"Yes, I know," I nodded, calmly continuing to help myself to some omelet.
Meanwhile, Styrax had retreated to his bowl of tuna—a portion larger than himself was piled inside. As he bit into the first piece, I continued my story: "It's Styrax's fault!"
"Excuse me?" Vespera blurted out.
"Meow?" came a sound from the bowl.
Both reacted at once. Vespera with an amused smirk and Styrax with a piece of fish still clamped in his jaws.
"Well, yes... I was walking down Diagon Alley from Ranrok's and suddenly Styrax... so he's the one responsible for that fire!" I confirmed firmly for the second time, smirking at the hissing cat. After all, if he hadn't woken me up so early today, we wouldn't be sitting at breakfast and Vespera wouldn't be asking questions.
"Meow-aaa-ow!" he hissed again.
"I see... and now the truth?" Vespera repeated with an undisguised grin. "What really happened there? Why did you let a part of Knockturn Alley burn to ash, and who were the victims?"
"Wellll," I scratched my chin and took another bite, thinking feverishly of an answer. "It really was Styrax's fault," I repeated for the third time.
"Meow!" he hissed at me warningly, immediately giving up on the tuna and approaching my hand dangerously with his claws out. I decided it was better to start telling the real story.
"I really was walking from Ranrok's when a small black cat suddenly appeared and looked at me imploringly with those green eyes of his," I nodded toward Styrax, who stopped mid-motion. "Of course, it wouldn't be me if I refused. I followed him, determined to help... but I didn't expect where it would lead me." I paused for a moment, but then continued with total honesty: "He led me to a shop that was just a front. I used Imperio on the clerk, and he spilled everything immediately."
In that second, the smile vanished from Vespera's face. She waited for the rest, focused and serious.
"It was about illegal animal fighting. Gnomes, dogs, crups, cats... basically anything those bastards could get their hands on. Scum gathered there and enjoyed the show. But what was worse was that they didn't even feed the animals. They were forced to eat each other." Anger boiled inside me again at the memory. If I were a necromancer, I would have resurrected them just so I could kill them again. "They even had a hit-wizard on the payroll. Corrupt bastards," I growled.
Vespera continued to listen patiently and quietly.
"I've never seen anything worse, crueler, or more depressing in my life, Auntie. Filth everywhere, a blood-stained ring in the middle, and cages full of corpses. I forced a Squib and that wizard to fight to the death. I tortured the clerk with Cruciatus. Finally, after saving at least the animals that were still breathing, I set the whole building on fire," I admitted with rising anger. "I'd do it again, Auntie. Without a single regret."
Vespera watched me in silence. After a long moment, she nodded understandingly.
"You truly are a terrifying child, nephew... You combine your mother's kindness with the pragmatism of our lineage and the combativeness of the Blacks." She paused for a second while my omelet grew cold on the plate. "The Ministry swept it under the rug. They aren't reporting an illegal ring, just an unfortunate accident and four victims without details. There are many places like that in Knockturn Alley and throughout the wizarding world, Patrik."
"How is it possible? How can they be so cruel?" I asked, still unable to comprehend that pure, senseless cruelty.
"Illegal rings aren't exactly lawful—they are cruel and disgusting, just as you noted. Only the dregs and the rabble of the wizarding world gather there," Vespera admitted, her voice as cold as marble. "But for most, they are just creatures. Wizards commonly brew potions that require fresh ingredients, so no one has a real motivation to deal with it. After all, you yourself killed a troll yesterday just for a ritual ingredient."
"Yes, for an ingredient," I snapped, but my voice held a firm tone. "But no one deserves to die slowly, tortured and eaten alive in such terror, Auntie. And certainly not animals that are literally bred for loyalty to humans."
Vespera studied me for a while as if looking for the limit of my determination. "So what now? Is every single illegal ring in England going to burn to ash?" she asked me with dead seriousness. "There are many of them, Patrik. And playing with them is dangerous."
