10

31 July, Morning, birthday of National Hero of Magic Britain.

*

What would I do? Harry's birthday, a national holiday, is a reason to make gifts. On a day like this, you're in no mood to cause well. I want to be in a simple company. I'm all alone here while I'm still holding on to hate, but I need someone to talk to. And better yet, a person to keep quiet with. But I know exactly what a bastard has done so much to drive me into this solitude. The bearded bastard left me with only one chance to survive. I have to hide from him, otherwise - "Hello, my boy! Would you like some candy?" - And brainwashing.

The saddest thing about this lifestyle is that I don't have any friends or even peers. You want to go and get into the sports section? Since I am small and weak in body, hand-to-hand combat is eliminated. I still have the noble art of sword possession. The art of slicing up enemies. Unfortunately, there are no true masters now, and just strong practitioners.

That leaves the surrogates of the Oriental Kendo School. No one's stopping me from going to bodybuilding classes and sword classes, just so I don't get bored in a couple of months. I was the first one to find a kendo club near the station, Kings Cross! It's not close to the hotel, but it's not far from the "Cauldron". I'll change the hotel soon.

I didn't have to study that same day. I paid the money and picked a timetable. They gave me a list of what I needed. But for the first couple of months, I don't need anything but Gi - training jacket and Sinai - a bamboo sword. Training is good. But I'll have to buy katana for actual training and then anything for natural use. If goblins weren't bastards, I'd order a sword from them.

By 4:00 p.m., I had katana bought with Confundus "as a gift to a man whose birthday is today." The long small sword served as a big sword. Thanks to the muggle repellent amulet, I walked peacefully through town with my sword on my shoulder. My heart was overflowing with childish feelings. It was familiar to all young and old boys. It was a great feeling of having a toy. And to possess, but not to show anyone a toy is a torture! It was enough to convince yourself that time is expensive, and it is necessary to control what was written in the press. My Soul longed for a holiday, self-preservation went somewhere, and I went to the magical world.

The Leaky Cauldron, against expectations, was quiet and peaceful. And it was on the great day of the national holiday! The birthday of Harry Potter, the greatest scarier of all time?

I see. Local bastards only get drunk to death on Halloween. Okay, no need to spoil the mood on a day like this.

I rented a P.O. Box at the post office and subscribed to the Prophet and the Minister's Bulletin. "The Prophet" was gorgeous. His front-page had a big-letter ink on it saying, "Harry Potter was beaten by Muggles while Albus Dumbledore was stealing his inheritance." The text contained the phrase "Harry Potter hates the scum of Dumbledore and his associates Hagrid and McGonagall". The article pressed on pity for the little boy, expose Dumbledore and so on.

The most important thing is that the article indicated the address of Dursley. This means that if the greatest Spider of the Epoch slowed down at least half an hour, Dursley had a very bad accident. Wizards were going through the brains of Muggles without any care, definitely tortured. In the end, it's going to end in a domestic gas explosion, no need to be fucking Treloni. But it doesn't make the accident any less accidental. Speaking of Treloni. I should put her name on the list of causes of goodness, just in case. Otherwise that bitch is always drunk with alcoholic fumes and Dumbledore gets excited about a new prophecy.

Unfortunately, today's papers won't tell me if the Gringotts trap worked or if Madame Bones' rat traps were successful. Tomorrow I will not visit Diagon Alley for the papers. It's too dangerous to run into the magical world through the "Сcauldron" every time. I need a house elf. And I can even tell you when I'm going to have one. Ten days from now, or sooner, he'll find me himself by family connection.

*

Now I feel like a very bad Dumbledore. In fact, because of me, Sirius is likely to die. I give him thirty-five percent for life, no more. On the other hand, I'm the one who's furious about thirty-five percent. A bearded politician will need financing from Black's vaults and an aggressive servant also. So Spider will protect the dog from accidents and from very unhappy ones too. Except I'm already considering the Black family money as my money! I have to finance my affairs. And life is getting better. Quietly singing "I wish I was a lesbian" to myself, I headed to the bag store where I got another magic deep bag. Buying a bag set me up on a working wave. "Pink glasses" melted, time slowed down. I finally put in the mode of inflicting kindness and justice a song suitable for the meaning:

Sent to the islands to secure what is ours

Marching ashore in the cover of night

Hide until dawn and attack in the twilight

Shake them awake with the thunder of guns

Orders from the iron maiden, get the islands back

Failure will not be accepted, call for artillery strike, launch attack

We are back in control, force them to surrender

Take what is ours, restore law and order

Back in control, push them further out to sea

Falklands in our hands, back under British reign

In front of the traitor's shop, I pulled out the sheath from behind my belt. Just today: "Two Heavens as One" against a British dueling magic school. As I pulled the door on myself, I saw that there were no visitors in the store. It's a pity there's no household gas in the magic shops. On the other hand, among magicians, there is sometimes reckless use of Fiendfyre. With this life-affirming thought, I walked into the room and kicked the door stupor. I closed the door tightly and slammed the bolt. The clerk looked at me, at the bolt, and it wasn't immediately clear what I was doing. But then the wizard's reflex worked! He made a habit of sticking a wand in my direction. Nukitsuke! Remove the sword from the sheath and then cut the meat! Three-quarters of the wand and three upper fingers of the wizard's right-hand jump on the counter, accompanied by the surprised beveled left-handed look of the traitor. A blow of scabbard's scabbard came into the jaw, and the legs of the bastard are bent. Jump on the counter, jump off it. Stabbing in the jaw again, only this time to drive away from the counter. Sellers always keep combat supplies in the counter, in case of a robbery. With a slightly "chop!" a house-elf appeared! And while his eyes were rounding, I rushed two steps towards him and "chopped bamboo" from the right shoulder to the left thigh. Now we have to pay attention to the master. After two blows to the jaw, the cattle became ill-minded, but there is a way to make him feel better. My sword stabbed him in his right thigh. And to speed up the process, I moved the hilt right and left. The subject made a sound for the first time in today's meeting. There was no stench, it was something between howling and whining.

"You got careless in your old age," I shouted my tongue, "You got a little out of order. You've decided to send the wrong one on the ingredients. There's a fine for that."

"I'll work it all out,"

I intercepted the handle with a straight grip and turned a quarter lap. The bastard screamed:

"I'll pay for everything!"

"Yes, you'll pay."

I knocked him on his ribs with my sword, aiming at his heart. And a blade hardened to 62HRC as if it didn't notice the bone resistance. The canonical test of a new sword! Let him drink the blood of the enemy.

It was calm and easy at heart. The case with the traitor was over. I walked the bookshelves, packed them all in a new bag. I'm sure he has more valuable goods here, but they're probably well-protected. It's dangerous for me to stay here. I wonder what kind of protection is on the cash register. Didn't hesitate long, smacked the salesman's left hand with the sword. I picked her up and pulled the cash register drawer on her. Well, I'm having a great commercial day! The contents of the box flew into the bag. There weren't enough domestic gas explosions to complete a classic accident! But I stocked up a delicious set for a festive fireworks show. The gas was replaced by several bottles of solvent, which I bought during an epic shopping in a construction store. I wrapped myself in a hoodie robe. It's time to go. A burning match flew into a puddle of solvent. I'm not coming to Diagon Alley this summer. Maybe not in the autumn, either. In the magic world, anything is possible.