White ceiling. White walls. That has been my world for who knows how many days now...
Physically, I'm almost fine — magical medicine does work miracles, after all. Let's be honest, magical medicine is far superior to Muggle medicine, even that of the 21st century, let alone the end of the 20th. All that remains is a slight ache, a reminder of the injuries, and a strange weakness. The latter is a consequence of severe magical exhaustion. That's all that's left of the injuries that once threatened my life. It's strange to understand that you had a broken arm, three broken ribs, bruises and wounds all over your body, and sprained ligaments, yet you don't remember how you got them, that pain, or even how they were treated. Although, that's a lie — I did experience part of the treatment. And I don't want any more of it.
A broken arm? Child's play for Healers. Heck, even ordinary wizards who've studied a bit of magical medicine can fix that. I should probably start studying this branch of magical art, and with high priority. My healing took longer because, apparently, I spent a long time with a broken bone, and according to the doctors, they kept me alive by pumping me full of large doses of strengthening potions to prevent me from kicking the bucket. There was even a makeshift splint and an attempt to mend the bones, but something interfered with the healing. In short, the improperly healed parts had to be removed with a spell, and I spent a whole day growing a new bone and let me tell you, that was pure agony. Very painful and unpleasant. Now I understand Harry with his injury... which, in theory, should happen in the future... but I'm not sure I haven't messed everything up.
The broken ribs, fortunately, didn't damage any organs, only bruised some nearby soft tissue. Everything else — dislocations, bruises, palms and knees torn to the flesh — have almost healed and will likely disappear without a trace. Moving my arm still hurts, but I'm already on my feet, and that can't but please me.
But that's the only thing that does.
I remember the moment I woke up. How I... freaked out from the dull, all-over body ache and... emptiness. An emptiness in my memory that drove me to hysterics. The last thing clearly etched in my memory is packing up before the final lesson with Master Renodier. I was still thinking about the serious talk Selene and I had to have with Madame Isabelle and planning to discuss everything with her after the lesson. And then — a void. Absolute emptiness, followed by the hospital, not as a splice, but as a memory of emptiness. As if there was a place where something should be, but it isn't. I might not have noticed such strangeness if I weren't an Occlumens.
I literally felt the gap in my memory, which was surprising because it shouldn't be like that. The effect of Obliviate, which was used, even though it crudely interferes with memory — hence the traces of magical influence — shouldn't make the memory so clearly feel the emptiness. I even had a rough idea of how much was missing. That is, according to the Mentalist who told me everything, including the use of Obliviate on me, there should have been a splice. I shouldn't have felt this lack...
When the nurse, in an overly cheerful voice, informed me that I was in St. Mungo's Hospital, my world shrank to the size of this ward. St. Mungo's. So, it's serious, I thought then. Father's guard at the door, in response to my direct question "What happened?", merely lowered his gaze and remained silent. But that silence was more eloquent than any words. The situation was so terrible that they were afraid to tell me, the victim, the truth without permission. I think if he had told me, he wouldn't be working for our family anymore.
Then Mother burst in. Her worried face and attempts to find out what happened... even though she knew about the memory erasure... Oh, Merlin, I'd give anything to remember everything and tell her. I stayed silent, hiding behind a mask the chilling horror that began to eat away at me from the inside. The fact that traces of crude mental interference were found. Most likely, Obliviate... it's literally written in the diagnosis.
My memory was erased, I understood that, but when the Mentalist told me everything and made the diagnosis... from that moment, my panic turned into hysteria. I don't want to remember those moments of weakness. I hate feeling weak. Ugh.
And now I considered myself not just a convalescent. I was a victim... I was kidnapped, returned after the ransom without my wand and belongings, but most importantly — without my memory.
And the consequences of this robbery manifested in the most insidious ways.
The doctors warned about a frequent side effect of Obliviate — impaired time perception. It would pass quickly, but it was bad that they were right. I could look out the window at the blinding sun and be absolutely sure it was the dead of night, then suddenly catch my thought and be surprised because it is the dead of night! Or wake up fully ready to pack for Hogwarts, since it's already September, and again realize with horror these white walls. It was awful. To feel that your own mind had become an unreliable guide to reality. Almost like first year.
