"So what now, are we gods, brother Hedin?
"Yes," I replied after a pause."And you understand what that means?
"Yes. We are prisoners for who knows how many millennia, until someone even stronger or more daring comes along and overthrows us..." (The Death of the Gods)
"Grandfather!" The first thing I did after managing to escape my pursuers was to apparate to Pollux Black's estate. It was quite late, and none of the windows were lit, but according to all the rules of the universe, the old recluse should have been there.
Sure enough, after just a couple of seconds, a house elf appeared with a soft thud and bowed, letting me into the building. There, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, was Pollux, who was... Well, I wouldn't say that the old man was completely dissatisfied, but judging by his luxurious pyjamas, dressing gown and cap, under which his frowning eyebrows and a strand of hair were visible, he had been somewhat preoccupied before I hurriedly arrived at the porch.
"Well, what happened this time?" Yes, judging by his voice, the old man was somewhat dissatisfied. "The Statute has collapsed and the Muggles are launching their wonder-bullets into the sky?
"No, not exactly..." Taken aback by the suddenness of the suggestion, I couldn't quite find a reply and took a step back.
"Ah, perhaps Dumbledore sorted out the problems you dumped on him and is now storming the house on Grimmauld Place?" Pollux arched his eyebrows, which disappeared completely under his cap.
"No! Thank Merlin, no..." I blinked, confused by the absurdity of the situation.
"Then maybe someone resurrected Voldemort, and he started the third magical war?!" The old man raised his voice a little more, but the fear in his exclamation was clearly feigned, very clearly tinged with venom.
"Well, not exactly..." I chuckled nervously and scratched the back of my head. I did "resurrect" Voldemort, but not for real. And I hope it stays that way. With a never-ending list of problems, the only thing I needed was a noseless face.
"Then I really don't understand what you forgot at my place at two in the morning!" Pollux crossed his arms over his chest, piercing me with his gaze.
"I was at Gregorovich's, and..."
"Ah, so you finally deigned to bother with a suitable magical concentrator!" After glaring at my miserable and slightly singed body for a few more seconds, my grandfather's anger turned to mercy, and he finally descended the steps into the hall. "Then show me what he's done." For my grandson, he had to go out of his way and not even mention old debts. Learn while I'm still alive, connections and patronage in the magical world mean a lot, and if they are backed up by a debt of money, you get countless advantages in the future. Got it?" All I could do was nod; interrupting him would have cost me more. "If you take anything, take only the best, remember my words, the Blacks must always have the best. Don't waste your time with simple requests to debtors; when the time comes, they must repay you a hundredfold.
When I finally have great-grandchildren, Gregorovich will make them wands that ordinary mazhonks, who are content with cheap goods, will never have!" Either I had stepped on a sore spot, or Gregorovich himself had trampled on it, but Pollux's speech was lively, as if he hadn't been asleep just a couple of minutes ago.
"Listen, there's a small problem," I said, a little embarrassed. "Gregorovich just asked me to tell you that his debt to you is paid in full. Completely."
"I don't understand," my grandfather frowned. "What I did for him, for some lousy stick worth a couple thousand Galleons?
"Hey," I protested immediately. "You said yourself that the best..."
"Don't twist my words!" Polux cut me off with a wave of his hand. "One stick? You have no idea how much I had to... eh... okay, show me what my million went on. It had better be something worthwhile, or there will be one less master stick maker in the world..."
"How much?!" I almost choked on my breath and shook my head, trying to process the new information. A whole million, that's such an incredible amount of money...
"Not at all! Show me," my grandfather nodded imperiously, waving his hand to create a small table, which, at a glance, was much more elegant than the one I had accidentally destroyed in Germany. That's what experience means; I even felt a little envious.
Under Pollux's gloomy gaze, I took out both cases, into which the sticks had been hastily placed, and placed them on the wooden surface, immediately stepping slightly to the side. Of course, separately from each other and hidden behind a dragon skin barrier, they posed little danger, otherwise Gregorovich would not have kept them in his shop, but the memories of the recent spectacular self-destruction were still fresh in my mind.
