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No one reads the introduction about the death of the protagonist in his "donor" world from the bumper of a car or train, falling downstairs, knife, illness, and more. Who's interested in that? Everybody misses out on these meaningless pages. I don't want to remember this experience again. I'll be brief, I'm dead and hello, reincarnation.
The classic reincarnation of Potter's world happens in the morning. In the morning, you wake up in the closet, and you can live as you like! I was lucky in that aspect. I realized I was in a car with two pigs, a rat and a horse. The car was on its way to the zoo in the middle of left-hand traffic. It was Dudley's birthday. The animals pulled out to look at the relatives.
What's the date today? That's not how I remember the canon. It wasn't hard for me to walk quietly in disgusting clothes to get my relatives' cattle. I was trying to make sense of the situation. I don't feel well, I'm hungry and dressed in the garbage. And I'm very angry, hungry and mad.
I know the events of the Potteriana. And I also understand an important fact. God bless this good, sweet woman for the fairy tale she gave the world. But I am not in a fairy tale. I'm in a parallel universe. I'm not Potter. Harry Potter is Harry Potter, winner of the Lords, student of Hogwarts and so on. Save him, Merlin, the good and brave boy.
I am not Potter. What happens if I don't continue to be Potter? Death. It's all right, I've already died once. What do I want? First we need to know the details of the magical world in which I was reborn.
Objectively, by resources, I have a start from nothing. Just information. All that's left in my head from movies and books.
Well, I'll see if it was worth dying for.
There's not much time. If I slow down a little, I'll go to Hogwarts. But I'm not interested at all. I've had enough of this closet. I don't want to change a simple closet for a magic closet. I want freedom of action. But then I will be the enemy of Dumbledore. He's talking about the Power of Love and putting his pawns under attack from his enemies. If you hide from Dumbledore and don't go to Hogwarts, Hermione will be killed by a troll in the toilet. I'm going to have to work. I'm not going to let a girl who barely turned 12 get killed. I'd rather let her grow up to be a bitch.
Going with the flow? One thought makes the wool stand up, it's better to die again. It looks like death has broken something in me. I need a sharp maneuver, and for it, I need money, weapons, and safe houses. I need my team. The Canon is convincing us that there will be many dead bodies. I don't care about that at all. It's in my interest to make sure the bodies are organized from the right side.
Meanwhile, the procession with Dudley at the head has reached the serpentary. I wasn't drawing any attention to myself. For the rest of the walk, I didn't strain my brain, I was playing spooky Potter. And immediately upon arriving home, I tactically retreated into the closet.
*
The closet under the stairs, the evening of July 23, 1991.
*
Play resident or illegal? Harry was put in the hospital room repeatedly at school. For what? Paranoia helps with the answer. To get a hero drunk with a potion of obedience, or another method of combing his brain. At any moment, the twin blood traitors or Draco will send me there for Dumbledore's time, and goodbye, free will.
On the first day, at least three bastards are going to go through my brains. And then all my plans will be over before they get started. The question of visiting Hogwarts is closed. I'm not going to study at Hogwarts.
Therefore, I must get out of this house of evil. It's only a matter of method. How do I get out? Either quietly, or with lights and drums. The possible options are easy to think of.
A domestic gas explosion. Let's leave this option as the last argument that it's never too late to stick in the liver.
Attracting regional television, exposing the mockery of the Hero of the Magical World. It's not going to work on magicians. They'll declare it to be Voldemort's intrigue, and the country's chief Light lover will maintain a crystal clear reputation. As always.
Robbing Dursley's vault, and the disappearance from their lives of such a hated freak with glasses on. And then a domestic gas explosion! Ah, dreams! Save the explosion for later. I need to be more constructive.
The memories of Potter's life were in my mind. But mostly the bullying of Dudley. Adults behaved normally. In the middle of this rubbish, a gold credit card flashed a picture of the location of the safe. I remembered that the access code set Dudley's birthday. Today's date is minus 11 years. Time to budget for Team Evil and Hangry Potter.
I went to bed intending to get up around 2:00 in the morning.
*
Dursley House, around 2 a.m. on July 24, 1991.
*
I'm a magician. I woke up without an alarm clock. It's time for work.
Dudley's school backpack. Dudley's hooded jacket. A baseball cap wouldn't hurt either - more methods to mask the scar, good and different. I listen to animals snoring. I could give up starting a crazy life before I start gutting the safe. Dudley's birthday entered in the appropriate format. Twenty-five thousand pounds. Enough for a while, but, honestly, not for long. It's not just that I need to lie down but to actively change the course of events. There's no time to count the money! It's time to go. I mustn't get caught in front of the constable, or whatever their name is. It's like in a song:
Just a small-town girl
Living in a lonely world
She took the midnight train going anywhere
Every second train at 5 A.M. goes to London.
*
London, Around 6 A.M. on July 24, 1991.
I open the doors in dark wood. The darkroom is illuminated by upper windows located at the level of the second floor. Several tables made of rough oak wood. Carved chairs. Mr. Tom behind the counter.
"Good day, sir! You must be Mr. Tom?"
"Are you a Muggle-born, boy?"
"No, sir, I'm a squib. Would you be so kind as to let me through to Diagon Alley? I have a meeting with my custodian at Gringotts."
Tom silently did what he was asked to do. Who's interested in a squib?
