Chapter 12

May 5, 1933 - November 26, 1933.

The next day, after an unsuccessful raid, Tom suggested a "Knight`s move" - to go to the attic during the day instead of night. The idea turned out to be brilliant. Without being caught, we successfully penetrated into the secret lair of juvenile gangsters.

" What a dump," my friend wrinkled his nose, to which I only chuckled. Indeed - the look and smell were appropriate.

A quick search turned up a dozen pieces of cheap jewelry, of which only a silver pendant, nearly eighty pounds in change, and a beautiful switchblade were of any use. The knife I quietly take for myself; it's Tom's birthday soon, so it'll be an option for a gift if I can't find something better.

"I suggest we take the money and the pendant," I say, "the pendant will go in Stanton's room, in his things, and the money will go to us.

"The money will have to be hidden," Tom argues wisely, "anybody could come into the rooms, at any moment. "

" Our hiding place is not an option. The place is pretty lousy, especially for storing paper money, the first rain... "

" I know, we'll have to figure something out. "

Next we faked a look of an active search, turning everything upside down so that even the dumbest person could understand what happened here. During the pogrom, I realize how we almost blew it:

"The rest of the jewelry should be taken away too," I say thoughtfully to Tom, "if only some of the valuables are missing, it would be more bizarre than the whole thing. "

"Oh, right," Riddle scratches the back of his head, "then we'll take everything, anything extra can be thrown away on the way. "

"It's better in the river," I remark, "you never know where it might pop up, and that would be the end of it. "

Having made up our minds and scattered the furniture in the attic, we quickly get out, looking around all the way. Luckily, most people are at work at this time, so almost no one noticed us, not forgetting to make full use of the magic of stealth.

On the way to the orphanage, we split up: Riddle went to plant the pendant, and I went toward the Thames to get rid of the trash.

It was a while since I'd walked around the city. Without any particular purpose. I correct myself that I have a purpose now, I'm not just walking, but my mind refuses to see walking as an obligation, giving me an unprecedented sense of relaxation.

The poorly dressed boy wasn't paid much attention to, even without the use of stealth. So, I reached the Thames without adventure. Then, getting rid of the cheap costume jewelry, I stood on the bridge for another half hour, looking at the flowing river. I was already at Hogwarts in my mind, studying magic and various powerful spells, and then casting them with my wand. It was hard to get my thoughts together, though a big part of that was the fact that I was already completely freezing cold. The day was quite chilly.

When I returned to the shelter, I received Tom's assurance that everything was done, though I did not doubt him.

A few days later, Stanton was gone. Brad, his neighbor, as well as some of the others at the shelter, heard him arguing about something with Haraldson and Merchett. Toward evening, he was seen smoking outside, in the company of the same two, but also with Smith. A glance into Brad's thoughts in the dining room, while he was eating, also reveals that their room had been rather rudely searched while he himself was not there. The guy decided not to tell anyone about it, but he had to clean it up all evening.

Obviously, it was these criminals who were called in for questioning in the first place. I didn't know how the case ended, but the three guys from the shelter were gone. We never saw them again. I never got a chance to find out if Paul Haraldson was behind my trouble or if he was an accidental victim. It was only later, much later, that I learned from the janitor's memory that the gendarmes had come to fetch them and take them to Scotland Yard. Stanton, by the way, never returned. No one grieved for him and neither for anyone else.

Was I glad? I suppose so. I still had a long time to live in this orphanage, unfortunately. Let my life be more comfortable. Magic is magic, but no one would stop them from poisoning me, or stabbing me with a shiv around the corner. Why should I take such risks? The conflict had already begun, and I wasn't yet strong enough to at least put my opponents in their place.

The rest of the spring flew by in daily activities, walks, training, and studying. There were no exams. School was just closed for the summer. However, that didn't stop us from digging around in the library. It was a pity that the library is so small.

Madame Ferton stopped watching our every move a long time ago, and gave us some peace and quiet at last. We took advantage of this, of course, taking some of the books to our room, but not too much, no more than a couple at a time, always returning them the very next day.

