One life ended, and another began in the grey shadows of Wool's Orphanage. But Patrik Rosier didn't come to this world to be a victim of fate. In a realm where a single word can shatter a mind and power is the only true currency, he quickly learned a bitter truth: morality is a luxury of the dead. Armed with an ancient name and a hunger for the forbidden arts, Patrik navigates a Wizarding World that is far from a fairy tale. There is no light or dark—only the strength to impose one's will and the cold reality that Magic is Might.
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A Rosier Legacy (HP AU M-SI)
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PatrikWriter
Your first time is always over so quickly, isn't it?
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Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, and lore from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling and her respective publishers/licensees. This is a work of fan fiction intended for entertainment purposes only, and no copyright infringement is intended. The character of Patrik Rosier and any other original characters or plotlines are my own creation.
A note on the language: I write in my native language and translate the text into English using AI. I then manually review and edit it to ensure it flows correctly. You might still encounter some grammatical hiccups or "non-native" phrasing, but I believe the story remains clear. Plus, this project is a great way for me to improve my English—a win-win for everyone!
I felt a massive headache, as if I'd spent the entire previous night in a bar drowning in liters of alcohol. Where was I yesterday and what was I doing? I couldn't remember, so I stayed there with my eyes shut. Am I at home? Am I at Bran's, my best friend's place? Or will my girlfriend jump out at me with a ladle the moment I open my eyes? Just kidding… I probably have the best girlfriend I could ever ask for.
Okay… I'm not going to be a coward.
I slowly open my eyes and—bam—total shock. I'm lying in a hospital. It's a bit old-school, but everyone who has spent at least a day in a hospital knows those unpleasant metal beds with plastic-wrapped mattresses and the lingering scent of disinfectant.
What the fuck happened last night? Why do I have an IV in my vein?
And why are my hands so brutally small? Where are the blisters on my palms and the scrapes on my knuckles? Something happened, and something is seriously, completely wrong. At this point, I was just confused, not understanding a thing.
"Okay Patrik, let's calm down. Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 4… repeat," I said to myself. (Classic anti-stress breathing—I highly recommend it).
Wait… was it just me, or am I speaking English?
"One-two, one-two, one-two-three. What is your name? How are you?" I started speaking out loud, saying whatever came to mind as a test of my vocal cords… and I became certain that something was seriously fucking wrong.
I wasn't speaking my native language; I was speaking fluent English. How is that possible? English and German are my secondary languages. I speak them fluently, sure, but it's not the primary language I'd default to—and definitely not without realizing I was doing it.
"Okay Patrik, let's look at the facts. You're in a hospital, you don't know what happened, and you don't remember last night. This is definitely not my body; it looks like a child's body. The tattoos and scars are missing too, which confirms it reaaaaally isn't my body. And the primary, native language is English."
Inhaaaaale, hold, exhaaaaaaaale. Inhaaaaale, hold, exhaaaaaaaale. Inhaaaaale, hold, exhaaaaaaaale.
Fine. I'm in an unfamiliar environment; I need to be careful and gather as much information as possible.
The IV is irritating me and I'm thirsty. With a slow movement, I pulled the IV out. I pressed down gently on the puncture site so I wouldn't bleed everywhere. I slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed…
The problem is, they didn't reach the floor. Fuck… I really am in a child's body. Whatever… I jumped down; luckily it wasn't that high. I probably hadn't been in bed for too long; my legs felt fine, muscles weren't weak or stiff—so maybe 24 to 48 hours of lying down… hmmm.
By the door, there was a small sink, a glass, and a mirror. The first thing I did when I shuffled over was fill the glass with water. My throat was a bit dry, so I slowly rinsed my mouth… I still didn't dare look in the mirror.
Did I steal someone's body? A boy who had his whole life ahead of him? What happened to me and what happened to him? Oh well, no one ever solved anything by stalling and procrastinating… I'd only be hurting myself.
I slowly lifted my head to look in the mirror, but hah, shit. I'm a hobbit and I simply can't see myself. Whatever, I hurried back to the bed. Next to the nightstand was a chair, the typical one for visitors. With quite an effort, I dragged it to the mirror. It was relatively heavy—not only am I in a strange body, but I'm also weak.
I slowly climbed onto it in front of the mirror, and then came the next shock. Oval face, dark brown hair, dark brown-green eyes, still some childhood chubbiness. A bandage on the back of my head (looking a bit like a mummy). I looked just like that photo from primary school holding a first-grade textbook that I shared on Instagram for a laugh.
"It is my body… but when I was about 7–10 years old." I stared blankly into the mirror, unable to believe it. Am I in the past? But then why the English? I guess the brain instinctively uses the knowledge it has. So this isn't my body, but at the same time, it is…
Is this some parallel universe? English Patrik? Am I in some super-universe? DC? Marvel? Harry Potter?
I didn't understand it, but I knew I wouldn't get anywhere without more information. I have to prepare for whatever comes next. The main thing is to get fit… my head still hurts as if an angry Thor hit it with his hammer.
I need to sleep; maybe it's just a bad dream…
I slowly closed my eyes and drifted off.
