HP: Handbook for Transmigrator

The nasty squeal of brakes drowned out the sounds of pouring rain, a bump, a flash of pain, and the saving darkness of unconsciousness. "Who's here?" — I ask silently into the darkness, sensing someone's presence. The answer is a waterfall of images. Here I am, as a little boy, in the car with my parents on a mountain serpentine. Mom and Dad are arguing. It makes me feel bad. I love them both! Headlights from an oncoming car, my dad jerks the wheel. A terrible bump, another, the picture falls, it hurts, I think he's-I'm screaming. The ceiling, the usual whitewashed ceiling of a hospital, instruments beeping, I roll my eyes and see an IV. A new set of memories — the funeral of my parents, a kind great aunt who takes care of orphans, takes me to the orphanage. Black depression, kids bullying him, or me, poor kid.

And in fact, just because of the experience on the nervous floor, the boy at night because of nightmares began to pee. Unfortunately, although a year later it passed, but fame and a lot of hurtful nicknames he earned. Classes in a neighboring school, boarding school life of an outcast and unusual phenomena — emissions of child magic. A lonely eleventh birthday and a letter that arrived unexpectedly in the summer. Literally, no, not on my own feet, it was delivered personally by a prim lady who introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At this point I was quite surprised, was it that I had become a transmigrator in the world of Harry Potter? Holy shit.

The last package of information, delivered by the former owner of the body, clearly confirmed it. Go to the Magic Quarter, buy everything necessary for the school, strictly according to the list and in the minimum amount allowed. After all, the orphans are sponsored almost voluntarily, and the money is not rubber. Miserable, I must say, funds. Textbooks and robes were bought from a junk dealer, as well as a kettle.

They didn't buy a personal telescope at all, they said they would cooperate with someone, child. Almost a month of waiting for a wonderful fairy tale, brightened by reading textbooks. And here it is, the happy day of the first of September! A magical platform, a wonderful, rare steam train. The journey to "Hogwarts" under the chatter of the neighbors in the compartment. Hagrid, frightening in his shagginess and size, boats floating alone in the damp mist. The majestic gray castle, reeking of power and history, adorned with the lights of St. Elmo.

A stern professor, ghosts of which I almost became a stutterer. A hall with a projection of the sky and hundreds, if not thousands, of floating candles. Miserable verses, given by the distributing hat, trembling knees and the wildest desire to find friends, as a natural result — the boy got into the faculty of Hufflepuff. Joyful applause of the boys sitting under the black and yellow banner with the image of a badger, the feeling of incredible happiness and almost finding a family. Talking, feasting, cozy living room of the faculty, a bedroom for four with beds — niches in the walls, which I associated with capsule hotels. I did not like the lack of furniture, if I did not count the students' trunks and hooks. First classes, a disappearing step, a short fall and death. Sad.

A rare case. On the one hand, the boy really wanted to live, and on the other hand, when he realized that death was not the end, he felt the need to find his parents. So he found a way out, or rather his magic found it spontaneously. Dragged a soul from the edge of reality, well, or something like that, neither I nor he, somehow not aware of the details. But from a child's point of view, the problem is solved. The body is alive, like, and it's not completely gone, and mom and dad can look for it. How? Somehow. He wasn't too worried about things like that. He's a kid.

Actually, it's a shame that, as a Muggle, I was completely at the mercy of the little guy. He may not have realized it himself, but I felt helpless in front of the boy after the merger, or whatever you want to call it, after seeing his memories. However, there were two positive aspects to all of this.

First, as a result of our interaction with him, it was as if coals had been lit in me, as I understand it, I was now a magician. The second very positive thing is time. It's 1981, so soon the weirdness of all of magical England will be disembodied, and the great Albus will be very busy. And about this period of time I do not know anything in fact, but logic suggests: there are all opportunities to study quietly without getting into trouble. Badgers, in particular, are traditionally regarded as dullards and neutrals, which is to my advantage.

The exchange brought another dose of interesting information. As far as I could tell from the sensations, we exchanged auras. It's hard to describe, but I'll try. The soul is first of all a certain foundation, an indestructible nucleus, fixed in a material shell, and it is a kind of quite energetic formation. Or rather, pseudo-material, because it is terribly dense. For some reason I had an association with something like a neutron star. But it doesn't matter, the main thing is that on this base there are three, let's say, shells, in terms I know — auras. The first one, the inner one, is responsible for the physical state of the body.

The second one is the magical component. In my case, before the contact with the boy, these layers had shrunk and were just beginning to unfold. Where they were getting their energy from, or the infamous mana, I don't know, they just started producing magic and that's all. And the third, outer layer was the mental layer. Of course, there was no clear boundary, and in general, the middle layer was like a network of vessels and capillaries that penetrated the other two layers, again, they were divided into fractions. It's complicated. The main difference was that my core was free of material bondage and the boy's was not. I suspect he was held back by magic, spells, or medical potions.