After studying everything I had on Latin, I encountered a lack of practice. But I had to put up with it, there were no other books on that language in the library. I used mental magic to write all my knowledge carefully in the inner world, carefully storing it in the form of folders in cabinets. All folders were signed and numbered. The notebook was filling up with the results of experiments with magic, and the reserve was growing, though not quickly, but surely.

Riddle almost caught up with me in lumos: 88 for me, against 81 for him. The gap is closing, and I wouldn't be surprised if he still managed to overtake me, the guy's attitude is serious.

The canned food was successfully eaten and hungry times came again. After months of some kind of hearty meal, Tom and I had grown weaned of the meager table at the shelter. The only thing that stopped us from making a new trek for supplies was the impossibility of storing them for long. The contents of the jars would spoil quickly at above-zero temperatures. We had to limit ourselves to the occasional theft from shopkeepers.

Magic was becoming not only stronger, but also more flexible. There came a moment when Tom was able to pull out an item without seeing it. I wasn't as good at it yet, but I didn't despair, because we have slightly different "talent branches," but I'm much better at healing the various injuries we occasionally receive.

Tom's success was a signal that it was time to begin the operation to extract plump wallets from the grasping hands of the rich. The plan was announced, and we began to train in its realization. The training was simple, I would put an object in my pocket, which Tom would try to steal unnoticed. If he succeeded, he would win, if not, then me. Then we'd switch places. Even though I had almost no luck, I wisely decided that with practice it would get easier. But so far no one of us had ever managed to steal a thing without being noticed, not even once. Of course we did not despair, because the most important thing - that the ice began to move.

That's how our summer went, without any adventures, which made me happy. On Riddle's birthday, August 4, I gave him a switchblade knife. Now no one would recognize the trophy for sure, not after all the witnesses were missing. Tom was pleased as an elephant. We were also able to steal a brownie that day, so it was a great celebration.

***

September 7, 1933 - it's been a year since I've been in this world. What have I achieved? A lot. And It'll only get better. I'm just eight years old, three more years to Hogwarts, then seven more years of studying, then... looking for my parents? That's an option. And then what? Accepting a lineage? That is, if they haven't had time to make new children. And even if they didn't, what? What were they even doing? And then there's this war that's coming in six years! What's that supposed to mean, a third year for me? Great summer internship coming up, before the fourth: survive Muggle gunfire. What a great prospect!

So... what do I want? I'm definitely a potentially very powerful wizard. Need practice in healing... Mungo? Possibly. There's also the supposed British Civil War. Hmm. Okay, I'm guessing too early, it might be easier thanks to me. Let's say Riddle becomes Minister of Magic, I'll be studying magic, developing it in some new department of the Ministry formed specifically for me. And the Mystery Division would do my every errand, at the snap of my fingers... eh, dreams...

I attack Riddle's mind aggressively with Legiliments, stumbling into a trap, but without stopping, I break it with a powerful mental impulse. I pushed forward, ramming the obstacles in my path like a rhino. My opponent is tense, attacking blades, air battering rams, and I encounter impenetrable fog and lakes of fire.

Yes, this year our mentalism has developed tremendously. What can I say when we practiced it every day? We caught each other's eyes in church class, and sparks flew from our eyes, literally. The attack was launched automatically, without thinking. The methods used varied: sometimes it was a quiet and stealthy penetration, other times, like now, it was a daring and cautious march, with unhurriedly solving riddles and disarming traps. These attacks took fractions of a second in the real world, but in the mental realm they were long battles.

No, we didn't fight. In fact, I can't imagine now what could have really broken us up. Tom has really become my friend and so have I. It's hard not to become one when you spend so much time together, have secrets, magic, adventures in common. I think we're already on the level of a "golden trio" if not stronger.

Then what do we do? We get used to being alert at all times, holding a punch from any position, sharpening the speed of the mind and the ability to attack and defend at the same time. When I first suggested that we do this, I didn't expect how it would all spin out. However, the effect is felt, even very much so. After we began our aggressive training, it became much easier to penetrate other people's thoughts. The speed at which I can find the information I need has also improved. Now I understand the canon Dumbledore and Snape, who needed a moment to get the information they wanted straight from your head.