"And?" After a quick inspection, the old man stared at me. "Why are there two of them? And what kind of Mordred is still in the case?"
"That's the problem," I admitted, opening the boxes one by one. "The first and last time I picked them up, there was an explosion, as cheerful as if someone had thrown a Bombard out of the goodness of their heart. I barely got away from the German auror..."
"Ah...," Grandpa deftly snatched the scroll with Gregorovich's explanations from the box, without touching the wands with his fingers. "Did you take both of them at once?"Well, yes, what's the big deal..." I began, when a transfigured stone almost flew into my face. Instinctively jumping slightly to the side, I tried to continue: "But it..."
A couple more curses followed the stone, and I had to roll backwards to avoid them, increasing the distance, but one of the stinging ones still hit me below the back, making me jump like... well, like I'd been stung. It was clearly self-guided...
"I get it!" Unable to withstand the barrage, I created a film of darkness around myself. The ancient spell, which I felt like an extra pair of hands, began to spread across my body like dark snakes. Perhaps with each attempt, it was getting better and better, which was gratifying.
"Oh, so you read that book after all?" Pollux replied with grim satisfaction, not taking his eyes off the scroll he was still holding in one hand. "Well, how is it?"
"What do you mean?" I didn't understand the question, still focused on waiting for the old wizard's next curse, not a question.
"Vocare ad tenebra, that's it, isn't it?" The old man finally put the instructions aside and looked at me. "How have you been feeling lately? No changes in mood, panic, excessive aggression, feelings of constant cold or... hunger?"
"No, not really," I replied, reluctantly breaking the spell and shivering slightly. In the first few moments, there was always an unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability, as if instead of needles, I was suddenly exposing my defenceless belly to the world. "Should there be?"
"I don't know, you tell me," replied Pollux, smiling and shrugging his shoulders lightly. "I've never read that book."
"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning, and almost immediately added questioningly, "But you recommended it to me yourself, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I haven't read it. Just so you know, my dear grandson, you can't open every family book without being the head of the family. And not every book is worth reading," he added strangely. "But I've heard enough about this spell to recommend it to a fool like you, so that you would have at least a slim chance of getting out of the situation you got yourself into, well, and surviving it, instead of pretending to be a suicide bomber with a bomb strapped to your chest... And — I think I understood what my old acquaintance meant.
"Maybe you'd stop talking in riddles?" I said, struggling to resist the urge to roll my eyes so as not to catch another stinging glance, appealing to what remained of my grandfather's conscience, and, already dodging a couple of flying curses, I added: "And throwing around spells. I've had a busy day already."
"Well, if it was so eventful..." Pollux drawled sarcastically. "All right, of course. Sit down. Donnie, bring us a bottle of bourbon and something to snack on."
Later, sitting in an armchair in front of the cheerfully burning fireplace, and taking a sip of alcohol, Grandfather finally deigned to explain himself. That is, first, of course, he again went over my, and probably not only my, level of intelligence, but then took pity on me.
"Where to begin... The level of magical education has, of course, fallen greatly, but I will try to explain it so that even you can understand.
"Come on, Grandpa!" I grimaced and fidgeted a little, taking a couple of sips. The bourbon burned my throat and settled in my stomach, reminding me that it had been quite a while since I had last eaten, and that getting drunk now would not be a very good idea.
"Don't interrupt, you fool," my grandfather snapped at me, tilting his glass and thinking for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I myself have guessed a lot, since I was never the head of the family, you understand, the information is limited, but still... what do you know about Grime?
"The symbol of our clan, the sinister dog and all that..." I waved my hand vaguely, pouring myself a little more just to relax, because it had been a really nerve-wracking day. "You know, I used to be sceptical about all this: 'patrons', 'family altars' and so on. I'd only heard about Grime in my mother's stories, and even then I didn't really believe it. There are so many family legends that turn out to be nonsense. But, to be honest, when I tied the family altar to myself, I felt something like...