Twice during these days, I was hit by panic attacks. It was unbearable. Suddenly, my heart would start pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My breath would catch, and my vision would darken. A fine, uncontrollable tremor would run through my body.
In those moments, I wasn't afraid of anything specific, but of everything. I was afraid I'd lose not a few days, but all my memory. That they'd come now and erase the rest, or that an apparently impossible but possible-in-my-head terrible side effect with a one-in-a-million chance would manifest, and my memory would slowly disappear, my brain degrading. That my "self" would dissolve in this white void, and I'd be left as no one... in short, I was scared and I was afraid...
I sat there, clutching the sheets, trying to convince myself I was safe, that there were guards outside the door, but inside everything screamed from one realization: I allowed someone to capture me! They defeated me! They humiliated me, humiliated my family! And they erased my memory of it! Sometimes it all started to wash over me, urging something terrible. I felt the emotion of anger washing over my mind like a wave...
What was even scarier was the question — what else did they do before? What if they implanted mental triggers... though that's unlikely, given my natural magical defenses. Honestly, if it weren't for such a crude tool as Obliviate, which affects the mind very roughly (hence the crude but extremely powerful magical effect through the wand), they wouldn't have been able to erase my memory. For mental triggers, you need to be a real mastodon in the field and have extreme control. In my case, simple, crude power through a wand spell wouldn't have worked, and for subtle influence... I'm afraid few in the whole world could...
I feverishly combed through my memories, using all my knowledge in mental magic, trying to remember anything, find any hint of the enemy. Who would need this? Various options arose. Even primitive ones, like cunning scumbags deciding to brazenly make a fortune... after all, if they were enemies, they would have killed me, even after getting the gold.
My thoughts reached far more frightening ones. Could it have been the
Millefeuilles? Not for money, but to hide the motive and shift suspicion? But my gut, my supposed ability to understand people, was sure they weren't involved. Maybe it was some part of the French elite I had interfered with? But that would have been too hard for them to pull off. Too far, too many factors, and too little information... unless, of course, there were "very" loose lips in the manor.
I also had suspicions about enemies from Hogwarts, but there I definitely had no enemies capable of such a thing. Children couldn't have organized this, and adults were unlikely to arrange it over school mischief...
Except for one case... maybe the Unsworths, whose plans I thoroughly ruined just by playing in the sandbox. But when I shared my suspicions and the motive with my father, he severely scolded me; honestly, if I weren't in the hospital, he would have punished me with a caning for sure, maybe worse. After all, it was the first time he learned what I'd done at school, and his words clearly expressed how stupid it was. I tried to justify myself by saying I didn't know the full story, but I understood. It wasn't worth it... I shouldn't have ruined Benedict Unsworth's life like that. But in the end, Father said that Godfrey Unsworth, the head of their family, was sensible enough not to pull such a stunt. He even told me to apologize at school, and that he would speak with the head of their family, Godfrey Unsworth, himself. Why did that name sound so familiar... I didn't understand... as if I'd heard it before... maybe someone at school said...
Anyway, although the kidnappers haven't been found yet — because the demands specified leaving the gold in an expanded-space bag. They were afraid to try any tricks with surveilling the drop-off location to catch the kidnappers, considering I was supposed to be transferred to an agreed-upon place only after they got the gold. Otherwise, they could have killed me... There were many ways to secure the deal, so Father was afraid to openly try to catch the kidnappers with potential consequences; he preferred a more delicate method. It was clear that as soon as I was found at the designated place, they started scouring the second location immediately, but it was clean.
So, to get a lead on them, Father had to choose a safer method for my life, albeit without guarantees. No matter how you look at it, my life was more important than revenge for that life. Because it was stated in the ransom demands that I'd be killed if there was even a suspicion of surveillance.