Knock, knock, knock
I woke up to an annoying tapping on the door. Who is it? What do they want? Isn't it the weekend?
I opened my eyes grumpily, had to close them again, and then open them in disbelief.
"It wasn't a dream. I'm in a hospital as a kid. I've gone back in time," a short internal monologue reviewing the facts flashed through my mind at lightning speed.
"Come in!" I shouted. (It sounded like a puppy's yelp. It's going to be hard to gain respect, I thought.)
A short, fat man with an unkempt beard and cheap, ill-fitting clothes entered the room. He was smiling… but it was a fake smile that didn't reach his eyes. If I were a regular kid, I would have believed it, but unfortunately for him, I was instantly on guard. I looked at him a bit closer… yellow, rotten teeth, bad clothes, fake smile… he only lacked candies in his pockets.
My blood ran cold; I immediately felt the adrenaline kicking in. There was absolutely nothing in the room I could use as a weapon (surprisingly, for a hospital). My only option was Muay Thai, with a single chance—a sharp elbow to the temple if he tried anything.
He slowly walked into the room and sat on the chair by the bed.
"How are you feeling, Patrik? I heard you fell down the stairs," he said, trying to sound kind.
"Who are you and how do you know my name?" I replied, trying for a normal tone without any tension.
"You don't remember me? I'm the maintenance man at the home," he replied "kindly," but I saw that fake smile… eyes don't lie, and I caught a flash of triumph.
Right then, it was clear that something stank… and it wasn't just his disgusting smell of sweat, onions, and old clothes.
"From the home? What home?" I blurted out in surprise.
"Wool's Orphanage in London, of course," he replied, and I could still see the triumph in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember anything at all. Could you tell me more? What's your name, by the way?"
"My name is Adam Bates. What specifically are you interested in? I just came to check on you quickly; I don't have much time." He stopped pretending entirely; he was talking normally now. I was certain he had something to do with why I was in the hospital.
"What's my last name, Mr. Bates? How old am I and where are we now?"
"Your name is Patrik Rosier. I don't know how old you are; you'll have to ask the matron. You're currently in central London, only a kilometer away from Wool's Orphanage."
As soon as he finished speaking, a nurse burst into the room and immediately started shouting:
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING IN HERE!!!!" she yelled angrily. Luckily, she wasn't yelling at me, but at Bates next to me, who immediately jumped off the chair and away from me.
"I… I… I'm Adam Bates, I work at the orphanage. I just came to see if Patrik was alright," he replied, terrified.
Why is he scared? Was he not here officially? It only confirmed my belief that Bates was dangerous and that he wasn't here just because. I have to be careful… Life isn't fair, especially for an orphan.
"OUT AT ONCE, OR I'LL CALL THE POLICE! NO ONE IS ALLOWED IN THIS ROOM WITHOUT STAFF PERMISSION!!!!" she continued to scream.
Bates flew out of the room as if the devils themselves were chasing him. I felt a wave of relief. Bates was dangerous, and as a kid, I wouldn't be able to defend myself properly if he wanted to hurt me.
As soon as he was gone, a doctor arrived. He reminded me a bit of Dr. House, though he didn't limp. He had a friendly face and light stubble. I immediately started to trust him.
"What happened, Helena? How did that man get in here and what was he doing?" the doctor asked, out of breath. He must have run when he heard the shouting.
"I saw him sitting on the chair talking, but I don't know about what. I don't understand how he got in."
The doctor noticed I was tensely listening to what was going on. He gave me a reassuring smile.
"Everything alright, young man? How are you?"
"Great. What's going on here?" I replied sarcastically and asked straight out. No point beating around the bush.
The doctor smiled with amusement and turned back to the nurse.
"Helena, please go call the police and bring me this young man's medical file," he requested and ordered at the same time. The nurse just nodded and immediately left the room…
Hmm, probably a good doctor if he commands that much respect.
"What is your name? So I don't have to call you 'young man'," he asked me. I had a strong urge to snap back and tell him to introduce himself first… but this was important and I can't act like a brat.
"My name is Patrik. I don't remember much," I replied.
"Nice to meet you, Patrik. I'm Doctor Barlow. I can't tell you much because I wasn't working when you were admitted. I need your file to give you more information. Someone should bring it shortly. Could you answer my questions in the meantime?"
I simply nodded…
"Thank you. Who was that man and what did he want?" Barlow went straight to the point. Great doctor.
"He said his name is Adam Bates, he works as maintenance at the orphanage where I live. He told me he just came to see me because I fell down the stairs. But he was acting weird…" I said honestly that Bates was really strange and creepy, and I didn't trust him.
"How weird?"
"He was acting fake—visibly and overly kind. I also felt like he was happy I didn't remember anything." Hah, threw him right under the bus.
"Hmm, thank you. The police will be interested in that as well."
"Why? What happened?"
"You're in a private room, a relatively secret one that the nurses can access easily. Rooms like this are reserved for victims of a crime. Judging by the bandages and your memory loss, I'd say it was an attempted murder," Barlow explained patiently and factually.
"Thank you for being honest, I appreciate it. Won't you get in trouble for telling me?"
