Harry Potter: The Progenitor Of Dark Arts

Time passed swiftly, and the day Dante was to begin his journey to Hogwarts drew nearer. Only one month remained, and the Malfoy household was abuzz with preparations. Yet, amidst the excitement, Dante approached Lucius with an unusual request.

"Father," Dante said one evening, his voice calm but firm, "I need to go on another trip. This one will take two days, and no one can accompany us. You'll need to make an excuse."

Lucius, accustomed to his son's enigmatic demands, nodded slowly. "Very well. But where are we going this time?"

Dante's lips curved into a faint smile. "Azkaban."

The color drained from Lucius's face. Azkaban—the most dreaded place in the wizarding world, a fortress of despair guarded by Dementors. The thought of spending even a moment there was enough to send a shiver down his spine. "Azkaban?" he repeated, his voice trembling. "Why?"

Dante's smile didn't waver. "To retrieve something I left there in my last life."

Lucius's mind raced. He had learned enough about Dante's past lives to know that each revelation was darker than the last. A thought occurred to him, and he opened his mouth to ask, but Dante anticipated the question.

"I was Ekrizdis," Dante said, his tone almost casual. "I created the creatures you call Dementors. I named them Amplexus Mortem, but the name didn't stick. I believe mine was more representative of their nature though."

Lucius felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under him. Ekrizdis—the mad wizard who had built Azkaban as a fortress of torture and despair, the creator of the Dementors. The man who his research had been erased from history, his name spoken along the vilest acts. And now, that same man stood before him, wearing the face of his eleven-year-old son.

Every time Lucius thought he had grasped the depths of Dante's darkness, he was proven wrong. Voldemort, in comparison, seemed like a deranged killer—a mere shadow of the true Dark Lord who stood before him. Dante was a monster who had defied death, spread the darkest of magics, and shaped the course of magical history. The dark arts of today were but a fraction of the legacy he had created.

Dante, seemingly unfazed by Lucius's reaction, continued. "Make a good excuse. I'll be waiting."

Lucius gathered his composure and went to Narcissa, his mind racing to fabricate a plausible story. "I'm taking Dante on a trip for two days," he told her. "An old potion master in Germany has been recommended to me. I want Dante to meet him."

Narcissa nodded, her expression thoughtful. "If this potion master is as skilled as you say, he could help Dante refine his talents even further."

Lucius forced a smile. "Exactly."

The next morning, Lucius and Dante set off for Azkaban. The journey was not hard nor long, but it still fried Lucius's nerves, the thought of entering the evil island scared him but he had to obey. When they arrived, the island loomed before them, it's dark aura palpable even from a distance. Due to the island's malevolent nature and the Dementors that roamed freely, no Ministry employees were stationed there, allowing the two to enter unhindered.

As they stepped onto the island, Lucius's hair stood on end. Dementors—dozens of them—began to drift toward them, their cloaked forms exuding an aura of despair. Lucius froze, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand, but Dante continued walking as if the creatures were nothing more than a visual spectacle.

Then, something extraordinary happened. The Dementors dropped to the ground, their forms bowing low as if in worship. Lucius stared in disbelief, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.

Dante glanced back at him. "Stay close. They won't harm you as long as you're near me."

Lucius hurried to Dante's side, his eyes darting nervously as more Dementors arrived, prostrating themselves before his son. The sight was both awe-inspiring and horrifying.

They walked past the foreboding structure of Azkaban, Dante leading the way to the center of the island, where a dense grove of trees stood. There, surrounded by massive rocks, Dante stopped. With a wave of his hand, the rocks shifted aside, revealing a hidden entrance. He spoke in an ancient, guttural language, and the Dementors began to circle the area.

Before Lucius's eyes, a whirlpool of dark liquid erupted from the ground, and from its depths rose a massive mirror, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly light.

"Follow me," Dante said, stepping onto the dark liquid as if it were solid ground. Lucius hesitated for a moment before following, his heart pounding in his chest.

They stepped through the mirror and found themselves in a strange, sinister hall. The ground beneath them was made of the same dark liquid, while the walls pulsed with a faint purple light. The air was thick with an oppressive energy that made Lucius's skin crawl.

"Where are we?" Lucius asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This is a hall built within the veil that separates the realms of the living and the dead," Dante explained. "It's also where the Dementors were born."

Lucius swallowed hard, his unease growing with every passing moment. They soon entered another room, where a small box and a stack of ancient books sat on a pedestal.

"Sit and relax," Dante said, gesturing to a spot on the ground. "This will take some time."

Lucius obeyed, though the idea of relaxing in such a place was laughable. He watched as Dante began to read through the books, his expression focused and intent. Hours passed, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of pages.

Finally, Dante chuckled softly. "Things are much better than I expected. The Ministry did me a favor by turning this place into a prison."

He turned to the box, which began to glow with a familiar light. The light flowed into Dante's body, his eyes glowing faintly before returning to normal. He opened the box and retrieved a wand, its design ancient and ornate.

"It's time to leave," Dante said, turning to Lucius. Lucius nodded but his eyes lingered on the box, it was that familiar light again. He had a feeling that whatever grand goal Dante was seeking, it had something to do with this light.

The two made their way back through the mirror and out of the island. Lucius remained silent, his mind reeling from the experience. It wasn't until they were far from Azkaban that he finally spoke.

"Why did we need two days? The whole thing only took a few hours."

Dante glanced at him. "Time works differently in the veil. We were there for a few hours, but in the living world, more than a day has passed."

Lucius couldn't wrap his mind around the concept. He missed the days when following Voldemort had been his greatest concern. Things had been simpler then—dangerous, yes, but simpler. Now, he was following a being who defied comprehension, a true Dark Lord whose legacy spanned millennia.

As they returned to the manor, Lucius couldn't shake the feeling that he was witnessing the oldest and darkest plan in their history unfold before his eyes. And he couldn't help but wonder what Dante's next move would be—and what was his true goal.