I didn't wake up slowly and peacefully, as was my habit. Gasping for breath, I jerked into a sitting position, but I had to close my eyes immediately—the room began to spin like a wild roller coaster. My stomach churned, an unbearable ringing filled my ears, and through the chaos, I heard the tone of my aunt's voice. She was saying something, but at that moment, her words were nothing more than an unintelligible murmur.
I immediately collapsed back into the pillows. Taking a deep breath, I was suddenly hit by a wave of sensations. I felt a diverse mixture of scents: a musky, slightly spicy aroma mixed with warm fur, which I was certain belonged to Styrax. A typical smell of roasted popcorn wafted from his paws, and every flick of his tail into the air released a faint whiff of ammonia. My olfactory cells were working at full capacity.
My frightened aunt sat by my side and immediately took my hand. I could smell her fruity perfume—pleasant and energetic, but far too intense in my current state. Beneath it, I identified the delicate scent of almond oil and the natural, sweetish smell of her skin. At the same time, however, I caught something new—a bitter undertone I couldn't quite define. The scent of fear? Or fatigue?
I was sure we were in my room. The smell of old wood and parchment calmed me. After a few seconds, I felt my blood pressure leveling out. The dizziness subsided, and I finally began to perceive Vespera's words.
"...say something," she repeated urgently. "Please."
"I'm fine," I replied, my eyes still closed. "How long have I been lying here?" I vividly remembered the ritual: the flash of consciousness, the pain, and then blacking out.
"Two days. I was worried about you," she answered, her voice calmer now. "Elizabeth said it was alright. She mentioned something about a blessing."
"A blessing?" I repeated. I was only supposed to gain physical resistance and regeneration from the ritual, but I knew I had a bonus. My sense of smell had been practically disastrous before; I could smell almost nothing unless the scent or stench was exceptionally intense. Now, however, I perceived absolutely everything in the room.
"Those are just their Eastern European superstitions, nephew. The main thing is that you're alright. How do you feel?"
I had to think about the answer for a moment. I didn't feel weak. In fact, I felt perfect and strong, aside from the stiff muscles. Even the disorientation was fading. If I had been lying down for two days and then sat up so suddenly, it was no wonder my stomach had turned.
"Stiff, but otherwise good. What exactly was this blessing Elizabeth spoke of?"
I opened one eye halfway and looked at Vespera. She was silent for a moment, but then she began to speak again.
"We Rosiers never believed in it, but so be it, if you want to know. For centuries, rumors and myths have spread from Eastern Europe that magic has a consciousness—that it perceives and feels," she paused for a brief moment. "Elizabeth is deeply convinced that she is right." She shook her head and continued: "She claims that magic has its favorites, whom it favors and watches over."
"What do you mean, it has favorites and watches over them?"
"She explained it to me using ritual magic. When two different people perform the same ritual, the effect can be different, even if the procedure and ingredients are identical. Sometimes the effect is weaker, other times stronger. Sometimes someone is gifted with a bonus, and someone else simply dies, even though they did everything correctly."
"Based on what does it choose these favorite children?"
Vespera just shrugged. "I don't know; I think it's just nonsense. But they say that every Dark Lord in the last few centuries was a darling of magic. That's why the Eastern European countries were the first to follow Grindelwald."
"Elizabeth is right," I said after a moment of reflection.
"Pardon?" Vespera blurted out.
"At the start of the ritual, I felt a consciousness emerge, watching my every move. In the end, I felt as if something winked at me—if you can put it that way—and then the pain came. And now, after waking up?" I paused for a moment while Vespera watched me with concern. "I can smell scents and odors like I never have before. A mountain troll is supposed to have a poor sense of smell, as is a phoenix. But me? Now I smell everything with extraordinary intensity. Even the bitter taste of your fear and anxiety. So, I believe magic truly blessed me."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Styrax stopped flicking his tail, and I felt I was right, even though I no longer registered that consciousness. Had I perhaps summoned it with that ritual magic? After all, in Latin, I was addressing Mother Magic directly. Neither a phoenix nor a troll could have improved my sense of smell like this. The question remained whether magic had only strengthened what it was supposed to, plus this sense, or if something else had changed as well.
"Nothing else makes sense, Aunt," I broke the silence. "Seriously, neither a troll nor a phoenix has the best sense of smell... it's not possible. Unless Styrax managed to get a hair among the ingredients, which is impossible. He wasn't in the room."