Why did Father agree to such terrible exchange terms? What else could he do? Yes, they could have killed me anyway, even after getting the gold. But the kidnappers probably understood that then they'd be pursued for the rest of their lives. If they only wanted money — giving a reason to turn all of Britain upside down... well, that's not a great decision. And if they were family enemies, they likely didn't need such money and would have simply killed me.
It made no sense to plant a tracking device or something similar in the bag with the gold — you can't track through expanded space. But attempts were made anyway. Of course, a tracking device would have been noticed, but you can't check millions of Galleons. However, a couple thousand coins were cursed with a blood ritual — as soon as that money was taken out of the bag, they'd be found. Their end.
That cheered me up. Besides, there were other methods: for example, some coins were marked with hidden ink to trace the money flow. And also, as soon as my body appeared via Portkey, they immediately tried to trace it, but apparently the Portkey was activated not where I was held — because nothing was found in the area where my portal opened.
Probably, the person sent me off quickly and immediately secured himself through a chain of Apparitions from pursuit.
In short, the one who planned this scheme was clearly no fool. But Father is no fool either. And besides this, he tried many other things to find the culprits. I'm sure he left plenty of nasty surprises for their capture, but he decided not to tell me. The kidnappers are still unknown... I hope one day we find and destroy these vermin.
For now... I've developed a new hang-up. Portkeys! The mere thought of them evokes a wave of aversion. I'll try to stay away from Portkeys... It's no joke, but I've become too jumpy, or rather, paranoid. I flinched when a doctor entered the ward, and only when one of Father's guards stepped over the threshold after him could I exhale in relief. Their presence was the only anchor in this sea of fear.
But, paradoxically, more than many things, one simple, material thing upset me. Or rather, two. My trunk and my wand. They weren't with me. Everything I'd saved, everything I'd acquired, everything... even the books I'd collected for my mini-library, rare ingredients from France, including interesting things like poisons banned here...
There were also gifts and souvenirs I wanted to give out at school... but all of it was gone. I felt robbed to the bone. And my wand... my perfect ebony wand... with a dragon heartstring core...
I really liked it. It's unlikely any other wand will ever feel as natural as the first one. Most wizards keep their first wand for life, and those who changed wands say the first wand is never forgotten — it's always the most special. Now I'll have to go for a new one. It felt like betrayal. As if I'd lost a part of myself and now would replace that lost part with a new piece... unaccustomed and not as harmonious as the original.
The only thing that provided any consolation was the Marauder's Map, which I'd left at home. It didn't work outside Hogwarts anyway, so I'd left it in my quarters at Malfoy Manor. But that was cold comfort against everything else. I sat on the bed, clenching my almost-healed hands into fists, and swore to myself that I would get everything back. Everything to the last grain. And those who did this... I will find them. And then they'll regret not finishing me off when they had the chance...
But for now, I couldn't use magic freely due to the residual effects of severe magical exhaustion. I had to make do with simple alchemical transformations — turning anything into anything else. At least thanks to the fact that the transformation occurred through a circle, the magic flow didn't strain my magical system at all. In short, it was my only amusement besides the books and letters from acquaintances that were brought to me — literally from everyone in the know. And everyone was in the know.
An amazing level of public awareness, considering the lack of even basic telephones. If we had phones, Father would have known immediately that I'd been sent, and then Madame Isabelle and Father would have quickly realized something was wrong. And then professionals could have traced and found the place I was taken through the residual trail of Apparition. But by the time they figured it out, there were no traces left.
As I understood from the stories, the fact that I'd been kidnapped was finally confirmed after maybe half a day or a day. And when Father had already mobilized all state and private forces, such a "bummer" with the ransom arrived.
And, perhaps, I knew how to solve this problem. But not now — in the future. Fortunately, there were existing developments like linked mirrors, and all I had to do was be the first to refine these mirrors so they could connect to multiple others, and also devise an identification and encryption method to remove the distance problem through mesh networks, like they do now with the Floo network. And then there'd be a ready-made Skype... well, video communication. And from that, much more interesting things could be created. But that's all for the future. For now, I had to keep digging into my own mind.
