Karmit looked toward the bookshelves inside the secret room.
A suspicion stirred in his mind.
Could these books… be manuals on magical runes?
He grabbed a volume.
[Foundations of Rune Craft]
His eyes lit up instantly.
They were rune books.
He pulled more from the shelves—every single one was about ancient magical runework.
Karmit nearly laughed out loud.
This was treasure. Real treasure.
He opened the first book and began reading. Thirty minutes later, he rubbed his temples.
Complicated.
Unreasonably complicated.
Now he finally understood why the Blacks had possessed this room for generations—yet not a single ancestor had ever mastered rune craft.
This wasn't something a normal person could learn at all.
The system was like a language.
Except instead of twenty-six English letters, rune craft had three hundred base runes.
Three hundred.
Each stroke's angle and pressure mattered. Each rune needed to be perfect.
Any mistake—even slight—meant failure.
Even something as "simple" as the self-cleaning rune array in this room used over two thousand combined runes.
Who could possibly learn this?
If Karmit didn't have photographic memory and superhuman comprehension, he would have slammed the book shut and sealed the room forever.
But he did have those gifts.
And buried inside the pages… he found something fascinating.
A rune array that functioned like a telephone. Voice transmission, long-distance communication—even image projection.
Something like magical… video calling.
The possibilities exploded in Karmit's mind.
A pure-blood family only rises through monopoly. If he mastered communication runes…
The Blacks would own the magical world's entire communications system.
He imagined live-streaming runes. Dumbledore hosting a live broadcast.
Gifts. Donations. Revenue.
The sheer amount of money made his eyes shine. And beyond profit, rune craft had combat applications too.
Karmit shook the fantasies out of his head for now.
It was too soon.
Rune craft was immense. Even for him, mastering the basics would take time.
So he buried himself in the study.
Day after day, his schedule repeated:
Morning: study runes.
Afternoon: spell training.
Evening: more practice.
Even his Killing Curse was turning almost black—a sign of terrifying proficiency.
Meals were delivered by Kreacher because Karmit barely left his room.
And time flew.
Suddenly, it was August 31st.
Tomorrow was the official start of Hogwarts. Today, all first-years would ride the Hogwarts Express, get sorted, find their dorms, and prepare for classes.
Even pure-blood heirs had to follow this rule.
Karmit woke early—unexpectedly early.
Not by choice.
Draco's excited yelling downstairs had dragged him out of sleep.
Karmit shoved a purring, half-asleep Vannie off his chest, washed up, and made his way down—with a yawn so wide it nearly split his jaw.
He'd practiced spells too late last night.
The moment he stepped into the dining hall—
"Oh, my dear Karmit!" Walburga exclaimed dramatically. "You're going to school! You will be a perfect Slytherin!"
Karmit yawned again. "Grandmother, you don't need to act polite. When I first moved here, you lectured me daily about 'tainting the Black bloodline.' Now you're being nice—it's unsettling."
Walburga stiffened.
Karmit ignored her and looked toward Draco.
The boy was practically vibrating with excitement.
Whether he was excited to attend school—or excited to meet Harry Potter at the station—was unclear.
Karmit sat at the table, and Kreacher brought breakfast.
"Draco, where are your parents?" Karmit asked.
"They're too slow," Draco said proudly. "I came to find you first. They'll meet us at the station."
Karmit nodded. "Eat. You're too early."
Draco obeyed… mostly.
He ate while chattering nonstop about how he'd spent the past few days happily playing with Harry Potter.
Karmit glared. "Don't talk while eating. You'll see your Harry soon enough. If you keep annoying me, I'll throw you outside."
Draco shut up immediately.
Finally—peace.
After breakfast, the two boarded the car waiting outside.
The luggage had already been loaded.
As they drove, Karmit silently read.
His [Rune Foundations] had already been replaced by [Rune Craft: Intermediate Principles].
He had memorized every base rune already.
Bless the gods of transmigration for his photographic memory.
Soon, they reached the station.
Even from afar, Draco spotted Harry Potter by the entrance—pushing a trolley with a snowy owl perched on top.
It was eye-catching—but today, many children carried owl cages.
Nearby Muggles gave confused looks.
Some muttered about how owning owls must be the newest pet trend. A few ambitious ones even wondered if they should open shops selling owls.
Whether they'd go bankrupt… well, the answer was obvious.
__________
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