Vespera nodded gravely, but I could still see fear and concern in her eyes.
"In that case, you must be extremely careful," she commanded tersely. "Our family has always avoided magic that wasn't precise, and for good reason."
"I'll have to talk to Elizabeth about it too. It wasn't written exactly in Morgana's book, though there were hints to be found," I admitted. "But I just took them for the superstitions of the time."
Just as I finished speaking, my stomach growled loudly. Vespera finally smiled slightly and immediately called out: "Jobo!"
When the elf appeared and bowed low, she didn't even look at him. She commanded coldly: "A proper breakfast for the young master. Immediately."
It seemed to me that Vespera balanced my politeness and kindness toward Jobo with her own coldness and distance. She did it quite deliberately, pragmatically, not cruelly. Was she perhaps hoping I would follow her example? I liked her, but you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Maybe if I were actually a twelve-year-old kid, it would work.
I slowly sat up in bed under Vespera's scrutiny and her kind smile. The disorientation and my stomach were fine now; I was just still a bit stiff.
"Plans for today, nephew?" she brought up after a moment. "A trip abroad? Training? The beach? Or a visit?" Unconcealed excitement was evident in her voice.
"I don't feel quite tip-top for a trip or hard training yet, but..." I hesitated slightly, then continued: "What if we went to visit Sally? Just to check on them."
Vespera immediately burst into amused laughter, grabbed my cheeks with both hands, and began to stretch them as if I were made of rubber. I knew exactly why I had hesitated at that question—I knew she'd tease me for it.
"We can!" she confirmed with a wide smile. "I'd love to meet her!"
Fortunately, Jobo saved me from further cheek-stretching. He appeared with a large wooden tray holding an omelet, boiled eggs, vegetables, cheeses, ham, salami, butter, mozzarella, loaves of both white and brown bread, tea, orange juice, and other delicacies. My mouth immediately began to water, and I tucked in without hesitation.
While I attacked the food, Vespera watched me with a smile. I stopped sensing that bitter smell from her, so she had likely calmed down. For the next half hour, I wolfed down food as if I hadn't eaten in a year. With every bite, I could literally feel my body burning it off immediately. It still didn't have enough, even though I had already eaten most of the tray's contents. My insides were insistently demanding more calories.
Only after another twenty minutes was I full. Only a little white bread and tea remained on the tray. I even "downed" the orange juice, which I otherwise loathed, but I felt my body desperately needed those sugars and that energy. After eating, I collapsed back into bed and puffed contentedly.
"Sally lives in Manchester," I said after a moment. "When can we leave?"
"Even right now," Vespera replied with a shrug. "I've been to Manchester before, so I can easily Apparate us there. We'll have to take a taxi or a bus to the exact address after that."
"In ten minutes, then? I'll get myself together and we can go."
Vespera nodded, stood up, and headed for the door: "I'll wait for you in the drawing room."
I didn't wait around. I threw off my sweaty clothes, used some hygiene spells, and dressed anew. Once I looked somewhat presentable, I set off. On the way to the drawing room, it occurred to me that I was really glad we didn't have talking mirrors.
Vespera was waiting for me, standing. As soon as I approached her, she grabbed my forearm, and in an instant, we were in the swirl of Apparition.
After a moment, we appeared on a small bridge with a river flowing beneath it. On both sides stood brown-brick apartment buildings in a typical English style. Cars flowed across the bridge and pedestrians passed along the sidewalks, but none of them reacted to us.
Vespera spoke quietly: "Welcome to Manchester. The River Irwell flows beneath us. A fairly pleasant city, and the weather is quite nice too."
Though it was pleasant, it was noticeably colder than back at our castle. Before my body could warm up, I felt a slight chill, but I paid it no mind.
"How is it that the Muggles didn't notice us?"
"Do you need to know exactly, or will the layman's version suffice?" Vespera asked with a soft smile.
"The layman's will be plenty," I replied.
"The Apparition instructor said that Muggles don't perceive magic the way wizards do. Their brains try to convince them that we've always been here and they just hadn't noticed us... They simply walk around us as if nothing is happening. And since we appeared on a busy bridge, the sound of our arrival was lost in the city noise."
"And the Apparition itself? How did we not land directly on someone?"
