Chapter 45: Everyone needs a hobby to be able to endure all the crap in life.

"Life sucks, but not in the good way bitches do!" I mutter under my breath, the words thick with irritation as I stomp my way toward Hogsmeade.

The weekend has finally arrived, and I need a brief reprieve from the suffocating monotony of Hogwarts, where I'm surrounded by annoying children who never seem to shut up. Even threats only manage to silence them for a few minutes before they start yapping again.

Escaping the castle is my only option if I want some peace, a desperate attempt to distance myself from the chaos I have unwittingly unleashed upon myself.

This week has been a disaster—a hellish mess of cosmic proportions, and to my utter and absolute frustration, entirely my own fault. My so-called brilliance and genius have come back to bite me squarely and savagely in my royal arse.

It all started with me running my mouth. Sharing my ideas with those overeager, idealistic teachers was a grave mistake. They latched onto my words, and before I knew it, they were out and about, trying to change the entire fucking system. They'd written reports, sent pleas to the Ministry—which is currently too preoccupied with being overrun by MoldyFart and his merry band of closet perverts to even notice. When they got no reply, they took matters into their own hands, with Albus himself marching straight to the Hogwarts Board of Directors.

Soon, the complaints started coming in from all the people who could write, and even the parents of the dunderheads had the gall to send angry letters to me. Like, how the fuck is any of this my fault?! Everyone suddenly wants to change the house points system, a centuries-old tradition, but wizardkind in their stupidity came up with dumb and dumber ideas. Not that I cared much—it was their incessant demands that simply annoyed me. The real issues arose when they demanded that my family's Access Points be integrated into their new system. At first, they demanded I hand them over, but that idea got shot down immediately when they remembered who I am. Anyway, now they're going to be part of the school's revamped system once it's launched. 

It's not that I minded either way, as long as I'm profiting from their stupidity. In fact, when they sweetened the deal enough, I couldn't resist. They offered me 50,000 Galleons a year, a seat on the school board for my family, and, to top it off, an entire tower of Hogwarts to be owned by House Prince as long as my Access Points remained part of the new system.

But as I walked, the bitter aftertaste of this so-called success lingered. I'm sure I could have bargained for more, but I was simply tired of discussing non-stop with all these morons and just wanted to get it over with. Life has a way of turning your sense of humor and your greatness against you, twisting them until they finally come to fuck you in the arse.

I still remember that time when I hexed my guide with a Leg-Locking Curse just for fun and giggles. Well, the poor idiot fell off a cliff and died. That little stunt left me wandering through the Amazon forest for a goddamn month, searching for the ancient ruins I needed. It was a painful lesson, but apparently one that I didn't learn from.

*Sigh*

Ever since training under Eris, I've picked up a new coping mechanism for stress. When life starts sucking me into its relentless current, I find something—or someone—dumb enough to challenge me. And then I beat the living hell out of them.

As soon as I was outside the Hogwarts wards, I Apparated to a remote, desolate part of Scotland. I needed space, somewhere far from prying eyes. 

"Voldemort!" I shouted into the emptiness. My voice echoed, swallowed by the vast nothingness around me. "Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort!" I repeated the name over and over, letting it hang in the air like a challenge.

By the fifth time, they appeared—six masked people, Apparating to my location, moving like shadows through the air, black smoke trailing behind them. Death Eaters.

"Hello there," I greeted them with a casual wave, as if we were old friends meeting on the street.

"Is he the one?" one of them asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

"Who else could it be, you idiot?" snapped another, the impatience in his tone palpable.

"I was just asking, no need to be rude," the first muttered defensively.

"Of course it's him! He's the only one here, and you ask a stupid question—so you're an idiot!" the second one barked.

Typical Death Eaters—braindead morons.

"So, you dare to utter our lord's name?" a female voice hissed, trying to sound menacing.

I smirked. "I dared to duel your lord. Of course, I dare to utter his stupid-ass name."

"Who are you sup—" One of them tried to ask, but he didn't get to finish. I moved faster than he could react, my hand plunging into his stomach, gripping his beating heart.

"I'm the big bad wolf," I whispered, crushing the organ in my hand. There's evil, and then there's evil. Some people are evil because they're selfish, some because they're detached from life, and others, well, they're just inherently evil or simply perceived as such.

