***
The morning began early for Cassius, with the house spirit's whining. The nasty creature stood by the bed and muttered in a high-pitched squeaky voice:
"Young master, wake up! Wake up, it's morning already."
African house spirits, or yambo, differed in appearance from their European counterparts, resembling large galago animals more than ordinary house spirits. They could even be called cute, if it weren't for their unpleasant voices, which sounded like the cries of a small child.
Cassius jumped up on the bed: "Right! I'm not at home, I'm at my new teacher's house." The boy quickly began to get dressed, impatiently pushing away the brownie who had decided to help him.
"Today is my first day of school," he thought. "I'm sure it will be interesting."
When the boy was dressed, the brownie took him by the hand and they were transported to the dining room. Chibuzo Inu was already sitting there, eating something from a rather large dish.
"Hello, Cassius. Sit down. A wizard's breakfast should be hearty and filling," he said good-naturedly.
The boy sat down, and the house spirits immediately placed numerous plates of food in front of him. Malfoy began to eat the unusual but rather tasty dishes with relish.
After breakfast, they went out to the pool and settled into rattan chairs by the water.
"So, Cassius. The first thing you will learn is meditation," said Chibuzo. "It will allow you to feel your power and learn to control it. In Europe, you use concentrators for magic. Magic wands, rings, staffs, swords. We have all of those things too, but we teach children wandless magic. If children master this method of sorcery at a young age, then later in life, any kind of magic will come more easily to them. Why isn't this method used in Europe?" asked the magician, raising his finger instructively. "There are several answers to that question:
"Firstly, tradition. Every nation trains wizards in its own way, and it is not easy to adopt someone else's magical practices at a mature age. When enrolling at Hogwarts, Beauxbaton, or Durmstrang, a wand is required. From the first months of training, children begin to learn the gestures and words necessary for witchcraft. And only the strongest are capable of non-verbal and wandless magic over the years. Secondly," he continued, "European magicians do not train their perception; no one sees magic, only its physical manifestation. Some buy or create special glasses, especially artefactors. Of course, many powerful wizards are able to sense the manifestation of magic in the surrounding space, but only a few can see the energy. Well, and thirdly," Chibuzo looked cheerfully at the boy. "When using a concentrator, any magical effect is easier to achieve. The wizard focuses his power in a wand or other similar concentrator. Over time, magicians realised that a wand is a more versatile tool than, say, a ring or a staff. With it, it is much easier to draw a spell than, say, with a sword. Not everyone will learn to run a marathon to get from one city to another; most will prefer to buy a horse, Chibuzo Inu concluded with a smile.
Cassius listened to his teacher in amazement: "Can he really cast spells without a wand, like the greatest magicians?"
"Look, Cass, first you have to feel the magic within you," said Chibuzo Inu. "I don't know what it will feel like to you. Perhaps it will be a feeling of warmth at the point of concentration, or perhaps the opposite, a feeling of coolness. Perhaps you will feel goose bumps or heaviness. You have to figure it out for yourself. It also depends on your inclination towards certain natural phenomena or emotions.
Chibuzo Inu lit a flame on his hand without a wand and continued:
"If you are more drawn to fire magic, then you will most likely feel warmth. If you are more drawn to death magic," he clapped his hands, extinguishing the flame, "you will feel fear and despair. And if it's dark magic, you'll feel compassion or sadness. So, based on these feelings, we'll be able to figure out your strengths," he said encouragingly to his student. "And that doesn't mean that if you're good at fire magic, you'll be bad at everything else. No, it just means that fire magic and related spells will come a little easier to you. Now let's finish with the theory and start practising," Chibuzo Inu said with a smile. "You'll learn the rest mostly on your own, and you can ask me questions if anything is unclear. I've given you access to my library. So until you've learned the languages, as soon as you enter, the book you need to read to continue your training will fly off the shelf and tell you what's written in it. Of course, you can also take any book in the accessible part of the library if you're interested," the mage shrugged. Today I'll give you special potions that will help you quickly learn any of the languages needed to read the books in my library. And, of course, you will need to learn some local dialects, such as Lingala, Swahili, and Chiluba, in order to communicate with your peers at school. We will not limit your education to theory and meditation, of course," Chibuzo smiled eagerly. "You also need to develop your body physically. This will help you in all magical disciplines. To perform a ritual, dance with a tambourine, or even fight, a wizard must be in excellent physical shape. Therefore, the house spirit I have assigned to you will monitor your workload.
