Chapter 1. Arrakis Sirius Blair.(EDITED)

And the beginning was like this:

My mother, Iris Blair, gave birth to me in 1978 on January 23rd, Monday, in London. She named me "Arrakis". Stupid name, I didn't like it.

The mother herself was from Newton Mearns - this is near Glasgow, Scotland.

I was raising me alone, there was no father, but there was enough money. How she managed to make ends meet, I did not know. My

But worries at that time were limited to simple things: to eat on time, get enough sleep, give a signal if something became uncomfortable. We can say that it was a happy time, if I still remembered it.

Everything was fine until my mother died. She went shopping and never came back. What actually happened I did not know and could not know. And nobody knew. Then there were many mysterious disappearances in the country, people disappeared, just going out into the street, gas explosions often happened, less often - terrorist attacks by the IRA. Although the latter announced the cessation of active actions several years ago, they did not believe in it.

My life has changed dramatically. The government, the authorities, or, more precisely, the social security authorities, placed me in an orphanage, where I lived for the next two years.

I didn't remember my mother then. All that remained was a vague sense of warmth, security and happiness.

Every shelter dreams that his parents will return, come and take him home, where everyone loves each other, where it is warm, light and cozy. Many people dream that their parents would be very rich and even famous - if not kings, then counts and dukes, famous actors and singers, they just accidentally lost their child, but when they find it, then everything will finally be fine, everyone will be happy.

But many do not dream of rich parents, but at least some.

I knew for sure that my mother was dead. Some educators tried to be more careful with the child's psyche and answered the questions evasively: "Your mother is gone, and you need to live on." But there were also those who directly said: "Your mother is dead, do not hope that she will return." I don't presume to judge which of them was more right, those who spoke directly, or those who tried to keep hope.

None of the teachers knew about my father. Everyone behaved differently when I asked about my father. Someone called my mother a whore that she walked up the child and could not take care of it, someone grimaced at the mention of his father, scolding this complete stranger and unknown man who abandoned a young woman with a child in his arms, someone completely indifferently reported that nothing does not know. Perhaps, I was most grateful to these indifferent ones.

I myself was quite smart and beautiful in appearance, the eyes of women often hung at the sight of such a cute child, so by the end of 1983 I found my new parents.

A not very young childless couple decided to adopt me. I got my own room, new clothes, a bunch of toys. And everything would be fine, but literally a few days later something strange happened.

They gave me a present for Christmas, and I had so much joy that the air around me lit up, began to flicker, and I myself flew almost to the ceiling. Besides me, other objects were flying around the room. It was a magical outburst.

Then I did not know anything about it and rejoiced in the oddities with all my childlike spontaneity, believing that this is the very magic that my adoptive parents told me about and which necessarily comes to people on Christmas Eve.

But the "parents" did not share my joy: for some reason, the glowing multi-colored air and flying objects scared them.

"And why is it terrible?" - I could not understand.

My new parents turned out to be not mine, they said that they were mistaken in taking me from the orphanage. They just had a very similar son to me, whom they lost on the way from Cardiff to London, so they thought it was me. But now they remembered that their son had a small mole on his neck in a special shape, but I do not have it.

In short, they brought me back to the orphanage, telling the caregivers that all sorts of devilry is happening next to me and they don't need problems.

For a couple of days after all this, the teachers were wary of me and carefully asked me about what happened. I tried not to blurt out anything unnecessary, because the reaction of my adoptive parents scared me. And then a couple of strange people appeared in the orphanage in ridiculous dressing gowns and raincoats, they walked around the orphanage with chopsticks and everyone forgot that something inexplicable was happening near me, and I also forgot.

But then something strange arose inside: dissatisfaction, resentment, a feeling that I had been betrayed. This displeasure was directed inside me. I became withdrawn and gloomy, not really understanding what had changed in me. No one really tried to communicate with me after that - even the local hooligans from the older groups did not touch me, and the educators tried not to pressure me. Something frightening them appeared in me.

Even if I remained the same beautiful outwardly, as soon as the visitors of the orphanage looked into my eyes, their desire to adopt me disappeared immediately. This made me hate myself even more.

Everything went according to the established order. I did not run into much, although I felt some kind of strength and confidence in myself. As soon as I looked a man in the eye, he began to scour the gaze and became insecure, like a victim in front of a predator. It would have continued like this, but a new teacher appeared in the orphanage, who had a son a little older than me.

Mrs. Warren herself was a strict and punctual woman, but this was only a show. Her severity was a way to assert herself at the expense of those who are weaker.

The teacher took her son with her to work. The guy quickly became the "chieftain" in one of the gangs in the middle group. And somehow I did not like this little fool. Perhaps my independence touched him. The mother of the idiot provided him with a reliable "roof", providing protection and covering up all the son's pranks. An adult can always yell at a child, breaking his confidence in righteousness, while turning the situation around so much that the child will not only not complain to anyone, but will also be sure that he will be punished if he does it.

I myself once witnessed when the mother of a future criminal (and who else can young Warren become when he grows up?) Shouted at the girl, bringing to her attention what a "fool" and "creep" she was.

That situation did not concern me in any way, so I decided not to get involved in this business, although I saw that the child of the upbringer started the whole quarrel.

