The next day, Bjorn went down to the bar and had breakfast. He especially liked the freshly brewed coffee, the aroma of which wafted throughout the room, and the croissants Tom had just baked.
Going back up to his room, the boy sat down with his textbooks and the few books he had bought for general knowledge. Unfortunately, studying potion-making without any practice was simply not interesting. Transfiguration and its complex formulas, even at the very beginning, required rote memorisation, so the boy put it off for later. But spells aroused his keen interest, especially since, as it turned out, he already knew many, if not all, of them from somewhere. After thinking about it, Bjorn decided that his dreams were to blame.
Sometimes he saw everything as if from the outside, often fighting himself. Sometimes he had to repeat and memorise movements with a wand or sword in his dreams.
Pulling out his wand, Bjorn tried to copy an interesting gesture from the first-year book and, in just an hour, ran through all the spells given by the author.
"I like spells," thought Bjorn, and decided to buy a few more books on the subject. To do this, the boy threw on his cloak and set off again for Kosaya Alley.
Being a practical person, he decided to find spells that would allow even a small wizard to defend himself. With his goal set, Bjorn headed to Florish and Blotts, but to his surprise, he couldn't buy anything. As soon as the salesman saw the boy who had bought first-year textbooks the day before, he flatly refused to sell him anything else. He said that first he had to grow up and study at school.
Without arguing, Magnusson left the shop and looked around. He hesitated a little, wondering where to go, and headed for a junk shop.
Björn entered the small shop and politely greeted the elderly salesman dozing behind the cash register:
"Hello, sir! Do you have any spell books?"
At that moment, Magnusson fervently wished that his aura's ability to charm intelligent beings would work on the old wizard. At one point, he even swayed from the tension.
"There's a whole bunch of them over there," the junk dealer waved his hand casually toward the opposite wall. "Many people bring their textbooks here after Hogwarts to earn a few galleons. Sometimes even ruined purebloods sell something from their family library. But I put those books aside right away, heh heh. You can get good money for them sometimes.
"Well, I don't need any books on advanced magic right now, sir," Bjorn smiled broadly. "I didn't understand a thing in my first year of Transfiguration.
"Heh heh," the old man laughed again. "Have a rummage in that pile, lad. You might find something interesting.
Then, unexpectedly even to himself, he whispered mysteriously:
"To master transfiguration at a decent level, you need to have a perfect memory, young man. And to achieve that, a wizard must practise Occlumency from the first year, or even earlier. Yes, young man, that's right, focused work on your mind. Nothing more, nothing less!"
After these words, Bjorn stared even more affectionately at the junk dealer, who turned pale and covered his mouth with both hands. Then he began to look around frantically and, seeing no one in the shop but Bjorn, breathed a sigh of relief.
"Ahem, ahem, lad. I would ask you not to tell anyone that you heard this anywhere. The current authorities are not very fond of those who know anything about Occlumency and Legilimency.
Only the presence of a child in the shop prevented the old man from cursing his sudden loquaciousness.
"First you told him about Occlumency, you old ghoul, look how the kid's eyes are shining, and now you've gone and blurted out Legilimency!" the old man chastised himself for his sudden loquaciousness. Forbidden magical disciplines could only be studied under the supervision of the Ministry. As a rule, wizards who mastered these disciplines went to serve in the Department of Mysteries, where they took a bunch of irrevocable vows, or worked in the DMF and Aurorate as full-time brainwashers. In any case, talking about mental magic could get any wizard into trouble.
Having confided everything to the young visitor, the old man almost cried with anger at his own loose tongue. When the boy went off to rummage through a pile of old books, the wizard took out his wand and checked himself for all the spells he knew, potions scattered in the air, and even black magic curses. He found nothing and grabbed his head. His only hope was that such a cute little boy would not run to the police with a story about a talkative old man. To the junk dealer's credit, the idea of subjecting the child to "Obliviate" did not even occur to him.
The front door clanged, and a woman wrapped in a dark cloak entered the shop. Despite the veil covering her face, the junk dealer recognised her and bowed politely:
"Greetings, Lady Araminta. You were here last week, weren't you?
"Ah, dear Marcus," cooed the woman in a melodious voice. "I am in desperate need of money. This year, my daughter Vega is going to Hogwarts, and not all Blackys are insanely rich, as one might think. It is my sister Valburga who has done well for herself. True, she had to marry her second cousin, who is four years younger than her," the woman chuckled. "But what wouldn't you do for the wealth of a ruling family, eh?"