***
Perhaps this has been my most eventful summer... I lived in France for a month and a half, visited all the magical districts there, met distant relatives, began studying alchemy... I wonder, did Master Renodier say anything to me? Some parting words or something? Ahhh... Truly the most eventful summer, because I was also kidnapped. Too bad that's not in my memory. I hope I at least inconvenienced them while they were getting the ransom. Hmmm... maybe that's why I had the injuries?
On the fourth day, by the way, I was discharged from the hospital, and home treatment began under the supervision of the family Healer — Eldred Wainwright. By the way, an extremely authoritative specialist. He visited our home several times a day and continued my treatment.
Towards the end of the treatment, when he prescribed a recovery course including strengthening potions, I consulted with him about special strengthening potions — not just for recovery, but for overall physical fortification. After that, I had a small lecture, which my speedy-writing quill took notes on for me... a new one... Like I said, in my trunk, I had everything except Darth, and that's only because Darth is a living creature.
Anyway, in the end, the respected Healer even prescribed me a permanent course of special strengthening potions that I could take for a couple of months, then take a month's break, and continue. According to the Healer, this specific subtype of strengtheners, taken this way, wouldn't cause any side effects or affect harmonious physical development. On the contrary — it would stimulate well during physical exertion, considering my age.
After all, I warned him what I needed these potions for. All on Louis's advice, who, by the way, wrote me letters, as did Selene, and Frederick too. The others probably corresponded with Father. Speaking of Father, he initially suspected the
Millefeuilles too — before the anonymous ransom letter. And these suspicions were of the "suspect everyone, even yourself, just in case" variety.
After a week, when I was completely healthy, a series of rituals began for me — and I'm not talking about the Vassat chain. One of the rituals I'll undergo in a few days... oh no, I'm talking about other rituals.
When I started asking Mother about whether it's possible to restore memory after erasure, she shrugged, talked a bit about how there are ways for Occlumens, but you had to have practiced Occlumency before losing your memory, and that's what I latched onto. In that case, mental magic, like a sort of buffer, could continue to store an imprint of memories, and with a lot of expended effort and ritual dances, you could theoretically restore the memory. But it's not certain, and you should check with a specialist.
For the record, Mother told me this and then dropped it, because she didn't know I had been practicing Occlumency against strict prohibition. I had to confess and get another scolding. Something about all my mischief being uncovered lately, but what can you do — this was information too critical for me, and I had to tell a parent.
In the end, a master of mental magic from Italy was hired, who, in a short period, was supposed to try every method to help me restore my memory. It turned out it doesn't work as simply as Mother said, but there was a chance.
In short, I delved into Occlumency and, for the first time, didn't do everything by feel but with the help of a mentor. To say I was dense in many places is an understatement. With the mentor, I realized a bunch of my previous mistakes in mastering mental magic and now progressed by leaps and bounds. But that was a bonus to the main task — namely, attempts to restore the lost memory. The Master, of course, advised going to Santo Mental, their elite mind-healing center, and continuing there. But to be honest... I currently had no desire to go anywhere. And all his help ultimately only helped me remember vague fragments on the edge of consciousness, and now I felt more confident about that emptiness that had formed.
According to the Master of Mentalistics, if I were an order of magnitude or two better at Occlumency — that is, roughly at Master level, but before the Obliviate — I would have definitely restored the full memory in this week, maybe even more. But here it's worth understanding that much depends on the mind. Because for the so-called mental magic buffer to preserve and later return the memory, you need an actual memory from what was lost — anything at all. And then, through it, you could pull out all the erased memory. And I seem to have nothing — because they cleaned thoroughly, possibly even several times over the same area. That's what the Master told me.
According to him, I even have some progress, but it's not certain. Basically, quoting his own words. Besides, as I already said, I went through rituals — some performed by the Master of mental magic himself. But let's be honest — he didn't perform anything truly powerful, because why would he and where from? But when it comes to rituals... the family library comes into play, where we dug up a couple of good rituals, and now another such ritual was in the queue.