"I'm twelve, Auntie. My power is growing and will keep growing," I nodded with chilling resolve. "But you're right, for now, I must focus on my own growth. But after that? I'll burn every single one of those fuckers. And eventually, I'll call down such a flood that it'll sweep that entire fucking alley into the depths of the ocean."
And I won't be alone in this, I thought hatefully. If this world eventually turns me into a dark lord, so be it. But first, I need an army.
Vespera looked deep into my eyes, and what she saw there made her nod solemnly. "As always, you have my full support and power," she spoke softly.
Silence fell. The food on the plates slowly cooled, and Styrax watched us both in turn. An ordinary cat would have continued feeding, but he listened intently to every word. After a while, Vespera broke the silence with pragmatic questions:
"How did you manage the Cruciatus? You aren't a sadist. The Ministry cleaned it up, so I doubt anyone would be actively looking for you... but did anyone see you? Are there any more tracks to cover that I don't know about?"
"Cruciatus isn't about sadism, Auntie," I shook my head. "When using it, your mind must be one hundred percent convinced that the target deserves it. You must want to deliver that pain as a just punishment. No one saw me... and besides, I gained a brown wand."
"Burn it," Vespera commanded coldly.
"What?" I blurted out in surprise.
"You may have won it in a duel, but that connection could interfere with your bond with your primary wand," she explained strictly. "Yes, it's magic... It happens that a primary wand stops obeying if a wizard regularly uses two. Everyone carries only one for a simple reason—a wand feels and has a certain form of consciousness. It is territorial. So get rid of the other one immediately. You don't want your own wand to betray you at a critical moment just because you were trying out another."
I nodded silently and continued eating. Although I no longer had a real appetite, I determinedly shoveled the remains of the cold omelet into myself. I could have called Jobo to reheat the food, but through the burning hatred that still boiled within me, I didn't even notice the cold. It wasn't important.
Some people had nothing to put in their mouths, and others were forced to eat each other... A cold omelet was nothing compared to that.
"Do you plan to perform the ritual today?" Vespera asked quietly when I finally put down my spoon.
"Yes. I need to prepare the wrist and I'll get straight to it," I nodded. I needed to grow stronger as soon as possible. Styrax, meanwhile, was contentedly finishing his tuna as if none of this concerned him.
"Can I watch? Or will I be in your way?" my aunt asked with a tone that mixed curiosity with respect.
"You can. But please, silence, so I don't accidentally mess something up," I agreed.
I stood up from the table. I had work that couldn't wait. Styrax stayed in the dining room with Vespera while I headed to my room.
"I'll send Jobo for you when everything is ready, Auntie," I added before finally leaving the room.
In the room, I simply called Jobo and ordered him to bring the sharp knives intended for preparing potion ingredients. On my study table, covered with a heavy sheet, I began the dissection of the severed wrist. I removed the skin from the top of the palm—it was the largest and strongest surface. I thoroughly scraped away the remaining tissue and placed it in a bowl of salt water to disinfect it and remove impurities.
From the bones, I chose a part of the thumb. I didn't know exactly what it was called in Latin, but at a glance, it was the most massive of them all, so I dissected it out. I remembered from biology that fingers consist of three phalanges, so theoretically, I knew what I was looking for. Practically, I made sure by dissecting the entire thumb area. Of those three segments, the top one was the thickest and largest, so it went into the saline solution with the skin.
The dissection didn't bother me in the slightest. I kept repeating in my head that it was just another chicken for a barbecue. Experiences from my past life, especially memories of my grandmother in the village who calmly slit chickens' throats, helped me keep a steady hand.
When I was sure I had everything I needed and the parts were dry, I went over the procedure in the codex and my own notes one last time. With magic that changes the very nature of the body, second chances aren't given.
"Jobo!" I called out when the right time came.
With a soft pop and a respectful bow, the elf appeared, ready for instructions. "I need two wooden bowls. As soon as you bring them, call Vespera. Tell her we're starting," I ordered. With another pop, he disappeared and was back within a minute with the bowls.