"Oh, oh," the old man shook his head. "What have you brought me, dear Araminta? I hope it's nothing black magic, which your esteemed family is so fond of?
"No, you old grump," the woman shook her head with a laugh.
Then she lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned towards the junk dealer:
"Just books on disciplines that are now forbidden: artefact making, mental magic, combat magic, advanced runes.
Bjorn, frozen behind the shelves, almost cried out, "I want them, I want them, I want them!" but he restrained himself in time, almost biting his tongue.
"They're here," said the woman, placing the books in piles on the counter. "There are some artefacts too, Marcus, but I think it would be better to take them to the goblins. You're unlikely to find a buyer in your shop who would pay a good price for them.
"I won't argue with you, Lady Araminta," sighed the elderly wizard. "My main merchandise is broken wands and second-hand books.
"Now, now. Stop playing the martyr, old man," laughed the woman. "I didn't know you were living on your last Knut. Your children are grown up and living on their own. How much do you need for a comfortable old age?
"You're embarrassing old Marcus, Lady Black," grumbled the junk dealer. "Gold is always welcome at any age. In that respect, I'm in complete agreement with the goblins."
So, after some meaningless small talk, the junk dealer walked the woman to the exit, turned the sign around, locked the door, and lowered the blinds. Then he returned to the counter and began to carefully check the books, fearing that they might be cursed.
"Oh, she's taken all the galleons," muttered the junk dealer thoughtfully. Then he heard a noise behind the shelves and, when he looked up, saw the smiling boy he had forgotten about.
"Merlin's beard! So you were here the whole time and heard everything?" cried the old wizard.
"I heard everything, dear Marcus," confirmed Bjorn. "And I have a lot of gold for you for these old books," he looked at the stacks of books brought by Lady Black.
The junk dealer really wanted to send the boy away, but he froze, looking at his trusting face and eyes sparkling with hope. After a struggle with himself, he said something completely different:
"If you have the gold I spent on these books, plus another hundred galleons on top of that, then I'll give them to you.
"Why are you calmly selling banned books to an eleven-year-old boy, you old fool?" the junk dealer scolded himself with his last words, watching Bjorn deftly stuff everything into his bag.
"Can I take these books too?" the boy looked at the seller with puppy dog eyes. "They're school books, for all seven courses. It says in the margins that Minerva McGonagall herself studied from them. She's a very powerful witch, she came to me with a letter from Hogwarts," Bjorn began to explain in detail. But then he noticed that the junk dealer's eyes had already narrowed and he was clearly lost in his own world. Bjorn began to stuff the books into his bag even faster, not forgetting to grab his textbooks.
"Um, Grandpa Marcus. I think I'll be going. Here's your gold for the books," Bjorn said, pointing to the pile of galleons he had taken out of his purse.
Looking at the gold, the junk dealer's eyes took on a slightly more meaningful expression, and he slowly waved his stick, opening the door and putting the sign back in place.
"All the best!" Bjorn called from the doorway, but the wizard only waved his hand listlessly.
"Well, well," Magnuson scratched the back of his head. "I hope that cheerful old man comes to his senses. I didn't hit him too hard, did I?"
Returning to The Leaky Cauldron, Bjorn quickly ate and rushed upstairs to sort out his new knowledge. Closing the door to his room behind him, he went to get the books out of the chest, but a dull ache began to grow inside him. It suddenly tightened into a burning point in his solar plexus, struck his head, and the boy lost consciousness.
Bjorn came to in the bathroom, where the house spirit had carried him, the warm water running over his head.
"Tippli didn't know how to revive his master," lamented the elf. "Little Bjorn's nose was bleeding, and his shirt was stained with blood. Bad Tippli, bad. I didn't keep an eye on my little master," the house spirit banged his head against the sink, twisting his long ears.
"Enough, Tippli. I forgive you," the boy muttered weakly and began to get out of the bath, but gasped and sat back down. The brownie rushed around him in a panic.
"Carry me to bed," asked Bjorn. "I must have overexerted myself with the junk dealer. I need to sleep.
He didn't see Tipley snap his fingers, and his body flew out of the bathtub, instantly drying and being carried away. The brownie covered the sleeping boy with a blanket, sighed sadly, and sat down in the corner to watch his little master sleep.