Stacey is a good girl, but she's quite combative, so she didn't cry and didn't run away, but decided to fight back - she scratched Tim when he kicked her just walking by. Now she swallowed tears, trying to explain that Tim had started first. And the teacher, Tim's mother, brought to her mind in rude terms the idea that her self-defense was completely inadequate, that she should be placed in a hospital for psychos, where such girls belong, and so on.

Probably, I would have forgotten about everything, but after a couple of days Tim tried to put pressure on me.

- Hey, Ara, - he pushed me back into class when I was about to leave, going last, - Do you know that you owe me a lot?

It should be mentioned that children's racketeering was developed in the orphanage. The younger ones had to pay the older ones "for protection." The payment was not necessarily money, it could be a toy or an interesting thing, candy or service. The latter most often implied some kind of joke, for example, crowing a rooster a hundred times or calling a gin from the toilet and making him three wishes.

What services the elders had, I did not know. Nobody touched me, and I tried once again not to interfere with anyone, but since they climbed up to me, I will look at the situation and how to act.

This time the situation was more serious.

- You have to work off your debt to society, - the young extortionist crucified, - You have to do something.

- And what do you think I should do? - I asked, although I was not going to fulfill any of his demands. But what if the matter is really trifling and it will be easier to succumb?

"Christmas is coming soon, the trustees, the" chefs "of our shelter, made a present this year and brought a lot of sweets," Tim said. - Your task is to crawl into the kitchen warehouse and bring me a couple of boxes of sweets or chocolates.

I saw not so long ago how one of the boys was severely scolded for stealing something from the kitchen, even a policeman came. The boy tried to make excuses by dumping the blame on Tim. Then I did not attach any importance to this, but now I think that the guy was actually doing "errand".

"No, Tim," I replied. "I don't need a policeman to come after me.

- What did you say? - Tim began to get angry. Or just pretend to be angry.

By this time, his mother had already taken the position of deputy director of the orphanage and, most likely, would soon become the director herself. Tim gradually grew bolder, in proportion to the growth of his mother's influence. If he had a father, perhaps he could have given an educational bream in time and brought his son to his senses, but not at all.

"You don't understand, Ara," Tim spoke menacingly, grabbing my breasts, "I'm not asking you, but ordering. If you don't listen, you will feel bad.

- Order your lackeys, - I pointed with my chin, at the accomplices standing behind his back, - And you won't get anything from me, where you sit, there you will get off.

- What, you rebelled, brat? Tim asked with angry enthusiasm. The question was rhetorical. - Now we will teach you guys to respect elders. - With the last word, Tim marked me a blow to the jaw, showing that there was only one step left before the physical violence, and I had the last chance to agree to the theft.

It is not known why a frown did not act on Tim, and why he "dug in", specifically to Arrakis. Most likely, he saw in the independent boy a strength that was a challenge to his authority, an obstacle to his ascent to a new level to the pinnacle of power.

"Get off me," I said confidently to Tim, while grabbing his hand in the middle of my forearm to pull him away from me.

Suddenly there was a lot of strength in the child's body, and I squeezed Tim's hand with my hand and broke his radius. Tim screamed and released me. In his eyes there was not only uncertainty, but fear mixed with anger. Then the petty extortionist hurriedly retreated with his singers. While I was still thinking about how badly I was in trouble, Tim's mom had already rushed to the scene, and to my shame, I not only did not think of running to one of the educators to try to push my version of events, but I was completely confused that did not even leave the "crime scene".

Tim's mother did not ask about anything, but immediately began to beat me. In her hands she had some kind of thin but hard cord, the blows of which caused very painful sensations. She hit hard, but neatly, as I understood after a while. In which case, she could easily prove to any inspector that she had the right to punish the trashy boy.

Tim had a whole crowd of witnesses, and he practically did nothing to me. I broke his arm. Whatever one may say, but all the facts are against me.

Mrs. Warren yelled at me and thrashed me without looking, as it seemed to me then. Thought she was going to kill me.

Fear flooded then so that it darkened in the eyes and the blows stopped. And when I opened my eyes, I saw that the world had changed: all the colors faded, the vision was not binocular, but completely voluminous and painfully sharp.

I saw that darkness burst out of me, that began to flow through Mrs. Warren and her son, which made them twitch, as if under the influence of an electric current.

Most likely, this darkness would have killed them, but at the same moment I remembered my mother, my real mother, then how I was adopted, I remembered my first magic, strange people with sticks, drawing an open letter "O". But the flow of memories did not stop, and I remembered that I used to live in Russia, in a different time. And the thought that I was in the world of Harry Potter was kindled in the minds and feelings of a supernova.

A wave of magic spread from me in all directions, knocking out glass from the windows in the room, breaking a chandelier, scattering furniture. Even the walls were cracked. And the darkness that came out of me fell to the floor in pieces of a dark haze and was pulled back.

Mrs. Warren and Tim were lying on the floor against the walls and wheezing forcibly.

"Run!" - a thought beat in my mind, and I ran.

I don't know how long, but when I stopped, I just fell exhausted and, huddled in a corner in some alley between houses, I just fell asleep.