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When I woke up, I was immensely confused. Where was I? How’d I get here? Looking around I found myself in a small one-room cottage. The loft I was in had two twin beds, two trunks and at the foot of said beds, a dresser, and a tiny desk and mirror. On said desk was a letter, that upon reading congratulated me on graduating Hogwarts of all things! I sat for a moment stunned and utterly bewildered. I thought back to my last memory before appearing in this place and slowly recalled that I’d been walking home from work, it had been raining, and I had heard a splash and a skidding noise followed by a horn, bright lights, and pain… So, I had died, and just like in all the dumb fanfictions and Mangas I’d read I’d been reincarnated.
I sat frozen from this revelation for several minutes before I remembered the letter and the impossibility of not just being brought here after I’d died, but also of somehow being brought to the Harry Potter universe of all places. I began to hyperventilate as the shock wore off and panic took over.
I spent the next 30 or so minutes in my panic attack before realizing that I had really died and panicked all over again. The one thing I had going for me was that I wasn’t leaving much behind. My family had died in a carbon monoxide poisoning shortly after I had left for college, and I’d never been close to my extended family. I had no pets and a dead-end job that just barely paid the bills. No boyfriend or husband or even close friends to mourn me. The only person who’d likely miss me is my manager. But, well, that’s his problem now.
Finally calm enough to investigate I reread the letter It was addressed to a Samantha Brown from a Peter Brown, my apparent uncle, congratulating me on graduating Hogwarts and his condolences that my father had passed from dragon pox apparently just two weeks prior. He stated that I’d inherited my family’s home and that when (If) my aunt and little cousin recovered from dragon pox they’d all come to visit me, but for now I’d have to do my best to get by on my own.
Getting up I went downstairs to explore a bit. I found the cottage to be small but cozy. A plush couch and wooden chest and an old broom stood by the front door, a table and chairs by the stairs, and a kitchen workspace with a large fireplace and worktable that still had the implements for potion making scattered across it. Across from the kitchenette, built into the stairs and behind the table, were shelves and drawers filled with potion ingredients and books. Lastly, on the wall above the couch was a map that I recognized. Mostly.
The map was of the Scottish Highlands around Hogwarts. And was very similar to the map from Hogwarts Legacy. But with little differences like certain locations being missing and some new ones added. But most telling was that the map was marked all over listing where the best places were to collect various potion ingredients. It would appear that my late father made his living collecting, processing, and selling potion ingredients. Ok, I could work with that...
Now I needed to know where and when I was. I did not want to die in the wizarding war. Looking around I spotted what I now realized was most likely my school trunk at the foot of the bed I’d woken up in. On searching through it found that my last school paper had been marked on the 25th of June 1926. Wait… @#$%! 1926?! That’s the year Voldemort was born! And the year Grindelwald was caught in America, which means that the war is still going strong. Gah, and how am I going to deal with and explain just casually having foreknowledge of all this?!
Ok, deep breaths, we can deal with this. As far as I can remember most of Grindelwald’s worse attacks should now be over and the war doesn’t start fully until 1938 so I should be ok for now. And as far as the foreknowledge, well I’ll try to keep it to myself If I can, and if anything slips, welp, I’m just a seer, or something…
As far as the memories of the body I now inhabit, it felt rather strange. They all felt like a dream that I had and then almost forgotten. Just there under the surface. Thoughts, impulses, and speech patterns that feel utterly foreign but also completely natural. Oh, this is going to give me a headache I can already tell.
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Upon leaving the (my?) Cottage I was met with an old but lively little village. A dozen or so houses surrounding an ancient looking tree that sat in the village center perched at the top of a rocky cliff. Some of the homes looked quite old with thatched roofs and brick walls. Likely only held together by magic. Others appeared more modern. With wood shingles and siding. But even those still had an air of age about them. Like they’d been here long before I was and would be long after I was gone. Most of the houses (mine included) had gardens around them with plants that were both familiar and foreign. The garden around my home had many strange plants that, if I focused on them, could be recognized as magical crops and herbs. There were a few market stalls under the great tree that were currently all closed, except one. Cragcroft’s baked goods had a gentle looking older witch selling bread and pastries.
