August 17. France, near Lormes.
*
Around the remains of the Riddles, I returned the wall four bricks high. I knew the bricks would be useful, and they still didn't weigh anything in my backpack. Then I sprinkled the remains with termite mixture. Just in case, I was wearing safety glasses. Although polycarbonate doesn't protect against fire, it makes me feel safer. I put on kevlar gloves, and I lit a termite match. Goodbye, Mr. Tom Riddle! Goodbye, Mr. Thomas Riddle! I covered my eyes with my palm, stood and waited. Nearby, the hope of one of Tom Riddle Jr.'s rebirth options was burning. An hour later, I broke the brick wall with a shovel and scattered the ashes in the cemetery. What a long day!
"Kreacher, I'm going to rest. Wake me an hour before midnight."
Kreacher woke me one hour before midnight. In the middle of the house, I folded a pedestal into one thick brick, on which I set the altarpiece. There were no patterns on the sides of the stone, and there were no canals of blood on the rim of the bowl. The workpiece was much smaller than in the ritual hall of the mansion but larger than a small stone in the dojo. It's a good thing the stone was so small. In four weeks of constant physical activity and quality food, I became much healthier and fattened. I can fill the bowl to the brim. But with an altar in the ritual hall of the mansion, I won't be able to do that for another ten years.
When my cheap watch showed midnight, I cut my palm on the sword and started filling the bowl. Blood flowed surprisingly fast as if I had cut not my palm but my wrist. When there wasn't much left to the edge of the bowl and my pulse was beating in the temples, I started talking:
"Magic! You're being destroyed by unknowingly Muggle bloodlines. You're being tormented by degenerate purely bloodlines. They think their millennia-old tradition of incest is what you need. The British magicians have forgotten their ancestral wealth. But they can't create a new one. They can't even take the ready knowledge from ordinary people who have long been ahead of them.
Magic! Bring this altar to life! Give me a chance to win. I will have the power! With fire, steel and a word, I will crush our enemies! And for centuries to come, no scoundrel will think to forbid the old knowledge or unlock the new!"
Blood has reached the edge, my head is noisy. Weak in blood loss, I knelt, and then I fell on my side and fell into darkness.
*
18 August 1991
*
I woke up in bed from what was light. Kreacher was standing next to me and always saying something. The elf saw me turning, he was silent. I opened my eyes and looked at him with a focused look.
"The master had lost a lot of blood! The master must lie in bed! Kreacher has prepared meat, sir!" said Kreacher.
"What happened to the altar?"
"Nothing, sir! Kreacher had to understand that the Master was not doing the altar ritual correctly! Bad Kreacher!"
"Do you know how to set the altar correctly?" Again I could do it properly, but like a fool, I learn from my mistakes.
"Kreacher was present when the altar was set in the house at Hogsmid, sir."
"Can you describe the ritual to me?"
"The master can see the description in the diary of the noble ancestor Arcturus Black, in the library."
I don't understand anything! Why didn't he say anything before? Does he want my death?
"The ritual will have to be repeated when I have fully restored the blood. It's a pity I lost so much of that blood."
"Don't worry, sir. I used it to strengthen the protection of the house."
"Well done, Kreacher! I appreciate the cleverness."
Kreacher straightened his shoulders.
All this and the next day I spent eating, sitting on the sofa or falling asleep.
Grimmauld Place 12, dojo. The morning of August 20, 1991.
I have in my hand a set of forty-six wands. It's a trophy from killing shopkeepers with Bart. I need to find a good replacement for my faithful wand, broken by a squib in the cab. I had one spare wand. But I didn't like it. The Confundus is good for five sticks, which is great. I used the rest of the charms from an incredibly rich material as an indicator of "affinity" with a wand. I set aside two wands that looked like oak. Both had the same light and Diffindo's mark was the same deep. More sisters' wands? Well, I feel better. I put the rest of the wands evenly in two large bottles. It's time to make stashes.
I'll leave the spare "sister" in France. Where do I put the rest of the wands? Since I'm already holding the wand, I decided to change my training. There will be magic in the morning and sword in the evening. Unfortunately, my fighting skills leave much to be desired. I still have no sense in training, combining steel, fire and word.
I'll be texting Hermione today.
What is she so important to me? Among all the snake swamps, only she and Luna did not betray the canonical Harry. Only Dumbledore managed to break Hermione's life, giving her up for stupidity and gluttony, betrayal and bastardize. He must have injected gallons of Amortentia and then Obliviate. I will eliminate that danger physically! How many people have this spider ruined their lives? How many people died because Hogwarts taught them how to laugh at a Boggart and break fingers with water instead of Bombarda and Avada? That bastard's been killing education in a whole country for half a century! What kind of scum finally imposed a ban on juvenile witchcraft? You'll pay for it. You'll be in the shit for a long time. Shit will be your skin. And then the crowd will kick you and spit on you. And that's all for the job. And after that, I'm going to personally strangle you with your guts.
"Avada Kedavra!" Oh, yeah! A weak green-ray broke out of a stick and hit the mannequin's pearl. What's that working out? Is it that simple? The realization of that fact made me laugh from the heart. It's a complicated spell of dark magic! Don't make me laugh.
"Avada Kedavra!" It didn't work. And the hatred of Dumbledore was already gone. My hatred was muffled by the joy that the world's "worst" spell had worked. Is it good or bad? Avada is believed to have been a "power indicator" of the wizard. And only strong magicians could use Avada. Yeah, yeah! So what were all the countless hordes of Voldemort armed with then? All three hundred men? Avada. It's been established by experience that there was no need for the excessive force at all. It takes enough hatred and the desire to kill.
On the other hand, it requires a special, prepared state of consciousness. If I get caught by surprise, Avada won't work. I'll have to use other spells. I'll have to pump my brain with darkness to use it. And all I can do for my weak Avada is put the rabbit to rest. I have the training to do. I might be able to replace hatred with a state of cold but devastating rage.
At this time, the pocket with Hermione's leaf tie got warmer. I went to my favorite room, the living room. While on parchment there were letters of the first sentence, in my head had time to visit the whole swarm of thoughts.
How do I feel about her? So far, almost none. A little girl who hasn't done any of the things I like her for. And with my help, she'll probably never do. I am not a Dumbledore for putting children in mortal danger and seeing what comes out of it.
Telling her the truth is the only way I can't do it. I'm going to treat her like an adult. Freshman year showed that she's more mature than the stupid old bitch McGonagall. We just need to slowly, methodically rid her of her undeserved trust in the teachers. At Hogwarts, it's not like the teacher is either a psycho or a fanatic or a sadist or a cheater or a terrorist. Dumbledore, you suck at pedagogy.
"Hello, sir, my name is Hermione Granger. Daddy said you're a colleague of his, and you can tell a lot about the magic world. My parents also gave me two books from you on the occlusion, sir. Thank you!"
"Hello, Hermione. You can call me Mr. Evans. Have you started reading books on the Occlumency yet?"
"Of course, Mr. Evans. I read them on the same day! Do you have any more books that Flourish and Blotts don't have?"
"Of course I have many books, Hermione. I've got enough books like that for a whole bookstore. Just to warn you, it's not enough to read books on the Occlumency. You have to do their exercises every day. You see, among magicians, there's a legilimention. They shamelessly read other people's thoughts without moral standards. You don't want anyone to know all your thoughts just by being around you, do you?"
"No, sir."
"Besides, the Occlumency will improve your memory and thinking. You'll learn better, you'll read books faster. It's worth it, isn't it?" After all that bait, I hope she'll take the Occlumency seriously.
"Yes, Mr. Evans. What did you say about the whole bookstore?"
"I'll give you the books about the traditions of magical society. Remember, modern magical society is full of class prejudice. The world of magicians is still in the fifteenth or sixteenth centuries. Ordinary people for them are "useless, dumb, stupid Muggles." Although people have long outdone magicians in their development. They don't like Muggles, calling them "dirty-bloods". At the same time, they justify their hatred not by the banal envy that takes place. Magicians believe in different racial theories, like Hitler."
"Sir, but this is outrageous! We have to do something! In the twentieth century world, human rights, equality!"
"Hermione, you can't change this society quickly. So you'll have to interact with snobs. They'll look down on you and insult you all the time. They're proud that their families have practiced incest for the last thousand years. McGonagall didn't tell you that? She did tricks, as always. Then she told you what a good education Hogwarts has. She didn't say anything from what I said. She didn't lie to you, she believes the nonsense she's saying. But she only said the nice half of the truth. She just didn't say anything about the unpleasant side."
"But, Mr. Evans, Hogwarts is the best magic school."
"In Britain, Hermione. And only because there are no other schools. You'll quickly see for yourself how low the history of magic, oracle, flight, muggle science, potions and protection from the dark arts are taught. And the dark arts are not taught at all.
"But the dark arts are evil! They cannot be taught."
"Hermione, sometimes the government forbids law-abiding subjects to have weapons. They remain defenseless against armed robbers.
A criminal is not stopped by a prohibition."
"But what do we do?"
"We need to be strong, Hermione. The gods hear those who shout out of rage, not despair. Some things need to be learned for themselves. You're already starting your studies. It's been a long time since Hogwarts learned Occlumency, tradition. You'll get on with it. I will help you. In the summer, maybe I can give you a short course in magical self-defense. You've already read the Defense Against Dark Arts textbook, haven't you? A hard stick in your hand will do far more than all the spells listed.
But you have to take your studies seriously. Even with these meaningless spells, you'll get a hand, gain experience."
"I always take my studies seriously, Mr. Evans. Can't we have a short course on magical self-defense early?"
"Maybe you will, Hermione. I can't say in advance. Maybe I'll be busy."
"Thank you again for the books and advice, sir. Goodbye, sir."
"Goodbye, Hermione."
Hermione, a polite, book-loving girl. It's better if our meeting isn't soon.
I deliberately didn't warn Hermione how not to behave in class. Demonstration of her superiority and desire to serve her teachers will push her students away. But Hermione must learn this lesson from her own experience. I'm sure she'll take my warning wrongly. It's a strange situation. I want to help this girl. But I feel like we're different. I'm not kind, sweet Harry. What's she like? What's she going to grow up like?