I was surprised by his honesty. Who tells a kid someone tried to murder them? I felt grateful he was being direct.
"Orphanage kids grow up faster. You strike me as a strong personality who values reality over lies. No, I won't have problems. If you had a hysterical breakdown and a nervous collapse, someone would surely blame me… but given you're from the orphanage and on that gray edge… it's fine."
Knock, knock, knock
"Enter!" Barlow called out.
A young nurse walked in, probably an intern since she looked like a student, maybe 15–16. She looked at the room and me with interest.
"Doctor, Mrs. Helena sent me with the medical file for patient Patrik Evan Rosier." She handed him the file and winked at me with a smile.
"Thank you, Eliza, you may go," Barlow thanked her politely with a smile.
Eliza waved at me, turned on her heel, and left. Meanwhile, Doctor Barlow was reading my file. The room was quite silent, giving me time to think… Someone tried to kill me, probably that slimeball Bates. The question is why… and at the same time, would he really be stupid enough to check on his victim to see if they're alive or remember anything? How did he get in here if I'm not in a public ward?
My name is strange too… Evan Rosier was probably my father… Rosier sounds familiar, but I can't for the life of me remember what it is. I simply need more information.
"It's a miracle you're alive and talking at all. They found you under the stairs in a pool of blood; you should be in a coma right now. According to the X-rays, you suffered a skull fracture in multiple places," Barlow suddenly spoke up. I jolted a bit, lost in thought.
"Well, I'm glad to be alive, obviously," I laughed. So this body probably died, and I somehow ended up in it from the future or another universe. Interesting.
"We're glad too. The police are investigating the case right now; they'll definitely talk to you soon. I'll inform them about Mr. Bates. In the meantime, I'll check how you're doing." Barlow said with a smile. "Aside from the memory loss, does anything hurt? Do you feel anything unusual?" he added.
"My head hurts a bit, like I drank liters of alcohol and have a terrible hangover. And my stomach is still a bit unsettled," I answered honestly.
"Liters of alcohol? A hangover?" Barlow asked in surprise, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, that's just how people say it, right?" I quickly played it off.
"I see, I see. We'll prescribe some Paracetamol and beef broth," Barlow replied with an amused smile. "Turn your back to me; I'll check the wound on the back of your head to see how it's healing," he ordered.
I turned around and felt him taking off the bandage. It didn't come off easily, even though he was trying to be careful… blood sticks to bandages and then you have to peel it away gently. I hissed like a snake when he pulled a bit harder. The bandage was completely off, and I just heard a surprised gasp.
"Is something wrong, Doctor? Is everything okay?" I asked curiously and cautiously.
"Every… everything is fine. There is no wound."
"How is that possible? You said I had multiple skull fractures," I asked in shock.
"It's true. Even the bandage was soaked with blood after the surgery. I never thought I'd encounter a case like this in my career."
"What do you mean, 'a case like this'?" I asked, bewildered.
"A case where a child is at huge risk of death one day, and the next, there isn't a single trace of the injury. As if the injury vanished by miracle. No one knows why it happens; it's a very rare phenomenon, maybe 1 in a million. A miracle, magic, prayer, or God's second chance. It's only known in medical circles, and even there, only a small percentage believe it. Those it happens to… until recently, I considered them over-dramatic fools who must be making it up…"
I was completely speechless, just like Barlow.
"Well, I'm glad I'm alive and got a second chance. Can I ask what year it is, Doctor?"
"Well, I'm glad you're alive too. I might start believing in God myself. The year is 1988, February 20th. I'll send a nurse with the Paracetamol and that broth for your stomach. I'll come by for rounds tomorrow morning. Do you need anything else for now?"
"No, nothing else. I need to sleep, thank you." I thanked Barlow with a smile. I like it when people are competent.
"I'll leave you for now then. Get some rest, and if anything happens, there's a button on the side of the bed that sends a signal. Please, press it immediately if anyone other than the nurses or me comes in," Barlow ordered as he left.
"You got it, boss!" I saluted for fun before Barlow closed the door.
At least I can think now…
So, what do you guys think? Is the grammar readable? I've gone through it several times and it seems fine to me, but I'm always open to advice and corrections from native speakers. As for the story itself—what are your first impressions? I'm looking for objective feedback. I decided to upload the first part here because this community is known for being active and providing great critiques. I look forward to your comments!
A note on the language: I write in my native language and translate the text into English using AI. I then manually review and edit it to ensure it flows correctly. You might still encounter some grammatical hiccups or "non-native" phrasing, but I believe the story remains clear. Plus, this project is a great way for me to improve my English—a win-win for everyone!
I felt a massive headache, as if I'd spent the entire previous night in a bar drowning in liters of alcohol. Where was I yesterday and what was I doing? I couldn't remember, so I stayed there with my eyes shut. Am I at home? Am I at Bran's, my best friend's place? Or will my girlfriend jump out at me with a ladle the moment I open my eyes? Just kidding… I probably have the best girlfriend I could ever ask for.
Okay… I'm not going to be a coward.