"Like what?" Pollux even leaned forward a little, like a hunting dog that had found a trail.
"Well... like someone was there," I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, trying to remember that moment, to bring back that strange feeling. "Warm breath, like a big dog was breathing on my face."
"A big dog?" Pollux almost choked on his bourbon, then laughed loudly, "You're right!
"Well, you know, I'm just saying what I feel!" I opened my eyes and raised my head indignantly.
"I didn't mean it like that..." My grandfather cut off his laughter, dismissing my complaint. "You know, everyone has heard about black dogs, harbingers of death and guardians of the underworld, even outside the magical world. These stories travelled from country to country in the distant past, before the Statute of Secrecy was adopted. They are called by different names — some peoples refer to them simply as black dogs or hellhounds, others give them names that are used to scare children and late travellers. Black Shack, Bargest, Flandrian Beast, Garm... "Pollux," after a couple of seconds of silence, thoughtfully twirled a skewer in his hand with pieces of cheese, some meat, and something else I couldn't make out. "One thing is certain: these mythical creatures exist in the culture of every people, some more than others. But what are myths and minstrel tales to simpletons? To us, they are echoes of ancient times, times of gods and titans, heroes and great magicians, yes.
Grandfather fell silent again, lost in thought, and I didn't disturb him, instead taking the cheese platter Donnie had brought from the table. The house was warm, even almost hot by the fireplace, which had clearly had time to heat up while we were talking and was now crackling merrily, spitting out sparks that disappeared before reaching the floor, as if by magic.
The man who said that you could look at a fire forever was very, very right. If I could, I would probably have sat there for several hours, sipping alcohol and watching the tongues of flame. But doing so was definitely out of the question right now, as was falling asleep, despite the late hour. It was still worth figuring out the sticks.
"I'll tell you a story my father told me. His father told it to him, and his father told it to him, and, as you understand, it has been this way since the founding of our family. It is one of the few family traditions that has been passed down from parents to children," Pollux finally returned to reality and began to speak again, a little slower and more measured than before. I don't know if it was the bourbon that finally had an effect on him or if it was something else, but listening to my grandfather at moments like this was really interesting. "Once upon a time, when Hogwarts was not yet in existence and our two worlds, the magical and the Muggle, were not separated by the Statute, there lived a wizard.
History does not remember his name, as happened with the Peverell brothers, but the first of our kind did not seek great glory. All he cared about then was his beautiful wife and their wonderful children... But then disaster struck," Grandfather sighed softly, or perhaps it was a grunt, and I just shook my head. Of course, what legend would be complete without drama? "The ancient gods started a quarrel, a terrible war, the echoes of which reached the places where this happy man lived.
Battle and death came to those lands, and the brave man had to go to war to protect his home and family... A battle from which he never returned, like many other brave magicians, slain and buried under the power of the angry gods and their champions. The beautiful maiden mourned her husband for a long time, but her children mourned even more and decided on the unimaginable — to challenge the gods to bring their father back.
All that remained was to whistle and silently finish the third glass of bourbon to the courage of unknown ancestors who loved their father so much that they dared to go against deities whose power far exceeded their own... In the modern world, such a thing is hardly to be found, even if we disregard the fact that the gods themselves are long gone.
"They wanted to descend into the underworld and, like Orpheus, bring their father home," my grandfather continued, no longer looking at me, but turning instead to the fireplace. "Anger and the bitterness of loss drove them to this deed. The wrath of the gods was swift. Being powerful magicians, they devised a way to find their way to Hades, but after deceiving the gods and descending into the world of the dead, they saw only the shadow of their father, who wept bitterly, realising what a terrible mistake his children had made. Cerberus, guardian of the realm of the dead, I hope you at least remember that, let them in, but did not let them out, and the sons remained in that realm forever with their father.
"Who do you take me for? Of course I remember," I replied without much enthusiasm to the pointed remark, but Pollux paid no attention to it, only waving his hand weakly, as if to shoo away a fly.
