53 53. and the epilogue

Little Hangleton, cemetery.

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Rubeus Hagrid was not a disgusting potion at all. What else would a forester with a broken wand do? Especially if the Forbidden Forest, with all its plant, animal, and mineral resources, is on the side. Except for today, Hagrid was a real potion master.

Gryffindors sword contained an upgraded Albus Horcrux based on Tom's lab work. Rubeus received the sword for safekeeping. And fell under the influence of the Horcrux.

Nicholas Flamel's former assistant cooked the Voldemort revival potion.

Only it was the bone of the "father" that had to be messed with. And Rubeus in the spell isn't Flitwick at all. They had to pull out a shovel and dig until they found what they needed. It looks like a bone from his leg. That'll be fine.

Rubeus drew a pentagram on the aisle next to Father Voldemort's grave. Voldemort will not be reborn quite healthy, and it will be easier to destroy him in the end. Rubeus had a nice breeze in his brain. The obedience to the Horcrux removed all unimportant thoughts, leaving only the target. The air was unusually pleasant and fresh to the cemetery, and Hagrid would feel good for the first time in days. It was as if new powers had opened up, and in general so joyful! It was harder and harder for Albus to control a half-giant, but that's okay, he'll be fine until the evening.

Finally, the prepared Cauldron took its place, and Albus-Rubeus took a magic wand from his pocket. Of course, Hagrid had been witchcraft with an umbrella, but it was a shame to cast an umbrella for Dumbledore.

"Insendio!"

And it suddenly burst into flames!

Albus lost control of Hagrid when he collapsed.

You could say that Hagrid was lost to him. Without medical intervention, a burnt body would live for a day or two. This is bad, this is wrong. Too many pawns have been destroyed too quickly. Red blood traitors, bastard Fletcher, maniac Moody, stupid lowlife Lupin. And that's what we do now?

The ground shuddered again, the lumps of ground flew to Rubeus. At this speed, the Muggles will be here soon. Couldn't they have missed the whole mess? Then we can capture someone's brain to evacuate. Albus sensed a man approaching, only it's unlikely a Muggle could get here so quickly.

And a random Muggle wouldn't have so much hate...

*

Grimmauld Place 12, quarter to 6:00 a.m.

"Master, the signal went off at Little Hangleton Cemetery!" told me Kreacher. I slept dressed, so it didn't take me long to get ready.

The signal artifact on Tom Riddle's monkey bones, apart from the Kreacher signal, turned the taps of the oxygen and propane tanks buried nearby. If somebody smart says, "Accio Tom Riddle's bone," he'll bother the grave. Then in five or seven minutes, it'll all be a hotbed of a powerful fire. The balloons were buried in a square. So that the oxygen-propane mixture surrounds the stupid ritualist from all sides. The metal plates buried next to the runes guaranteed that the random breeze wouldn't blow this mixture out.

Any normal wizard in Dumbledore's place would start by reviving himself, his beloved. Kreacher and I were not lazy to go to the zoo again.

Then we equipped the alarm system and gasified the graves of Dumbledore's grandparents. Daddy's graves didn't exist. In Azkaban, the corpses of prisoners are burned and ashes scattered. The female line, including mother and sister in Godric's Hollow, is not suitable for the ritual.

But the Spider began to act "in the style of a Spider", that is, extremely hardened. It's the same as always.

"Move me to the edge of the cemetery. Quietly and discreetly at the most. Do it!"

I looked around. The forest is liquid, you can ride horses between trees. I could hardly find any bushes to "disguise myself" behind. No snow, temperature around zero, fog, 100 yards visibility. A minute later, it burst into flames, and a fraction of a second later, the sound of the explosion came out, not loud at all. I got to the nearest grave, moved the right stone, and pulled the wire rod on me. I pulled a small battery out of my pocket, rewired the wires to the battery, and closed the contact. Thundered the explosion, but it was completely silent. It was a system of self-liquidation of gas containers, in case the trap in Dad Tom's grave didn't blow up all the tanks.

One thought persistently pounded in my head. Where could the Spider have taken the blood of a servant? There's not much left. Malfoy, Yaxley, and Avery. And they're all on the run. But Albus is a tricky, stocky asshole.

Thinking about it, I was approaching Tommy's dad's grave. There's a Cauldron overturned. And here's the missing Hogwarts Key Keeper. The spider had a way of picking up positions to keep even a degenerate on it.

Hagrid lay on his side, faintly fasting, burned to the fourth degree. His coat was slowly smoldering, as were the remnants of his hair and beard. The sword's blow to the head interrupted the forester's suffering.

"Sir!" was the voice of Kreacher holding a couple of yards behind me. "Kreacher smells a bad thing like that medallion."

"Where?"

"On a giant, on his chest."

It'd be nice to search for this place.

"Kreacher, take this corpse and its bag to the reception cell at Grimmauld Place 12. Then you'll come back to me. Do it."

While Kreacher was busy transporting, I took a look around the cemetery. Over there, by the next grave, something sparkled with magic. I spent a long time trying to figure out what kind of burnt pencil it was. It's a magic wand! To take it as a trophy is useless, it's damaged. So don't get it to anybody! The wand was broken by the blow of a shoe.

Kreacher came back for the third time, and we went to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The body was searched by Kreacher under my supervision. We watered the sword of Gryffindor with the poison of a basilisk. The forester had nothing in his pockets. The voluminous "dimensionless" sack was searched most simply. Kreacher tore the rune-covered ribbon of the bag's throat.

And the bag was torn from the objects put inside. A huge amount of food, stored, presumably, by Hogwarts elves. About four tons of food. Ravenclaw's diadem.

"Hello, Tommy!" Yaxley's about the state Alastor was captured in his chest. Change of clothes. Five travel medicine kits. A tent with no signs of magic the size of an airship hangar. A ton of coal in bags. A pink umbrella with remnants of a broken wand inside. Two hundred galleons. Unidentifiable rubbish.

The diadem followed the sword. My scar reacted. The body will be taken care of by Kreacher.

*

In Hogwarts, Frame with an empty canvas and a plate with all the names of Dumbledore, but without a year of death, appeared in the office of Hogwarts Headmaster on December 18, 1991. On that day, Dumbledore lost his post. During this period, the frame design was significantly improved. A tight curtain has been added. On the frame were applied runes equivalent of Petrificus Totalus and Silencio in the version for portraits. The third runes bundle guaranteed that no one would come in from other portraits, and would not take Albus with them.

I contacted Flitwick and asked for a meeting at Headmaster's office.

For my happiness, I had enough to look at the sign. Yes! Bingo! Died in 1992. I'm touching the runes, the portrait curtain's moving away. Yes! Albus grabbing his eyes and showing rabies and anger. Get accustomed to it, old man. And there's nothing else you can do, not even with bells in your beard. I'm pulling the curtain.

I can write congratulatory letters to Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom.

Epilogue

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Myrtle Elizabeth Warren has a boyfriend. Neville's ghost.

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Thank you for your attention. I hope you enjoy my new story.

Naruto. Clones vs. Wizards.