I slowly open my eyes and—bam—total shock. I'm lying in a hospital. It's a bit old-school, but everyone who has spent at least a day in a hospital knows those unpleasant metal beds with plastic-wrapped mattresses and the lingering scent of disinfectant.
What the fuck happened last night? Why do I have an IV in my vein?
And why are my hands so brutally small? Where are the blisters on my palms and the scrapes on my knuckles? Something happened, and something is seriously, completely wrong. At this point, I was just confused, not understanding a thing.
"Okay Patrik, let's calm down. Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 4… repeat," I said to myself. (Classic anti-stress breathing—I highly recommend it).
Wait… was it just me, or am I speaking English?
"One-two, one-two, one-two-three. What is your name? How are you?" I started speaking out loud, saying whatever came to mind as a test of my vocal cords… and I became certain that something was seriously fucking wrong.
I wasn't speaking my native language; I was speaking fluent English. How is that possible? English and German are my secondary languages. I speak them fluently, sure, but it's not the primary language I'd default to—and definitely not without realizing I was doing it.
"Okay Patrik, let's look at the facts. You're in a hospital, you don't know what happened, and you don't remember last night. This is definitely not my body; it looks like a child's body. The tattoos and scars are missing too, which confirms it reaaaaally isn't my body. And the primary, native language is English."
Inhaaaaale, hold, exhaaaaaaaale. Inhaaaaale, hold, exhaaaaaaaale. Inhaaaaale, hold, exhaaaaaaaale.
Fine. I'm in an unfamiliar environment; I need to be careful and gather as much information as possible.
The IV is irritating me and I'm thirsty. With a slow movement, I pulled the IV out. I pressed down gently on the puncture site so I wouldn't bleed everywhere. I slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed…
The problem is, they didn't reach the floor. Fuck… I really am in a child's body. Whatever… I jumped down; luckily it wasn't that high. I probably hadn't been in bed for too long; my legs felt fine, muscles weren't weak or stiff—so maybe 24 to 48 hours of lying down… hmmm.
By the door, there was a small sink, a glass, and a mirror. The first thing I did when I shuffled over was fill the glass with water. My throat was a bit dry, so I slowly rinsed my mouth… I still didn't dare look in the mirror.
Did I steal someone's body? A boy who had his whole life ahead of him? What happened to me and what happened to him? Oh well, no one ever solved anything by stalling and procrastinating… I'd only be hurting myself.
I slowly lifted my head to look in the mirror, but hah, shit. I'm a hobbit and I simply can't see myself. Whatever, I hurried back to the bed. Next to the nightstand was a chair, the typical one for visitors. With quite an effort, I dragged it to the mirror. It was relatively heavy—not only am I in a strange body, but I'm also weak.
I slowly climbed onto it in front of the mirror, and then came the next shock. Oval face, dark brown hair, dark brown-green eyes, still some childhood chubbiness. A bandage on the back of my head (looking a bit like a mummy). I looked just like that photo from primary school holding a first-grade textbook that I shared on Instagram for a laugh.
"It is my body… but when I was about 7–10 years old." I stared blankly into the mirror, unable to believe it. Am I in the past? But then why the English? I guess the brain instinctively uses the knowledge it has. So this isn't my body, but at the same time, it is…
Is this some parallel universe? English Patrik? Am I in some super-universe? DC? Marvel? Harry Potter?
I didn't understand it, but I knew I wouldn't get anywhere without more information. I have to prepare for whatever comes next. The main thing is to get fit… my head still hurts as if an angry Thor hit it with his hammer.
I need to sleep; maybe it's just a bad dream…
I slowly closed my eyes and drifted off.
Knock, knock, knock
I woke up to an annoying tapping on the door. Who is it? What do they want? Isn't it the weekend?
I opened my eyes grumpily, had to close them again, and then open them in disbelief.
"It wasn't a dream. I'm in a hospital as a kid. I've gone back in time," a short internal monologue reviewing the facts flashed through my mind at lightning speed.
"Come in!" I shouted. (It sounded like a puppy's yelp. It's going to be hard to gain respect, I thought.)
A short, fat man with an unkempt beard and cheap, ill-fitting clothes entered the room. He was smiling… but it was a fake smile that didn't reach his eyes. If I were a regular kid, I would have believed it, but unfortunately for him, I was instantly on guard. I looked at him a bit closer… yellow, rotten teeth, bad clothes, fake smile… he only lacked candies in his pockets.
My blood ran cold; I immediately felt the adrenaline kicking in. There was absolutely nothing in the room I could use as a weapon (surprisingly, for a hospital). My only option was Muay Thai, with a single chance—a sharp elbow to the temple if he tried anything.
He slowly walked into the room and sat on the chair by the bed.
"How are you feeling, Patrik? I heard you fell down the stairs," he said, trying to sound kind.
"Who are you and how do you know my name?" I replied, trying for a normal tone without any tension.
"You don't remember me? I'm the maintenance man at the home," he replied "kindly," but I saw that fake smile… eyes don't lie, and I caught a flash of triumph.
Right then, it was clear that something stank… and it wasn't just his disgusting smell of sweat, onions, and old clothes.
