By the time Hannah returned for the holidays, things had changed again. She'd grown taller, cleverer, and slightly more annoying, as older sisters tend to do.
"You still sulk like a toddler," she told him, plopping down beside him and tossing him a Chocolate Frog.
"And you have changed, obviously not for the better," he replied, catching it without looking.
Her return, also brought with it a rather bitter pill to swallow, he still had to wait two more years to begin Hogwarts. Time travelled odd slow when it seemed to concern him. Yet, the time spent at home wasn't fruitless though, he woke up late every day, 'It would be a tough habit break out of' he mused. He experimented with his theories regarding the mind arts, often in fruitless attempts.
His only saving grace being his rather limited success when looking at a friend, Derek's eyes the first time around. He managed to glean the fact that he was beaten to a pulp by his drunk older brother the previous day, and handed a tenner today morning as hush money to keep quit to his parents. Although most of times, the attempts were duds. And he couldn't really practice occlumency, but he had noticed that Hannah is getting taught some weird zen meditation techniques, over the summer, in the house. He had his suspicions, perhaps it was occlumency.
But he was thankful, that he had stumbled into his talent at leglimency, although his skill was not dependable at this stage. It was still a notable achievement to succeed, without having come across any information or tutorial regarding the matter. Yes, he did in his previous life but who is counting anyways. This proved that he had something and will not need to start everything from scratch at least.
The siblings bickered. They laughed. They pretended not to have missed each other. But when Renauld caught her watching him one night, her eyes wet with something she wouldn't name, he simply nodded.
They understood each other. It seems that he had in fact developed a bond.
Eventually, as the days and months (and awkward prepubescent inches) passed, I decided it was time to get serious.
And by serious, I mean it was time to make a list. Not just any list—The Masterplan. Written in glittering ink, sealed with a dramatic sigh, and penned into the enchanted diary my mother gave me for my ninth birthday. Say what you want about Olenna Swayne, but she knew how to bribe an aspiring dark lord in training. Ahem—visionary.
Renauld Swayne's Foolproof, Perfectly Ethical (ish) Life Plan:
Become Filthy, Unimaginably Rich
Both magical and muggle. Why choose?Loot the Room of Hidden Things like a ravenous Niffler with a shopping list.Befriend the Acromantulas. Or bribe them. Or Imperius them. (Still weighing my options; fuzzy ethics later.)Sell Acromantula silk lingerie. To the French. They'll love it. Get Strong. Magically. Physically. Aesthetically.Strengthening ritual: ✔️Nose-removal ritual: ❌ Looking at you, Voldy.Explore immortality, but tastefully. No soul-splitting or drinking unicorn tears. Preferably something less... corpse-colored. Abuse the Room of Requirement Like It Owes Me MoneyTraining chamber? Library? Art gallery of cats in wizard hats? Yes. All of it. Daily. Be a Student Icon™Quidditch tryouts. Win everything. Become a legend.Win every House Cup like it's rigged (because it is).From fourth year onwards: flirt, flourish, and dazzle.If possible, earlier. (Subject to puberty schedule.)Also: rituals for glowing skin and silky hair. Self-care is strategic. Marriage Plot: Power EditionIdeal: Pure-blooded heiress. Only daughter. Massive inheritance. Wizengamot seat.Realistic: Anyone who tolerates me and owns property in Diagon Alley.Become powerful. Like, beard-flowing-in-the-wind powerful.Marry at 40, still handsome, possibly with a phoenix. Ministry Takeover (Politely)Briefly become the Minister of Magic. Just a sabbatical from greatness.Use time in office to further family legacy and probably rewrite a few laws.Retire young. Charismatic. Mysterious.Return to Hogwarts as a DADA professor when bored or nostalgic. Cultivate A Secret Society (With Style)Not evil. Just... influential.Recruit the brilliant, the bizarre, the magically volatile.Name it something cool. Maybe something in Latin. Everything sounds more legitimate in Latin. Leave Something BehindMaybe stock the Room of Hidden Things for the next overly ambitious child. Pay it forward. Most Importantly: Be Happy. Or At Least Amused.
Yes, I wrote all of this down. Yes, I sealed the pages with a mild anti-peek charm.
How? Excellent question.
I may or may not have borrowed Hannah's wand when she was in the bath. She left it on the sink—practically asking for it. After several failed incantations (and one unfortunate incident involving a squealing teapot and a scorched sock), I managed to get the charm right.
The diary now growls if anyone but me tries to read it. Literally. Growls. Like an offended Pomeranian.
Hannah, of course, found out. She tried to snoop and ended up with a temporary mustache that sang Celestina Warbeck's greatest hits at full volume. For three hours. In French.
She hasn't tried again since.
Still, that didn't excuse our mother's aloofness.
But—she could be bribe—ahem, convinced. Yes, yes. Convinced indeed.
Baby steps.
Renauld's journey had only just begun. His powers were wild—dangerous in the way unshaped magic always is. His past life whispered in dreams like static behind a door. Olenna remained an elegant question mark, elusive and half-truthful. And Hogwarts loomed just ahead like a stormcloud—equal parts thrilling and vaguely threatening.
The tension had started seeping into the house. The family clock—an old enchanted piece from Emma's side of the family—occasionally muttered in what Renauld could only describe as Parsel-Latin. And more disturbingly, the birds had started talking to him. Not metaphorically. Literally.
He was certain he had an affinity. "Tommy boy had snakes," he whispered one night, staring at the feathered parliament outside his window. "I get birds. Seems fair."
The realization didn't soothe him. If anything, it made things worse. He wasn't worried, not exactly. He was ecstatic.
"Mwahahaha! Who the bloody hell can stop me now? Dumbledore will rue the day he tries to manipulate me! Voldemort would pay—real gold—for my online course: 'How to Be a Dark Lord Without Losing Your Nose.' The world shall BOW before—"
"Em," Emma whispered, peering from behind a curtain, "I think he's finally cracked."
Thomas sipped his tea with the serenity of a man who'd seen much worse in surgery. "It's just a phase, love. Trust the process."
Emma sighed. "Fine. But if he starts naming the lawn gnomes again, we're calling a healer."
Oh yeah, he had noticed that magical creatures often got drawn in to their locations. He considered it might have something to do with his and his sister's presence. They might have been releasing ambient magic into the environment as children. As it often is with children's magic, it wild, untamed and chaotic drawing in curious creatures. Often times they had to stay shut in with fears of a nundu at large.
For now, though, Renauld was content.
A boy between two worlds.
With magic in his blood.
And several dozen megalomaniacal ambitions in his charmed diary—along with a rather persistent cavity in his upper left molar that no spell, potion, or passionate toothbrushing could quite cure. A magical child he might be, but not even reincarnation could spare him from the curse of a sweet tooth. It was, as Hannah gleefully reminded him every other morning, a sign of karmic justice.
Still, despite the sugar rot and dramatic declarations, Renauld had never felt more alive. He had been eighteen when he died—technically still a teen, but already too old to truly be young. This was his second shot. And gods, did he mean to enjoy every ridiculous, embarrassing, caramel-stuck-in-the-back-teeth moment of it.