5

Forest near Crowley, 5 a.m. 25 July 1991.

*

I woke up from the cold, clutching my teeth. The blanket captured from Dursley's house didn't save; the morning in the woods, even in summer, is no fairy tale. I tried to warm myself up with movement, and after fifteen minutes I felt a little warmer. The effect of waking up from the cold and the exercise that followed led to just a wild desire to do something. I threw the first-year book out of my backpack and flicked through it. The theory of magic is verbal garbage and a couple of clever thoughts that are hard to find in a lot of garbage. The story of magic - useful for making a fire. Defense against the Dark Arts is a parade of idiocy. Any opponent of the three Insendio, Seco, and Reducto will work against them. The enemy can be hit with a weapon. I'll have no time to cook plants and grow potions, either. Potter is very bad in these directions. The team will need a specialist.

I left books on charms, transfigurations. It's the basis, without it, it's hard to practice magic with a wand. "Unnecessary" books I buried don't carry a useless load with me. I washed in a local brook I used the blanket as a towel and threw it in the bushes, I will not need it anymore. I'm planning to take the bus to London and have breakfast at some cafe.

*

London, 9 a.m. 25 July 1991

*

In front of the door of the "The Leaky Cauldron", I threw my robe on myself and put my backpack in a plastic bag. The amulet took care of the change in appearance. There were a lot more visitors than last time. I had no problem following a couple to Diagon Alley.

Do I need an owl? No, I don't need an owl, because I'll still have to sign Harry Potter. And with a search-blocking owl amulet, "it won't work." I'd rather have a house elf. Judging by the canon, Dobby thinks or in a year he'll think I'm his master if he's betrayed the Malfoys. It's a funny game of words, by the way, betraying traitors. Even more fun is the retarded phrase: "Malfoys don't serve anybody" from slave Lucius. I have to think about the House-elf. If there's a black market for wands, then there's also a black market for House-elves. And specifically, Dobby is a nut job, only the final solution to Dobby's problem is acceptable.

In this way, I've taken a steady step to Gringotts, who's taken a turn in

Knockturn Alley. Without moving too far away from the bank, I noticed one of the shops with an incomprehensible profile. Through the glass, the shop windows were looking at the books. The door jingled with a bell, and a full-on man in an old-fashioned vest turned to the chime, clearly proud of his luxurious sideburns.

"What is your interest, young man?"

"I'd like to buy some books on mind protection. What can I get you?"

"A classic edition of "Protect Your Mind", Auror's beginner's textbook, "Occlumency", totaling fifteen galleons."

Wow! All first-year purchases cost me less than seven galleons. Business is prospering here. Looking at the Occlumency book, I remember Snape with his sadistic "lessons." I've mentally put him in sixth place on my goodness list. The bastard deserves to die. First he gave up his "girlfriend" family, and then he took revenge on the canonical Harry for six years. And then the canon of "he's good! And it's not his fault! He has a destiny!" The little, nasty, rotten bastard, all he could do was mock the little boy from the Muggle world as an orphan. Snape is the embodiment of the Blood Traitor. On Slytherin, he found out what the Prince's family means. So what? So he betrayed the family to his mother and chose Snape's life. Was he in love? He gained his mastery through money and the organization's connections. He betrayed both Voldemort and Dumbledore. Alas, even his love, he betrayed a deadly threat. A traitor once is a traitor forever.

I need to take care of protection from such enemies.

"Sir, apart from protecting my mind, I'm interested in books that will help me protect myself."

As the magicians say, Vigilance and Avada. A Gringotts account and a good name.

"I understand you, young man. Here you are: "40 battle spells," "Signal spells at home and away." 18 galleons."

I put galleons on the counter and put the books "in the bag".

"Sir, can you tell me where to buy a spare wand? You know, it's never too much to have a spare wand."

"Second store down the street, young man."

"Thank you!"

With those words, I left the store.