At that moment, Cassius realised that life was no longer easy and carefree. He would have to work hard long before he got to the school of magic.
As always, it was noisy in the Ministry of Magic's dark wizard division. Magical communication devices were ringing, employees were dictating something to quill pens, and someone was swearing or yelling at someone else through a two-way mirror. Only near the office at the end of the large common room was it quieter. There sat the head of the department, Rufus Scrimgeour, who did not like to be distracted from his work by any noise. Now Rufus looked up angrily at the newcomer. But the strongest and most experienced dark wizard, Alastor Moody, and it was indeed him, had long since ceased to care about the discontent of his interlocutors. The one-legged wizard sat down heavily in a chair near the table and asked hoarsely:
"Rufus, how long are we going to coddle these devourers? Why should I lose my men just because Voldemort's thugs can use unforgivable spells, while all we have in our arsenal are Stupefy and Expelliarmus?"
Scrimgeour sighed heavily:
"Alastor," he said. "Two months ago, I submitted a request to allow your guys to use unforgivable curses, at least temporarily. But many members of the Wizengamot are against this initiative. So this is what happens: you arrest someone suspected of being involved with the Devourers, and the next day they're usually back on the streets. But I think one more high-profile case, and they'll propose similar changes to the law themselves.
"Then we need to create such a case!" Moody growled. "We know exactly which of these pompous aristocrats is a devourer.
"We're on the side of the law," grumbled Scrimger. "Don't forget that. Dark Warriors can't attack aristocrats just because they're suspected of being involved with the devourers. What am I telling you? You already know that." He leaned back from the table in irritation.
"All right," Moody said, rising heavily from his chair. "I'll be going then. Let me know if there's any news. Our boys really need those special powers.
Standing on the parade ground near the Auror Academy building, Alastor Moody looked at the cadets lined up in three rows and thought, "How many of these former Hogwarts students will live to see another day? Whatever politicians may think, there is a real war going on in the wizarding world right now. And in this war, the toothless Ministry is losing! The Death Eaters, led by their leader, are pressing in all directions. The Wizengamot won't pass the necessary laws, and the pure-bloods control the economy and all the money. Damned creatures! They're like a snake that has latched onto its prey and is slowly devouring it. At least Albus dragged me into his Order of the Phoenix, where I can fight without looking over my shoulder at the authorities.
"Fighters!" he shouted loudly. "Stay alert. Now split into pairs. The first cast Expelliarmus, the second cast shield charms. Switch after an hour. After two hours, switch partners again with your neighbours. And I expect you to practise these spells until they become second nature, fighters. The ability to attack and defend quickly will save your worthless lives more than once or twice. Now get started!" he shouted again.
***
The bookshop Florish and Blotts was almost always filled with an inspiring silence. Serious wizards leisurely searched for the books they needed. The salesman also leisurely and importantly served his customers at the cash register. The whole atmosphere of the shop was imbued with a spirit of unhurriedness and knowledge. Antonin Dolohov, a former Russian and current Death Eater, was leafing through a volume on Scandinavian runes. The wizard was a man of medium height and thin build, with dark straight hair and deep-set blue eyes. His sullen and angular face made many who came into contact with him feel uneasy.
Under his cloak, he often wore a black leather jacket and dark trousers, which emphasised his gloomy appearance. He exuded a cruel and indomitable power, and had been helping Voldemort prepare young recruits for a long time, ever since he moved to England at the suggestion of his new acquaintance. Some of his students had already achieved great heights in their magical development. At the same time, he managed to remain in the shadows of other Death Eaters. No one really knew about his role in Voldemort's organisation.