The next day, Bjorn woke up feeling energetic and refreshed. He jumped out of bed and felt no signs of yesterday's illness. Going down to the bar, he greeted Tom and ordered a hearty breakfast. After wolfing it down in a few minutes, Bjorn drank a glass of fresh juice and went up to his room. He had to carefully sort through all the books for which he had pushed his body to magical exhaustion.
The book on Occlumency was more difficult to understand than even the Transfiguration textbook, but Bjorn realised that he was already somewhat familiar with this magic from his dreams. Somehow, he understood that Occlumency did not tolerate haste, but required a slow and very thoughtful approach. "Oh well," Bjorn sighed to himself. "I was hoping it would be as easy as it was at the orphanage. If I wanted to open a window, I just opened it. If I wanted to close it, I just closed it. But it turns out that here you have to study a lot and very hard."
***
From that moment on, Bjorn's life took on an orderly character. He ate, read, and walked along Diagon Alley. Once he even tried to sneak into Knockturn Alley, but Tipley grabbed his leg and screamed so loudly that the boy decided not to upset the big-eared elf.
Time flew by, and there were only a few days left before departure for Hogwarts. Bjorn bought himself a large polar owl, and now the important bird was settling into a cosy cage on his window sill. However, Magnusson never closed it, and the owl flew wherever it wanted.
Now Bjorn was sitting in the Fortesque café, watching the crowd of wizards with interest. Every day there were more and more of them. Children were increasingly visible among the adults. Perhaps conservative wizards preferred to gather their children for school in the last few days.
A woman of aristocratic appearance entered the café with a pretty eleven-year-old girl. All the seats were taken, and she approached the table where Magnusson was sitting.
"Is this seat free, young man?" the woman asked a little haughtily.
"Please sit down, lady," said Björn, standing up and pulling out the nearest chair. The black-haired girl with piercing blue eyes pouted affectedly and sat down elegantly, apparently copying the adults, allowing them to fuss over her.
"Wait here, Vega," her mother said sternly. "I'll buy you everything you need for potion-making myself. Keep an eye on her, young man," she smiled at Magnusson.
"Of course, my lady," Björn nodded.
When the woman disappeared into the crowd, the girl, not knowing what to do with her hands, hid them under the table. Her gaze kept returning to the full bowl of ice cream standing next to Björn. Not knowing how to start a conversation, the boy noticed her gaze and offered:
"Can I get you some ice cream, Vega?"
She was about to refuse, but her stomach suddenly growled, making her blush. She nodded frantically, but to her surprise, the handsome boy did not laugh, as some of her relatives would have done.
Björn snapped his fingers, and the house spirit Fortesque immediately appeared at the table to take their order.
"What flavour ice cream would you like?" Bjorn smiled at Vega. She was very sweetly embarrassed, something the boy had never seen before in the orphanage. There, the girls would have shouted or even started a fight.
"Chocolate and strawberry," the girl said, blushing again.
Bjorn placed the order with the brownie and added orange juice and a basket of hot croissants for himself.
"What's your name?" Vega looked at him. "You know my name, you're treating me to ice cream, but you haven't told me your name. Maybe you're a foreign prince in disguise?"
Magnusson's eyes widened comically as he tried not to laugh.
"I'm Bjorn Williams," he introduced himself. "I live at Tom's The Leaky Cauldron for now, but I'm actually from the orphanage.
"Muggle-born?" the girl exclaimed in amazement. "I've never talked to a Muggle before!"
It was clear that she was burning with enthusiasm to hear something interesting.
"No," Bjorn shook his head. "I don't know. I've been living in a regular orphanage since I was three, but I have a personal house elf.
"A Muggle-born can't have a personal house elf," the girl said instructively. "You must be a prince."
"Yeah, right," laughed Bjorn. "The prince of the Richmond orphanage!"
At that moment, the house spirit reappeared and placed an ice cream in front of the girl and a basket of croissants and juice next to Magnusson. Bjorn immediately offered his new acquaintance some treats.
Gradually, they began to talk. Björn was very interested in how real wizards lived, and Vega wanted to learn about the world of simpletons.
At that moment, two boys emerged from the crowd, and one of them lightly touched Vega on the shoulder.
"Hi, cousin. Did you also decide to enjoy ice cream and good company instead of running around with your mother?" asked the black-haired boy with shoulder-length hair and blue eyes like the girl's. The second boy, with square eyes, glasses and tousled chestnut hair, sighed heavily and joined the conversation:
"Siri, it's rude to speak to a lady without greeting her escort first.
His eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Cavalier?" Vega and her long-haired relative cried out in equal indignation.
The girl looked angrily at the bespectacled boy and pursed her lips:
"Always with your stupid jokes, James Potter. Bjorn and I are just talking, waiting for my mum, who went to get a first-year kit from old Mr Malpepper and seems to have been delayed.
"Sirius Black," the boy held out his hand to Magnusson. "Nice to meet you, sir.
"Sit down, boys," Bjorn grinned broadly. "Judging by your heavy breathing, you've run away from your relatives, haven't you?"
The two boys exchanged glances and giggled. It turned out that they were indeed tired of shopping with their relatives and older sisters. They waited for the right moment and disappeared into the crowd of wizards.
"Won't you get in trouble?" Vega looked at them. "Lady Walburga doesn't look very kind or understanding. And Aunt Dorea won't be far behind," she said, glancing at James, who was grimacing.
"It's okay," Sirius waved his hand optimistically. "We'll think of something. We'll say we got lost and decided to wait for them here. They'll come to Fortescue's sooner or later. It's tradition!" He put on an arrogant expression, which looked very funny with his lively facial expressions.
James was the first to crack, followed by Vega and Bjorn. They ordered more ice cream and continued chatting, now as a foursome. Magnuson, who had lived at The Leaky Cauldron for two weeks, authoritatively told them where to find the most interesting shops. During the entire time, the boys never asked him about his blood status, although subconsciously Magnusson had expected these questions.
In the evening, Vega's mother returned in the company of elegantly dressed ladies. A stern black-haired lady with a haughty expression stood out in particular.
"We've been waiting for you, Mother," Sirius smiled nervously.
"We'll talk at home," the stern lady replied curtly. "Dorea, Araminta, gather your lost children, I invite you all to our house. Druella, girls, you're coming with us too. I won't take no for an answer."
Her eyes finally settled on Bjorn, instantly assessing his stylish robe from Twilfit and Tatting, after which she nodded to herself and, looking at Magnusson, said primly:
"Sirius, you can invite your friend to come with us, so we can all get to know each other.
"Would you like to come with us?" Black whispered to Bjorn. Magnusson shrugged uncertainly. It would be interesting to visit the home of real wizards, but he didn't want to impose.
"Agree, young man," smiled Lady Araminta. "Otherwise, I won't have had a chance to thank you for looking after Vega.
"Mum! I'm not a little girl anymore," the girl blushed.
"Of course, my dear," the woman replied exaggeratedly seriously, but then smiled again. "Oh, my little star! I could just squeeze you.
Finally, the whole group left the café and approached the public fireplace station. Bjorn had often seen wizards travel this way, but he had never tried it himself. Approaching the station, they all took turns stepping into the fireplace, scooping up a handful of flying powder, quietly saying an address, and disappearing into the emerald flames. Sirius leaned over to Bjorn and whispered in his ear:
"Our mansion is located at 12 Grimm Square."
Magnusson nodded and also stepped into the fireplace, following James, who had already disappeared. He took a handful of flying powder, threw it under his feet, and clearly said the address. The sensation was similar to apparition, but felt more chaotic. At times, the boy thought he could see someone's fireplaces, but Bjorn continued flying forward. Finally, the journey ended, and he fell into a richly decorated living room, managing to regain his balance at the last moment. Stepping aside, Bjorn cast a cleansing spell on himself, as he had gotten a little dirty during the flight.
Soon, all the guests and hosts of the mansion gathered at the table, at the head of which sat a stern woman and an equally distinguished man.
"Friends!" said the wizard in a loud, deep voice. "Let's drink to this momentous occasion. Three of our children are entering Hogwarts. Sirius, James, and Vega. Don't embarrass us, your parents," Orion finished, and everyone raised their glasses in unison.
The young people were having fun in the mansion's courtyard. The adults stayed in the living room to continue celebrating, while the children decided to sit on the veranda. First they played a game of tag, then they played spit. During the evening, Bjorn got to know Sirius's younger brother and his three adult cousins.
Bellatrix and Andromeda had already graduated from Hogwarts, and Narcissa was in her fifth year. Nevertheless, all three girls enjoyed talking to each other and the younger children.