The second shop down the street was like the front of The Leaky Cauldron, just as dark, shabby and old. Inside, on the shelves, there were some exhibits clearly from parts of someone's body. And I couldn't help guessing whose bodies it was - spare me the nasty details. I mean, magicians are fucked up. It could well be some part of a magical crawfish cut off by mermaids in the year of the tiger. There wasn't much light in the room, so it was hard to see the salesman. I only identified a black robe, black hair, and a big nose.

"What do you want?" He didn't start that politely.

"I need a magic wand, unregistered."

"We don't sell others. Bart! Bring the middlebox!"

Bart turned out to be a big man. I can't say more because of the twilight, but he smelled like a wet dog. Bart smashed a box on the table and went into the back room.

"Try it!" the salesman gave me three sticks, and the second one went warmly in my hand and released a sheaf of sparks.

"Excellent choice to lift the cemetery! Ash and hip bone of a virgin fucked to death on a full moon in a place of strength. But I don't recommend tying her shoelaces or washing dishes, she'll break dishes and shoes and feet in her shoes."

"Fine, I'll take it! I'd like a regular, household stick for my shoelaces."

From the way his eyes changed, I knew something was wrong.

"That's probably the first time you've been in Knockturn Alley!" The salesman exaggerated loudly, obviously for Bart to hear. And he added in a normal voice. "Does Mom know you're here? Little kids have nothing to do in Knockturn Alley. Everybody knows that" the bastard stretched his mouth in his grin. When he finished talking, he clicked the lock from the door.

I'm in the shit again! Negotiation! Failed again! I need to urgently enroll in a fucking negotiation course! I slightly shifted "from fear" away from the door, away from the approaching Bart, who placed his hands that was even scarier. I need to keep an eye on both degenerates. I retreated one step further to get out of the small window-lit square, and "out of fear" dropped a bag of backpacks from my left hand. There was still a five-inch lace tied behind my wrist with a revolver. I pulled the shoelace, and when the bag fell on the floor, the revolver was already in my left palm. Bart turned his eyes to the revolver and pulled it forward. Bang! Bang! The second shot caught him already falling to the floor a yard away from me. The seller was pulling out a wand at the time. I have to say, the shots either scared him or surprised him - the shots gave me half a second for free action. My right thumb raises the jacket. My hand grabs a cut of the kitchen knife from the barbecue set. I take a sharp blow right through the counter, where the cattle's hand ends and the wand begins. That freak's pointing a wand at me. The result is pleasing. Minus the wand, the hand's in blood. The pig's going back, well, where did your smile go, freak? Bang! A bullet hits the right side of his chest, he settles down. That's when Bart started twitching. What, a werewolf or something? I walked up to him one step and shot him at the top of the head from afoot. It doesn't matter if you're a werewolf or a living wizard anymore. Seller behind the counter pretended to be dead. An aggressive environment always influences animal behavior, especially small jackals. Slowly bypassed the counter from the side opposite the front door. The seller lay on his back and tried to rake all his arms off the counter. And when did he shit himself, freak? Ammo needs to be saved. I got down on his right knee at his body.

"I call you the Cutthroat!"

With these words, I covered my left hand with my right hand and pushed my right knife into the heart of these cattle. The cattle twitched and froze. Welcome, Harry Potter, to a wonderful magical world! Everyone here wants to kill you or fuck you! The adrenaline just knocked on the head and went over the edge:

I feel... my fire start to burn

The heat... controlling my mind

Berserk... a savage running wild

Within me the beast start to roar

Now I'm ready to strike!

A creature of the night

Into the Fire

At first I had the idea of setting fire to the store, but I didn't draw attention to our little conflict. The wizards talked and got into a fight. It's okay, it happens. Besides, in Knockturn Alley, everything is more likely to be stolen than to cause Aurorat. An ash wand sent me by my belt, the rest of the wands from the box were moved into a backpack. The bag with the backpack and revolver in my left hand, my right hand holding the smelly robe. As I walked out of the store like this, I snapped the lock and quietly went about my business. At the Diagon Alley, I bought a bag with a Capacious extremis effect. I bought some covers for wands with internal volume extension; there are no other covers, otherwise, it is impossible to carry a wand.

Important purchases made by me, I have wands for every taste, I rushed through the "The Leaky Cauldron" to London.