"From the home? What home?" I blurted out in surprise.
"Wool's Orphanage in London, of course," he replied, and I could still see the triumph in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember anything at all. Could you tell me more? What's your name, by the way?"
"My name is Adam Bates. What specifically are you interested in? I just came to check on you quickly; I don't have much time." He stopped pretending entirely; he was talking normally now. I was certain he had something to do with why I was in the hospital.
"What's my last name, Mr. Bates? How old am I and where are we now?"
"Your name is Patrik Rosier. I don't know how old you are; you'll have to ask the matron. You're currently in central London, only a kilometer away from Wool's Orphanage."
As soon as he finished speaking, a nurse burst into the room and immediately started shouting:
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING IN HERE!!!!" she yelled angrily. Luckily, she wasn't yelling at me, but at Bates next to me, who immediately jumped off the chair and away from me.
"I… I… I'm Adam Bates, I work at the orphanage. I just came to see if Patrik was alright," he replied, terrified.
Why is he scared? Was he not here officially? It only confirmed my belief that Bates was dangerous and that he wasn't here just because. I have to be careful… Life isn't fair, especially for an orphan.
"OUT AT ONCE, OR I'LL CALL THE POLICE! NO ONE IS ALLOWED IN THIS ROOM WITHOUT STAFF PERMISSION!!!!" she continued to scream.
Bates flew out of the room as if the devils themselves were chasing him. I felt a wave of relief. Bates was dangerous, and as a kid, I wouldn't be able to defend myself properly if he wanted to hurt me.
As soon as he was gone, a doctor arrived. He reminded me a bit of Dr. House, though he didn't limp. He had a friendly face and light stubble. I immediately started to trust him.
"What happened, Helena? How did that man get in here and what was he doing?" the doctor asked, out of breath. He must have run when he heard the shouting.
"I saw him sitting on the chair talking, but I don't know about what. I don't understand how he got in."
The doctor noticed I was tensely listening to what was going on. He gave me a reassuring smile.
"Everything alright, young man? How are you?"
"Great. What's going on here?" I replied sarcastically and asked straight out. No point beating around the bush.
The doctor smiled with amusement and turned back to the nurse.
"Helena, please go call the police and bring me this young man's medical file," he requested and ordered at the same time. The nurse just nodded and immediately left the room…
Hmm, probably a good doctor if he commands that much respect.
"What is your name? So I don't have to call you 'young man'," he asked me. I had a strong urge to snap back and tell him to introduce himself first… but this was important and I can't act like a brat.
"My name is Patrik. I don't remember much," I replied.
"Nice to meet you, Patrik. I'm Doctor Barlow. I can't tell you much because I wasn't working when you were admitted. I need your file to give you more information. Someone should bring it shortly. Could you answer my questions in the meantime?"
I simply nodded…
"Thank you. Who was that man and what did he want?" Barlow went straight to the point. Great doctor.
"He said his name is Adam Bates, he works as maintenance at the orphanage where I live. He told me he just came to see me because I fell down the stairs. But he was acting weird…" I said honestly that Bates was really strange and creepy, and I didn't trust him.
"How weird?"
"He was acting fake—visibly and overly kind. I also felt like he was happy I didn't remember anything." Hah, threw him right under the bus.
"Hmm, thank you. The police will be interested in that as well."
"Why? What happened?"
"You're in a private room, a relatively secret one that the nurses can access easily. Rooms like this are reserved for victims of a crime. Judging by the bandages and your memory loss, I'd say it was an attempted murder," Barlow explained patiently and factually.
"Thank you for being honest, I appreciate it. Won't you get in trouble for telling me?"
I was surprised by his honesty. Who tells a kid someone tried to murder them? I felt grateful he was being direct.
"Orphanage kids grow up faster. You strike me as a strong personality who values reality over lies. No, I won't have problems. If you had a hysterical breakdown and a nervous collapse, someone would surely blame me… but given you're from the orphanage and on that gray edge… it's fine."
Knock, knock, knock
"Enter!" Barlow called out.
A young nurse walked in, probably an intern since she looked like a student, maybe 15–16. She looked at the room and me with interest.
"Doctor, Mrs. Helena sent me with the medical file for patient Patrik Evan Rosier." She handed him the file and winked at me with a smile.
"Thank you, Eliza, you may go," Barlow thanked her politely with a smile.
Eliza waved at me, turned on her heel, and left. Meanwhile, Doctor Barlow was reading my file. The room was quite silent, giving me time to think… Someone tried to kill me, probably that slimeball Bates. The question is why… and at the same time, would he really be stupid enough to check on his victim to see if they're alive or remember anything? How did he get in here if I'm not in a public ward?
My name is strange too… Evan Rosier was probably my father… Rosier sounds familiar, but I can't for the life of me remember what it is. I simply need more information.
"It's a miracle you're alive and talking at all. They found you under the stairs in a pool of blood; you should be in a coma right now. According to the X-rays, you suffered a skull fracture in multiple places," Barlow suddenly spoke up. I jolted a bit, lost in thought.