"Go to Slytherin," Narcissa told the children. "Our dean is fond of the old aristocracy. You can always count on him if you need to. Or go to Gryffindor, especially if you don't really want to study. They have a new dean this year. Until she figures everything out, you can spend a couple of years just having fun and joking around.
"What about Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?" Vega asked, embarrassed."Ravenclaw is for smart people and..." She clicked her fingers and turned to Andromeda. "Andi, what did your Ted say, what's their movement called among Muggles?
"Freaks," smiled the older sister. "They want to bring a little magic into the grey world of Muggles. Strange hairstyles, bright clothes, shocking society. They're cheeky and fun kids.
"Just like Ted Tonks," Narcissa grinned. "So, kids. Ravenclaw is for smarties or freaks. Hufflepuff is for future clerks and gardeners!
"Then Gryffindor it is," Sirius grinned. "Jay, what about you?"
James adjusted his glasses and said thoughtfully,
"We learn magic at home, and school is necessary to establish relationships between families. I want to play Quidditch professionally after school, not study potions or artefact creation like my parents want.
"If you're preparing for professional Quidditch, then Gryffindor is definitely the place for you," Bellatrix replied in a deep, pleasant voice. "I hear the new dean played on the team herself, so she'll be especially supportive of athletes.
"Then Gryffindor!" Sirius shouted.
"No, Sirius, you don't stand a chance," Andromeda smiled. "Lady Walburga won't allow it. You're the heir to the family, the future head of the ruling family. So it's Slytherin for you, brother. The faculty of true aristocrats and schemers!"
A shadow fell over Sirius's face, and he glanced warily at the house. Then, having made up his mind, Black narrowed his eyes slyly and grinned:
"Well, we'll see about that. If the hat sorts me into the scarlet-and-gold house, even Mother won't be able to do anything."
Bjorn looked at Bellatrix and asked seriously:
"What if you want to be the strongest?
"Then only Slytherin," the girl smiled. "The most powerful wizard I know graduated from the emerald faculty.
"Dumbledore is stronger than Lord Voldemort," Potter argued heatedly. "He defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald in a duel!
"Pff," Bellatrix snorted cheerfully. "Dumbledore is old. And in the twenty-five years since the duel, all he's done is feed his firebird nuts. No, Jamie. Dumbledore may be a great wizard, but Lord Voldemort is stronger. Unlike the headmaster, he is constantly improving his magic. And he teaches his closest supporters," she added dreamily.
"Oh, Bella. Don't start that story about Lord again. He's such a sweetheart," Narcissa clearly mimicked her sister. "Lucius also talked my ears off about him. But I believe that a witch's purpose is family. Let the men play politics. Women have more important things to do.
At that moment, the cards in her hands exploded, ruffling her luxurious blonde hair, and the sisters burst into laughter.
"Oh, Narcissa," Andromeda sobbed. "If the Malfoy heir saw you, he would stop courting you immediately.
Narcissa pursed her lips in displeasure, took out her wand and began to tidy her hair with magic.
"Let's go fly on broomsticks!" Sirius jumped up. "I know where the broomsticks are hidden in the house!"
"Then let's hide them," said Orion, who had approached unnoticed and placed his hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Say thank you, son, that Walburga didn't hear you. Jamie," he said to Potter. "Carlos and Dorea are already ready. They're just waiting for you."
James immediately jumped up and began to bid everyone a ceremonious farewell. This served as a signal, and the rest of the guests at the Black family mansion also began to gather and say goodbye to their hosts.
As they left, Magnusson thanked Lord and Lady Black for their wonderful hospitality, and his sincerity made the aristocrats smile. The boy's innate grace and some elusive aura unconsciously lifted everyone's spirits.
When the last guest disappeared into the fireplace and the hosts were left alone, Valburga leaned back in her chair and Orion began to massage her tired feet.
"I never found out who that handsome boy was," she cooed, basking in her husband's strong fingers. "A friend of Sirius, but from what family? I don't remember anyone like him among our acquaintances.
"I thought he was a friend of the Potter heir," Orion replied, without interrupting the massage. "His noble upbringing is obvious, my dear. You don't need to worry about the purity of our son's friends.
"How can I not worry?" sighed Walburga. "Half-bloods and even Muggle-borns study at Hogwarts. I hope Sirius has enough sense to stay away from all that rabble.
"Of course he will, dear. Both Sirius and Regulus received a proper aristocratic upbringing. Don't worry, Val, we've raised wonderful children.
***
patreon.com/posts/7-text-files-7-151893491