Far from all of my lost memory had returned. Essentially, the memories in that moment, in the cave, had crashed over me in a series of blinding, painful flashes — fragmented moments from those three days.
For example, from the farewell with the Millefeuilles, I only remembered the final minutes: how I kissed Céline's hand, she pulled away, I uttered a farewell phrase, stepped back, and activated the Portkey. That was all I remembered of that farewell and the day before it.
But the memory didn't end there. Because the farewell was the beginning of the longest chunk I had recalled. I now remembered how, after using the Portkey, I began to fall rapidly. A chaotic, gut-wrenching flight through a malfunctioning Portkey and the impact on the rocky floor. Then the sharp pain in my side and knees…
In fact, I literally relived how, due to the botched Portkey, I felt ten times worse than after any Apparition. The temporary blindness and monstrous disorientation alone were worth it! Plus the ache all over my body and the fall, apparently due to the incorrectly configured Portkey. I think I'll try to stay away from such artifacts… I need to study Apparition, at least next year.
All this memory that returned to me had much in common with the ritual at age 11, after which the merging occurred — at least that one happened gradually. But this time, on one hand, it was even harder, and on the other, easier. I dread to imagine what would have happened if such a volume of someone else's personality had integrated into the brain in seconds, as with these fragments. I think instant death would have been the only outcome.
It was extremely unusual to relive the entire gamut of those emotions in such a short time… My wand, apparently at that moment, slipped from my hip holster and flew off into the darkness. That's why I was left defenseless then.
It was all because of the damn dress robe, which didn't have my shoulder holster. Mother had insisted on the day of the visit to the Millefeuilles that with a dress robe, it was better to remove the shoulder holster to not spoil the seamless look. Generally, for the image, it was reasonable, and I followed her advice even on the last day, during the farewell to the French. But it cost me dearly.
Had I had my wand in hand from the very start, the ensuing fight — which I now remembered in full, as if I'd never forgotten — might have followed a completely different script.
For the sake of a contrived image, strutting for who knows whom, I put my life in such danger… The entire Millefeuille family always saw me with my wand on my shoulder — I rarely wore the dress robe. And the complaint here is more with me, not the robe.
Never. Again. I will not do this.
I swore from that day on to never remove my holster. Not for anyone's peace of mind, not for appearances.
As I walked, I adjusted the strap of my new holster made of black dragonhide. Also, on my belt, in a special sheath, lay a spare wand received from my father — I'll keep it with me, despite having my own back.
It will serve as a backup, and besides, did I train to cast spells with both hands for nothing? Since I can use magic simultaneously — wandlessly with my left and with a wand in my right — I can try to weave ambidextrous spellcasting with two wands into my combat style. It should turn out something devastating. Mr. Krieger told me he had encountered wizards fighting that way, though rarely.
And though ultimately I want to achieve complete independence from a wand by training wandless magic (mainly through pure magic manipulation), the same manipulations are achieved with less effort and strain using a wand. In general, I perceived a wand as a universal tool that amplifies everything you can already do, just not as effectively.
It was all the more interesting to realize that I, wandless, had darted around the cave in a half-blind state, scared out of my wits due to losing my wand. That is, I, a thirteen-year-old boy, injured, dodged and even defended myself with my own magic against spells flying from three wands. And I did this without a wand! In short, I'm proud of myself, though now with a clear head, I understand how many mistakes I made during that fight, and I didn't even show everything I knew. Had I been calmer, the outcome could have been completely different.
In any case, this inspired me to continue training wandless magic even more diligently. But, despite the skill demonstrated at that moment and the fierce desire to live, I still kept searching for my wand, not doubting that without it I was nowhere. That's where the main problem was.
That is, the mindset "without a wand I am almost defenseless" severely hindered me then. And though in this specific case, against three adult wizards clearly above average level, I likely wouldn't have managed with or without a wand, I still shouldn't have concentrated so hard on the focus object. I might not have found it at all.