"A beautiful maiden, whose name has also been lost, could not bear the grief of losing her entire family at once and begged the gods to bring her sons back, but the gods did not answer her; they are often deaf even to the most desperate prayers... Then, realising that she would achieve nothing, she voluntarily descended into the realm of death, turning to the last being to whom any normal person would turn — Cerberus. Few knew that the eternal guardian of the gates of the realm of the dead had long ago been defeated by the gods and imprisoned there, like the other prisoners, unable to leave his cursed post.
"Few, among whom, of course, was this beautiful lady?" Raising my eyebrows, I stifled a laugh in my drink, fearing that such remarks would prompt the kind old man to treat me to another sting.
"Be quiet, shut up and listen, since Orion didn't bother to tell you," grumbled Pollux, taking his eyes off the fireplace for a moment and frowning discontentedly. "Then the most beautiful woman offered him a deal. Unable to reunite with her beloved or see her sons again, she pledged to share the heavy burden forever, giving up the peace granted to sinless souls after death, so that Cerberus could at least occasionally leave his lair.
In return, he had to release two souls whose time had not yet come back to the world of the living. The deal was made, and death itself was a witness. The two sons left the realm of the dead, seeing their mother, whose love had freed them, for the last time... But even such a tragedy did not stop the world from turning, and the brothers grew up. Heavy guilt gnawed at their souls, but their strength grew, as did the strength of their children and grandchildren, who lived much longer at that time. Centuries later, another war broke out, causing enormous losses and claiming the lives of many magicians, humans, and even gods. Only one thing remained unchanged: the beautiful maiden at the gates of the realm of death and her old friend Cerberus, who sometimes looked after the descendants of the brothers.
"It's a wild mix of ancient myths and fairy tales," I couldn't help sharing my doubts about this legend. It sounded wild, even by the standards of the magical world, which had more than its fair share of horror stories. "Besides, your legend features Cerberus, not Grim. And the realm of Hades, not just death, since Cerberus is from Greek mythology..."
"You know, the tale of the gifts of death isn't very logical either, if you think about it," snorted my grandfather, clearly offended. "It's a lot of work to build a bridge over a river, and Death gave them three artefacts for that. Legends are legends, and most of them are exaggerations or simply fiction. But the fact that our family has a close relationship with dark magic is undeniable. Many have seen this throughout the history of the Black Grim family, which is also a fact.
And it is also a fact that Gregorovich made the wands with the help of that very Buzina, and, to draw an analogy, if that makes it clearer to you, their conductivity is like that of a mountain river compared to a stream," he began to explain to the little one, but he couldn't even manage to sound indignant. He spoke simply and logically, but it would have taken me a month at best to come to the same conclusions, if not longer, due to my lack of knowledge of philosophy and the history of the time. "The Black family now has only two direct descendants, and you are the only one who can draw power from the concentration without any intermediaries. And the polarity of the sticks is different, which you would know if you had read Gregorovich's note instead of pretending to be so clever and businesslike. So be thankful you weren't torn in two!
"But he told me himself that they can be used together!" I snapped, slamming my glass down on the small table. I understood the essence of his complaint, but it was still unpleasant.
"Use! Use them, you idiot! Don't try to attach two to yourself at once!" Pollux's face contorted in annoyance, or some other emotion I couldn't identify. "You would have read that in the note if you had stopped for a second and used your brain. My advice to you is to start thinking with your head instead of your crotch, and read the instructions carefully, especially for complex artefacts such as magic wands.
Then Pollux, probably considering his impromptu lecture over, stood up, waved his hand imperiously once more, and then, without even bothering to cover his mouth, yawned.
"Donnie, clear the table. And you," the old man turned to me. "And you, don't come back until you've read everything I said carefully. Maybe then we can start normal training. For now, you remind me of a troll who found an arquebus{?}[Arquebus (French: arquebuse) — a smooth-bore matchlock gun that appeared in the early fifteenth century.] with a burning fuse and is trying to stick it up his nose.
