"Professor, are you sure? Leave him with those people... I've been watching them all day. They're the worst Muggles imaginable!
"I'm sure, Minerva," nodded the elderly wizard. "It will be better for the boy to grow up away from his fame. At least until his time comes.
"But these people, Albus... They'll never accept him! You know how much they hate wizards...
"Unfortunately, Professor, that is not for us to decide. Petunia is his only relative on Lily's side. Outside this house, he will be defenceless against those who seek revenge for the death of their master...
"I doubt any of them will be looking for the boy right now," Minerva disagreed. "Many of them will be looking for a way to avoid Azkaban.
"But revenge is a dish best served cold," Albus Dumbledore shrugged. "I assure you, Minerva, the boy is in no danger. I left a letter for Petunia explaining everything that happened and asking her to take care of the boy.
"Do you think a letter will be enough to change Petunia's attitude towards wizards?
"Don't worry. I'm pretty sure she'll be able to raise the boy properly.
There was a howl outside; the giant, who had been standing nearby but had been silent until then, wept bitterly, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and blowing his nose into it.
"Don't be so upset, Hagrid," Dumbledore smiled slightly. "After all, we're only parting with the boy for a while. I'm sure he'll thank us for protecting him from bad influences, because the dark side is still quite strong and influential.
"I... I yes... I'm feeling a bit down," the giant sniffed. "I'll... I'll go, I think. I need to give Sirius his motorbike and everything..."
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded simply, getting up quickly and showing that he was in a hurry. "We should go... I think we should join the celebration. We've had too little to be happy about lately."
The company disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. And now the only thing that reminded one of these people was a small child wrapped in patchwork blankets. However, soon — perhaps three minutes later — a huge crow (almost twice as large as it should have been) swooped down from a branch of an apple tree growing on a neighbouring plot and landed on the bundle. The huge bird examined the bundle with interest for a while, tilting it slightly with its claw to get a better look at the contents, and then, enveloping itself in a semi-transparent black mist, turned into the figure of an adult man.
He looked to be about forty years old. Maybe even forty-five. He was thin as a stick. His skin was pale, like Italian marble. He had long black hair that reached his shoulders. His blue eyes seemed to be frozen with ice. He was dressed in old-fashioned clothes — a suit with a waistcoat and a dark blue, almost black frock coat. In his hands he held a black wooden cane with a silver knob, but it was clearly more for the sake of appearance than for walking. The wizard's gaze literally pierced the child wrapped in blankets. It seemed as if the magician was struggling with himself, unable to make a decision. However, his completely pale and emotionless face, as if carved from stone, did not reveal the slightest hint of the wizard's true intentions.
Finally, after a long minute of reflection, the magician nodded to himself, whispering, addressing either himself or the infant, from whom he did not take his icy gaze:
"Interesting... Are you a worthy heir to the Eternal One? You look more like a rather unsuccessful attempt at flesh construction... However, it is not for me to decide, although I would much rather send you beyond the Edge...
The Master listened to his surroundings and smiled.
"We have guests, little one... Very nice and interesting guests...
The wizard turned around, and a magic wand appeared from his cane, along with the knob. The sorcerer ran it across his palm, and blood dripped onto the ground in front of him. The Master closed his eyes, enjoying the wave of magic he had awakened. Of course, blood magic was forbidden in Britain, but who and when, apart from Muggle-borns and Dumbledore's supporters, had that ever stopped anyone? Especially considering the power that using blood as a source of magic for spells gave...
"Testimonium Mortis!
Several emerald flashes shot out of the wand and darted in different directions. Almost simultaneously, several cats that had been loitering here and there on Yew Street fell down dead, as did a rather elderly-looking woman who had been watching the proceedings through the eyes of a certain Mr. Paw. The wizard nodded approvingly, healed the cut with a gesture, and turned back to the boy.
"So you are protected by your mother's magic? Well, the Eternal One is not mistaken. And if it is your destiny to be my ticket to the Abyss, so be it. The heir of the Eternal One will not languish among Muggles. I will take care of everything and accept this test, even though it is not to my liking...
