Harry Potter: The Legend of Nero Ravenclaw

5 days had passed since my grandmother's burial, a ceremony that felt more like a bittersweet celebration of her extraordinary life than a simple farewell.

Aberforth Dumbledore had taken me into his care, though his gruffness seemed only to hide a deeper sorrow. He'd always been a man of few words, but I could see the grief in the small things. The way his hand lingered on the back of his chair when he sat down, or the brief silence that filled the space between his sentences when he spoke of Melina. She had been his closest friend for decades, and his loss mirrored mine in ways I hadn't expected.

Still, I knew my path lay elsewhere. I needed time and solitude to fully process everything, the memories of my past life, the truths of this world, and the sudden, gaping absence of my grandmother. Above all, I needed to prepare.

"I'll be fine, Aberforth," I assured him, trying to meet his stern gaze. "Witty's with me, and the manor is well-protected. I promise I'll write to you."

He grumbled something about reckless young lads and the importance of keeping one's feet on the ground, but he finally relented. "You take care of yourself, boy. And don't go messing with any of those bloody books that bite back, you hear?"

With that, Witty, our family house-elf, apparated us back to the Ravenclaw ancestral manor.

The manor loomed ahead, silent and imposing, its ivy-covered towers disappearing into the fog that clung to the ground. It was a place of quiet power, steeped in centuries of magic, and for all its beauty, it always felt like a fortress. A home, yes, but a fortress nonetheless.

Witty's voice broke through my thoughts. "Master Nero, the mistress ensured the manor is safer than any wizarding place, comparable to Hogwarts. Many of the protections are the works of Mistress Rowena herself, but there are newer ones too. Witty will guide you through the documented ones."

I smirked, though it was tinged with bitterness. "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure... but a bit of paranoia and a bunch of runes sure work too." 

My voice softened, "I just wish we'd had this level of protection at the house Bellatrix attacked."

Once inside, the weight of the manor's history was almost palpable. I found myself wandering to the library, a place my grandmother had often forbidden me to enter alone. This time, though, there was no one to stop me.

"Witty," I asked, staring at the towering shelves filled with books, "how many books are here?"

"Six thousand seven hundred and sixty-nine, young master," Witty replied promptly. "But there are others in the secret library of Mistress Rowena. Witty cannot access those. Mistress Melina said you would need to pass a test to enter when ready."

I nodded absently. "Thank you, Witty. For now, let's focus on what's accessible. Help me find books on the origin of magic, magic theory, increasing magical reserves, and Occlumency."

My grandmother had laid a solid foundation for my education with intention. Over the past ten years, she had taught me what she considered the essential skills of a Ravenclaw heir:

-Memory Organization: The ability to store, retrieve, and categorize memories systematically.

-Logical Analysis: Skills to decrypt, analyze, and interpret information with precision.

-Multitasking: Training the mind to juggle multiple lines of thought simultaneously.

-Language Proficiency: Fluency in Latin, Greek, Japanese, Chinese, Arabic, Russian, and German.

In addition to intellectual pursuits, she had drilled me in etiquette, dancing, public speaking, and morality. At least her version of morality, which you can imagine, based on the Bellatrix incident, tended to be tinted grey. I had come to understand and resonate with her views after recovering my first life's memories. 

She had planned to begin teaching me the history of magic, wizarding geopolitics, advanced magical theory and Muggle sciences from January.

But now, with the memories of my past life, I could see the depth of her foresight.

I glanced around the library, feeling a pang of regret that I hadn't pushed myself harder while she was alive. But that regret would not consume me. My motto in my previous life had been to live without regrets, and I intended to honor that in this life. After all, grandma made sure I could amass knowledge the most efficiently.

The stakes were clear. Voldemort's defeat on October 31, 1981, might have brought temporary relief, but the war wasn't over. Bellatrix's attack had made that painfully clear.

I made a mental checklist of objectives to achieve before I turned eleven and entered Hogwarts on September 1, 1982:

-Assess how closely this world aligns with the Harry Potter series I know.

-Learn to wield magic without a wand.

-Build my physical endurance.

-Acquire as much magical knowledge as possible.

-Protect my mind: my memories were my greatest weapon and my greatest vulnerability.

-Plan the future years, at least a few objectives for my Hogwarts years

I had 284 days to prepare before stepping into Hogwarts. Every day mattered. If I were to navigate the dangers ahead, outmaneuver Voldemort, and understand Dumbledore's plans, I would need to be far more than a child with a mature soul.

As I delved into the library's collection, I felt the weight of my grandmother's expectations, not as a burden, but as a guide. She had given me everything I needed to succeed. Now it was my turn to live up to her legacy.

"Time to grind," I murmured to myself, my hands tracing the spines of ancient tomes. "In the smartest Ravenclaw way."

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