"Thanks a lot!" I muttered, gritting my teeth at the old man's malice, and headed for the exit. I wanted to add something stronger, but a crazy thought crept into my head that he wasn't entirely wrong; with his experience, he could see things more clearly. I really need to get serious about my education, not just in witchcraft, so I don't get into such stupid situations. If only I could find the time for everything... But I'll have to make time, otherwise it won't be long before I mess up again, only this time for good. "See you soon!"
"Don't flatter yourself, look forward to next Christmas, if you live that long," Polux replied sarcastically and waved his hand at me, and then the door, either by magic or the magic of a helpful elf, closed, cutting off all sound. My home awaited me, along with the best invention of mankind, my beautiful, soft bed.
The only thing they never told me was what was wrong with the spell of darkness, but I think I really need to finish reading that book, and then maybe I won't have to endure another session of senile grumbling about my own stupidity...
***
A moment later, when the tall figure disappeared in a whirlpool of transgression, barely stepping out of the house, only the old wizard and the house elf remained on the estate.
"Sir... Aren't you being a bit too harsh on him?" the old house elf began hesitantly, having been treated more like a good friend than a servant during his many years of service.
"Strict with him?" the mage turned to the elf with a smirk.
"Yes... he is the head of the family, after all..." The elf shifted from foot to foot and lowered his eyes to the floor."If only he remembered that more often and started having children instead of messing around with Potter's boy, maybe he would have been," muttered Pollux, going up to his bedroom. "With people like him, that's the only way, Donnie. If you only pay attention to power, Sirius already surpasses even me in raw strength. It feels like Azkaban only polished his potential, allowing this star to shine brighter than all the others. But what is brute force without brains... He'll have to wise up, Donnie, and start using everything he knows, as befits the head of the family, not some commoner with a stick. Otherwise, with enemies like that, he'll be torn to pieces, and there'll be nothing I can do to help him...
A few minutes later, the light in the bedroom window went out, and the nighttime silence returned to the old walls of the mansion, previously banished by an unexpected guest. The fireplace no longer crackled, and the door hinges no longer creaked audibly, only a quiet murmur could still be heard from the bedroom.
"A million... Merlin! A million for two concentrators?! Gregorovich must have completely lost his mind and forgotten who he owes his life and freedom to...
***When I returned home, only Kreacher greeted me. Almost all the other residents had already left the family home, ceasing to be residents. The Frenchwoman and her taciturn bodyguard had safely moved in with Krauch senior, but his son stayed with me. But that was part of my plan anyway; he would stay with me for a while, until the baby was born.
Contracts are contracts, but I wasn't entirely sure of Krauch Senior's trustworthiness, and as we all know, you can always find a loophole in any contract, especially in one as delicate as ours. All that remained was to hope that our alliance was also beneficial to him, at least for now, especially given the looming coalition.
"Kricher, prepare the ritual hall," I asked the house-elf and headed for the lower floors. After all, I had to tie up the wands and think carefully about my plans, in which Crouch himself was to play the leading role.
Be that as it may, Barty Senior (damn it, why the hell did they name the kid exactly the same, what kind of narcissistic tendencies do wizards have?) still had enough allies in the Ministry, even after the incident with his son, enough to keep his position as head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but not enough to become Minister of Magic, of course...
But not now, with my arrival and, consequently, the support of Malfoy and co. It seemed quite possible to gradually gain influence and eventually run for office. Fudge is now completely under Dumbledore's thumb, although he has recently begun to show greater independence and ambition. If he realises that the wind has changed, he will listen more to Malfoy as a representative of the old families.
In general, judging by conversations with Malfoy, the situation is roughly as follows: there is a shaky parity in the Wizengamot between Dumbledore's party and Malfoy's party, which are alternately joined by representatives of neutral families, based on their own interests. And then there is Dumbledore's almost complete domination of the Ministry itself, which came about after the failure of Crouch's election campaign as representative of the neutral families. All the families that were seen to support Voldemort were eliminated by Crouch himself, who partially promoted his own people, but while he had to curb his ambitions and deal with the scandal, Dumbledore managed to fill almost all the vacant positions with his own protégés. Of course, there was no point in agreeing to be Minister when he already had the entire Ministry in his pocket, worshipping and praising him daily as if he were an idol.
