Chapter 229 – Ritual in the Underworld
In the following days, Harry gradually learned how to write letters and send them using Hedwig.
Though living freely without anyone constantly watching him felt nice, the loneliness of having no close friends nearby made him restless.
Dudley was friendlier now, but Harry and Dudley still had little in common.
In his letters, Harry, Ron, and Draco discussed the Disapparition spell Sirius had used.
Harry soon realized that although the method of learning Apparition was described in textbooks, no professor at Hogwarts actually taught it. Instead, in sixth year, students could register for a Ministry-approved course—twelve weeks of instruction for twelve Galleons.
The three also confirmed one thing through their correspondence: they would all gather at Grimmauld Place on July 7. They had already made this arrangement with Sirius, since choosing to spend the summer at either the Malfoy estate or the Weasleys' home would have caused awkwardness for the other.
Still, Draco admitted he wanted to visit Ron's father's workshop someday, since it fascinated him. Perhaps, he said, he would spend the summer with Ron and Harry next year.
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And what was Alexander Smith doing during this summer vacation?
At first, since Kate and Penelope had to stay with their families, Alexander unexpectedly found himself with rare private time.
Sometimes, being too powerful was inconvenient. At Hogwarts, both Kate and Penelope knew very well that if they so much as thought of him—his name, face, or even related details—Alexander would sense it. He could notice, influence, and even communicate directly with them at any time.
They often used this strange connection to talk to him, even holding face-to-face conversations within their minds.
What they didn't know was that this worked not only within Hogwarts, but across the entire world. As long as they remained on Earth, Alexander could reach them.
But he had deliberately hidden this fact, craving his own private space.
Sometimes, Alexander regretted ever revealing this ability to them. If only he could go back in time, he would tell his past self not to show off. But it was too late—they already knew. And Alexander refused to tamper with the thoughts or personalities of those closest to him.
So, for once, he used his solitude to do something ordinary: watch a large-scale fantasy comedy play called My Son is in Love.
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Alexander's thoughts drifted. From the moment he was on the train leaving Hogwarts, he had noticed the photographs in the hands of both the Weasleys and Malfoys, and the strained looks on their faces.
Even Sirius, busy at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, had not escaped his sharp perception.
He recalled Vernon and Petunia Dursley's reluctant farewell, and their obvious unease around Sirius. Alexander realized he had missed many details.
After the train, he had observed Molly Weasley's scolding tone toward Ron, contrasted with her warmth for Harry. And Narcissa Malfoy, avoiding the scene entirely, had left quickly once Molly took Ron away.
The story of that day had seemed plain at first—merely the usual quarrels between adults and children caused by gaps in knowledge. But when Dumbledore suddenly appeared, things grew more interesting.
And yet, at the end of it all, Alexander felt oddly aimless. Strength and new spells gave him happiness, but he couldn't help wondering: what should he strive for next?
What fascinated him most now was the coming second year.
Dumbledore had already concluded that Voldemort had created multiple Horcruxes—so many, in fact, that he hadn't yet realized Harry himself was one.
Would Dumbledore attempt to destroy one soon, just to test whether Voldemort could sense it? But if Voldemort could sense it, he would only retreat further into hiding, perhaps not resurfacing for another century.
Alexander couldn't help grinning—watching this unfold was like being a bystander to an unpredictable drama.
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Beneath Hogwarts Castle lay a secret known only to the headmaster and the bound house-elves: a vast underground domain.
Few would ever guess that below the kitchens stretched an enormous magical pasture. Herds of cattle, sheep, pigs, chickens, and other livestock thrived in magically perfected conditions.
Even the basilisk had its own secluded feeding ground, one hidden so well that not even the headmaster had authority to stumble across it.
When Alexander first discovered this underground world, he had been astonished. Hogwarts wasn't merely a school—it was a self-sufficient fortress of war. Even if the Forbidden Forest burned to ash, the castle could still sustain itself.
Among the creatures bred there were Highland cattle, ancient and hardy, with long golden-red hair like thick bangs over their eyes. Their strength and resilience were unmatched.
But now, those Highland cattle stood unnaturally still, as if frozen in time. Only the rise and fall of their swollen bellies showed they still lived.
At the center of their circle lay a dark metal plate inscribed with intricate runes. Atop it rested a black notebook.
A tall, thin wizard with a silver beard and piercing eyes stood beside it.
Around him, carved grooves filled with liquid mercury formed vast ritual patterns. The mercury flowed endlessly under unseen forces, pulsing like veins of light.
By appearances, one might assume this was the work of a dark wizard.
But in truth, this was Albus Dumbledore—the greatest white wizard of the age.
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As a breeze stirred, the notebook's pages began to turn on their own. The engraved runes and mercury channels glowed red, like molten rock.
A low, unearthly sound rolled from Dumbledore's mouth, like boulders tumbling down a mountain. With each resonance, a Highland cow's hair dulled and turned pale at the roots, its vitality draining away.
After ten minutes, the inhuman chant ceased. The cattle staggered back into motion, dazed but alive, wandering from the ritual circle.
The mercury evaporated, cracks spread across the metal plate, and Dumbledore began to move in a complex, dance-like pattern. His body became the bridge, channeling invisible power into the black notebook.
Red sigils burned into its cover, one by one.
When the final line seared into place, Dumbledore stopped.
And before him appeared a sixteen-year-old boy, black-haired, wearing a pointed hat and a gleaming silver prefect's badge upon his chest.
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