Family History

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'I wonder how my parents reacted to my death. They'll get over it, I'm sure—though I'm not even certain there was a body left for cremation.'

After giving myself some much-needed self-therapy to process the situation, I went looking for my dad to ask about the family tree and the Brown family history.

A small history lesson later, I had a much clearer picture of my origins. Turns out the Brown family had been living in the British Isles since the 1100s, originally coming over from Scotland. The first wizard in the family, Robert le Brun, was born in 1334. I think I remember seeing his portrait—he had a beard even longer than Gandalf's. He established the Brown wizarding family and bought the land where this cottage and the entire village of Upminster were built.

'Looks like I finally got good beard genetics. I'm going to be such a chad.'

It turned out I was named after Benedicte Brown, who married Angelica Travers and brought the Brown family to prominence in the early 1700s. His portrait, however, was nowhere to be found. Just three generations later, all our lands and wealth were gambled away by his great-grandson, Cenhelm Brown, leaving only the family cottage.

'I remember that fat drunk bastard. Should I set fire to his portrait?' The thought came so naturally that I knew it wasn't entirely mine. The memories I'd inherited from Benedict were already settling in, pulling me into this family whether I liked it or not.

"Floreat majestas," I muttered, my gaze landing on the Brown family's coat of arms hanging on the wall—a lion clutching a fleur-de-lys, surrounded by decorative vines.

'Maybe I'll be the one to restore the Brown family's name. That's probably what my parents hoped for when they named me Benedict. It means "the blessed one," after all. I remember my mother telling me that.'

But all of that could wait. We were doing well enough for now.

Last year, we'd sold our flat in central London and moved back to the family cottage. Dad claimed he hated living in the city, surrounded by Muggles, but I knew the real reason—he wanted to fix this place up. Maybe Nigel had his own dreams of restoring the Brown family to its former glory. Now that I was about to head off to Hogwarts, he and Mum would have more time to focus on whatever it was they were planning. I suspected they were considering starting a business. He worked in the Department of Magical Transportation, so we weren't struggling financially.

If the Weasleys could feed a family of nine on a single Ministry salary, then three people should be just fine. Mum used to work for the Ministry too, where she met Dad while doing desk jobs—duplicating pamphlets on how to stay safe during the war. She took a break when I was born, and after Nigel got promoted a year later, she never went back.

'I guess that explains why I'm a lot closer to Mum.'

The more I thought about it, the more I realised how easily I'd started calling them "Mum" and "Dad." Benedict's memories weren't just affecting me—they were becoming part of me. They were my parents, and I could feel the love he'd had for them. I only hoped his memories wouldn't mess with my own tastes too much. My new fondness for pumpkin juice and pumpkin pie was already suspicious.

Later that evening, the dinner table was stacked with so much food it seemed impossible for just three people to finish. The massive pumpkin pie alone could have fed me for a day. Roast chicken, pastries, stew, pumpkin juice, elderflower wine—there was enough variety to put most buffets to shame. Yet somehow, all of it was gone by the end of the meal, and I still had room left.

'Where does all that food even go?' I wondered, glancing at my father's thin frame.

After dinner, I headed back to my room to plan out what I'd do with the week before Hogwarts.

'I don't have my wand, so spell practice is off the table. And as for wandless magic… well, I'd rather not accidentally blow up my room.'

See, even a child can use magic without a wand—the problem is controlling it. Wandless magic can be volatile if not properly handled. Accidental magic is a great example. The user isn't usually in control of it. I couldn't even perform proper spells with a wand yet, so trying to do it wandlessly was out of the question.

Then there was the Trace. The Ministry supposedly monitored all underage magic, but in my opinion, I wouldn't get caught if I used magic here. The Trace didn't work well in areas with a high concentration of magic—places like Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and wizarding residences. Six centuries of magical energy should be enough to hide anything I did in the Brown family cottage. Still, better safe than sorry. There wasn't much information about the Trace in the books—it was mostly used as a plot device—but from what I knew, pure-blood kids got away with magic at home all the time, while Muggle-borns got caught the moment they sneezed the wrong way. Typical Ministry efficiency.

'Laws in magical Britain are only enforced if you're caught, which is hardly ever. They mostly care about keeping the Statute of Secrecy intact.'

For now, my best bet was to read through the first-year books and familiarise myself with the course material. That way, I'd know what to expect and could plan accordingly.

"I'll start tomorrow. Still as lazy as ever, eh?" I muttered, stretching before flopping onto my bed like a sack of potatoes.

A/N: The Trace is such a load of bullshit plot device. A lot of inconsistencies that I had to make sense of. I decided that it does not work in places having high magical concentration. Let me know what you think about it.