Reincarnation and the Child Who Knew Too Much

Chapter 7

The Marauders gave me three days of peace. On the seventh day after my birthday, Black came to visit us. Again. He came, not walked or Apparated.

The roar of an exhaust pipe, like a large-caliber machine gun, filled the street we were standing on. Well, to be more precise, I was lying in my mother's arms, basking in her magic, while my parents were standing. As practice has shown, even after birth I can draw from my mother's source when I'm lying in her arms or very close to her. It's not as easy anymore, but I can still do it.

So, we stood for about twenty minutes not far from the house, and my parents were very nervous and waiting for someone. Why outside the gate - it's unclear, they could have sat on a bench in the garden. Sirius' arrival defused the situation, though not completely.

This genius of artifacting and part-time biker arrived on a black motorcycle with a sidecar and a motorcycle helmet. The helmet suited him like a saddle on a cow, but either they didn't want to tell him that, or there was no one to tell him. Knowing the attitude of wizards towards Muggle clothing, it was probably the latter. My parents quickly and wordlessly got on the vehicle, taking me with them. They put me and Mom in the sidecar, Dad sat behind Sirius on the motorcycle.

This artifact of artifacting shook considerably, even when we took off. Yes, yes, this jalopy flies. Why does it need an internal combustion engine if it runs on magic? Unclear. But Hagrid will get a great device. If he gets it. Toad, shoo! Shoo, I say! Anyway, we can't take everything, and that's a pity...

We flew quickly, in about twenty minutes. We flew low, just above the cars. But it freed us from traffic jams. The speed was decent, although there were no overloads like on an airplane. I wonder what the Muggles thought when such a cannonade rumbled over their heads? Or do only wizards hear it? Then why? Couldn't he muffle it, or does he like the sound?

Okay, I won't dwell on the quirks of this crazy genius. We arrived at Grimmauld Place. How do I know? Well, our driver told everyone in their ear. Along with the house number, which, as if by magic, although why "as if," by it, my dear, began to push apart the neighboring houses and manifest itself in this world, just like our little house. Fidelius, damn it.

Quickly jumping out of the vehicle onto the not-so-tidy London street, my parents carried me into the house. A gloomy and musty house, I tell you. With an electrified, albeit stale, atmosphere. The mana here was physically palpable, and the sensations from it were not pleasant. I understand why Prongs ran away from here. And no, Walburga, that is, the mistress of the manor, was not in the house, nor was her portrait yet hanging in the hallway. Apparently, the mistress was lured out of the room or left on her own, understanding her son's intentions and not wanting to interfere. Who knows these women.

They dragged me through dark corridors to the basement, to some cobblestone, on which they laid me.

It was dark, damp, and the stone was barely perceptibly zapping with static electricity. Well, maybe not electricity, but it stung my poor back noticeably. They could have put some kind of blanket down to make it more comfortable to lie on!

Hey, adults! What are you up to? Are you going to sacrifice me or something? I won't be silent! I'll get my revenge with my screams!

Mom pulled out a knife from somewhere, Black some kind of bowl, by the way, very beautiful, stone-like, in the color of the altar, that is, black. Okay, don't get distracted, a knife is not a toy for children, and don't poke me with it!

A drop of blood spilled, but I managed to grieve for my life that I never lived. With these lunatics, I'll turn gray before I'm a year old. The Dursleys will be surprised when they get a gray-haired child dumped on them.

While Mom was pricking my finger and drawing blood with this little poker the size of my hand, Black was collecting the blood in a bowl. How did they not cut off my finger? Damn cultists. Then they took blood from everyone present and added some potion to this swill. At the end of this creepy ritual, under Sirius' monotonous muttering, everyone took a sip from the bowl, and even I, very quickly, was dripped with the bloody concoction into my mouth and forced to drink it. About twenty seconds later, a wave of energy emanated from me, like during a spontaneous mana outburst. Everyone present scattered to the sides, and the system rewarded me with plaques.

Ding-a-ling!

A ritual of acceptance into the family has been performed on you! Information about the current state of your lineage is now available for you to view.

Ding-a-ling!

You have been partially connected to the family source! As you are not fully a member of the family, the connection functionality is limited!

Ding-a-ling!

A ritual of magical kinship has been performed on you! An additional magical lineage is now available to you!

So what does all this give me? Well, besides the Black family's craziness. In canon, Potter was вроде a Black godson and was distinguished by a high degree of recklessness. Well, what else can you call an idiot who goes with Expelliarmus against Avada Kedavra? So, there's no discrepancy with canon here. And Kreacher obeyed the boy, albeit reluctantly. You can't explain that with a simple will.

I'm more interested in the family source and its connection to me right now. I don't want curses, but I do want free mana. And I want family gifts, if there are any. Hey! System! Are there any?! What about the lineage? It's silent. Well, fine. I didn't really want to know anyway.

It's time to come back down to earth, my relatives are deigning to get up from the floor. My highborn ones. This time I didn't demolish the wall, and my parents got off easier. There were definitely no fractures. I think so, anyway, or they've learned to keep a straight face when they have fractures.

But it's clear why Walburga wasn't worried about her descendants and wasn't in a hurry to get Sirius out of Azkaban. Malfoy was pulled out, and it was Narcissa, née Black, who pulled him out. And they even skimped on a good lawyer for her brother. They made the last of the family rot behind bars. Now it's clear that he's not the last.