The living room of Malfoy Manor, adorned with golden and dark green ornaments, jewels, and fine furnishings, screamed wealth. It felt as if the room had been designed solely to showcase riches and luxury to the world…
In the middle of this lavishly decorated room, sitting on a black leather sofa that didn't seem to fit the decor, with his people kneeling on the floor before him, was none other than the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Seeing his Death Eaters kneeling before him was no longer as satisfying as it had once been—now, this sight only fueled his desire to tear them apart. What use were they if they couldn't even carry out his orders?
It had been a few days since all his Horcruxes had been destroyed—the pain he felt at that moment was indescribable. He could still feel phantom pains every now and then, alongside the cold touch of death brushing against him.
He realized then and there that he was mortal once more and could no longer create more Horcruxes.
The realization was maddening.
He had just finished branding the new werewolf and vampire slaves when it happened—he would have thought it was a hallucination if it hadn't been for the searing pain that drove him to lose control.
Still, in a desperate effort to save himself, he had siphoned all the magic his new slaves possessed in an effort to try and stop the agony he was in and heal, but it was pointless.
The result of this, though, was the unsurprising death of all his new slaves—even though his magic grew stronger, his control over it plummeted, worse than that of first-year Hogwarts students—and that was no small failure.
He managed to calm himself somewhat after that and began to devise a way to heal—It took him a little while but —After examining numerous ritual books, he found one dark ritualistic spell that could help him.
The primary requirement for its success was to defeat a wizard of equal or stronger power in single magical combat, and what better target than one he had marked himself? Upon succeeding, he could possess that wizard's body and claim half of his soul, which would help heal his own and enable him to create another Horcrux.
The preparation requirements, however, included the sacrifice of seven loyal wizards—while family was recommended, it was not necessary; thus, he chose the alternative option, his slaves—along with seven traitors and seven innocents.
He obviously had already completed the last two requirements; only the first one remained.
This brought him to the current situation. He could have killed them outright, but he needed their verbal agreement to complete the preparations.
"I have gathered you here for a very important meeting. We are preparing to attack Hogwarts and kill Potter once and for all. I want to know if you're loyal enough to die for me, if it ever comes down to it…" Voldemort said. His voice was calm, as if the madness that had plagued him for so long had faded.
He had kept the calm facade for days now by reminding himself that he required their verbal agreement, so he had to show them that he had changed—even a little…
He was neither calm nor inclined to ask such questions, but the circumstances demanded it. He could see it in their eyes and the slight shifts of their bodies; they were uncomfortable with his sudden change in demeanor—surprised and more fearful than ever.
"Of course, my Lord," they replied simultaneously and with practiced ease—the most enthusiastic was Bellatrix, but that was to be expected, especially after he had destroyed Azkaban shortly after Potter's escape to free her and the rest of them.
Now, most of his old forces were ready for battle.
Now that he had obtained their agreement, he only needed to select who to sacrifice. After observing them for a moment longer, he said, "Very well. Go and prepare; we will start the attack tonight." His voice remained calm. It was difficult to maintain this calm façade when all he wanted was to tear everything—and everyone—apart, but he needed it.
He required them to be scared so they wouldn't have time to think about anything else.
Seated alone on the sofa, he resolved to choose Bellatrix, Lucius, Pettigrew, Barty Crouch Jr., Dolohov, Flint, and Avery—These were the most 'loyal', whether out of fear or desire; it didn't matter—they fit the criteria and so they're chosen…
He raised his wand slightly and chanted the ritual's long incantation while activating the kill switch on the slave marks he had given them.
This had been designed for the unlikely event of any of his slaves successfully escaping, but now it served another purpose. As soon as he finished, he was overwhelmed by the feelings and energy he received after completing the ritual part of the spell.
It took him a few seconds to calm down, but the sensation lingered—like an itch driving him to complete the spell as soon as possible.
He didn't know why this sensation occurred or why there was no written warning about it, but he didn't care. Tonight, he would kill Potter. Tonight, he would emerge victorious, and afterward, he would be known as the most feared and immortal Dark Lord.
xxx
On the other hand, a heated discussion was underway in the minister's office.