At that moment, I probably should have closed the distance to the attackers. Then I could have dealt considerable damage even without a wand. With an air ram or telekinesis… but hindsight is always 20/20, and I did find the wand, so that approach paid off.
The most important thing about that fight and this memory was that I killed a person. Yes, an enemy, but a person nonetheless. Only... neither then nor now did this cause any conflict or self-flagellation in me. Aside from the moral aspect, which went out the window because it was self-defense, I had to admit to myself: I wouldn't have cared even if I had killed as the aggressor. The way Sectumsempra nearly cleaved a living person in half gave me no peace, because deep down I understood that the memory only evoked in me a delight in the enemy's death. A bloody death…
He deserved such a death, just as his brother deserved to lose both his younger brother and his life.
And this bloodthirstiness was already frightening, raising certain thoughts about my sanity.
Other memories, unfortunately, remained fragmented but no less burning. I only fully recalled those five minutes, from the farewell to the moment when my already battered body slammed into the cave wall, and I blacked out, feeling immense pain in my arm and chest, accompanied by a characteristic crunch.
Apparently, that's when the fractures happened.
The brightest and longest of the rest was a very strange chunk of memories. Everything in it seemed distorted, as if my thoughts at that moment were clouded.
There were only emotions… so much true, primal rage… indescribable in words. I felt that my mind had helpfully smoothed these sensations in the memories — apparently erasing what could have harmed me. But, despite the veil of rage, it was precisely this fragment that made me understand who was to blame.
I was standing over Oliver Unsworth. His face was contorted with fear, tears and his own saliva were running down his face, and in my hand was a wand. Not mine… someone else's. And I was torturing him, but not with some Unforgivable Curse I didn't know, but with something else. A curse considered no more than a childish prank. The Tickling Charm, despite its seeming harmlessness, was no less horrific than other torture curses. And I confirmed that.
Another Titillando, and Oliver Unsworth's body convulsed in hysterical laughter bordering on madness. He wanted to stop but couldn't. I interrogated him with such fury that the answers weren't even the main point. The main thing was to torment him further and find out who else could be punished. And he babbled something, choking on laughter, tears, and saliva. And I felt… cold satisfaction.
I dread to imagine what I would feel if my brain retained the full intensity of that intoxicating, mind-consuming rage. Perhaps I knew the reason for this all-consuming anger — something was tugging at my mind. At that moment, my arm and ribs were broken, and next to Unsworth, who was choking on his own saliva, lay a corpse with a half-torn skull. How could I, in such a state, stand and torture someone? What even happened to me? I needed to talk to Mother; for some reason, I thought this was the infamous Black Rage. One of the oldest and most powerful ancestral curses of the Blacks, which couldn't be rid of for centuries, or perhaps no one wanted to.
I don't know if I was lucky or not, but I remembered a substantial portion of the interrogation, from the most useful part, when he mentioned his brother and that he, Oliver, was wrong, that he should have listened to Godfrey. The other names appeared in my head on their own, not supported by moments of their acquisition. Apparently, associatively from "Godfrey Unsworth," my memory restored "Oliver." But the fact that the other two kidnappers shared the surname Renfrow, I seemed to have learned from another surfacing fragment.
There, I was lying in the dark, and my entire being was one continuous pain. I didn't actually "remember" the pain itself, but I knew it was very painful. More painful than breaking an arm or even ribs. But what kind of pain it was, my mind didn't reveal.
It was with this memory that came the realization that Edmund Renfrow was not just one of the kidnappers. He was connected to that all-consuming pain, the sensation of which I never recalled, and to that rage, the cause of which still eluded me, leaving only a bitter aftertaste and a vague image — his face, distorted with malice, and then — with horror. I remembered that flash of awakening memory where I apparently blew up his head. Now this moment was much more detailed in my memory and no longer seemed like something foreign.
