Tenebris Сardinalis

Harold frowned, looking at the strange waves in the air — blue and red flashes clearly indicated that the woman sitting in front of him was in a huff. But this didn’t bother the boy much, he was used to the constant anger around him — it was bitter and felt like something insipid, something pale cold and heavy. The look of brown eyes expressed the same emotions as the tangle of bright flashes around. The strange thing was that only he saw it, and if he had told someone about it, he would most likely haven’t been understood. No, it was much worse, he would have been branded as unsound, as a spawn of hell. “Normal” people did not have this and Harold just was a deviation from this norm. Not that it bothered him in any way. He was not touched by someone else’s contempt, possible hatred, any emotions directed towards him. He could do more than any of them. Of course he could have silenced Mrs. Penston. He could make her writhe in pain on the floor, greedily catching her weak moans and screams. He had already done this once with one of the girls when she allowed herself to be rude. And then Harold was just lucky that she died before she had time to tell anything. “Harold! Did you listen to what I was saying?” the caretaker of the orphanage just sighed, shaking her head. Perhaps she was smart, this one woman who did not issue him openly. “Yes, ma’am. A visitor has come to me, and I have to be polite to him.” “And no tricks,” she added with emphasis. “Certainly, ma’am. No tricks.” Harold dropped his gaze on the shabby socks of sneakers. Standing here in the stuffy office, smelling of alcohol and cloying perfumes, he wondered who that visitor might be. Potential guardians, someone from charitable foundations could come to the shelter, it could even be parents who suddenly came to their senses and decided to take their child away. Harold did not deceive himself, knowing that none of the listed ones could be interested in him. He didn’t know his parents at all, and they had never shown any interest in him in all thirteen years. Why would they do it now? “Clever cookie,” the caretaker nodded peacefully. “Go ahead.” Harold nodded and left the stuffy office. The corridor was drowned in a light semidarkness, dimly voices and laughter could be heard somewhere in the distance. He felt cut off from that carefree world, knew that he would never become a part of it. Others also knew this. They were afraid of him, even if they didn’t show it, looked arrogantly, teased and pinched him in the dark corners of the shelter. Oh, there were a lot of these corners here, and Harold probably already remembered every one. His fists clenched in silent anger and resentment, his exhalation was drowned in the rustling wind blowing through all the corridors of the orphanage. He jerked the door open and froze warily; the shadows around him thickened, retreating with a soft rustle, hiding in the folds of crumpled sheets and in the air full of grief and childish despair. Harold felt something new before he even saw the visitor. And this is something he was very exciting. At first, he did not even immediately distinguish the presence of someone else because of the bright, blinding light that illuminated the room, and only then did he feel the heaviness. But this heaviness was different from the one he felt in the presence of people, it was radically different from the others. It looked like his own. “Harold Wells, am I right?” a figure separated from one of the shadows, also wrapped in all impenetrable black, as if it was a continuation, part of the darkness from which it came. Only more intense, with sharp cheekbones and piercing gaze. “My name is Severus Snape. I came to talk to you.” Harold frowned. He sensed a certain danger coming from a stranger. However, the visitor himself was also in no hurry to come closer, standing between the shadows and looking at him with faint interest. “Who are you?” coping with himself, Harold still went into the room and closed the door behind him. It was impossible to look at ease, this person caused too mixed feelings in him, perhaps even something like fear. “Like I said, I’m Severus Snape,” the visitor replied, as if deciding something for himself. In the next moment, something happened that put Harold into a stupor. The man waved his palm, and the small room, previously painted in gray, which made its way through the cloudy window, was painted in richly bright colors. The white highlights of artificial light fell on the yellowed, sagging wallpaper and pieces of cracked concrete under them. A small flash of light soared in the air above the visitor’s head — it was so bright that just looking at it made eyes water. But Harold continued to look at the manifestation of the miracle. He himself was able to create different things, and often considered himself special. Now his world has been shaken by the realization of one important detail. He wasn’t the only one. “It’s magic,” the man said simply, and a grin flashed on his lips. “You can do these things too, Harold. But this requires training, you need to learn how to control it. In this I can help,” the light disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and with it the greyness and facelessness returned to the room.” Magic. It had a taste and even a color, Harold looked more closely at Snape, discerning how a web consisting of different bright threads blossomed around him in a small knot. However, in places a gap appeared, consisting as if of a cluster of black holes or ink blots, giving out a slight imperfection of the pattern. The magic of this man had the smell of bitterness and rain, it resembled rebellion and frost. Strange, two-faced, incomprehensible. Entrancing. “Are you… the same as me?” the boy asked with slight excitement and immediately tensed up. The man seemed more amused by this, and he grinned approvingly, as if he expected something like this from him. “Yes, Harold, I’m just like you. In fact, there are many of us. A small world, closed under layers of illusions,” the visitor’s words poured like sweet molasses. His speeches were exciting and awe-inspiring, forced to believe, the heart trembled. “And all young wizards attend a school where they are taught witchcraft. For example, I teach potions