"Amelia, don't you understand what's happening? We can't allow the brat to force us into compliance. He has already made his first move by taking control of Hogwarts; now he just needs to convince the students of his views and shape the wizarding world as he wishes. We have to do something!" Kingsley Shacklebolt said, urgency and anger lacing his voice—he had been humiliated by Potter before, and now he was determined to exact the revenge he so passionately craved.
"And what do you suggest we do? Attack him? You've experienced his power firsthand and couldn't do anything. Now you want what? To get my Aurors killed? If you have a death wish, go for it—just don't drag my people down with you.
And for the record, he is not a brat—not anymore—the brat died in Azkaban; now we are left with the monster," she replied, her tone a mix of anger and resignation. They had been discussing Potter for far too long, and she couldn't take it anymore.
There was no solution against overwhelming odds and power. As long as Harry Potter remained at Hogwarts, they couldn't act.
Especially now that she had been elected as the new minister after Fudge resigned and vanished, and she was left to clean up the mess he had left behind.
She had more important things to focus on.
"We've been talking about this for a while now, but why don't we wait and see what happens? There's no other option, so why not just observe? Maybe we'll find an opportunity, or perhaps things will improve. There's no point in rehashing the same topic every time we meet. We have Death Eaters running rampant and more urgent problems than Harry Potter. So let's leave him alone for now and discuss how to deal with the frequent Death Eater attacks," Tonks suddenly interjected, weariness evident in her voice. She was beginning to regret her choice to become an Auror and work for the ministry—being assigned as Amelia's secretary only made it more exhausting.
xxx
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Ministry, in a dim room lit by a single lamp over a round table, five people were deliberating on the same topic.
"Our diviner has predicted a battle between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter tonight. I want to hear your opinions on what to do," one of them said, his voice distorted as if altered by something unseen.
"We can't interfere in tonight's events; fate has already been written, and the consequences of interference will be dire," replied another voice, also distorted.
"True, plus we aren't ready for a battle with him either. We're still preparing our artifacts, and that will take time," said another, this one possessing a feminine touch.
"Are you sure you're not coming up with excuses just to try and protect your son? I still don't trust your judgment," a new distorted voice chimed in. Despite the distortion, doubt was evident in his tone.
"Enough! You'll be punished later for breaking the secrecy rules of the department heads meeting. And for the record, what she said is true; we are not ready," the last speaker stated, her voice clear and without distortion. Although the secrecy of the meeting required anonymity among the participants, it was evident that, even without the secrecy, no one would know her identity.
—————
Sigh~. I sighed probably for the hundredth time today. I had just finished going through what happened to the world after my Azkaban debacle, but other than the news about Sirius's acquittal, the destruction of Azkaban by Voldemort, and some reports here and there about the attacks of Death Eaters, there was nothing but conspiracy theories and speculations.
These stupid people have been in a war for months, and other than the occasional piece of news about some raid, there's nothing. I don't know about you, but the more I read, the angrier I become. I have to distract myself with something else lest I start executing my 'IdiotsCullingPlan' early.
Think, Harry, think. What is something that you want to think about? Oh, I know. How about the fact that I found out something is messing with me?
It's deeply disturbing when you find out, by coincidence, that most of what you do is somehow being manipulated. How did I find out, you ask? Well, after I was done with my first lecture this morning, I went out in a hurry, didn't wait for anyone, just stormed off.
I went outside, sat down, and started meditating. I had been feeling a warning bell-like sensation since I woke up, like something big was going to happen today. I ignored it at first, thought it was just nervousness before my first lecture—or maybe it was puberty?—— I'm not usually like this.
I trust my instincts, but somehow, despite my better judgment, I ignored them.
That should have been the only clue I needed, but no. So after I finished my meditation, I checked my mindscape: there was nothing.
Thus, I decided to check my soul—it was spontaneous, really, and once I went there, I started to truly see what was happening.