And I also knew that I hated him with particular intensity. And apparently for good reason.
When I remembered all this, I just muttered that it was the Unsworths. I am absolutely certain these are my genuine memories, and that Oliver Unsworth and the Renfrow brothers, whom I killed right there, kidnapped me. This certainty was enough to set the wheels in motion.
Thanks to Mother, of course, who talked sense into Father. It seemed Father loved us, but it was vile to realize he wasn't set on destroying their family. Before the argument, of course. Perhaps there were reasons, but it was hurtful even through the hellish headache I felt while already back at the Manor.
The pain inside my skull… as if my brain were being squeezed through a sieve. All of yesterday, from the moment I remembered these memory fragments, the pain and pressure in my head grew with each minute, and my head spun, making the world swim before my eyes. Even the strong painkillers they gave me couldn't cope. I sat in a leather armchair while Mother, enraged, accused Father of inaction, and with each second the pain only became more unbearable, squeezing my temples with steel pincers.
At some point, I apparently couldn't take it and blacked out.
Mother, by the way, wasn't just demanding revenge — she was ready to lead it herself. To take the guards and wipe the Unsworths off the face of the earth right then, immediately. Through the hellish pain, I felt gratitude then, understanding that a parent was ready to do anything for me. She, always so reserved and aristocratic, opened up more to me as a loving mother, and this knowledge warmed me more than any potion.
Their argument reached me as if through a wall of water. I sat, sinking into the chair, trying not to move because any movement echoed with a new wave of pain. My last coherent thoughts before darkness swallowed my consciousness were simple and clear: I must be there. Father decided the next day would be the end of their family. Meaning this day.
And when I woke up this morning in my bed, with muted curtains and the aftertaste of potion on my tongue, I was already better. That is, the pain had receded to a tolerable background, leaving behind a residual headache and slight nausea.
But even when I got up, managed to train, and showed I was ready, Father didn't take me. Which was logical, but I really wanted to go…
And now, approaching another shop window, I was just pondering: Has the end of the Unsworths' story already arrived, or has it only just begun?
I stopped for a second. My guards stopped immediately as well. I just looked at my pale reflection in the shop window glass. I wanted to be there, to be part of the retribution. As the person who suffered at the hands of their family, but that sounded laughable coming from the person whose stupidity led to this.
If I hadn't spun my school intrigue, none of this would have happened — no kidnapping, no memory loss that still hasn't fully returned.
I should have been smarter, I repeated to myself, but I'm still just as foolish. Although, it seemed, no one should have dared… but they did. Perhaps out of stupidity, but if not for my knowledge of Occlumency, I wouldn't have recovered anything and there would be no hope for revenge. All that's left is to wait for the full return of memory. I hope then I'll understand what I did that saved the possibility of its return.
As I pondered this, I noticed familiar outlines in the shop window reflection that passed by.
Evening Diagon Alley lived its usual life, and so it was crowded, as always at this time. Wizards of all kinds hurried about their business: witches with bags full of potion ingredients, important gentlemen in expensive robes, groups of laughing Hogwarts students peeking into the Magical Menagerie. The air buzzed with the voices of the crowd. But among this crowd, I spotted my former prefect. Benedict Unsworth had just walked past me.
He was walking ahead, bursting with smug laughter in the company of two friends. One of them, a lanky blonde, was gesturing, telling some story; the other laughed, slapping Unsworth on the back. They were clearly heading toward one of the three public Floo centers located in Diagon.
The thing is, in Diagon Alley, as in most magical shopping districts and public places, powerful anti-Apparition wards were in effect. No one could simply Apparate in or out. The only quick way to leave Diagon was to use the network of public fireplaces, a private fireplace in some shop, or exit through the Leaky Cauldron and Apparate from there.