there.” “Potions?” Harold tasted this unfamiliar word before and shot a wary but inquisitive glance in the direction of the interlocutor. “What kind of science is potion making? And… school, where is it?” He wanted to ask questions to the point of stupefaction, because the professor had proved that he had something in common with Harold, and if he was a wizard, and if he was not lying and really came from the world where magic is as natural as air, then he wanted to know more. Mr. Snape, with another careless wave of his palm, conjured a chair for himself. Harold watched with admiration the overflows of strange energy, as it turned from viscous into liquid, similar to air smoke. The chair didn’t just appear in the middle of the room, it seemed to be drawn, obeying the magician-artist, and Harold was amazed at how accurately the professor managed to convey all the details of this piece of furniture. Snape arched a mocking eyebrow and sat down impressively on the makeshift throne. “Hogwarts is not tied to specific coordinates, and even if you knew them, you still wouldn’t be able to get there. The train will take you on the first of September. I’ll tell you about potions at school,” the corners of the professor’s lips twitched. “You already know how to… do magic, don’t you?” Harold went to the next, already real, chair and sat down. It creaked under the pressure of his weight, carrying an unpleasant sound around the room. “Y-yes,” Harold muttered uncertainly and looked away. “When I’m angry, I can hurt someone, or when I need something, this thing appears to me at the same moment. And also…” he stopped, looking at the silent listener with disbelief. “I can also talk to snakes, sir.” Harold thought that since the professor was also a magician, it must be that all this would not become something unnatural for him. The teacher’s face did not move a single muscle, he really did not show any surprise. “So everyone can, right?” Harold stammered, fiddling with the edges of his shapeless jacket. “Yes and no,” the professor muttered evasively. “Magic is a complicated science, Harold. Not everyone manages to subordinate her to control without a wand. And, frankly, not everyone can do it even with a wand. Without a doubt, you are a very talented young man. Can I ask you something?” he leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees and locking his fingers together. His gaze became heavier and no longer expressed that serenity.” “Yes?..” “Don’t tell anyone that you can talk to snakes. And never show it to anyone. This is very important, Harold,” the professor demanded with emphasis, luring his eyes into the abyss of black tunnels. “Why, sir?” Harold tensed. “You said that… not everyone, but many can. I thought it was…” “It’s a dark gift, Mr. Wells,” the professor interrupted him rudely. “In the magical world, you can be considered a dark wizard, even despite your age. It’s dangerous.” Harold wanted to ask what was so dark about talking to snakes, but swallowed his words when the professor raised his palm, calling him to silence. Clenching his fists, Harold looked down. “So, before we go to the magic shopping alley, I can give you some more time to ask questions. I’m sure you have a lot of them, but I’ll answer only a few, choose wisely,” professor’s voice exuded all the calmness of the world with a slight detachment. What to ask about? Harold wanted to ask about a lot of things — starting from magic itself and ending with the sciences that are taught at Hogwarts. But all thoughts suddenly settled down in an even pile, and Harold, without planning it, asked the most exciting question: “Did you know my parents?” It was probably stupid to ask such things. Maybe the professor was not familiar with them, or maybe the name Wells did not exist there at all, but it was given to him here at the orphanage. He realized how ludicrously and wasted his question was. Already ready for the professor to shake his head in surprise, he did not immediately hear a quiet, as if it were some kind of secret, “yes.” Raising his head, Harold stared in disbelief at the calm man. His heart suddenly began to gallop, and his throat squeezed so hard that it became difficult to breathe. Excitement washed over him like an avalanche, sweeping away all other thoughts. “Why?” the boy just whispered. There must have been something in his gaze that caused pity or maybe sympathy, but the professor gave up and the mask of cold indifference wavered for a moment. He smiled a little, reaching out his hand to the boy’s palm and squeezed, expressing support. “I can’t tell you everything, Harold. Many secrets do not belong only to me,” he replied quietly, with a look as if asking for forgiveness. “But I knew your mother very well. She was an outstanding sorceress. As for the father… Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. Lily didn’t tell me about her… personal life. I knew she had someone, but I never saw him.” Harold licked his lips, eagerly catching every word of the professor. “Your mother died shortly after she sent you here. I understand your grievances, it seems to you that everyone has abandoned you, betrayed you and… you will be right,” professor chuckled, sitting up straight again and folding his arms on his chest. “There was a war going on in our world at that time, Harold. People were dying on it, a lot of people. Your mother made a mistake that she paid for. And no one was supposed to know that she had given birth. It’s only because you’re here that you’re still alive. Try not to talk about what I’ve told you at Hogwarts. Lily doesn’t have the best reputation.” Harold felt a heaviness in his chest, as if a lump in his throat had fallen into his stomach with a hollow noise. His insides tightened, thoughts raced in a chaotic mess. He wanted to know so much about his mother… He often imagined what kind of parents he had. He always wanted to believe that his parents had some very important mission, because of which they were forced to leave him in the orphanage. No, of course, by the age of ten he had finally come to terms with the fact that he had been abandoned. He accepted this truth. But now new facts have been revealed — his mother left him not because she had nowhere to go or had no money, not because she was a drug addict. She protected