I am in Merope Gaunt's body.

  At that moment, the horror deep inside me became absolute, icy, paralyzing. I knew how her story ended. I knew what awaited this poor girl. And I did not know what I was supposed to do now.

  Merope Gaunt — the mother of the Dark Lord.

  She was a descendant of one of the legendary wizards of this world, Salazar Slytherin. But there was absolutely no greatness in her own fate.

  She was a beaten and broken girl, tyrannized by her father and brother. A girl who would fall in love with a Muggle, drug him with a love potion, give birth to a son, and die in poverty, leaving him an orphan in an orphanage.

  A truly pitiful fate.

  Her destiny was perhaps one of the most tragic in this novel.

  Tears began to flow down my cheeks on their own — cold, silent. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing aloud.

  I could not understand how something like this could have happened to me at all.

  Why, out of all the characters in Harry Potter, did I end up reincarnating as her? What exactly had I done to deserve such a fate?

  My gaze dropped to my own stomach — it was flat and sunken.

  Thank God I wasn't pregnant yet… Hard to believe, but that really was the only pathetic plus in this terrible situation.

  Right now, having suddenly realized myself in a new world and a new body, I had absolutely no idea what to do. But I also didn't have much time to think.

  Because soon I heard the old man shouting again from another room, asking when the food would be ready. Now I also remembered that this person's name was Marvolo Gaunt. He was Merope's father.

  But in truth, it was hard to imagine a worse father.

  Since, apparently, I had no other choice anyway, I had to move. My hands were trembling, but I started cooking.

  The hearth in this shack turned out not just dirty — it was monstrous.

  Stones blackened with soot, ash scattered all over the floor, some charred bones lying right near the fire, and an iron pot whose contents, judging by the smell, had not been washed since the invention of the wheel.

  I looked at all of this and felt how the panic was gradually being replaced by some kind of desperate, painful numbness.

  I am in Merope Gaunt's body.

  I am in a hut in the middle of the forest.

  These two are my "family."

  And if I don't want to be beaten half to death before I come up with an escape plan, I urgently need to learn how to survive here.

  Marvolo returned to the room and plopped down at the rickety wooden table standing in the center of the room, staring at me. Morphin sprawled in an armchair in the corner, lazily scratching himself and still playing with his snake.

  "Well?" the old man barked. "Why are you standing there like a statue? Bring the food!"

  I rushed around.

  Water. I needed water. I looked around and saw a bucket in the corner. I walked over and looked inside — a little cloudy liquid sloshed at the bottom with a floating leaf. Next to it stood an empty bucket. So I had to bring it from outside. Where was their well?

  "Hey," Morphin spoke up. "Why are you acting crazy? Forgot where to get water?"

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  I didn't answer.

  I just grabbed the empty bucket and rushed out the door faster than they could say another word.

  Fresh air hit my face.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling.

  A dark forest stood like a wall. No neighbors, no road, no hint of civilization. Only a path leading into the thickets and a half-collapsed shed next to the house.

  Where the hell was the well?

  I walked around the house and, with relief, saw a log frame. A wooden handle, a chain, a bucket. I approached and looked down — darkness, the smell of dampness and algae. I had no idea how to use this. I had seen it in historical films, but never done it myself.

  I turned the handle. The chain scraped and the bucket went down. I kept turning until I felt it go under the water. Then I started turning back.

  The bucket emerged from the darkness… half empty. Because I didn't know that you had to scoop water somehow, not just lower it.

  "Damn," I exhaled.

  I had to repeat it. And again. Only on the fifth attempt did I manage to fill at least a third of the bucket. My hands hurt, blisters swelling on my palms — my former delicate hands had absolutely no experience with this kind of work.

  With the bucket in hand, I went back into the house.

  Marvolo and Morphin didn't even move. They just sat and waited for me. Like spiders in a web.

  I splashed water into the pot and began scrubbing it. The grime was ingrained permanently. I scraped until my fingers were rubbed raw, but all I achieved was that the pot became wet, not clean.