But I craved something! This was the first time since the memory loss that I had encountered a member of the Unsworth family — those guilty of my kidnapping. And though the former prefect likely didn't erase my memory, his father or uncle… did erase it and orchestrated the kidnapping. And the starting point was this jerk. Of course, one could argue it was my fault, but I didn't care whose fault it was; I thirsted for blood.
And today, on the day his family was paying for everything, he was out late with friends in Diagon Alley. That damn parasite was just having fun. Ha-ha, he's mocking me. Mocking my personal drama, it seemed, was the one because of whom this kidnapping incident happened!
Could it be he would remain unpunished!?
This thought infuriated me most of all. Although, most likely, he would be dealt with later. But what if not!? What if Father decided not to touch the last of the Unsworths due to his age or some other factors? Especially if he were to flee… Father wouldn't waste resources searching for him in vain. No, this won't do!
I walked through the crowd of wizards, flanked on both sides by silent guards, and no longer felt like an island of calm as I had a minute ago. Oh no, now I was a blazing furnace full of burning coals. The guards followed me without question, for whatever the child amuses himself with… I was pursuing Unsworth and his friends. Without hurrying and keeping my distance, of course, otherwise it would have been strange — the targets were moving at a normal pace.
And soon, these three found themselves at the public fireplaces. They approached the farthest fireplace, where a small queue had formed. I began to understand that I likely couldn't do anything to Unsworth now. What could I possibly do here, in front of everyone? Nothing — far too many people in Diagon…
In general, the pursuit was probably pointless. Besides, Unsworth, turning around a couple of times, noticed me and my guards. It was hard not to notice, given my distinctive appearance and two escorts.
I froze, watching as they took turns throwing a handful of Floo powder into the flames, shouting their destinations, and disappearing in a whirl of emerald fire. First his friends vanished in the green flames. I should have done something, but earlier.
It was Unsworth's turn.
He stepped forward, his posture still radiating his usual arrogance. He scooped powder from the bronze bowl by the fireplace, threw it into the flames, and presumably uttered his destination.
Incidentally, Floo networks had quite universal and multifaceted protection. For example, simply naming a place wouldn't get you wherever you wanted. At least, our fireplace had a "friend/foe" protection system and many other tricks, and was disconnected from the general network most of the time. In general, in cases with such protection or with a disconnected fireplace, you wouldn't be transported anywhere.
When he threw the handful of Floo powder, he turned and scanned the crowd, his gaze stopping on me. He looked my way and smirked insolently across the entire crowd — I understood it was for me. My teeth ground with anger. Oh, I was furious! How I wanted to wipe that insolent smile off his face! To make him pay for everything!
At that moment, I noticed again that for some reason, anger was filling my heart very quickly. And I had always been so level-headed…
Moreover, something else happened:
The fire flared green, but… didn't swallow him. It just blazed fiercely for a few more seconds, then hissed and died down, leaving Unsworth standing in the fireplace with a bewildered expression.
His face showed confusion. He blinked, looked around as if not believing his eyes, and tried again. The same result. The flames shot up and immediately died down, as if hitting an invisible wall. He shook his head, looking around in confusion. The wizards standing in line began to grumble, and Unsworth started frantically looking for someone.
It was at that moment our eyes met. At first, his eyes showed only irritation, but then, as he stared, it changed to a cold, slow realization. He thought I had arranged all this. Hahahaha!
He abruptly climbed out of the fireplace, pushing aside a witch standing nearby, and, without a word, walked quickly in the other direction from me — deeper into the alley, towards the exit via the Leaky Cauldron. He realized the Floo network was blocked for him. Interesting, perhaps that means the demonstrative reprisal had already begun there?
The corners of my lips twitched in a barely noticeable, icy smile. Fate itself seemed to be handing me a thread. And I wouldn't let him go. Without saying anything to my guards, I simply moved towards Unsworth with quickened steps. It must be terrifying when three possibly hostile wizards are pursuing you… oh yes… Because of this idiot, three people kidnapped me for ransom!