I should have never accepted the deal with Death.
I truly should have chosen the other option, but there was no time for regret. I accepted, and thus I made myself vulnerable to the manipulation of higher beings—namely Fate, at least that's what I have been able to glean about the situation.
I knew I was accepting a debt of Fate and magic—I thought it was just something I'd have to do and be done with it all, but no. Until the debt is paid, I'm vulnerable to Fate's machinations. The more I try to understand how and why I did certain things, why my instincts are somewhat muted, the more I find myself drowning in these chaotic voices.
But it wasn't all that bad. True, the situation could've been better, but I also began to understand how Fate is manipulated—at a very basic level, that is.
It's like guiding a rolling stone into a pathway you want. You don't necessarily need to touch the stone to do that; you just have to clear the terrain or connect it to a very different path altogether. Although I didn't know who was doing this, it didn't matter now; I could figure that out later.
There's a lesson here somewhere, something like: don't accept deals with higher beings because they don't think the same way you do, or be so strong that these beings don't have the ability to influence you.
This is all pointless at this point though; I need to destroy Voldemort as soon as possible.
Then it hit me: why everything has been almost too easy until now. The way I destroyed Dumbledore, the Horcruxes while flexing—fuck. I have been played like a fiddle…
'But why am I excited?' I thought as my hand traced the wide grin on my face. I don't know, but Fate manipulation is very overpowered.
I need to learn this...
I was awakened from whatever was happening to me at that moment by Hogwarts warning me about the crowd of people circling the perimeter.
I connected myself to the sensing barrier and saw a lot of people—werewolves, vampires, some giants, and other magical creatures—starting to crowd the area.
It hit me then that Voldemort was coming; this meant he was ready. And here I was, just itching to finish all this.
I stood up and started laughing like a maniac.
Truly, I have not been able to process my situation yet, and here he was, serving himself on a silver platter—I don't think this even counts as silver; it's golden at this point—I started walking toward the school gate while activating the wartime wards system of Hogwarts.
The amount of magic consumed to activate them is staggering. I don't think Hogwarts could have been built anywhere else but here, on a very rich magical hotspot—I mean, four magical ley lines meet directly beneath her; can you imagine just how much magic flows through these? Yet the activation put them through just a little bit of strain.
Oh, I know it's overkill, but I'd rather not have underage children die because of me. I don't want magic to curse me; I still have a debt to pay, so let's not add curses of bad luck to it.
I arrived in front of the gate, put myself under disillusionment, conjured a sleek-looking dark armchair, and sat down, waiting for Voldemort to arrive. What? I want my entrance to be epic; sue me!
I got bored of waiting but didn't want to do anything else, so I started to read a little. My grimoire is filled with a lot of fascinating information. As I flipped through its pages, I came across various magical stories that captivated me.
I truly hope there's at least one reality out there that resembles one of these tales. Although some of the characters I read about seemed foolish and naïve, I believe they would act differently if they were real.
From my perspective, these stories might be narrating genuine events that occurred in some reality out there. However, whatever happens to inspire the authors is ultimately shaped by their perspectives and desires, leading them to craft these narratives in a way that either appeals to the majority of the audience or enhances their own financial gain, etc…—this doesn't mean there's no reality where the stories unfold exactly the same, but that would be one in infinity, and finding the same one would take an infinity too…
Oh, here comes the no-nose bastard.
Oh, what the hell??? What the fuck did he do to himself? His soul looks like it's fading by the second; his magic is all over the place, his control is worse than that of a new wandless first year.
This idiot might have done something incredibly stupid in a ritual, and I want to know what it is. This kind of ritual should be either heavily guarded or erased.
Although I keep my magic tightly controlled and contained in my body, I can't let him think he has more magic than me.
So I let it go.
If there's anyone here who can see magical auras, they could easily see my magic rolling smoothly over me, unlike Voldemort's, whose aura looks like a mix of different colors that are chaotically circling, rolling, and twisting in a maddening fashion around him.
Mine looks refined and very smooth.
—————-