I placed the skin and bone in one, Fawkes's feather in the other. I carried them to the open space in the middle of the room, to the same spot where I had performed my first ritual. I sat in a cross-legged position, grasped the bowls in my palms, and held them out at shoulder width. I placed them both in front of me at the same time so that I formed part of an equilateral triangle—exactly according to the instructions.
On the left lay the troll parts, on the right the phoenix feather. By the time my aunt arrived, I had managed to read through the ritual one last time. Vespera entered the room and looked at my improvised sanctuary on the floor with interest. "No pentagram? No candles?" she asked curiously.
"I thought so too when I started with this codex... But fortunately, reality is simpler. I think I'd have a stroke if I had to draw precise geometric shapes," I replied with an amused shake of my head. "You never saw Elizabeth during a ritual?"
"No, those are family secrets," she replied with a faint smile and summoned a chair with a simple Accio. She sat down comfortably, crossed her legs, and added: "You should write ritual memoirs for other members of the house. In case Sally turns out to be something more... for little Rosier," she smirked.
I shook my head helplessly at her implication. "I'm starting. Let me concentrate."
I touched the wand to the bowl with the troll ingredients, gently tapping them with the tip, and recited the formula: "Pellis et os troglodytae, firmitudinem mihi date."
The magic in the room rose immediately. A weak, cold flame engulfed the contents of the bowl, but it burned nothing. I moved to the second part. This time I pointed the wand at Fawkes's feather: "Penna phoenicis, ignem vitae accende."
The air literally began to vibrate. I felt extraordinary power, though Vespera sat motionless and seemed not to register any of the pressure. The feather, too, caught fire with that same magical flame.
The third step came. I raised the wand to the center of the imaginary triangle and continued the incantation: "Ritus firmitudinis et regenerationis consummatus est. Sicut saxum durus, sicut fenix renatus."
At the last word, both ingredients burned to dust at once. The ash rose into the air and mixed with thick smoke. The conclusion remained. I pressed the wand to my heart over my robes and spoke in a firm voice: "Mater Magia, audi preces meas. Exaudi vota mea et sigilla hoc opus. Fiat!"
As soon as I addressed Mother Magic, I felt something foreign in the tingling air. Something that watched me, observed me, and judged me. A chill ran down my spine, but I couldn't stop. At the last word, the magic in the room exploded silently. I didn't see a flash, I didn't feel a draft, only an invisible vortex. I felt as if that ancient consciousness gave me a conspiratorial wink. Then the ash and smoke flew directly at me.
My body absorbed it like thirsty earth. With every inch of smoke consumed, the pain and searing heat grew. I felt it in every pore of my skin, in my bones, and in my veins. From that agony, my vision went dark, but I refused to scream. I still felt that gaze. It wasn't a human; it wasn't anyone I knew.
When the pain became unbearable, it suddenly vanished—exactly at the moment that invisible consciousness "winked" one last time and disappeared. An immense exhaustion washed over me. I could no longer keep my back straight, and the muscles in my cross-legged position gave out.
I only felt my back hit the warm floor, and before sweet unconsciousness swallowed me, I heard my aunt's terrified cry:
"Patrik!"
***
Author's note:
Is our MC destined to be the next Dark Lord with a black cat by his side? That is the question.
But tell me—would he truly be "evil" if he's fighting against cruelty and corruption?
As Edmund Burke once said: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
And finally... a wink from Mother Magic? Wtf?! Is Patrik going to be alright?
***
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(16):
70. The Scent of Despair
71. The Old Bird's Wisdom
72. Toujours Pur
73. The Emperor of Mankind
74. Two Romans Walk into a Bar…
75. Tactical Retreats
76. The Twelve-Year-Old Dark Lord
77. Poking the Snake
78. Of False Heroes and Tethered Minds
79. The Casual Intruder
80. The Silent Partner
81. The Black Inheritance
82. The Frequency of Intent
83. Of Blood and Thorns
84. Thorns, Wards, and Sly Foxes
85. As Peaceful and Civilized as Always
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