him. And let it be in a strange way, but she hid it away from others eyes, away from that war and despair in which she probably drowned herself. No, Harold did not feel pity or mercy for her, didn’t look for some stupid and now unnecessary excuses for her. But why, then, is it so bitter at the realization that she is dead? That important detail of the huge puzzle seemed to have disappeared, and it can no longer be glued back. He didn’t even want to think about his father. If mom was connected by some secret and, for sure, if he really can believe the professor’s stories, belonged to one of the factions in that phantom war that he didn’t know about, then dad could also be part of something frightening. “Do you really want to know who he is?” — a mocking voice asked in his head, and Harold realized that he wasn’t ready yet. Most likely, he did not know about his existence at all. “Thank you,” Harold whispered softly and looked at the professor. “I promise that I won’t talk about it with anyone.” And why would he even talk about himself and his life with strangers? He had no sympathy at all for people and for society as a whole, adults often lied, said only what was beneficial to them. Even the professor was withholding something. Harold could see it by the lilac weaves that enveloped the man’s head. Harold knew when he was being lied to, but he didn’t talk about it. The professor didn’t lie about his mother and probably didn’t even lie that he didn’t know anything about his father. But… something inside him whispered that he was not telling something. Very convenient. He didn’t seem to lie, but he didn’t tell the whole truth either. And Harold firmly decided for himself that when he was ready for the truth that was hiding in those knowing eyes of a man, he would definitely find out. “Do you have any other questions?” asked the professor. Harold bit his lip and tilted his head as if thinking. “Sir, can I leave this opportunity for the future?” Professor Snape chuckled knowingly. Something like respect flashed in the man’s eyes Harold thought that he would be able to find answers to some of his questions at Hogwarts. Since both of his parents are from the magical world, then there must be at least some information about them. He wasn’t sure that the answers would be easy to find, he wasn’t even sure that he would find anything at all. Of course, he could have spent his question on information about his mother — it would have been easier to search if he had known her last name or something about relatives. But he didn’t. In the end, if nothing works out, then he can always use this backup option. “Oh, yes, that’s right. I completely forgot,” the professor’s sharp voice made the boy shudder. Harold blinked stupidly, noticing the envelope in the man’s hands. “This is a letter from Hogwarts, there is also a train ticket inside.” With a trembling hand, Harold turned the envelope over and saw that it was sealed with a purple wax seal decorated with a coat of arms. The coat of arms depicted a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake, in the middle — a large letter H, and below, in a small ornate handwriting, his name and address were printed. Opening the envelope, Harold ran his eyes over the lines. It really was a letter in which Director Albus Dumbledore claimed that he was enrolled in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he was expected on the first of September. Below was a list of things that Harold needed to buy, and his lungs contracted again from the unpleasant and suffocating realization. The most important thing. “But, professor, sir, I don’t have… money,” he was amazed at how deaf and pathetic his voice was. “Don’t worry about that, Harold. We have a fund for orphaned students like you. But you are lucky that before… death, your mother left money in your name and asked me to take care that you do not need anything, at least for the next few years.” The professor fished out a small pouch from somewhere in the folds of his shapeless black mantle. “In the Magical world, we have other money and, accordingly, here you will not be able to buy anything with it, and muggles, touching this money, will be cursed,” he also put the pouch next to the dumbfounded and ready to be outraged boy. “Anticipating your indignation about the fact that it was worth giving them to you earlier, then — no. This is the money your mother left for studies. As soon as you get old enough and become more responsible, I will gladly give everything that Lily left you. But for now, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep it. I don’t need them, I’m well-off enough to buy at least three shelters like this if I want.” Harold drooped. He had money that he could spend on something important and useful. Surely the magical world was full of riddles and various information. It was his money. And the professor had no right to keep them! But he was even more offended by this man. He was rich, he knew his mother, and he knew that Harold lived here! Why couldn’t he just take him in? Protect? At least to visit? Bitterness sprouted inside with prickly appendages. Harold preferred not to think about the fact that this man owed him nothing. He was just pounding from the very realization that Snape knew about his situation and had not helped in any way during these thirteen years! “And how do we get to that magical shopping area?” Harold asked, pushing away unpleasant thoughts. He will think about revenge later, when he settles into a new world for him. “We will have to apparate,” the professor stood up and looked down at the sitting and confused boy. Inhaling, he explained: “Apparation is a way of instantaneous movement in space. From one place to another, over a long distance. In the fifth year you will be able to learn this. Grab my hand.” The boy still hasn’t fully figured out how to treat the professor, how much he can be trusted. But there was no choice — he either goes with the professor, who caused only a lot of questions, or refuses, and then he will have to find his way to Diagon Alley himself. Noticing the mocking look of the black eyes, Harold forcefully grabbed the professor’s hand, and the next moment everything spun before his eyes, and his insides seemed to be squeezed into a painful lump.