no favours either with my peers or teachers, in fact.
It didn't matter if the victory was petty. It was still mine.
And still, I was a hypocrite.
Because I know that while I will be able to dismantle someone with surgical precision in the future, I would never quite be able to risk myself in the process. I would not go to bat for anyone else—not even Hannah.
She didn't know it yet. And I didn't want to face what it said about me. But the truth sat in me like a stone.
I was the sort who would celebrate your birthday with a smile and chocolate frogs—then abandon you in a fight if I calculated that the odds weren't in my favour.
There was no poetry in it.
Only pragmatism.
I was not a hero. I wasn't sure I wanted to be.
But I would be powerful. And clever. And, if needed—unknowable.
And in the end, that would be enough.
I received good grades, one way or another so it was all well and good. Yes, I was advancing rapidly in the mind arts. With no help whatsoever. That's the kicker. It's almost like the moment I decided that I needed to protect my mind and learned to get inside other. My magic responded to me.
Obviously, I did not get it instantly. That would be too good to be true. Instead, I got some distant cues, in the form of say my textbooks sometimes reflected different instructions to the passage on Hansel and Gretel. The sums on addition and subtraction were replaced by short sentences like 'now focus your mind again sharper, as if nothing matters, you are invincible, your mind, your being, your very existence cannot and shall not be invaded. Imagin someone getting access to your every thought, your likes, dislikes, deeds or misdeeds, every detail regarding your ambition or opinion. Feel that emotion. Direct your rage, your determination into building a wall, un unbreakable will, a blank space, you will automatically notice the changes.'
Of course nothing happened, but it was good to know that my magic was so fricking helpful. This was accompanied by consistent practice of looking at cats, dogs and other creatures in the eyes and look into their thoughts. Could never get much. On a bright note, I had roped in John firmly into my faction, I mean experiments. Getting a political there are we?