  "How much longer?" Marvolo growled.

  "Right now," I squeaked.

  Food. What do they eat here…?

  I noticed a few shriveled potatoes on a shelf, a dried onion, and a bag of grain crawling with bugs. In the corner hung a dried carcass — maybe a rabbit, but it looked like it had been killed a month ago.

  Potatoes. I knew how to peel potatoes. I think.

  I took a knife. The knife was dull, but I had to make do. The potato turned out rotten inside. I threw it away and took another. Also rotten. Out of five, only two were usable.

  I set the pot on the fire. Poured in water. Threw in the potatoes whole — I was already too tired to peel them, I had no strength left. I poured grain on top without looking how much. Let it be porridge, I decided.

  "What are you doing?" Morphin asked lazily.

  "Porridge," I answered.

  "With potatoes?"

  I froze.

  Porridge with potatoes. Honestly, it sounded disgusting. But did they even have any culinary traditions here? Maybe they ate everything mixed together? Judging by the smell in the house — that was exactly the case.

  "Is that… not allowed?" I asked cautiously.

  Morphin snorted and turned away. I never got an answer.

  While the brew bubbled over the fire, I looked around the house. Dirt was everywhere. Not just dust — layered, years-old crust on everything. On the table, on the benches, on the floor, on the single cloudy window. I grabbed a rag, soaked it with the remaining water, and started wiping the table.

  "What are you doing?" Marvolo asked.

  "Cleaning," I replied.

  "Why?"

  I raised my eyes. He was looking at me with genuine confusion. As if the word "cleaning" were foreign to him.

  "So that… it's clean?" I said uncertainly.

  "Clean," he repeated with some strange expression. "You think you're better than us?"

  "I'm not… I just…"

  "Shut up and stir the porridge."

  So in the end I shut up and went to stir the porridge.

  The porridge smelled strange. Burnt, because I had forgotten that the fire needed to be lowered, and this hearth didn't have any regulators at all. I frantically pulled the pot away from the fire, burned my hand, hissed, and stuck my fingers into my mouth.

  Marvolo at the table laughed hoarsely. Morphin bared his teeth too.

  "Look, Morphin, our squib decided to become a lady. Burning her little fingers, waving a rag!"

  "She'll change her mind soon," Morphin replied. "When she serves the food."

  I clenched my teeth and returned to the porridge.

  Honestly, it looked like… like slop.

  A gray-brown mass with floating chunks of unpeeled potato. Foam from the grain on top. A burnt layer on the bottom.

  I stirred. But it only got worse.

  There was nothing else. No salt — I couldn't find any, no spices. But there was no choice.

  "It's ready," I said quietly.

  Marvolo got up from the table and walked over to the hearth. He looked into the pot. Stayed silent.

  Then he shifted his gaze to me.

  There was not a drop in that look that could be called human. Only cold, savage fury that seemed to grow with every second.

  "This," he said slowly, terribly slowly, "you call food?"

  "I… I didn't have salt, I couldn't find…"

  "Salt?"

  He grabbed the pot with both hands — bare hands, burning himself but not even flinching — and shoved it under my nose.

  "Does this look like food, girl? Does this look like something you can eat? You boiled potatoes with the skin on! You poured grain — how much? Why is there so much? Why does it stink of burning?!"

  "I tried," I muttered, backing away. "I really tried…"

  "You tried to poison me?!"

  He hurled the pot into the wall. Hot porridge splattered everywhere, several lumps hitting my face. I screamed and recoiled, tripped over my own feet, and fell onto the floor, right into the scattered ash.

  "Father," Morphin drawled lazily from the chair. "She's just stupid. Always has been."

  "Be quiet!" Marvolo roared. "You're no better! Lying around all day like a hog! And this… this creature can't even cook food!"

  He stepped toward me. I crawled backward on my elbows across the dirty floor, pressing my back into the wall.

  "I… I really don't know anything!" I blurted out, not even knowing why. "I don't know how anything works here! I'm not Merope!"

  Marvolo Gaunt froze.