Here I bump into Riddle's guard, who looks something like the famous pyramid-headed man from Silent Hill. He's swinging a huge cleaver, trying to cut me in half. I'd better not get in front of this attack, or I'll have a headache for half a day later, unless I can infuse it with healing magic.

I dodge the attack by throwing "cuts" at him, thankful that he's not too fast. The pyramid-head takes my blows on his cleaver, prolonging the fight. Badly, now the other guards will come up, I can get stuck on this layer, I need to speed up.

I decide not to destroy the guardian, as I did with the others, but to block it, creating a stream of water around the raging monster with my power. As soon as the water surrounds it, I instantly freeze it. The advantage of such duels is that you can use anything in them, as long as you have enough mental strength. I can't do that in real life, I've already tested it.

I climb the penultimate layer of Riddle's defense, which is an extensive network of caves. The defender always has the advantage over the attacker, but Tom's consciousness is similarly attacking me at this point, so the chances of breaking through are good. I do not change my tactics, I go ahead, not even trying to find a way out of the labyrinth, just punching through the walls. My mental powers are fleeing in a torrent, will I make it in time?

The ceiling collapsed on me, one of the protective traps. I dodged the stones deftly without changing my direction. I block the golems at a walking pace, like the previous guard, I no longer have time or energy for them. Here's Riddle's "weeping wall," but I already know how it works, so I don't look into the eyes of the grinning demon knocked out in the middle of it, instead beginning to take the door off its hinges, smashing the masonry.

Suddenly I realize that the demon is no longer a static, tethered object to the door; it's coming out of it, coming out of it like an open hatch. It's clear that Tom has perfected the trap, bringing it up to date and making it more dangerous. I closed my eyes before the demon drank the rest of my mental powers through them. Instead, I surround myself with an unbreakable cocoon, continuing to take out the door. I feel the demon howl, scratching at my defenses, draining them, but it can't break through yet.

There is a rumbling sound, the door finally flying off its hinges. I push myself, surrounded by a protective shield, right into the open doorway, flying forward at airplane speeds. The demon is knocked to the ground and smeared somewhere behind me. I'm not sure how much of the Mental is left, but I have to hurry, or I'll be pushed out of his mind!

The last layer of protection is also well known to me. But for someone unfamiliar with the defense, it could easily be fatal. Without wasting time, I grab one of the shards of rock crystal lying under my feet, sprinkling it with my blood. The first point is fulfilled, now this place considers me as conventionally one of its own. Now I approach the man lying in the middle of the room, looking like Tom Riddle himself. He's not breathing or moving, by all accounts imitating a dead body. He is, because there's a dagger sticking out of his heart.

I take it out of Tom's body and plunge it into mine. It hurts so bad. And it burns! Did he poison him, too? Damn it! And I hit myself gently, thanks to the rich practice I've had. You must hit the upper body, but you can choose a place on it where you could be wounded to last more time.

The "corpse" opens his eyes, and I look directly into them, gaining full access to my friend's memory. Yes! I did it! I did it!

After watching a few memories, purely to confirm the success of my efforts, I exit Riddle's consciousness. To be fair, I would have been thrown out of there in a minute or two anyway. I caused my mental avatar a near fatal wound with a poisoned dagger. And so, with barely anything left, the mental magic began to flow out of me like water from a punctured barrel. That was the final trap. If you don't know, you'll have to study the location itself for a while, to understand how to extract memories from the core of the mind, to which you've gotten close.

Destroy the lying body? Then the memory will simply close and the intruder will be instantly thrown out of it. Take out the dagger? Nothing happens. Only by stabbing yourself with that dagger you can gain access. Essentially, you're replacing Riddle's "corpse" with yourself, thus gaining access to his memory as well. But if you didn't take care to soak the location around you with your blood earlier, the memory core will recognize the switch and attack you with its vast arsenal.

I've been trying for a long time to find the key to the last layer of Riddle's mind. But even once I've found it, I can't read Tom for a long time. Even when his main consciousness is in my mind, I can't get through the traps, anyway. When he is on his own defense, I rarely manage to get even to the middle of it.

By the way, how is he doing?