Our plan was to use Crouch to quietly achieve parity in the Ministry and finally remove Dumbledore from his leading position in the Wizengamot, and Crouch Senior himself was supposed to help with this like no one else. The fact is that almost all the high positions were held by people who had suffered in one way or another at the hands of Voldemort, as well as by families who supported him. In essence, the Dark Lord, having lost the official elections, fought first with the Order of the Phoenix, and then with the Ministry, among others, creating a nice little civil war.
Too many people suffered during the armed conflict, and therefore they would never join Lucius's coalition on principle alone. No one was in a hurry to be fooled by statements that the respected brother {?[in English, there is a concept of "brother-in-law", which does not mean "brother by law", but rather that one person becomes a brother to another "through marriage"] was merely under the Imperius Curse. And that's when Crouch comes into play, who can unite those who are not very eager to support Dumbledore, but cannot join Malfoy because of their own principles and convictions, thus gathering almost half of the Ministry under my and Lucius's leadership. Incidentally, the situation was roughly the same in the Wizengamot, but there were many more opportunities there than in the Ministry itself.
The success of such a plan was not guaranteed, but it was quite expected that it would not be bad, however, both Malfoy and I understood that something more powerful was needed against Dumbledore's scheming and politics. One of the trump cards in the upcoming power struggle was to be my godson. The symbol of light's victory over darkness, the banner that Dumbledore had so lovingly created, was to be used against him. In the upcoming custody trial...
Hmm. It all sounded very simple and straightforward, like the multiplication table, but I had good reason to doubt that the old man would sit still when the chair beneath him began to wobble. His inaction was already beginning to make me nervous and anxious.
Apart from the failed ambush in Germany, which I clearly considered to be just a test, he had done nothing, at least based on the information I had. I didn't have any other cards to play against him yet, the last one being my knowledge about Crouch's son. I couldn't count the rumours about his close relationship with Grindelwald as a trump card, as they were already known to everyone concerned. After all, such closed communities, whether Hogwarts or magical Britain itself, were more like one big village where everyone knew everything about everyone else.
Information about the Elder Wand could well play into Dumbledore's hands, at least until the throne of the idol of generations began to wobble beneath him, because a great wizard needs a wand to match.
Be that as it may, the confrontation with him is a foregone conclusion, as is the case with the half-baked Voldemort. If I plan to live peacefully, raise Harry, have fun, study magic, travel, in short, just live a peaceful and quiet life, then I simply must solve the problem with the noseless face and at least deprive the very nosy face of the opportunity to simply throw me back into Azkaban, attributing all the sins of humanity to me, as the newspapermen did.
To carry out such undoubtedly ambitious plans, I need power, influence and money. And not just my own power, but that of allies, as I have no desire to fight Riddle or Dumbledore one-on-one. And while I hope I have made at least some progress with the first part of the plan, the second part requires time, which I don't have enough of, quite simply... However, I intend to take the first step right now, without putting it off to avoid any mishaps in the future.
"Everything's ready," said the House-elf with a soft clap as I approached the door, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he walked.
"Thank you, Kreacher," I smiled warmly and nodded slightly, immediately entering the ritual hall. On reflection, it was indeed foolish to try to attach such wands to myself like this, in the middle of the street. Even as children, magicians could cause some damage to Ollivander's magic shop by releasing raw energy while selecting a wand. Therefore, as usual, all magical concentrators offered for sale were protected, and the maximum damage a child could cause was flying boxes around the shop and a broken vase, in other words, something that could be easily repaired by an adult wizard.
My case seems to be quite different, if what I accidentally blew up a piece of the street can even be called that.