Despite his benevolent and confident appearance, his thoughts were far from calm: "What's the point of premonitions?" Dolochov thought. "I always foresee everything bad that is going to happen to me. But... unfortunately, nothing can be changed. It's even worse than ignorance. No matter how well you prepare, something is bound to happen, trouble always comes suddenly. And the longer you wait, the scarier it gets. First, crows start cawing overhead at every opportunity. This is, so to speak, the first harbinger of impending trouble. Then your heart grows heavier, and then comes the fear of the inevitable. It's like when you were a child and you did something naughty, then hid from your mother and waited, cowering, for her to find you and scold you for your misdemeanour and, worse, for lying and behaving in a manner unbecoming of a young wizard. Right now, I have this nasty feeling of inner trembling, clearly indicating the imminent onset of some kind of trouble. And every time this happens, I want to understand where the next disaster will come from, so that I can at least be a little bit prepared for what is to come. But is it possible to be prepared for disaster? Speaking of faith in higher powers, despite the fact that we are magicians, when I feel bad, I try to turn to them. I ask for help and protection. Perhaps my faith in higher powers only awakens when I am in trouble. The rest of the time, I am indifferent to higher powers and don't think much about faith. Perhaps this is not only a trait of my character, but of all magicians in general. "Until thunder strikes, a man will not cross himself," as they used to say in the Russian Empire, which is exactly how I am. The most important thing for me is my family. This includes all the people who are dear and close to me. My lovely wife and my wonderful, albeit still young, son. I am very lucky with my family. Even my father, whom I have only seen a few times in my life, does not cause me any ill will; I forgave him long ago. And I am very sorry that he did not see his grandson, did not play simple children's games with him, which bring so much joy to grandparents, sometimes even more than to their grandchildren themselves. How hard it is to accept that the trials that life throws at us will have to be endured one way or another. Perhaps it would have been easier for the Japanese samurai, who cultivated a constant readiness for death. But I was raised in the Russian tradition of "Everything will be fine." That's why predestination hits me harder. But screw the samurai... One thing I understand is that whatever happens, life must go on: "The show must go on" no matter what, as my colleagues in the brotherhood of the Valpurgian Knights say.
At that moment, someone coughed softly, and Antonin instantly tore his gaze away from the book. Standing nearby was Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, looking at him good-naturedly.
"Excuse me, Mr. Dolohov, are you interested in Scandinavian runes? I have many rare editions on this subject in the Hogwarts library. If you like, I could show you my wonderful collection sometime," he said, flashing his glasses slyly.
Power and might swirled around him, and Dolohov did not dare to speak rudely, even though he really wanted to.
"Thank you, sir, perhaps I will take you up on your generous offer someday. But for now, I am satisfied with what I can find on the shelves of this wonderful shop," he replied without enthusiasm. "The Runes of Scandinavia are my long-standing passion. They allow one to glimpse a little into the future. By simply throwing dice with runes carved on them, we can learn about the past or what fate has in store for us in the future and try to avoid it.
"You can change yours simply by switching to the side of Light," said Dumbledore, smiling kindly. "You are not a native of the islands, even though you are of pure blood. Therefore, you have no age-old ties, debts or vows between families here. You have no reason to fight for someone else's ideals. All you have here is a wife and son living in a modest cottage, whom you must protect and care for. Do you really want them to suffer in this war between the Ministry and the radical purebloods? Voldemort will not be able to gain power, your party is guaranteed to lose. And you know the ancient Roman saying: "Woe to the vanquished!" Now you have the opportunity to switch sides and join the winners. Your magical powers will help the righteous cause bring order to the islands, and your son will be safely enrolled in the best school of magic, Hogwarts.
Antonin's heart suddenly tightened with an inexplicable anxiety, but he shook his head silently.
"Very well," sighed Dumbledore, turning away. "Just don't regret your decision later. After all, every decision we make has certain consequences, which we sometimes regret for the rest of our lives."
Antonin stared after the long-gone great light wizard for a while, then, without buying the book with the runes, he also rushed out of the shop. Anxiety suddenly stabbed his heart again, and despite the many tasks awaiting him, Dolohov apparated home as soon as he left the shop.
Evan Rozie, a tall, fair-haired young man, rang the doorbell leading to the courtyard of Dolokhov's mansion. His friend and teacher lived a rather secluded life with his family. A beautiful two-storey cottage with a small garden, near the house, which had an openwork metal gazebo with a table and a swing. His wife, Eloise, saw Evan and waved him in. The boy, a little copy of Dolokhov, brought in a tray with tea, puffing himself up like a proud host. "Sit down, Evan," said Eloise Dolokhov, smiling. "Have some biscuits with your tea. Or would you like something more substantial? Antonin should be back soon, so you just need to wait a little while."