The mage knelt down, his eyes flashing with the cold of the Abyss. The wand danced in his hands, leaving a glowing white-blue rune on the ground after each movement. The fact that he was drawing a rune outline on the lawn of a house belonging to Muggles he didn't know didn't bother the master in the slightest. After all, what did a single rune circle mean compared to someone in Scotland causing a meteor shower? Finally, after seven minutes, the intricate pattern was complete, and the master carried the child, wrapped in blankets, inside the circle, whose runes instantly flashed a little brighter, and took a strange-looking dagger from his belt. The flat, very narrow blade of dark, probably blackened metal was almost entirely covered with numerous runes, very similar to those that had been used to draw the circle. The master made another cut on his palm without even wincing — such manipulations must have been part of his regular practice.
"By blood and magic. By the power of Darkness and Shadows. I beg you, Eternal One, to accept my call and my decision," whispered the master, paying no attention to how everything around him darkened, plunging into impenetrable gloom, nor to the truly icy wind that chilled him to the bone and grew stronger with every word he spoke. "I, master and servant of your cause in this world and in all other worlds, named Gideon by your will, call upon you, Eternal One... I call upon you and ask you to give me as my apprentice this child whom you have named your heir. I call upon you with words bound by magic and my blood, and with sacrifices made in your glory. I swear to teach him everything I know. I swear to protect him and care for him as I should. I swear that I will not allow your work to fall. I have spoken, and so it shall be...
The master sighed, sensing the presence of an incredibly powerful force beside him. Eternal. All masters of Death magic — now so few in number — know this feeling. Her mere presence meant that the oath had been accepted. She was pleased. And that meant she would not leave during the ritual. The master gripped the dagger more tightly in his hands. He had done this before. The child woke up just as the blade passed through the bones of the rib cage and pierced the heart. The infant gasped, suffocating and losing the golden magical threads of life so carefully guarded by mere mortals, replacing them with pale blue threads connecting it to the Eternal One. The blade, sensing the victim's blood, flared with a pale blue flame, consuming a piece of the future apprentice's soul. It was the blade's well-deserved reward for its work. The Eternal One touched the scar on the boy's forehead, which also lit up with a pale fire at her touch — but only for a brief moment.
Master Gideon sighed, and a crystal that looked like it was made of ice appeared in his left palm (his right hand still held the dagger that pierced the heart of the child, who was still alive, though slowly dying). In fact, it was ice. But not ordinary ice, but a crystal chipped off the Granite that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead. It was the rarest and most precious mineral in the world of wizards, and many wizards would have given their right hand or left kidney for the smallest fragment. A touch of the dagger and the crystal instantly melted, flowing down to the tip of the blade, penetrating the heart and soul, binding them and sealing them inside the body. Nine seconds. It was not for nothing that death magic professionals considered the number nine to be as sacred as ordinary magicians considered the number seven. Nine seconds is all it takes for an irreversible process to take place, during which a piece of ice forever replaces part of the heart of the newly minted necromancer. The dagger slowly left the terrible wound, the edges of which instantly froze over, leaving only a scar on the skin, glowing dimly with a lifeless light.
"The heir is dead. Long live the heir..." whispered Gideon, watching the child breathe again and gesturing to remove the rune circle. When he was done, he picked up the slightly bloodstained bundle. "It's time, little one. Time to go home.
***
"Faster! Faster! Move! Another lap! You're not a sorcerer, you're a pregnant minotaur! Move! The undead won't spare you!
