Karmit shook his head. "Bilair, you must understand—if the Yaxley family takes the first swing, we gain far more.
I need to give them an opportunity—something they believe is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
My departure for Hogwarts is exactly that. I want them to strike first. Only then do I have every justification to crush them completely."
Bilair bowed his head. "Yes, Master. I understand."
"And if necessary," Karmit added coldly, "take a few vagrants and let them die at the Yaxleys' hands."
He said it casually, as if suggesting they fetch ingredients from a shop.
Bilair bowed again. "As you command."
....
After returning to the manor and having dinner, Karmit descended into the Black family's underground chamber.
Calling it a "basement" was generous—it was a dungeon.
Pure-blood families all had them. In the old, chaotic days of the wizarding world, these spaces were used for dark magic experiments.
Later, as the world stabilized, such dungeons fell out of use—or were repurposed for… questionable private affairs.
The Blacks were no exception.
Inside the dim, stone-walled chamber, Karmit withdrew the Elderwood Wand.
He ran his fingers along its segmented, bone-like shaft. A pulse of power thrummed beneath his touch—raw, cold, ancient.
Elder wood was rare, but not unheard of. Yet only one elder wand existed in the wizarding world—the one held by Dumbledore.
There was a reason for that.
The elder wand was the hardest wand in existence to master. Its power was unimaginable—but so was its pride.
It refused to acknowledge a wizard whose strength didn't match its own.
The wand changing allegiance after defeating its previous master wasn't a special trait of Dumbledore's wand—it was the nature of elder wood itself.
That was why wandmakers never used it. They couldn't sell it.
And now came the insanity of the Black family's ancestor— That man had not only used elder wood, but had deliberately copied the exact form and proportions of the legendary Elder Wand.
It was an act of blasphemy.
And Death had taken notice.
To push things even further, the Black ancestor had rallied the entire family to hunt down a basilisk.
He had originally intended to imitate Salazar Slytherin's wand, which used basilisk horn.
But after countless trials, the Black patriarch discovered something stronger than horn—basilisk nerve.
Thus this wand was born:
Elder wood shaft. Basilisk nerve core. And a drop of Black family blood infused during creation.
No one—not even the ancestor who forged it—knew what abilities it held.
Because the moment the wand was completed, Death itself fixed its gaze upon the Black line.
But that drop of blood created one undeniable truth: This wand was perfectly attuned to Black family magic.
Karmit raised the wand and gently flicked it.
A beam of green light shot forth—so dark it was almost black—and exploded against the stone floor.
Karmit blinked, surprised.
He flicked the wand again. Flames erupted along the tip—but at a mere thought, the wildfire shrank instantly, coiling into a controlled sphere.
Karmit's eyes widened. This was no ordinary spell control.
He needed more testing.
He clapped his hands.
With a pop, Kreacher appeared beside him. "Young Master."
"Go inform Belinda. I need two people brought here."
Kreacher bowed and vanished.
Karmit continued experimenting, cycling between dark magic and white magic.
The responses were immediate.
Sharper. Stronger. More obedient.
Before long, Kreacher returned with Belinda—each holding a struggling vagrant wizard by the collar. They threw the captives to the ground.
"Master," Belinda said, "we took them from another camp. If you need more, I can fetch more immediately."
"This will do."
Karmit approached the first captive.
The man trembled uncontrollably. "M-Mr. Black… Great King of Borgin Alley… I didn't offend you—I swear!"
Karmit said nothing.
He simply raised the wand.
°Crucio°
The scream echoed through the chamber.
The second man whimpered, shaking like a leaf. Belinda watched with calm indifference.
Kreacher, once horrified by such scenes, had grown numb.
Karmit stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Then beckoned to Belinda.
She immediately understood. She pulled out her own wand and handed it to him.
Karmit pointed her wand at the second captive.
°Crucio°
Another scream.
He cast two more curses—the man collapsed, barely breathing.
Karmit tossed Belinda's wand back to her. Then, with the elderwood wand in hand, he cast two Killing Curses—quick, clean, final.
He lowered the wand, breath steady.
Inside, he was thrilled.
The wand's abilities were extraordinary.
From the experiments, he now understood its nature:bIt amplified dark magic to an absurd degree.
Not just making it stronger— it refined his control.
Fiendfyre, for example, was considered impossible to control. But that was for ordinary wizards.
Some exceptions existed:
Grindelwald shaping it into a shield.
Dumbledore parting seas of flame.
Voldemort conjuring serpents of fire.
Their mastery came from sheer skill.
Karmit had some control over Fiendfyre as well— but nowhere close to theirs.
Yet with the elderwood wand, his control tightened dramatically. Still not at their level, but far beyond what he managed unaided.
Now, if he wished— He could control Fiendfyre.
No wonder wizards sought their own wand. Wands truly were amplifiers of magical might.
Until now, Karmit had always relied on stolen wands—or Belinda's wand.
Belinda's wand, in fact, had been used by him so often that it behaved as though it recognized two masters, obeying him almost too well.
But this wand— This one was his.
__________
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