Walking a beside a tall woman draped in an emerald cloak, Viaelle made sure to stay attentive of the world around him. Walking out of their family's house, and followed by his parents, he found himself at odds with the situation.
Being a child surrounded by adults who weren't trying to steal his lifespan was… an unnervingly peaceful situation. His soul kept screaming the different counter spells he could cast to obliterate a few dozen scheming adults with rapid aging, but his body did not have the ability to.
And his mind had no reason to abide by its manic calls.
Sighing quietly, the boy sat in the backseat of a brown Vauxhall Cavalier with Professor McGonagall. His parents took the front seats, with his father excitedly starting the engine.
"My boy, when you come back for the holidays, do bring the oldest items you can find! I would love to have a look-see." said the archaeologist, as he spared the emerald witch a glance, "Of course, only if Hogwarts would allow such an academic pursuit."
Professor McGonagall smirked, amused by the curious muggle's behaviour. "As long as the boy here studies well, he could bring a variety of things back home when he gets the Headmaster's permission."
The adults continued to chat, while the young boy stayed silent, listening to what two muggles and a witch could converse over. In his era, muggles sometimes knew more about magic than the wizards and mages themselves.
They brewed the potions, crafted their wands and staves, enchanted their garments, and even taught them high magic. Even if muggles had no magical gene and therefore could not cast magic, they could still govern the world.
Especially when science advanced through enough eras.
Viaelle still remembered the time when he had to slice off a part of his own brain. The memories that he had inherited from a muggle who lived for a few thousand years had been too much to handle. The woman's mind stored secrets and concepts that his feeble own could not hold a candle to.
It was how he learned that even raw knowledge could become a weapon — provided that there was enough of it to overload their target's brains.
'However, even she had not known the recipe responsible for my birth as a slaughter mage…'
While Viaelle was lost in thought, his father had driven them to the nearest station. From there, he and Professor McGonagall were going to commute to London, where they could start ticking off the items on his list.
"Come along now, young Mr. Weaver. We mustn't dawdle — the train waits for no one," said Professor McGonagall as she exited the car. "Mr and Mrs Weaver, thank you kindly for the lift. I was quite enthused by the topics we had."
Stepping out after the professor, Viaelle thought about the Eccentric Era's naming sense. His surname was a rather traumatising title in the far future. So much so that his mind still faced its traces today. Forceful forgetfulness that he could barely remember his own name.
The boy shivered and looked up at the tall woman standing beside him, "So… what now?"
"You follow."
Boarding the British Rail, the young boy mused at the ubiquitous nature of railways and scrutinised the primitive engineering of the era as he habitually did. This was not the first time he was commuting to King's Cross, however, it was the first time he was doing so without his parents.
The lack of restrictions placed on him was a little liberating. No one was going to scold him if he slouched a little. No… maybe someone would. Viaelle eyed the emerald witch beside him.
'Surely not….'
The boy wasn't in the mood to try, so he placed his mind elsewhere. While the train slowly creaked into greater speeds, pulling him past the green landscape, he recalled the image of Professor McGonagall's silent spell casting. Having a rudimentary analysis of the nature of the magic itself, he moved towards the item that made it possible:
The witch's wand.
In his time, wands were no longer the main tool for magic. Instead, the main catalyst for one's magic was aptly adapted for the purpose — murder. For the slaughter mages, this tool had been an artificial network system made out of the bodies of mythical creatures. Like blood vessels for magic, spread throughout their inhuman bodies, capable of rapid regeneration, and full of nasty side effects.
However, it made the slaughter mages powerful, multiplying the effects of their high magic and further allowing them to integrate any foreign body parts as their own.
It was both a feat of magical genius and meticulous medical technology. A terrifying result of combining magic and science.
In comparison, the Hogwarts professor's wand was cleaner, more universal, and sufficiently separated from the witch who used it. It seemed to be a conduit for concentrating one's intent and simple to understand from there.
Point and something and thus, cast magic on that something. The simplicity of it all made Viaelle sigh in relief. He was at least smart enough to understand that.
While the boy drowned in his thoughts, the scenery flashed by until the train arrived in London. It was a beautiful afternoon, and a rare one due to the coming of autumn. The hustle and bustle of King's Cross already bled through the cabin walls.
"We're here, boy. Let us hurry through."
Professor McGonagall stood up and moved through the crowd, leading the way with poise and intimidation which made people think twice about bumping into her. Her long, emerald green cloak was quite eye catching against the backdrop of faded-brown tweed jackets and navy midi skirts.
If the boy still lost sight of his guide in the chaos, he would be disappointed in himself. So, he picked up his pace and matched the professor's speed, walking with a destination in mind. They moved swiftly past book shops and music stores, through the mundane layer of humanity, and all the sights that he had grown up seeing. Sights that blocked his gaze from peering into the world of magic.
'I can't believe I never noticed.'
To be fair, espionage had never been his forte. Being hidden and finding hidden things were usually more tedious than simply blasting the general area into atoms, fulfilling his duty of slaughter.
Thus, secrets usually vanished into the river of time when they were around him. So many mysteries had been poured down the drain because their hiding places were bombed.
Viaelle, who had now become appreciative of culture and art, shook his head.
And eventually, the professor halted in her steps.
"We've arrived," she glanced at her little follower, "at the Leaky Cauldron. Best you remember where we are and what you need to look for."
Said little follower narrowed his eyes. A tiny, grubby-looking pub with nothing to offer other than a shady vibe and lifeless walls. However, he could sense its enchantments, noticing how he had difficulty realising that said pub was even there.
'How quaint,' thought the boy as his guide resumed her stride.
Walking into the pub, he was greeted by an even shabbier interior and a gloomy air. The darkness that seemed to weigh on his eyes was ever present.
At least, until people noticed the figure beside him and a hush befell their chatter. Viaelle watched as a few nodded to acknowledge the tall witch.
"Professor! It's good to see you."