THE PLAN
One week later Bucharest, Romania 7th November 2008
In preparation for this moment, I did do some immediate planning before I did the ritual, but only when I seriously considered that the spell was my only option. First, everyone needed to know and believe that I was dead. I couldn't risk people and the ridiculous sycophants I had had sniffing around. I wanted to make a clean break and start over.
The first part of my plan was establishing a new identity, before the ritual, I went to Durmstrang and made the Headmaster a Latvian wizard named Juris Rudzugailis to create a school record. I did everything I could paperwork wise to establish a paper trail. The Headmaster included me on the magical registry, a new name and no date of birth as of yet, because I didn't know what I would look like coming out of the veil. The same went for the birth records and parent death records. I had to make it believable, so if anyone went looking everything would look as it should.
I copied my old school records from Hogwarts and altered their appearance to look like Durmstrang school records. I had spelled all the paperwork, so when I add a date on one, it will duplicate automatically on to each subsequent document. Now I just had to decide how old I looked.
Looking in the bathroom mirror of my small flat in Bucharest, yes in a Muggle area, as much as I loathed them, it was perfect for remaining hidden. I studied my face, a face that I hadn't looked at since the seventies, and even now I looked older than my 25 years at the time. The Horcruxes slowed his aging and changed his appearance slightly. It wasn't until my resurrection in the cemetery that I gained the snake facade. Horrible, what the hell was I thinking? I wasn't. I was too obsessed with power. Although the last year when I was planning this do-over, it was probably the sanest I had been in decades. Perhaps staring death in the face was a sobering experience.
I could tell it was myself, just older, there was some resemblance to my younger self, but only if you looked, and had some knowledge of what I looked like while at Hogwarts. That narrowed it down to Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Weasley. If I did return to England in the future, my only real problem would be Potter, but with enough time passing, he may not see the fact that I do look a little like the younger version of myself. It's odd thinking of myself that way. I hadn't shaved in a week, so I had rough stubble growth, I ran my hands over the corse hair thinking. I might keep the one or two-day growth once I shave, I think it would suit me. It changes my look just a little to throw people perhaps off. My hair is a scruffy dark brown, and it gave me an "I just rolled out of bed look," it made me look...handsome, dashing, attractive. I smiled at my reflection; it ended up looking more like a grimace, smiling was not my forte. I would have to practice. If I did enough things that were so unlike Voldemort, people would probably look past any passing resemblance.
Running my hands over my face again and staring into my crisp blue eyes, I thought I looked like I would be in my early thirties. The right age really, not old but not young. I could get away with my vast knowledge of the Dark Arts, if I looked 17 again, it would have been almost impossible, and that definitely would have attracted attention, which comes to my second part of the plan.
Before the ritual, I also approached a Romanian master, which is why I am here in this shithole of a place. While I obliviated Juris so he wouldn't remember that we had organized my school records, unfortunately, this required that the Master of Curse Breaking and Dark Arts had to remember me. Laurentiu Grigore Negrescu, was a master at both, this way I could legitimately enter the workforce. Having the qualifications would be handy, again leaving a legal paper trail that no one could poke holes in. If Potter ever became suspicious, I needed this to look real because it was real. Negrescu was a hermit, and I picked him partly because of that, but he was an exceptional wizard and knowledgeable. He was someone I respected, and not many people earned my respect.
When I came to him over a year ago, he thoroughly chastised me for my stupidity. While I wanted to torture him mercilessly for mocking me, I refrained because I knew the words he spoke were valid. My blind ignorance brought me to this point. I planned to gain power through infiltration, subtly manipulating people to where I wanted them. I realized there was more than one way to win and weld power. My infantile delusions of grandeur were thrust back in my face by Negrescu, seeing it from his point of view, was enlightening. I looked like a grown man (?) chucking a childish tantrum. I was, I am ashamed of myself. This time it would be different, this time I would do it the smart way. I'm not thrilled on having to start at the bottom, but Negrescu told me I needed to give myself time to adjust and plan appropriately.
I think I will put my birthday as the 1st of November when I came through the veil and year birth as 1978, so I am 30 years old. I exited my small bathroom which was situated in my bedroom and walked out into my living area. It was small, but at the time it was all I could get at short notice. Plus I needed something inconspicuous, in a decent area of town. It had a small kitchenette across the back wall, a sliding door out on to a small balcony of the left, a bookcase crammed with books to the right, next to the front door and I had a small seating area in the middle of the room. It was enough for me right now. I withdrew a substantial sum of galleons and shrunk it down in a trunk, that is heavily warded. If anyone other than me tried to break through, they would find themselves dying a gruesome painful death. It is a hefty amount (1 million Galleons or equivalent to 5 million British pounds), I needed to be able to live for a few years without income. Usually, money was never a factor; however, to make this plan work, I need to be self-sufficient. I would rather not be parasitic like my former self. Disgusting.
I stopped at the seating area where a small plain desk was sort of off to the side, and it had all my paperwork stacked on it. I picked up my quill and opened my ink pot, I dipped the tip in and wrote my 'new' birthday on my birth certificate. I watched as the date appeared on all the relevant documents. I was now officially Christian O'Toole, a British ex-pat living in Bucharest.