Flourish and Blotts sent the required school textbooks to John's home via owl post.
As long as you were willing to pay several times the normal delivery fee, Flourish and Blotts were more than happy to oblige.
Basil had been quite busy lately—it had to deliver letters for John all over the place.
The work of maintaining connections was still ongoing, and among the many letters, one in particular caught John's interest.
It was from Horace Slughorn, former Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts, Potions Professor, and Potions Master.
They had gotten to know each other through Democles—more accurately, they were pen pals.
As the former Slytherin Head of House, Slughorn was quite intrigued by this Slytherin student.
They occasionally exchanged letters, and in John's opinion, Slughorn was someone rather like himself.
Both were Slytherins, and both were in the business of collecting connections.
The difference was, John used his network to pull off major operations, while Slughorn simply enjoyed the vanity and prestige those connections brought.
What Slughorn gained through his network gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.
John had been in contact with him for about two years. Aside from the occasional discussion about potion-making, he would sometimes send small gifts.
Things like mead and candied pineapple, for example.
Slughorn had also been quite helpful—he had once given John advice on soul-related potions.
However, John didn't take that earlier piece of advice—he had found something better.
This time, Slughorn had reached out because he'd heard from Democles about the thesis on the Blood Curse.
"John, you truly surprise me. A child your age, able to co-author a paper with a Potions Master like Democles Belby—he was one of the most gifted students I've ever taught. When it comes to the Blood Potion thesis, I can tell your contribution was substantial.
You never cease to amaze me with your talent. It's such a pity I've already retired—if I had the chance to teach a student like you, it would've been the pride of my career."
Slughorn marveled at John's brilliance, while also regretting that he was no longer a professor.
As a professor with a collector's instinct, Slughorn had always loved students with exceptional talent.
He had a keen eye—almost every student he took an interest in went on to achieve remarkable success in their fields.
Of course, there were also students he remembered with sorrow.
For instance, Lily Evans—Slughorn had liked her very much.
But she was murdered by another one of his students, a memory he wished he could erase for the rest of his life.
That student had brought him more than just grief. For the rest of his days, Slughorn felt he had helped create a monster.
After receiving the letter, John took out a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing a reply.
He had some questions for Slughorn—ones that touched on rather obscure and forbidden matters.
Basil was munching on a small fish snack when John took it away and replaced it with a letter.
"You know where to take it." Patting Basil on the head, John opened the window.
Basil gave two disgruntled squawks, clearly unhappy about not finishing his treat.
John glanced at the fish snack that had been gobbled up by Tom in the meantime and said with a straight face, "I'll give you a fresh one when you get back."
Basil flew off, and Riddle flew in.
He brought a letter from Tommy, along with a box.
"Sir, Mundungus stole some things from who-knows-where and hopes to use them to pay off his debt."
John opened the box. Inside were some finely crafted silverware pieces, and several magical items with enchantments on them.
One of them, a purple nightrobe, flew out the moment John opened it and tried to strangle him.
John's wardrobe burst open, and a wizard robe with a silver mask flew out, grappled the purple nightrobe, and threw it to the ground.
"Where did he even get this stuff?"
John reached out and picked up a music box. The melody it emitted made his head feel foggy and dazed.
He casually shut it off, his expression thoughtful. He had seen this kind of item before.
"I almost forgot, Mundungus used to be a thief."
The purple nightrobe had already been subdued by John's wizard robe, twisted into a wrung-up shape and tossed aside.
These things were from the old Black residence—seems even a family thief is hard to guard against.
John twisted the music box slightly, and the sound it produced made Tom drowsy.
He chuckled lightly. "Well, I suppose it's not a bad method."
He wrote a letter to Tommy, telling him that the items Mundungus had stolen could offset some of the debt—but only some.
Given Mundungus's personality, once he found out he could pay off debt this way, he would only double down on the behavior.
John hadn't said it outright—so even if Dumbledore used Legilimency, he wouldn't be able to trace John's whereabouts.
That was a crucial point.
"Hahaha~ Look at the people you pick, Dumbledore. You really are getting old and senile."
Letting a family thief become a member of the Order of the Phoenix—was Dumbledore just too confident?
He glanced at Tom. Ah, to be a young dog—out like a light.
John placed the music box beside Tom. Since she liked it, might as well let it be a toy.
As for that nightrobe, John snapped his fingers. The crumpled-up garment flew into his hand. He clapped his hands together.
A magic circle appeared on the robe. With a casual gesture, he pointed—and the robe floated up to hang out on the ceiling.
John had no habit of wearing other people's clothes.
...
August 31st.
One day left until the school year began.
John left home early and went to the Silverhand Johnny Specialty Shop.
Now, aside from Tommy, everything here had been taken over by Kim Ladislay.
In the Secret Garden, John saw Kim.
He had left Ilvermorny, and his golden hair had grown longer.
John stood off to the side. A canvas was spread across the easel, and Kim held a paintbrush, gesturing with it in the air.
It was a painting of a sunflower field—already a nearly perfect piece.
He stopped his brush and stared blankly at a patch of empty space, his thoughts drifting far away.
Suddenly, he put down the brush and gently ran his fingers over the painting.
The still-wet paint was smudged into a complete mess under his touch.
"I can't paint it," Kim said.
John replied calmly, "Don't force yourself."
"I just..." Kim gave a bitter laugh and ran a paint-smeared hand through his hair in frustration, smearing a mess of colors into his golden hair. "I just wanted to see them one more time."
"Everyone wants to see them again." John walked over and gently patted Kim on the shoulder. "Kim, paint one for me."
Kim, his hair disheveled, silently took down the canvas and replaced it with a new one.
John stood there and, almost instinctively, glanced to his left.
He gripped the Tales of Beedle the Bard a little tighter and murmured, "Yeah... who doesn't want to see them again?"
...
September 1st.
The Hogwarts school year began.
After leaving Knockturn Alley, John made a trip to Gringotts.
Using the Lestrange identity, he entered the vault once more.
When the cart brought him out, the goblin pulling it had a smile on his face.
Because the Lestrange vault was full again.
To goblins, it seemed that anything stored in Gringotts was as good as theirs.
John didn't care. He Apparated to King's Cross Station.
Walking through the station, just before he entered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he saw a long, bustling line.
It was Harry and the others.
To ensure Harry's safety, the scale of their escort could probably put even the Minister for Magic to shame.
John only glanced once before heading toward the wall.
Passing through the station wall, John entered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"John."
Pansy wasn't with Malfoy, and the annoyance was written all over her face.
Crabbe and Goyle looked evasive, frequently rubbing their left arms with their right hands.
John walked over and glanced at the two big guys. "Where's Draco?"
Pansy said irritably, "Off bragging about being a prefect."
"Heh~ That's in character for him," John shrugged, then glanced again at the two large boys who were doing their best to shrink into the background. "Goyle, Crabbe—come with me."
Leaving no room for argument, John gave a direct order.
Pansy looked gleeful at their misfortune as they all boarded the train.
John walked in front, exuding an aura of "stay away" that was hard to ignore.
Slytherin students greeted him respectfully as they passed.
Students from the other three houses looked awkward, avoiding direct eye contact with him.
When they reached an empty compartment, John stepped in first and sat down.
Crabbe and Goyle turned to leave, only to be shoved inside by Pansy from behind.
John snapped his fingers, and the compartment door slammed shut.
___________
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