"I've already paid your room fee, including all your meals until school starts. Just wait here—someone from the school will come to take you to buy the necessary items."
Snape placed the dazed Dana onto the bed in the Leaky Cauldron's guest room. Although he didn't expect a reply, he still said everything he needed to.
"You should come out of your grief as soon as possible. Grief is the most useless emotion."
Oddly enough, Snape's words resembled comfort.
Dana turned his head to glance at him.
Still engulfed in the grief of losing his mother, he didn't have the energy to complain. Otherwise, he might have thought:
"Then, Professor Snape, have you come out of the grief over Lily Evans' death?"
Snape left, leaving Dana alone.
Dana rubbed his eyes. Once a striking lake-green, they were now bloodshot and swollen from crying. He lay there, blank and unmoving—unable to sleep, unwilling to think.
When dinner time came, Old Tom knocked gently on the door. Seeing no response, he placed the meal outside and sighed. Snape had roughly explained Dana's situation, which left Tom silently grieving for the boy.
Midnight approached—a new day.
Dana's biological clock, shaped by years of routine in Azkaban, brought him back to his senses.
He couldn't go on like this.
His mother didn't die for nothing. The people who destroyed his family needed to pay.
But how?
Four years in Azkaban had taught Dana many spells. Apart from those Sirius taught him, even the prisoners had contributed—especially the Unforgivable Curses. They taught him in hopes of humiliating Sirius, who had once forced Dana to swear never to use them recklessly.
Now, at eleven, Dana had lived half a life in his previous world. He could deduce the truth with a bit of reasoning.
He knew Ollivander Avery had orchestrated everything, but the broader picture—who facilitated it? Who in the higher echelons covered it up?
His mother's death was obviously due to someone powerful wanting to hide bribery and substitution scandals. She had to be silenced.
But where could he find answers?
Dana thought of Knockturn Alley.
That alley—infamous for black magic—was also a place where one could buy information.
But two obstacles stood in his way.
First, as a child, his presence there would draw attention. Not that he was afraid—just that it would be troublesome.
Second, information cost money.
He had none.
Dana clutched the thick handful of Merlin's beard hidden in his robes. These two problems… they'd have to fall on Merlin again.
He knew many spells, but his Transfiguration was still rudimentary. He couldn't even disguise himself, much less impersonate others.
But Merlin could.
According to legend, Merlin could freely transform into anything—man or beast. These extraordinary abilities were said to be tied to his bloodline.
So—
"Merlin's bloodline…"
It was a gamble. If he lost, he'd figure out another way tomorrow.
He'd considered trying it back in Azkaban, but changing one's bloodline carried huge risks.
But now, with nothing left to lose, Dana was ready. If it killed him, so be it. Maybe that was fate.
A gooey, living substance suddenly appeared in his palm. He couldn't quite describe what it was—some form of magical tissue?
It quickly absorbed into his hand.
Then the pain hit—unimaginable, searing, radiating from his arm to his chest, then engulfing his entire body. He rolled on the bed, groaning, his muscles spasming from the agony.
He'd never been hit by the Cruciatus Curse, but he guessed it might feel like this.
Fortunately, the pain only lasted a few minutes.
Panting, drenched in sweat, Dana finally dragged himself upright.
He staggered to the mirror.
His reflection had white hair.
Not an issue. If someone asked, he'd just say the trauma turned his hair white overnight. A believable excuse.
But the real question—did Merlin's bloodline work?
Merlin's beard and magic had never let him down before. But this was different. This time, he was nervous.
With a thought, his body shifted.
In seconds, Severus Snape stared back at him from the mirror.
It worked!
He could transform now. That alone was worth it. Any additional powers Merlin's bloodline granted could be explored later.
But…
"Was it supposed to be this fast?" he wondered.
His mother had told stories of ancient bloodline rituals—long, dangerous, intricate affairs. Even if Merlin was the most powerful wizard in history, wasn't he still subject to the rules of magic?
Dana shook the doubts away. He returned to his own appearance and opened the door, bringing in the food Old Tom had left.
He hadn't eaten all day.
The meal was simple: vegetable soup, fried potatoes, and steak.
But to Dana, it was the best food he'd had in four years.
After finishing, he placed the plate outside and returned to bed.
Azkaban had taught him patience. He wasn't in a hurry to take revenge.
Everything had to be done step by step.
He'd solved the problem of appearance today.
Tomorrow—he'd solve the money problem.
No need to rush. His enemies weren't going anywhere.
The next morning, Dana was awoken by a knock.
He blinked, momentarily confused by the warm bed and soft sheets.
Then the memories returned—he was no longer in Azkaban.
His chest tightened again. No sleep could erase the pain of losing his mother.
Still wearing the oversized wizard robes, he shuffled to the door. He didn't bother Transfiguring them—those spells had time limits, and he'd gotten used to the loose fit anyway.
Opening the door, he found a little girl holding a breakfast tray.
"Hello, are you Mr. Avery? My name is Hannah Abbott."
Dana blinked. This girl was known in fanfiction as the "Iron Hat King"—the first to be sorted at Hogwarts.
"Hello, Miss Abbott. I'm Dana Avery."
Despite his ill-fitting clothes, Dana's striking looks—silver-white hair, lake-blue eyes—made Hannah blush.
"A-ah… I heard you're also going to Hogwarts this year… So, um… just call me Hannah."
"Alright, Hannah. You can call me Dana too."
Hannah had heard about Dana from her uncle, Old Tom. Moved by sympathy, she volunteered to bring him breakfast.
"Dana, this is your breakfast…"
"Thank you."
He took the tray and placed it inside.
Hannah fidgeted. Then, nervously, she said:
"Dana, your clothes look uncomfortable… My family has some of my brother's old clothes. If you don't mind, I could bring them to you?"
"Your brother?"
A new character—he didn't appear in the original.
Hannah nodded. "Yes. He was twenty years older than me. He died before I was born."
There was no need to ask how. Everyone in the wizarding world knew.
Who else but the You-Know-Who could have taken so many lives?
"I'd be grateful, Hannah. That's very kind of you."
Hannah smiled shyly, blushed again, and ran off like a startled rabbit.
Dana chuckled softly.
If he hadn't known how flustered Hannah could get under pressure, he might've thought he'd scared her off like a villain.
But to the world, that's exactly what he looked like.
After all, what good ever came out of Azkaban?
He closed the door, returned to the table, and casually ate breakfast.
His thoughts already drifted to the coming night—what he needed to summon next.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Liamlivingstone