"I brought him the draft plan for training the riflemen," replied Rosier. "We agreed to discuss my ideas today. Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Dolochova."
At that moment, the sound of a carriage approaching could be heard nearby. Hearing it, Eloise exclaimed:
"That must be Antonin. We didn't have to wait long."
Meanwhile, Evan became alert; the sounds were clearly not from a single apparition, and not many people knew where the Dolochovs' estate was located. Suddenly, Rosier felt a powerful anti-apparition dome cover the house and garden, followed immediately by the hiss of spells and a cry: "Bombarda maxima!"
"Eliza, run!" Evan shouted, deflecting the spell, and then the house literally exploded. Eliza managed to cover herself and her son with Protego and fell to the grass from the force of the explosion, but she did not stop maintaining the spell. Splinters and debris from the building rained down on her shield, but Evan had no time to pay attention to that. Four burly men from different sides systematically pelted him with combat spells, and all he could do was dodge, transfigure his defences, and occasionally snap back in response, retreating towards the garden and trying not to let the Dolokhovs attack.
Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through the air behind him, but it was instantly cut off by a crack of thunder. Turning around for a moment, Evan saw only the smoking bodies of a woman and her son and a man with thick red hair standing not far from them. "Fabian Prewett," flashed through his mind. "Where's the other one?"
"Expelliarmus," a voice sounded mockingly from slightly to the side and behind him, and the wand immediately flew out of Rosier's hand. "Here's the second one," Evan thought doomfully, and "Avada Kedavra" was the last thing he heard in his life.
"Well, friends, we've finished off this devouring brood," spat one of the Prewetts.
"Since Dolohov refused to switch sides to Dumbledore, he only has himself to blame," the second brother sneered. "The Death Eaters never spare any of our people either."
Both Prewetts raised their wands simultaneously and, pointing them at the remains of the house, shouted in unison:
"Inferno Flamia," and in an instant, a terrible, all-consuming fire burned throughout the estate. Having burned all traces of the estate, the Order of the Phoenix squadron apparated away.
Ten minutes later, a lone figure appeared in a whirlwind. It was Antonin, who watched in horror as the flames burned down his wonderful, cosy home. Nothing remained. With a cry, he tore the medallion from his neck as if it were red-hot and opened it in horror. The images of his beloved wife and son had lost their colour and glowed mournfully in a uniform grey...
"No!" Dolokhov screamed wildly and, despite the heat, rushed to rake through the smoking ruins with his hands.
"Lisa? Son?" He cried, continuing to dig in the ashes and weeping, but all he could hear was the crackling of the fire still burning here and there. Finally realising that there was no one left alive, he sank wearily down into the still smouldering ashes. Sparse, bitter tears streamed down his rough face, and his thick black hair was already streaked with grey. Dishevelled and dishevelled, covered in soot, Dolokhov looked terrifying.
"Whoever did this, I will avenge you," he whispered, clenching his burnt fists. "I will avenge you with my life..." His once bright blue eyes were suddenly filled with blackness.
Placing figures with Runes carved on them around the estate, Antonin generously poured his blood over each one. After reciting a long, growling litany of spells in a guttural language, he froze in place until visions of what had happened began to bombard his brain. Dolokhov could almost see his student Evan Rozie resisting the onslaught of his attackers, his wife and son dying, and the person responsible for the tragedy.
"Pruett," he whispered with hatred through cracked lips. "I'll get you, you bastards!"
Crossing over to Diagon Alley, Antonin immediately entered Gringotts.
"I want to visit my vault," he told the first goblin he saw.
"Follow me, Mr. Dolohov," said the Gringotts employee. "I hope you haven't forgotten your vault key?"
Antonin just gritted his teeth and silently followed the short man. Entering the storage room, which contained quite a lot of things, Antonin approached a shelf with artefacts and a small chest with various potions.