"Well, I'm glad to be alive, obviously," I laughed. So this body probably died, and I somehow ended up in it from the future or another universe. Interesting.
"We're glad too. The police are investigating the case right now; they'll definitely talk to you soon. I'll inform them about Mr. Bates. In the meantime, I'll check how you're doing." Barlow said with a smile. "Aside from the memory loss, does anything hurt? Do you feel anything unusual?" he added.
"My head hurts a bit, like I drank liters of alcohol and have a terrible hangover. And my stomach is still a bit unsettled," I answered honestly.
"Liters of alcohol? A hangover?" Barlow asked in surprise, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, that's just how people say it, right?" I quickly played it off.
"I see, I see. We'll prescribe some Paracetamol and beef broth," Barlow replied with an amused smile. "Turn your back to me; I'll check the wound on the back of your head to see how it's healing," he ordered.
I turned around and felt him taking off the bandage. It didn't come off easily, even though he was trying to be careful… blood sticks to bandages and then you have to peel it away gently. I hissed like a snake when he pulled a bit harder. The bandage was completely off, and I just heard a surprised gasp.
"Is something wrong, Doctor? Is everything okay?" I asked curiously and cautiously.
"Every… everything is fine. There is no wound."
"How is that possible? You said I had multiple skull fractures," I asked in shock.
"It's true. Even the bandage was soaked with blood after the surgery. I never thought I'd encounter a case like this in my career."
"What do you mean, 'a case like this'?" I asked, bewildered.
"A case where a child is at huge risk of death one day, and the next, there isn't a single trace of the injury. As if the injury vanished by miracle. No one knows why it happens; it's a very rare phenomenon, maybe 1 in a million. A miracle, magic, prayer, or God's second chance. It's only known in medical circles, and even there, only a small percentage believe it. Those it happens to… until recently, I considered them over-dramatic fools who must be making it up…"
I was completely speechless, just like Barlow.
"Well, I'm glad I'm alive and got a second chance. Can I ask what year it is, Doctor?"
"Well, I'm glad you're alive too. I might start believing in God myself. The year is 1988, February 20th. I'll send a nurse with the Paracetamol and that broth for your stomach. I'll come by for rounds tomorrow morning. Do you need anything else for now?"
"No, nothing else. I need to sleep, thank you." I thanked Barlow with a smile. I like it when people are competent.
"I'll leave you for now then. Get some rest, and if anything happens, there's a button on the side of the bed that sends a signal. Please, press it immediately if anyone other than the nurses or me comes in," Barlow ordered as he left.
"You got it, boss!" I saluted for fun before Barlow closed the door.
At least I can think now…
- It's 1988. I'm not in the past; I didn't live in this year.
- I look exactly as I did when I was a kid.
- Someone tried to murder me. They succeeded. I'm a different Patrik.
- I'm miraculously alive. Was it a miracle or something else? (Superpowers? Magic? Something else?)
- Why am I in an orphanage? Where is my family?
- My last name and my father's name sound familiar. Evan Rosier… who is that and where have I heard that last name before? Rosier—Rose, something with flowers?
So, what do you guys think? Is the grammar readable? I've gone through it several times and it seems fine to me, but I'm always open to advice and corrections from native speakers. As for the story itself—what are your first impressions? I'm looking for objective feedback. I decided to upload the first part here because this community is known for being active and providing great critiques. I look forward to your comments!
2. Chapter
New
PatrikWriter
Your first time is always over so quickly, isn't it?
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"Knock, knock, knock."
That annoying knocking sound again, though it woke me up instantly…
I live alone in my flat, so there's no one to be knocking on the door; the postwoman always rings the bell.
"Fuck, it wasn't a dream," I thought with unease.
The door opened slowly, and Nurse Helena was already shouting from the threshold: "ROUNDS! Good morning, young man, how are we doing?"
"Sleepy, but good. The soup helped yesterday, and my head doesn't hurt anymore today," I replied. The sooner I answer her, the sooner I can get back to sleep.
"I'm glad to hear that. You're a little miracle, Patrik. Did you dream of anything, or have you remembered anything?" she asked with curiosity and a hint of tension.
"No, I don't remember my dream, nor the time before." It was the truth; I rarely remembered my dreams.
The nurse visibly exhaled, the tension leaving her body.
"Was she afraid I'd have some psychological fallout from my attempted murder?" I wondered.
"Victims of violence carry trauma with them for the rest of their lives in 91.9% of cases. Your case is a bit more specific due to the amnesia. If you don't remember the time before, I assume you won't have any trauma or bad memories. If you do happen to remember, please tell the head of the home. She's already been informed, and if you start remembering, a psychologist will be assigned to help you process your trauma and the fact that someone tried to murder you. Can you promise me that, Patrik? For your own good?" the nurse concluded, her voice full of care.
"Of course, ma'am, I'll tell the head as soon as I remember," I replied with a faint smile. Of course, I was lying… I don't want a psychologist; no one tried to kill me.
This body with my face died. I don't know why I ended up in it, or why someone murdered him… but the least I can do is find out why and avenge him.
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth… even if I have to go to hell and back. I owe him that much," I thought.
