Surrey, England, August, 2015
Solus was nine years old when the world split in two.
It wasn't gradual.
It wasn't a dream.
It was as if someone had opened a floodgate inside his skull, and two oceans of memory had crashed down upon him with the force of a tsunami.
He was sitting in the backyard, beneath the oak tree his mother had planted the day he was born. Helen was in the kitchen making lemonade. Mark had called from Boston that morning to say his project would run another week.
Everything was ordinary.
And then it wasn't.
. . . . . . .
The first memory wasn't his.
It belonged to a man named Lucius Verus Caecilius.
Rome. The Forum under the rain.
Solus collapsed to his knees on the damp grass. His small hands dug into the soil as his mind was crushed beneath the weight of an entire lifetime.
A legionary kneeling before him. Blood on the sand. The roar of fifty thousand voices echoing through the Colosseum.
"Pontifex Maximus". they said. "The Magus of the Empire".
Lucius had been a general. A priest. He had commanded legions of both men and magic. He had bargained with Celtic druids and Egyptian sorcerers. He had raised wards over entire cities.
And he had died old.
In his bed.
Surrounded by honors that meant nothing—because he had seen the future of the Empire and knew it would fall.
The second memory came before he could breathe.
Scotland. 1012 A.D. The Highlands beneath the snow.
Corvus Slytherin.
The name struck his mind like thunder.
Younger brother of Salazar. Wielder of Ancient Magic. Builder of the Chamber of Maps.
The wand in his hand was not made of wood. It was something older. Something that sang.
Before him stood a hundred treacherous wizards who had sold Hogwarts to Muggle warlords.
"I will protect this castle". Corvus had said. "Even if it is the last thing I do".
And it was.
He died on the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. He died burning his own life force to seal the gates.
He died knowing his students would escape.
He died alone.
Solus vomited onto the grass.
His mother came running from the house.
"Solus! What happened? Are you okay?"
Helen Gray knelt beside him, her pale hands brushing his forehead, searching for fever.
Solus looked up.
And for the first time in his third life, he saw her.
Helen Gray. Thirty-two years old. Light brown hair tied in a messy ponytail. Worried green eyes. A Muggle woman who worked as a primary school teacher in Little Whinging. A woman who had known nothing of magic until her son began levitating toys at five.
A woman who loved him more than anything in the world.
And he had forgotten her.
For nine years, he had been only Solus—a child. Her son.
But now he was also Lucius, who had buried three wives and seven children in his eighty years.He was Corvus, who had watched his students die defending a dream.He was...
"Mom," he whispered.
The word came out broken.
Helen pulled him into her arms.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here".
Solus shut his eyes and clung to her.
'I can't lose her. Not again.'
But he already knew the truth.
In a thousand years of memory, one thing had remained constant: everyone he loved always died.
And he kept on living.
That night, Solus locked himself in his room.
Mark called at eight. Helen handed him the phone.
"How's my little engineer?" his father's voice was tired but warm. "Your mom says you weren't feeling well."
Solus looked at the phone screen. Muggle technology.
In his first life, it would've been impossible magic.
In his second, the concept didn't even exist.
And now it was so common a nine-year-old could use it to speak with his father across an ocean.
'The world has changed. And I've slept while it did'.
"I'm fine, Dad," he said. His voice was steadier now. Older. "Just a headache."
"You sure? Your mom sounded worried."
"I'm sure."
There was a pause.
"I miss you, Solus. I'll be back soon. Then we'll go to the museum, yeah? You said you wanted to see the Roman exhibit."
'Roman'.
Solus tightened his grip on the phone.
"Yeah, Dad. I'd love that."
After hanging up, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his hands.
A child's hands. Small. Soft. No calluses. No sword scars.
But when he closed his eyes, he could feel the weight of a Roman gladius.He could feel Ancient Magic pulsing through his veins like liquid fire.
'Intention'.
The word appeared in his mind as though it had always been there.
Lucius had known it as Voluntas, the Will. The power to command magic itself to obey.Corvus had known it as Feeling, the ability to touch the invisible current of the world and bend it.
They were the same.