Vespera just shrugged. "Magic." Immediately after that answer, however, she frowned. "Actually, I'm only now realizing that magic itself must have guided us so we wouldn't end up in the middle of someone. I always took it for granted."
"And now what? The address is: Delaney Court, Harpurhey, Manchester M9 5BF."
"Either a Muggle taxi or the Knight Bus," she huffed indignantly. "Honestly, I prefer a taxi. The bus is a total disaster."
"I'm surprised you even know about Muggle taxis," I remarked as she pulled me by the hand to the edge of the road.
"I'm a Rosier; of course I know what a taxi is... We aren't the Goyles," she replied with feigned arrogance and immediately waved at a car, which stopped by us instantly.
Vespera got in the front, I in the back. In the mirror, I saw that the driver was a young Black man. My aunt stared deeply into his eyes for a moment and then tersely repeated the address. The young guy flipped his blinker, and we set off. He didn't say a word the whole way; Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You was playing in the taxi.
The journey took about fifteen minutes. I calmly looked around the city, but the driver's silence was suspicious. When we stopped at the location, I was sure she had used magic on him via Legilimency. I also knew that my aunt didn't plan on paying. When she got out, I inconspicuously pulled a fifty-pound note from my pocket and tossed it onto the seat. It was a kingly bonus, but the guy looked like a student earning extra money. It didn't seem fair to "scam" him like that, and I didn't intend to feel guilty over a few pounds.
As soon as I got out and the taxi left, I couldn't help it: "What was that?"
"Compulsion through Legilimency," Vespera replied indifferently. "You simply plant your own thoughts into the other person's mind. In my case, that we had already paid, and in the second, that he shouldn't speak. It's easier with Muggles; they don't have magic to subconsciously fight against it."
"When we get back to the castle, I'll want a book on that," I remarked and finally began to look around at where we had ended up.
The whole street felt desperate. Despite the nice sunny weather, I smelled damp concrete and cheap cigarettes in the air. Ugly attempts at art were spray-painted on the walls, the asphalt was cracked in places, and the sidewalks were broken into pieces. The apartment building we stopped in front of looked like something from a cheap historical soap opera—an old Victorian style supplemented by poor attempts at modernization. Rather than a renovation, it just looked like holes in the plaster had been hastily patched. A rusty silver Vauxhall was parked in front of the entrance, and I strongly doubted it could even be started.
We walked straight to the building. The doors were made of sheet metal and glass, marked by several dents. To the right of them, labels with doorbells glowed. I found the name Perkins—we were in the right place. I rang, but there was no response. I wondered if we should leave, but I had a bad feeling. Maybe it was just the unpleasant, stinking hopelessness of these slums, but something didn't sit right. I felt Vespera's gaze on my back; she stood behind me, waiting to see what I would do.
"Alohomora!" I uttered, and the door yielded with a click. I pulled it and stepped inside.
In the dark entrance, a lightbulb flickered defiantly; it was on its last legs, but it wasn't giving up. With Vespera at my heels, we went up the neglected gray stairs. On the first floor were three apartments numbered one to three. Since Sally lived in number nine, we continued up to the third floor. I smelled the sweetish scent of mold in the corners, a whiff of cheap box wine, but also the metallic smell of blood. And that grew stronger with every step.
While apartments seven and eight had relatively maintained doors, the number was missing on number nine. The door looked as if someone had aggressively taken their frustrations out on it. What was worse, the smell of urine and feces had joined the cheap wine and blood. I looked at Vespera warily. She was calm. She didn't smell what I did, so it was clear to me that those odors were still relatively "fresh."
"I smell urine, feces, blood, and cheap wine," I whispered to her gravely.
Vespera's calm expression changed to one of alertness in an instant. Her shoulders stiffened, and her wand glinted in her hand.
"I don't smell anything except the rot from the walls," she whispered back.
I nodded, but I didn't intend to waste any more time: "Alohomora!"
The door opened with a soft click. At that moment, the stench from inside hit me with full force, so much so that my stomach churned dangerously. I already knew the smell of death too well. This, however, wasn't sweetish decay yet; it was something fresher and rawer.
The apartment wasn't the largest. On the left side stood a shoe rack and a massive, closed door. Directly in front of me, I saw part of a bookshelf, a rainbow carpet, and an open passage to the right. However, the blood and the strongest stench were coming from the bookshelf area, so we headed straight there. Even before reaching the doorway, I heard heavy snoring and huffing.
I cautiously peeked inside. It was a living room with a cheap couch and an old television with a small screen but a huge body. It stood on a chipboard table that was as shabby as the rest of the apartment. I only perceived all of this peripherally. The priority was the two bodies on the floor.
From one of them, lying in a pool of blood, came a strong metallic scent. And no wonder—it was a woman with a knife driven deep into her chest. The other stench—urine, feces, and cheap wine—emanated from a balding, pot-bellied man. He was snoring contentedly in his own filth, while his wife lay dead right next to him. One look was enough to make it clear what had happened here.
I turned back into the hallway and pinched my nose hard with my fingers to at least dull the stench a little. Vespera said nothing. She stood tense with her wand ready, watching my every move.
I approached the door on the left and tried to open it, but it was locked from the inside. I heard a soft rustling from beneath it.
"Alohomora!"
I slightly misjudged my power, and the lock literally disintegrated into pieces under the onslaught of magic. Without hesitation, I opened the door and stepped inside.
The room had cheap blue wallpaper with drawings of flowers, from beneath which a moldy smell emanated. Salty moisture was in the air, and shabby furniture with framed photos crowded the tight space. A cheap metal bed, a thin blanket. I felt the scent of an unwashed body mixed with the sharp bitterness of fear. I slowly walked to the bed and spoke quietly: "Sally, it's me. Come out."
Nothing happened for a moment, but after a bit, she understood. She immediately crawled out from under the bed. I noticed her greasy hair and tearful, red eyes. As soon as she stood up, she threw herself around my neck, crying.
"Pa-Patrik... y-you c-came," she stammered directly into my ear through her sobs.
Vespera stood with her back to us, wand ready in case that filthy Muggle in the living room woke up. I knew, however, that she was listening intently.
"Yes, I came for you," I nodded encouragingly. "Pack everything you need. We're leaving."
She pulled away for a moment, which I immediately used for Legilimency. The images were clear: her father had come home drunk from the pub, an argument had broken out, and when Sally stood up for her mother, he exploded. Her mother had defended her with her own body until she told her with her last strength to hide. After that, there was only a painful scream. I felt that Sally knew what had happened in that next room.
Without a word, her nose running, she nodded and pulled a school trunk from under the bed, into which she began to throw her things. While she packed, I stepped over to Vespera. She squeezed my shoulder supportively.
"What about the Muggle?" she asked in a whisper.
I considered another notch on my wand for a moment, but in the end, I rejected it.
"We'll leave justice to the Muggles. He's poor; he won't crawl out of this," I replied coldly. "For the rest of his life, he will regret his alcoholic frenzy and the murder of his own wife."
He was trash overcome by booze, not someone who would kill for pleasure. He deserved to suffer, and I was sure his own mind would haunt him.
"Sally will take care of him later, if she wants," I added quietly after a moment. When I saw she was packed, I asked my aunt: "Please take her in front of the apartment building. I'll be right behind you."
Vespera nodded, pointed her wand at Sally, used a few hygiene spells, grabbed her by the forearm, and they vanished. With a heavy sigh, I returned to the living room. I aimed my yew wand at the sleeping murderer and pressed my other hand to my nose to at least partially suppress that foul stench.
***
Author's note:
So, in this story, Magic is a sentient entity that plays favorites, and it doesn't seem to be governed by human morality. This makes rituals far more unpredictable and dangerous than they appear—even when the procedure is followed perfectly.
On a darker note, the scene in Manchester was inspired by a true story. A few years ago, near my hometown, a man got drunk, took an axe, and murdered his wife. He then tried to kill his children, who were hiding in the bathroom. Fortunately, the police arrived just before he could break through the door.
Domestic violence is no joke. Please stay safe and keep an eye out for those around you who might be struggling. :)
***
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(16):
71. The Old Bird's Wisdom
72. Toujours Pur
73. The Emperor of Mankind
74. Two Romans Walk into a Bar…
75. Tactical Retreats
76. The Twelve-Year-Old Dark Lord
77. Poking the Snake
78. Of False Heroes and Tethered Minds
79. The Casual Intruder
80. The Silent Partner
81. The Black Inheritance
82. The Frequency of Intent
83. Of Blood and Thorns
84. Thorns, Wards, and Sly Foxes
85. As Peaceful and Civilized as Always
86. The Twin in the Shadows
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