The body of a teenager, dressed in something resembling a tracksuit, rushed past and was already on the fifth lap of the obstacle course, casting spells on the targets, which were played by corpses raised from the nearby cemetery. They were quite aggressive targets, it must be said — he had no intention of sparing his student. So, once they got close enough, the "targets" could tear the novice to pieces. The apprentice, however, had no intention of giving up. Instead, he simply cast various spells at the most zealous targets. The old master watched his apprentice with interest. Well, well... Who would have thought fifteen years ago that a baby blue with cold would grow into such a talented apprentice? And Harry was talented, even though the master tried not to show it — you can't praise a neophyte necromancer too much, or he'll get cocky... And pride and complacency had harmed too many. They didn't kill him, of course — you can't kill an immortal that easily — but they hurt him very badly.A little over fourteen years had passed since their first meeting. To be completely honest, the master had literally stolen the baby from the doorstep of the house where he had been abandoned. However, he did not blame himself in the least — those people would never have accepted the heir to the Eternal One. What were the wizards thinking, leaving this child with Muggles? Although, no... They probably weren't thinking at all — several particularly important people had long been thinking for the wizards of Britain. The true rulers of magical Britain, not that misunderstanding sitting in the chair of the Minister of Magic...
Be that as it may, Harry Potter had been living with his teacher for fourteen years now. And it couldn't be said that it hadn't done him any good. Gideon wondered what might have happened if he hadn't taken the boy from the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive. The family who lived in that house had another child — apparently the owners' own son. Over the course of those fourteen years, Dudley — that was the name of that parody of a young whale — had grown into a real scumbag, capable only of humiliating the weak and grovelling before the strong. In such a family, Potter would have grown up either a beaten, quiet child, unable even to raise his head and ready to follow anyone who showed him the slightest kindness, or a seasoned predator, ready to pounce on anyone who looked at him askance. Neither case, of course, implied normal, reasonable behaviour. Did the heir to the Eternal deserve such a fate? Of course not.
"Master, the task is complete.
Gideon glanced at the teenager. He was thin and sinewy, like any other servant of death — being in poor physical shape, a necromancer would not live long. There was no hint of fatigue on his face; after all, such training was a daily occurrence. Pale as marble — but when you have a fragment of the Facets in your chest, having slightly more colour in your skin or blushing is no trivial task. His shoulder-length hair was a personal whim, born of a desire to resemble his master in every way. His emerald-green eyes seemed completely lifeless, devoid of emotion... The latter was more a habit than a necessity. When you encounter manifestations of non-life almost every day, meditate and engage in protecting your own mind, you develop a habit of constantly keeping a stony and even slightly arrogant face, although the latter is more likely the fault of etiquette lessons. A wave of his hand cleanses his body and clothes, and the stick, which just a few seconds ago the student used to destroy corpses that were not exactly fresh, literally dances in his fingers, removing protective spells, cleansing and restoring the body.
"Good. Go change your clothes — I'll be waiting for you at breakfast. I have something important to tell you.
"As you wish, Master.
There was a muffled thud as Harry transgressed, and the old master shook his head. A boy... Just a boy, even if he was a professionally trained death mage. It was only a quarter of an hour walk home. What could be better than strolling along the stone-paved path, relaxing and enjoying the surprisingly warm August morning? At worst, he could fly the same distance in the form of a raven. But no... He had to use space magic... He had taught him, and now he was paying for it... Never mind... A new environment would surely put this fool in his place.
Of course, the master did not want to let go of his talented student and loyal assistant, but alas... Potter's parents were clearly not the brightest people, since they signed a contract for his education at Hogwarts when he was born. They even swore on his behalf, effectively determining the child's fate without his consent. Of course, it was easy for an experienced master to find a loophole in the contract — at Hogwarts, the word "education" meant "passing the OWLs and N.E.W.T.s as part of the school class." However, according to equally ridiculous rules, in order to take either exam, one had to be in the graduating class. However, the master did not despair. The student still needed to socialise with wizards of his own age group. The master insisted that the student complete the entire school curriculum, albeit as an external student, because attending a Muggle school and walking around the magical world among Muggles was not enough. The student had to learn how to behave among wizards. And with his skills, under the watchful, albeit not entirely obvious, eye of his mentor, survival was more of a problem for Hogwarts than for his protégé...
Gideon took an envelope with the Hogwarts crest out of his bag.
"Good luck, Harry Potter..."
***
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