"Knock, knock, knock," echoed through the suddenly quiet room.
"Come in!" Helena shouted.
"Shouldn't I be the one shouting that? Oh well, no one respects kids. This is going to be hard," I thought.
Doctor Barlow entered. I could tell immediately that something serious was happening. He was completely expressionless, tense…
"Good morning, Patrik, how are you feeling?" he asked with a forced smile—stiff and fake—which was more unsettling than comforting.
"What's going on, Doctor?" It had to be something serious. I went straight to the point; Barlow had been honest with me yesterday, so I took the risk.
"Helena, please leave us alone, I'll finish the rounds," Barlow said tensely to the nurse.
We waited in silence until the nurse left the room. With the soft click of the door closing, Barlow turned to me.
"There's an investigation underway at the orphanage. Bates was arrested by the police yesterday. He was suspected of trying to kill you, but there was no direct evidence. By coming to see you yesterday when he wasn't supposed to, he drew attention to himself," Doctor Barlow explained tensely.
"But that's good, isn't it? Now that we know it was him," I asked. I trusted my instincts. Bates was a creep.
"Yes, it's good; he won't be able to hurt anyone else." He was still holding something back, keeping a secret from me. The tension hadn't left him.
"Why did he try to kill me? An eight-year-old in an orphanage... The motive is important…" I thought.
"Why did he try to kill me?" I asked, but what I meant was: "Why did he kill me?!"
At my question, the doctor stiffened even more. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and I was starting to suspect it was going to be worse than I thought.
Barlow exhaled sharply after my question and hung his head in defeat.
"You're more intelligent than one would expect."
I needed to know what the fuck was going on here. What was happening in that orphanage? What happened to this body? I trusted Barlow. He didn't want to tell me for my own sake… but in my experience, reality is better than a bitter lie or obfuscation.
"Thank you. Why did he try to kill me?" I asked again.
"I shouldn't tell you. It's better not to know." It had to be really bad for him to be dodging it like this.
I was starting to get pissed off. I needed to know. I have to know; I owe it to this body.
"I want to know, Doctor, tell me," I commanded. My squeaky voice didn't help much, but I could see that just a little more and he'd break.
"The headmistress should be the one to tell you." He was no longer looking at the floor, but into my eyes with compassion.
Something exploded inside me. I wanted to know, I needed to know. More than anything else. It was my only desire when suddenly, something strange happened.
…a flash, of police loading Bates into a car with handcuffs on his wrists… …a flash, of an older woman speaking… …"Every child will need to be examined. This was a massive failure..."… …a flash of a policeman talking… …"Bates is a pedophile, he was on the registry, he had no business being there..."…
"What was that? What happened? Was Bates a pedophile?" I thought. I felt a bit tired and was slightly out of breath.
"Doctor, I trust you. Was Bates a pedophile?" I asked directly, with the coolness of an Englishman.
The doctor's eyes widened like ping-pong balls in surprise… For a moment, he reminded me of Gollum from Lord of the Rings.
"How did you figure that out?" he asked, stunned.
I remained silent. I looked him straight in the eyes. Sometimes, silence is better than a thousand words.
"You really are very intelligent. Yes, he was a pedophile. Bates confessed during interrogation. What I'm about to tell you, you must keep to yourself. You can't tell anyone because it's an ongoing investigation and I, as a doctor, am bound by oath. However, I believe that if I didn't tell you, it would only haunt you mentally. This information is only held by the police, your headmistress as your legal guardian, and me as the doctor who is treating and will be examining every child."
"I promise, Doctor, I won't tell anyone," I promised quickly, before he could change his mind.
"Bates was convicted 15 years ago for child rape; he was on the sex offender registry. He was released for good behavior after 8 years. He was prohibited from approaching schools, playgrounds, orphanages, and the like. However, a systemic failure occurred."
"What kind of failure?"
"The head of an orphanage must check the criminal record before hiring an employee to see if they are fit to work with children. Bates applied with a CV where he spelled his surname with two 'T's. The headmistress checked his name according to the CV. Battes had no record… because no one named 'Battes' even exists," Barlow explained.
I was starting to worry about what this body had gone through. I literally hated pedophiles. Animals.
Systemic error… hmmm. "Computers didn't exist yet; they checked everything via landline?" Another realization that I was in a different year and a different body hit me like a hammer.
"One stroke of luck is that Bates only worked at the orphanage for a month. Under interrogation, he said he didn't abuse any children. He confessed that he tried to knock out a little girl with chloroform, drag her into the maintenance room and abuse her, but he claims you saw him. You started running and screaming. Bates panicked and ran after you, caught up with you under the stairs, and hit you on the back of the head with a pipe wrench. There was blood everywhere. He heard footsteps, so he fled," Barlow explained.
"Since the ambulance and police were contacted immediately, Bates didn't dare do anything else. The police investigated the headmistress, the cook, and the rest of the staff. It was immediately clear it wasn't an accident. A fall down the stairs can be heard, and some children also heard you screaming as you ran. You had no injuries anywhere else, only on the back of your head—no fractures, bruises, or contusions. Based on the wound, it was a blunt object, and therefore classified as attempted murder," Barlow continued.
