Chapter 76: The Crest and the Mystery of His Origins
The house had been unoccupied for a long time. Russell planned to spend some time cleaning it up. Because his wand was still under the Trace, he couldn't use magic.
Still, asking Lurch to help with something so trivial felt a little embarrassing.
Fine. I'll do it myself.
Humming softly, he went up and down the house, tidying room by room.
When he pushed open the door to his parents' bedroom, Russell felt a momentary daze. Though he had never truly seen them, fragments of their faces still lingered in his memories.
He took a deep breath.
It's all in the past.
While organizing a drawer, he suddenly spotted a crest that looked strangely familiar. His eyes widened.
The pattern was almost identical to the one in the diary—except that the blade entwined with the crown of thorns was not broken. It was whole and intact.
"Teacher, Teacher—look at this! What is it?" Russell quickly opened the diary and pressed the crest against its pages.
"What is that thing…?" Morgan's tone was initially impatient, but it abruptly cut off. After a long pause, words slowly appeared again.
"Where did you find this?"
"In my house."
"Your house?"
Morgan fell silent once more.
No way… it can't be that cliché, Russell thought. Am I actually Morgan's descendant? He stared at the crest in his hand, unsure what to say.
"Try dripping a drop of blood onto the crest," Morgan finally wrote.
Since Morgan had never deceived him before—and since this crest was something his parents had left behind—Russell ultimately followed her instructions and let a single drop of blood fall onto it.
The crest absorbed the blood instantly, then burst forth with a faint radiance. When he placed it back onto the diary, it left behind a clear, unmistakable imprint.
"Remarkable," Morgan wrote. "You, a little brat full of lies, are actually a pure-blood descendant of mine."
"What do you mean 'full of lies'?" Russell protested. "That's slander—do you hear me? Slander!"
Now that his guess had become reality, he felt both shocked and strangely calm. His mood was neither good nor bad.
The Gaunt family of Slytherin had already fallen into ruin—let alone the far more ancient Morgan line. Even if he truly carried Morgan's blood, it wouldn't grant him any real advantage.
Worse still, it might bring danger. The Knights of Merlin still existed. If they learned of his identity, they might imprison him—or simply execute him outright, tying up loose ends once and for all.
"So, Teacher… should I start calling you 'Great Ancestor' now?"
"That sounds awful," Morgan replied at once. "Continue calling me 'Teacher.'"
Clearly, discovering that Russell was her descendant had put her in a much better mood.
Russell felt the same way. At least she was family now—she wouldn't need to use her own descendant's flesh and blood for some dark ritual. Morgan had once been the Queen of Avalon, after all; surely she wouldn't stoop so low.
But then—
A troubling thought crossed his mind.
If his parents were both wizards… then how did they really die?
There was no way it had truly been a simple car accident.
That explanation was far too absurd.
Was someone—or some organization—targeting them?
Better to stay cautious. Russell decided to store the crest in a Gringotts vault.
Another thought struck him. He picked up his pen and wrote:
"Teacher, since I'm your descendant, does that mean I also have a claim to Avalon's throne?"
"In theory, yes," Morgan replied.
"But a throne requires more than bloodline. Power matters above all else. Without strength, even rightful authority will be stolen."
Russell understood.
Legal legitimacy alone was meaningless in the wizarding world. Magic—and power—were what truly mattered.
"Then grow stronger," Morgan continued.
"Strong enough to make them kneel at your feet. From now on, I will devise a training plan for you and assess your progress regularly."
"…I understand, Teacher."
The moment Russell closed the diary, the text on his status panel changed.
[Profession: Muggle-born Wizard] → [Profession: Pure-blood Wizard(?&#??)]
And behind Pure-blood Wizard, faint additional text seemed to flicker—unreadable for now.
---
At dinner, Gomez suddenly froze, then raised his right hand high, excitement lighting up his face.
"I have a major announcement!"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"The Addams family in the Soviet Union has invited us to visit this summer."
"Ohhh!"
Wednesday and Pugsley cheered immediately, with Fester joining in.
Russell looked from Gomez to the cheering trio, then to Morticia.
She met his gaze calmly, eyes full of meaning.
This clearly wasn't just a vacation.
Russell was the first to look away. Taking a deep breath, he spoke directly.
"Uncle Gomez, Aunt Morticia—something big is about to happen in the Soviet Union. I don't think it's wise to go."
"That's exactly why we're going," Gomez said, winking at him.
"To witness the fall of a great nation," Morticia added dreamily, "is a rare and precious experience."
"But isn't that dangerous for Pugsley and Wednesday?" Russell pressed.
"At a time like this, the Soviet magical world won't be lenient. Wizards from other countries will flock there to exploit the chaos."
"Then you should ask them."
"I'm going," Wednesday said flatly.
"Me too!" Pugsley followed without hesitation.
"And you'll protect me," Wednesday added in her usual emotionless tone.
"Of course," Russell replied, nodding.
If he were going alone, he wouldn't even consider it. But with the Addams family backing him, things were different.
At the very least, he'd have support.
More importantly, his real combat experience was still lacking. This trip might be exactly what he needed to grow.
If one were being blunt, why had Dumbledore's generation been so powerful?
Because they grew up in chaos.
Grindelwald before them. Voldemort after.
Survival demanded strength.
But once Voldemort fell, what happened?
The Ministry focused on corruption and profit. Most Aurors—except veterans like Moody—couldn't even cast a proper Shield Charm.
Why?
Because the world was too peaceful.
And partly because Voldemort's curse had ruined the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, leaving generations of students poorly trained.
No wonder the Ministry collapsed so easily when Voldemort returned.
In the end—
It always came down to Hogwarts.