"Right, let's start with the luck potion," he thought grimly, immediately tipping the elixir into his mouth. "Now for the combat stimulants," continued the enraged husband and father, throwing elixirs into his mouth. "Apparatus blocker, stationary shield piercer, Aida's staff, mana accumulators," Dolokhov continued to gather everything that could help him carry out his revenge. Leaving his will to the goblins in favour of the devourers, Antonin apparated immediately from the steps of the bank.
Ignatius and Lucretia Pruetta were visiting their sister Muriel. They were engaged in leisurely conversation over tea when suddenly all three fell to the floor and began convulsing, knocking over the table and the cups on it, which clattered to the floor and onto the people lying there. The family stone and the manor were destroyed. The elderly wizards immediately lost consciousness from the severed connection to the family altar.
At that moment, the manor was occupied by twin brothers Gideon and Fabian, six of their comrades from the Order of the Phoenix, and Alastor Moody. Pouring the old Ogden into the glasses for the third time, the wizard said:
"Well, warriors? Thanks to us, this world has become a little cleaner. Soon all the devouring carrion will rot in their graves, and we will lock up everyone who has sullied themselves by associating with them in Azkaban."
The joyful shouts of his brothers and friends were his answer, and the company clinked their glasses again. Another successful combat raid, victory, excitement. What more could young and passionate men want? Just a little female attention.
"How about we go to the flower alley?" said Fabian, his face flushed. "I'm bored without the company of cheerful girls."
Everyone supported him with a joyful cry. But then Moody became alert, and everyone else also felt some kind of heavy magical pressure. It seemed that even the light of the magical lanterns had dimmed. It became harder to breathe, and a grave chill ran through their bodies.
"Someone terrible is breaking the manor's defences, master," said a slightly frightened brownie who appeared near the table where the wizards were sitting.
"Who's tired of living there?" The angry, alcohol-fuelled crowd immediately poured out into the street.
Moody was the last to follow, and at that moment, the manor's defences fell, and through the smoke from the falling gates and the dissipating protective magic, the wizards saw a dark figure with a silver mask on its face.
"Devourers!" Fabian cried, and the Order members immediately drew their wands. The figure croaked something in a language unknown to the wizards, and everyone except the Pruett brothers immediately began to writhe in agony, literally rotting alive. The masters were luckier; the main blow of the monstrous black magic was taken by the ancestral altar, which exploded in the basement with a terrible noise.
But at the same time, they too felt the full force of what had happened. The portkey, enchanted by Dumbledore himself, pulled the dying manor out and transported the unconscious Alastor Moody straight to the reception room of Mungo's Hospital, where he was stared at in horror by the few patients in the reception room and the young bear witch at the reception desk.
Moody was already missing one leg and his face was horribly disfigured. Moreover, he continued to rot alive, despite all the protective amulets. When Smetvik rushed in, instantly orienting himself, and cast a temporary freeze spell on Moody, the dark wizard's body already resembled a melted candle, even though he was still alive.
Hiding the discharged piercing weapon and the dark magical family artefact — the breath of Koschei — in his pocket, Antonin launched a whole series of personally developed spells at the brothers. With his brow pumped full of battle elixirs, he spared no effort, and one of the necrotic arrows he fired struck the leg of the more magically powerful twin. The latter fell immediately, instantly losing part of his foot, but continuing to hold his shields with all his might.
"Fabian!" Gideon was distracted for a moment and immediately fell under the green beam of avada.
"No!" Fabian cried from the ground, trying in vain to get up. "Damn you, murderer!"
"Crucio," Dolohov croaked, his face contorted with hatred. "Crucio, Crucio, Crucio, you bastard..."
Antonin tortured the wounded Fabian until he stopped even screaming. Firing Avada at the still-living body, he looked wearily towards the house. The corpses of the manor's defenders and the house spirits lay scattered across the courtyard.
"Time to get out of here," he thought. "But first: Wave of Dust!"
Another terrible spell flew from his lips, after which the manor and all the surrounding area, along with the corpses of the wizards who had been alive and cheerful just a moment ago, quickly turned into grey, dead ash. In a few minutes, nothing remained of the beautiful ancient manor. Dolokhov sighed emptily, wiped the salty sweat from his face with a dirty hand, spun around, and apparated to the Lestrange family.
***
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