"And by Bates coming to see his victim in the hospital, he pointed a massive finger at himself," I remarked.
"Yes, exactly. You were already examined upon admission. The only thing you had was a fractured skull, which is miraculously fine today. You were not sexually assaulted," Barlow concluded.
I exhaled with relief. Death is better than sexual assault. The only thing that ever terrified me in life was sexual abuse. Helplessness and suffering. Thank God he didn't manage to hurt any child in the home.
"When I'm older, I'll find him and he'll regret being born," I promised my body in my mind.
"Thank you for your honesty, Doctor, I really appreciate it. What happens now?" I asked Barlow.
"We'll finish the rounds, check if the wound is still okay, and after lunch, the headmistress will come for you. You're going back home," the doctor smiled. He was no longer tense. I suppose I reacted calmly enough.
Barlow checked the back of my head. It was easier than yesterday… Judging by his fascinated mumbling, everything was fine. He recorded the rounds in my medical chart and said goodbye.
"If you need anything, remember the button on the bed," Barlow reminded me and left.
I stretched out on the bed and put my hands behind my head with a sigh.
"I have time to think," I thought.
"What were those flashes when I looked into his eyes?" I asked myself. "They were either thoughts or memories. Barlow thought I deduced that Bates was a pedophile. So what I saw was true. That confirms I'm in another universe… The question is, which one?"
"Telepathy and regeneration? Did I get superpowers during the murder attempt? A mutant gene? Or was it Legilimency and I'm in Harry Potter? Maybe Marvel? DC? But then again, regeneration could be from Harry Potter too—didn't his wounds heal better? Didn't his hair grow back when he tried really hard?"
I knew the name Rosier rang a bell, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember from where.
"I'll try to use telepathy again when I get the chance, and we'll see," I told myself.
"Knock, knock, knock."
"Come in!" I shouted.
The student nurse from yesterday entered with a tray of food. Perfect, my stomach was just starting to rumble.
"Little Patrik is hungry," she said in a childish voice.
"Little Patrik is the hungriest," I replied with a smile.
"Here you go: omelet, toast, and fruit yogurt. Enjoy."
She placed the tray on my bed and started to leave.
Before the door closed behind her, I managed to shout: "Thanks, Eliza, you're sweet."
She turned to me with a smile and a surprised look, waving. She was probably surprised I remembered her name. There was only the click of the closing door, and I could tear into the food like a wolf.
After breakfast—great at least in terms of nutritional value—I was starting to get bored.
"I don't know what world I'm in, but my body is weak. I need to improve it, it must get stronger. The world isn't fair," I thought.
"Dumbbells and heavy weights are a no-go. If I have increased regeneration, it would be fine, but it's not confirmed and I definitely don't want to be stunted in a child's version of a grown man."
"So, boxing classics it is. Squats, push-ups, crunches, and the pull-up bar. Shadowboxing and full-body power stretching." The training was planned out, but it would probably be weird if I started shadowboxing and working out here after such an injury. So, stretching until I bite my lip from boredom.
During the painful stretching, I realized something very important that I think will significantly help me in the future.
"I am 100% focused, I have 100% motivation to improve. No annoying mobile notifications forcing me to look, I don't miss my phone or computer. No games or e-reader. My brain is clear, no dopamine from social media. No bad habits, just a clear head and knowledge from 29 years of life. I know the technological future, which will definitely help me. At least regarding the general development of technology and what's worth investing in. What I lack is capital. I'll have to solve that."
"I absolutely must find out which universe I'm in as soon as possible." I need to know the risks of the future and what to watch out for.
"Next, my priority will be my abilities. In every universe where there are superpowers, there are brutal risks, and I want to have control over my destiny," I promised myself.
After stretching, I wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead and sat back on the bed. Time for meditation—that's necessary if I want to know my abilities. I didn't know how to meditate, but I tried it once in my original life. I remember the basics were about controlling your breathing. I had experience with that—pre-fight breathing and stress breathing…
I closed my eyes and started counting: "1 2 3 4 – inhaaaaale." "1 2 3 4 – hold breath in lungs." "1 2 3 4 – exhaaaaale."
I don't know how long I spent trying to meditate. I expected to find or realize something interesting. Maybe that I'd start reading the thoughts of the whole hospital… but unfortunately, to my disappointment, nothing like that happened. No chakra, no hidden power… simply nothing.
"Fuck!" I cursed out loud. "I don't have any hack system, no gamer system, nothing for free. Just hard mode in a hard world. Only my mind, my body, and my abilities, which I know nothing about. It's tough, but I have to grind. In real life, nothing is for free. You have to work for everything or earn it. I'm not a little bitch, I'm keeping at it…"
I cursed myself out mentally, got myself motivated, and meditated further….
***
What do you think about this chapter? What did you like, and what didn't work for you? When I read it back myself, it feels pretty okay, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. Your feedback really helps me and motivates me to keep writing and improve faster. And if you enjoyed the chapter, don't forget to drop a Power Stone — it helps a lot and keeps me motivated. Anyway, I wish you all a Merry Christmas.