(April 29, 1988)

A boy of about eight years lay asleep in his bed. He had light brown skin and black hair. Suddenly, he woke up, staring at the ceiling with gritted teeth, enduring a sharp, burning pain in his chest.

The last eight years of his life had been some of the best he had ever known. His earlier memories—stretching back fourteen years before that—occasionally surfaced in his dreams, but he rarely paid them much mind.

His name now was Aaric Hawthorne. His first name came from his mother, and his last from his father. His mother was Indian, his father British. The Hawthorne family was a well-established noble line of wizards—wealthy, influential, and deeply rooted in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds.

After a moment, the pain subsided. Aaric relaxed and closed his eyes once more. There was nothing he could do about it right now.

That morning, Aaric woke fully aware that the memories of his previous life had returned. He was now part of a loving, magical family. His mother’s name was Edwina Hawthorne, and his father’s was Simon Hawthorne.

As Aaric came downstairs, he saw them both in the kitchen preparing breakfast together. When Edwina noticed him, she smiled warmly, came over, and pinched his cheeks.

“Your dad and I are preparing a special dinner for you today,” she said softly. “Today is the birthday of my precious child.”

Aaric jumped onto a chair, swinging his legs as he waited. Most of his current life felt like his true one, while the memories of his past remained distant shadows.

Magic had fascinated him since birth. Now, being part of a wizarding family, he was eager to learn all he could.

I want to learn magic as soon as possible, he thought, his face contemplative and eyes filled with determination.

Surely being born into this family came with some advantage.

“Mom,” he asked quietly, “is there any magic I can try right now?”

Hearing the question, his mother was a little surprised, then shook her head. “Not for some time, son. Your magic is still a little volatile. But don’t worry—I’m from a very special clan in India, and once your magic settles, we can start your magical journey properly.”

Aaric wasn’t disheartened. He knew his mother belonged to a special Indian clan, though she had been born in Britain, ten years after her parents moved there.

He felt a strong connection to his gifts and sensed he would learn more about them today. The family enjoyed breakfast and celebrated his birthday with a trip to the park, games, and some shopping.

As evening approached, a tired Aaric wandered into the lawn to explore the growing connection he felt within. He called out to the presence in his soul, and immediately, information began flowing into his mind. One gift revealed itself as a ritual talent—granting him a natural aptitude for learning and performing rituals, both on himself and others, with great success.

Then came the gourd. As he thought of it, a small, silver gourd with a moon carved on its surface appeared in his hand. Information about its function entered his mind—it could store moonlight-infused liquid, enhancing the growth of magical herbs and even creating entirely new ones under certain conditions.

A third presence stirred. A scale thumped in his chest like a heartbeat, causing a wave of intense heat to rise through his body. This was the snake given to him by Vasuki. Aaric, familiar with Indian mythology, knew Vasuki—the serpent king, a demi-god of immense power. As he recalled Vasuki’s face, the scale dissolved into his body, unleashing searing energy and flooding his mind with spontaneous knowledge—rituals, spells, and their intricate requirements.

The surge overwhelmed him. Aaric passed out on the grass.

Some moments later, his parents found him unconscious and rushed him inside in a panic.

Half an hour later, Aaric awoke to the familiar ceiling of his room and the cooling comfort of a wet cloth on his forehead. Turning his head, he saw his worried father on the right, and his mother on the left, gently holding his hand.

What shocked him most was the sight of his mother speaking in Parseltongue. She waved her wand slowly over his body, speaking in the ancient snake language. A cold current flowed through him, soothing the raw energy the scale had released. The foreign power was now integrating seamlessly with his blood, becoming part of him.

With another whisper from his mother he started feeling drowsy and fell into a slumber.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep