Surrey, Little Whinging, Privet Drive.
A week had already passed since the holidays began. Avada had long since returned to the orphanage, once again blending in with his friends and the caretakers who looked after them. During that time, they naturally asked him about his life at school. He carefully selected a few experiences that didn't involve magic but were still interesting enough to share—things like the "baking club," or the "terrifyingly strict chemistry teacher," and the like.
Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had forgotten something important.
It wasn't until he bought a train ticket on his own and came to Surrey—planning to get an early look at the Savior and make a sort of pilgrimage—that he finally remembered what he'd missed.
He had forgotten to remove the Trace from his wand while he was still at school.
As a result, he had no choice but to leave his wand behind at the orphanage for this trip. Arriving at Privet Drive empty-handed, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself using wandless magic. While peering through the window at Harry Potter—who appeared to be washing dishes—he couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
His Magical Perception was not omnipotent.
In theory, this ability allowed him to perceive the magical structure of all things in the world. Yet there were always certain things—things clearly studied within magic—that he simply could not see.
Time, for example.Fate.Love.
The wizarding world already possessed magic that touched upon these domains—Time-Turners, Divination, and the like—yet Avada had never once observed anything within magical currents that could represent such concepts.
Not only that, but the curse Voldemort had placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had eluded him for an entire year. He hadn't found a trace of it.
Nor did he understand why the soul could be split through murder.
And what he was seeing now only drove home just how limited his ability truly was.
Harry Potter—standing clearly within his field of vision—appeared, to his senses, to be nothing more than a perfectly ordinary person.
There were no signs of possession by other soul fragments, nor any protective enchantments on his body at all.
If not for the faint sense of discord his mental power detected—similar to the feeling Professor Baker gave him—Avada might have suspected he'd somehow wandered into the wrong world.
He had originally hoped to glimpse that powerful protective magic—something capable of drawing strength from blood relatives and even rebounding the Killing Curse itself.
Instead, this was the result.
He couldn't help but sigh, rubbing his temples as a dull headache set in.
Things had become even more troublesome.
In his long-term plan to put Voldemort six feet under, the soul fragment within Harry Potter had always been the most difficult hurdle. To destroy that fragment, he would have to wait until Harry turned seventeen—until Lily's protection faded—then allow Voldemort to personally cast the Killing Curse on him.
But that would mean letting Voldemort return, scheme, and kill…
How would that be any different from the original story?
That was precisely why Avada was so desperate to develop magic capable of destroying Horcruxes without damaging their vessels. Yet now, he couldn't even locate Voldemort's soul within Harry at all.
Which meant that even if his research succeeded, it might not work on Harry in the end…
"If only I could capture and seal Voldemort's remnant soul next term," he muttered. "That would give me plenty of time…"
Then he snorted softly, mocking himself.
"Yeah, right. Even Dumbledore couldn't pull that off."
The first book of the original story had essentially been Dumbledore's carefully laid trap to kill Voldemort—from bringing the Philosopher's Stone into the school, to hiring Quirrell, to those laughably simple protective obstacles that even first-years could break through…
And yet, even then, Voldemort still slipped through Dumbledore's fingers.
Just how good was that man at running away?
Forget it. Better to focus on poisoning Voldemort's father's ashes like originally planned.
With a dejected sigh, Avada dispelled the Disillusionment Charm and turned back toward the station.
This trip had been for nothing.
"His weakest moment is right in front of me," he muttered. "So why can't I make use of it? Sealing… sealing…"
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes widened slightly.
A plan formed in his mind—an extraordinarily, outrageously bold plan.
So bold that he genuinely began to wonder whether the Sorting Hat had put him in the wrong House.
…
Compared to life at Hogwarts, summer at the orphanage was plain, simple, and unbearably dull.
And yet, Avada found that he didn't entirely dislike it. After all, wasn't this very normalcy the reason he wanted Voldemort gone in the first place?
Playing with children his own age during the day, helping younger kids with their studies, showing off the cooking skills he'd learned in Hufflepuff during dinner, then locking his door at night to secretly complete his Hogwarts summer homework…
Before he knew it, time slipped quietly into mid-August.
"Hey, Avada," someone called out. "There's someone outside looking for you. Says he's your friend—Baron Shafiq, was it?"
Avada instinctively flinched.
He'd grown so used to being called "Ken" at school, and with all his recent obsessive planning around Voldemort, he'd almost forgotten his own name.
"Baron? He's here?" Avada replied quickly. "Just a moment—I'll be right there."
After thanking the messenger, Avada grabbed his suitcase and headed downstairs. Baron had written to him a few days earlier, saying that his parents warmly welcomed Avada as a guest and had invited him along to Diagon Alley to purchase supplies for the new term.
Since pure-blood families weren't restricted by the underage magic laws during holidays, Avada was more than happy to accept. He'd packed his luggage in advance for exactly this reason.
As soon as he stepped outside, he saw Baron standing beside a black sedan. Several orphanage children clustered around him, chatting animatedly. Nearby stood a short, elderly man in a neat suit.
Judging by the unnatural vitality surrounding him, Avada immediately recognized him as a house-elf in disguise—likely from the Shafiq household. How he'd gotten that suit, though, was anyone's guess.
"Ken! Over here!"
Baron spotted him instantly and waved, his voice not loud, but clear enough to carry.
"I'm coming."
Avada walked over with a grin, suitcase in hand. "What are you all talking about?"
"Oh, school, mostly! Haha—it really is interesting…"
"Potions class? Uh… that's what I mentioned as chemistry class. The teacher is terrifying. Baron's family just uses a different term…"
"No, no, we're in different Houses. They might not be as good at baking as us, but they've got plenty of other strengths—and they even won the championship this year…"
"Broom ball? That's what Baron calls it? Hahahaha!"
"Of course we have Astronomy! Every Wednesday night we go to the Astronomy Tower and observe the stars with telescopes. That's why I say our school is special."
"The old headmaster? No, he didn't cut his beard. He likes it that way…"
After chatting a bit longer and watching the children leave, thoroughly satisfied, Avada rubbed his forehead and gave Baron a wry smile.
"I appreciate your discretion, really. But 'broom ball' is a bit much… If it comes down to it, just say football or basketball."
"Good thing you helped smooth things over," Baron said with a relieved sigh. "Otherwise I would've blown my cover sooner or later."
He then gestured to the short elderly man beside him.
"I haven't introduced you yet. This is Charlie, our house-elf. He handles cleaning and daily matters at home."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Charlie," Avada said politely.
The old elf smiled. "Just Charlie is fine, Mr. Ken. Wizards needn't use honorifics with house-elves."
"Very well," Charlie said, opening the rear door of the car. "Please hand me your luggage and join Master Baron inside. We should reach our destination in about fifteen minutes."
Avada nodded, about to pass over his suitcase, when he paused.
"Ah—one more thing. I'm carrying my wand with me. If this car uses magic, will the Trace detect it?"
"Don't worry," Baron replied before Charlie could speak. "The Trace isn't that powerful."
Relieved, Avada climbed into the car after him.
The interior was far more spacious than the exterior suggested—clearly expanded with magic—and the seats were comfortably soft.
"Please hold on," Charlie said. "We're departing."
A faint humming sound came from the rear of the vehicle. Then—bang.
In an instant, the scenery outside the windows changed completely.
(End of Chapter)