Not me, though. I'm not evil. I'm just a man who does evil things for what I believe is the greater good. That's something Albus would say, but I'm not about to spout such self-righteous nonsense. I do it for sport.

It's the same kind of stupidity as claiming that one nation has the right to defend itself and then watching them indiscriminately carpet bomb an entire region over some perceived slight. Short dick energy at its peak.

But let's not get political. I wouldn't want to get canceled. Just because I'm sane in a dumb world ruled by self-proclaimed smart people, let's all shut up and watch the shit show that's going on.

With the first one dead, I dashed toward the next Death Eater, snapping his neck before he could react. Two daggers found their marks in the throats of the others. Four down, two to go.

"What the fuck are you?!" one of them shouts, and the other, the smarter one, tries to escape but fails.

"Oh, they didn't eat death as I expected them to. I really thought you guys would put up a challenge, but this is underwhelming," I mocked while grabbing the throats of the last two with a force grip, like a true Dark Lord, slowly dragging them toward me.

One of them pissed himself, his hand scrambling to pry off my force grip, fear etched into his eyes.

"Now, now," I said with a sweet smile. "You're followers of a fellow dark lord. Surely, you didn't think you wouldn't face death during this little crusade of yours, right?"

He didn't reply, his face turning blue as my grip tightened.

"Oh, right, you can't answer. I was choking you," I realized with a touch of disappointment.

Mischief flickered in my eyes as I came up with a great idea. I felt like doing something artsy today, something that would send a message.

---

**Dark Day in Diagon Alley: Six Found Dead in Mysterious Attack**

*By: Skeeter, Special Correspondent*

Diagon Alley was thrust into chaos and terror yesterday evening when six individuals, dressed in unmistakable Death Eater attire, were found—more than half of them dead—in Knockturn Alley. The scene, resembling a nightmare come true, has left even the most seasoned Aurors baffled and disturbed.

The bodies were discovered by a local shopkeeper, Borgin of Borgin and Burkes, who reported hearing an unusual commotion outside his establishment. "I thought it was just some drunken wizards causing a ruckus," Borgin stated, still visibly shaken. "But when I stepped out, I saw them lying there... just lying there, as if someone had tried to melt down the bodies and merge them together. I can still hear their wailing. God have mercy."

What makes this incident particularly chilling is not just the fact that these individuals were dressed in the black robes and masks long associated with You-Know-Who's followers, but that all of them were found stitched and mended together into one entity, like some scurrilous sculpture. Only someone deranged, with a macabre sense of art, could come up with something so disturbing. Even as death approached, their bodies continued to writhe and crawl forward, and from their lips came a single, eerie refrain: "My answer is myself."

The nature of this cryptic message, repeated over and over, has led to wild speculation. Some suggest it could be a dark ritual gone awry, while others believe it to be a final, posthumous curse—a message from beyond the grave meant to instill fear in any who might investigate.

Head Auror Alastor Moody, who was immediately dispatched to the scene, has called for calm. "We are dealing with a highly complex and dangerous form of dark magic, and a psychopath," Moody stated in a press conference early this morning. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is working tirelessly to uncover the truth behind this incident. We urge the public to remain vigilant but not to jump to conclusions."

However, not everyone is convinced that this is merely a case of rogue Death Eaters meeting their match.

A prominent figure from the Ministry, who requested anonymity, hinted at the possibility of a new force rising in the dark underbelly of wizarding society. "This isn't just random," the source claimed. "Someone—or something—is sending a message. But as to whom this message is intended for, well, I assume it is for he whose name should not be mentioned. It is a challenge so to say, but I do not know what the words meaning is."

The mysterious chant, "My answer is myself," has already become the subject of numerous theories. Some believe it could be a twisted confession about who the perpetrator is, an introduction so to say. Others fear it may be a declaration of war aginst you-know-who—a war that could spell danger for the entire wizarding world.

As the investigation continues, the Ministry has increased security across Diagon Alley, and several key locations in Knockturn Alley have been temporarily closed. The identities of the deceased are still being verified, though their Death Eater garb suggests ties to the darker elements that once threatened our world.

For now, all we can do is wait—and wonder who, or what, will strike next.

*Readers are reminded to report any suspicious activity to the nearest Auror and to avoid Knockturn Alley until further notice. The Daily Prophet will continue to provide updates as more information becomes available.*