As I wandered over, she saw me coming and called out saying, “Good morning, Samantha! Back from Hogwarts I see. So sorry about your father my dear, I did try to warn him to stay away from unlicensed dragon part sellers. Nasty lot them. Would you like a raspberry tart dear?”
“Oh! Ah, thank you…” I stuttered trying desperately to remember this woman’s name…. “Mrs. Kroftyn! Yes, I’m still a bit in shock of it all. The cottage is so quiet without him.” I remembered her now! Old Melody Kroftyn is my neighbor who used to watch over me when my father would go out collecting ingredients or brewing something too dangerous to have a child underfoot. She was much like a grandmother to me.
“Oh, you poor dear” Mrs. Kroftyn tutted coming round to give me a hug.
When had I started crying?
“I just can’t believe he’s gone.” I sniffled... trying to get foreign emotions under control. “But thank you Mrs Kroftyn, I really appreciate it.”
“Any time dear” she said patting my hand, “we all miss him.”
Walking away, (and eating a truly incredible tart) I decided to return to my home and write out everything I could think of that would help. I could only hope that the skill of writing with quill and ink would come with the memories.
Ok so here we go,
• I live in Cragcroft
• Its 1926
• I Own? Run? A potions ingredients selling business
• I need to find my father’s books and journals on how to run a potions ingredients business
• I need to keep out of the Grindelwald war
• And then there’s Voldemort…. Who’s not even born yet.
As I sit tapping my quill on the parchment, I ponder what to do about tom riddle, I know his parents are both alive right now, but when does tom riddle Sr leave? I could try to track down Merope, save her before she gives birth, but then what? And what to do about his uncle when he gets out of Azkaban? Nope! I want nothing to do with those crazies! But can I leave an innocent baby to be abused and neglected? No not really. And I could never kill him. It would go against everything I’ve ever known.
Sigh
Well that really just leaves one option doesn’t it… I’ll have to adopt Tom Riddle Jr.
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7 months later January 1st
As I approach the steps of wools orphanage, I can’t help but think how terribly dreary it is. The building is old and faded, in desperate need of a coat of paint. The yard surrounding is littered with old toys that had seen better days and half dead flowers in an attempt to bring some color to the place. Knocking on the door I was greeted by a haggard looking older woman in a soiled apron, who seamed rather startled to see me.
“May I help you?” she enquired.
“Hello, I’m Samantha Brown and I am interested in adopting a child. May I come in?”
“Oh!” she started realizing she’d been keeping me on the stairs, “yes, yes, come in, come in!” and bustled me over to a waiting room with thread bare couches and old books. “It’s always a pleasant surprise when a potential parent comes to see us! What kind of child are you looking for?”
As she was setting up a tea set, I subtly placed some compulsion charms on her.
“Well, I’ve recently discovered that I am unable to have children of my own and so dearly wish to find an infant. The younger the better.”
“Oh, how tragic!” The matron simpered, “well we have many children here, six of which are under the age of two. Would you like to meet them?”
“Oh, yes please!” I said agreeably, standing to join her.
And so, she led me upstairs to the nursery. A somewhat cramped room with a dozen cots on one side and a changing table, rocking chair, and a few highchairs and scattered toys on the other.
“These are our youngest wards, from Allison who is almost two years old to little peter who is four months.” She said.
“What about that one?” I ask, pointing toward the last cradle in the room where a nurse was tending to a tiny infant with a full head of soft black hair.
“Oh! That’s Tom Riddle but he’s not up for adoption quite yet. He was only born a few hours ago here at the orphanage. We must wait to see if he has any family before He can be placed.”
“hm, ”.. With a subtle wave of my wand, I add another computation charm to the matron and nurse before picking up the babe. He is absolutely tiny, which come to think of it makes sense seeing as his mother was destitute. Poor little thing. One of his tiny hands grasps my finger and I turn to the matron. “I’ll take him.”