And both required something Solus no longer had: a wand.
No.
That wasn't true.
Corvus had hidden things, artifacts, knowledge, fortunes.
And Lucius had been a master at concealing secrets within maps and monuments.
The memory came sharp and vivid: a hall buried deep beneath Hogwarts. Not Salazar's Chamber of Secrets, something older. Far older.
Solus opened his eyes.
'I have two years before Hogwarts. Two years to prepare''.
'Two years to decide what kind of man I'll be this time'.
He stood and walked to his desk. On it lay math books, sketchpads, and a framed photograph—him and his parents at Brighton Beach last summer. Helen was holding him in her arms. Mark's hand rested on his head.
All three were smiling.
Solus picked up the photo and studied it.
'Helen Gray. Mark Gray. My parents'.
'I'm not Lucius. I'm not Corvus'.
'I'm their son'.
And now he was a nine-year-old boy in a world where magic was dying and Muggles carried cameras in their pockets.
He put the photo back down.
Pulled a blank notebook from his school bag.
And began to write.
[Notes of Solus Gray (Private)
Date: August 2008
What I know:
– I am the reincarnation of Lucius Verus Caecilius. Roman General. Pontifex Maximus. Magus of the Empire.
– I am the reincarnation of Corvus Slytherin (c. 990 A.D. – 1065 A.D.). Brother of Salazar. Wielder of Ancient Magic. Headmaster of Hogwarts.
– Modern magic is a shadow of what it once was. The records from the Founders' era were lost. No one remembers how to build magical fortresses or reshape landscapes.
– Muggles now possess technology that can expose us: cameras, the Internet, satellites. The Statute of Secrecy is dying.
– I have two years before Hogwarts.
What I must do:
– Access the Chamber of Maps once I reach Hogwarts.
– Recover the artifacts and knowledge Lucius and Corvus left behind.
– Find apprentices.
– Restore Intention. Modern wizards are weak because they don't feel magic—they merely cast it.
– Protect Helen and Mark. (I can't lose them. Not this time.)
What I must NOT do:
– Reveal my memories. (No one would believe a child claiming to be a Roman general)
– Trust the Ministry. (Bureaucracy is the same in every era: slow, cowardly, corrupt)
– Forget that I am a child. (The memories are tools. I can't let them consume me)]
Solus closed the notebook.
Outside, he heard Helen climbing the stairs. She knocked softly on his door.
"Solus? Are you awake?"
"Yes, Mom".
The door opened. Helen entered with a cup of hot chocolate and sat on the edge of his bed.
"Do you want to talk about what happened today?"
Solus looked at her.
'How do I tell her that I remembered two entire lives? That I watched hundreds of people die? That I know the wizarding world is on the brink of collapse?'.
He couldn't.
So he said the only truth that mattered.
"I had a bad dream, Mom. But it's over now".
Helen brushed a hand through his hair.
"We all have nightmares sometimes, sweetheart. But morning always comes".
Solus nodded.
'If only it were that simple'.
Helen leaned down and kissed his forehead.
"I love you, Solus. More than anything in this world".
"I love you too, Mom".
She smiled, turned off the light, and quietly closed the door behind her.
Solus lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
Marcus Aurelius wrote in his Meditations.
"The life of man is a point; his substance, a perpetual flow; his perception, dim; the composition of his body, corruptible; his soul, a whirl; his fate, obscure; his fame, uncertain. In short, all that belongs to the body is a river, and all that belongs to the soul is dream and vapor. Life is warfare and a journey through foreign land; the only posthumous fame is oblivion".
Solus closed his eyes.
But the Emperor had also written:
"Perform every act of your life as though it were your last, laying aside all carelessness, all passion, all discontent with what fate has allotted you. Carry out every action with dignity, freedom, and justice, so that even if chance interrupts you, you can depart content, saying: I have lived a good life; nature has given me all I need to act well and to be happy".
He had two years.
Two years to prepare.
Two years to decide whether he would be the general who burned cities or the master who protected his students.
Or something entirely new.
'Hogwarts awaits me'.
'And this time, I won't let anyone die alone'.