"Still, a million Galleons for two sticks, that's some kind of rip-off," I muttered, examining the contents of the cases and glancing at the instruction scroll. Along with the correct instructions for caring for the wood, there was indeed a warning about the different polarities of the magic sticks, and further down there was a note saying not to try to use them at the same time. "Well, it looks like I owe the old man a lot, at least a million. But let's give it a try."
First, I took a black wand with small grey veins on the handle out of the box. I immediately felt a slight vibration and coldness in my hand, and when I tried to direct energy there, the wand shook even more, practically ripping itself out of my hands, if you can say that about an inanimate object.
"No way," I hissed through clenched teeth when the vibration was joined by the feeling of a charge of several hundred volts passing through my hand. And the more magic I tried to channel, the sharper the feeling became, clearly urging me to let go of the concentrator. When my hand began to relax under this strange influence, I simply clamped it with my other hand, tightening my grip. "No way, I'm not letting go. Blackies are known for their stubbornness."
I added more energy... My hand convulsively clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palm, scratching and leaving holes. And, as if that helped, at some point my hand warmed up and a wave of power spread out in all directions from where I was standing, absorbed by the runes on the walls of the hall."So you just needed blood, you bastard?!" I looked in surprise at the stick, which was now completely dry, only the blackness seemed to have become even more intense, not quite black, but definitely darker. "Okay, let's try... Avis..."
With a loud sound like a cannon shot, a flock of black ravens flew out of the stick, immediately smearing themselves across the wall in an uneven layer, melting away after a second, absorbed by the walls of the ritual hall.
"Hmm... I'll need to practise controlling my power a bit more," I said in response to this display. A couple more spells cast to test it showed a clear difference between using my own concentrator and someone else's. The wand felt like an extension of my arm, and the spells came out with unprecedented ease... However, I had to control the amount of energy almost every time, as there was no stopper, and I had to grab myself by the hand, both literally and figuratively.
A simple Protego, performed with a lazy, careless gesture, drained a quarter of my reserves and manifested itself in the air as a silvery, murky, crackling spot. Just to be clear, it wasn't supposed to be visible or crackle. I stopped when the most ordinary Lumos, essentially the least energy-consuming and simplest spell known, came out as Lumos Maxima and nearly burned my retina. If I hadn't cancelled the spell, Harry would have had a blind guardian.
After this minor fiasco, I decided to stop torturing my half-empty reserve and try to bind my twin sister first.
"Let's see..." Having learned from past experience, I carefully cut my hand with a spell and took the wand in my left hand. Yes, it wasn't quite natural to cast spells this way, but every self-respecting wizard had at some point learned to cast spells with either hand, whether out of interest or for safety reasons, it didn't really matter.
This time there were no surprises. A slight burning sensation in my hand, even without vibration, and then a pleasant chill running through my body signalled a successful binding. Several spells, cast with much more caution than before, helped me determine what the difference between the concentrators was. The difference was actually small; spells cast with this wand were just slightly worse than with the black one. Not even worse, just requiring a little more effort, but this was felt more because the magic was flowing freely anyway, and in such large quantities, the difference was easier to notice. Perhaps there was something else, but a deeper and more thoughtful study required time, which was an unprecedented luxury.
In the end, I decided to take both concentrators in both hands, repeating my very first experience, and... nothing. Except for a slight vibration in both wands, nothing happened. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but I missed the explosions in the ritual hall, only after I decided to conjure up the most ordinary Leviosa, none of the cases moved a millimetre, and raw magic burst out of me again in all directions.
"Well, this requires a lot of practice," I sighed regretfully at the failure of my plan to cast a spell with both hands at once. One of the duelling champions who lived a hundred years ago was very good at this, and thanks in part to this skill, he held the world championship for ten years until he was poisoned.
But overall, I was as happy as a clam. True, considering that these wands were made by a master who wielded the Elder Wand and cost a million, it would be strange to think otherwise.
"Still, now I owe my grandfather money," I thought as I went up to my bedroom. "An indecent amount of money."
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970