Lord Voldemort SI

We assumed that a successful operation at the Ministry would trigger a crisis, but my sudden retreat seriously exacerbated it.

Both English and foreign newspapers were filled with headlines about the "colossal failure of the Ministry of Magic." Scrimgeour's seat was now seriously threatened. If I were Albus, I would have displaced Scrimgeour and taken his place myself, but it seems Albus chose not to do so.

Our propaganda department (I don't know its official name) has already started spreading cartoons of Albus Dumbledore gluing Scrimgeour to the chair or admitting that he can't handle the Lord's student because, unlike Grindelwald, she refused to go on a date with him.

The analysis of the items we took from the Department of Mysteries took some time and proceeded quite routinely.

The Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr. acquired time-turners. Rabastan was the happiest of all. Another time-turner went to Lucius Malfoy, but he almost immediately handed it over to me—Elena.

I appointed Rookwood as head of my new Department of Mysteries. Most of the items have yet to be put to use, and Rookwood himself resembled a miser guarding his treasures—only, instead of money, he had strange objects.

Several groups of my employees, using the acquired items, set off to search for an Obscurus for me. Others began searching for the Source of the Peverells.

I bestowed a unique honor upon Harry and Neville—subjecting them to all the scanning spells I knew (including those for necro-energy and horcrux detection) as well as everything magical that could be scanned from the Department of Mysteries. Either I understand nothing about magic, or they are just ordinary wizards. The "power the Dark Lord knows not" was not found. The only thing discovered was that Neville is extremely talented in herbology and utterly inept at potions. However, I'm not afraid of Devil's Snare, and it only reduces the chances that he will manage to poison me. Therefore, I decided to ignore the prophecy, as there is no motive to suspect these children of anything in particular. It was probably about the old Tom or just nonsense.

I conducted a complete scan of Bella and Nymphadora. Nymphadora was incredibly lucky: her death in a ritual for transferring metamorphosis to Bellatrix would not be better than that of any other metamorphmagus. Of course, it wouldn't have saved her from death, but it turned out that Nymphadora's metamorphosis is likely hereditary! So why kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?

First, I completely erased Nymphadora's memory. Then, I spent a long time working on her personality, doing something similar to what Crouch did to Lily. Naturally, if Nymphadora had even a basic understanding of Occlumency or mental magic, this would have been very difficult. In the end, I created a completely different person, one who remembered nothing of her past life. I am fairly certain that restoring her to her former self is impossible. And she certainly won't be able to do it on her own. Even if Albus captures her and spends a lot of time trying to restore her, what difference does it make to me?

Soon, Nymphadora was introduced to the "truth": "She is the illegitimate daughter of one of the Death Eaters and a half-blood wizard. Her parents were killed by Aurors, and she lost her memory. She is being sent away from the war to Brazil, to the care of a woman who works with herbology." Thanks to some mild mental manipulation, my sincerity raised no doubts.

That's all; I can forget about the girl until she reaches childbearing age, then we'll see. If she's no longer useful, she will serve as evidence that Andromeda served me.

Things with Bellatrix turned out to be quite interesting... Using Abidemi and a series of scanning artifacts, I developed a method for her healing… though it's rather unique… Fine, I'll prepare and we'll try it.

But the main goal was achieved—I became the owner of three dozen actively collaborating Brains that can be communicated with using semaphore code.

It cannot be said that these Brains are perfect. They do not qualify as personalities or as "artificial intelligence." They can be described as fish in an aquarium that can count, including spell calculations. Each of them can perform calculations and construct spells like a trained wizard. But these Brains can work continuously without wasting time on food, sleep, and other needs. Time lost due to stimulation by the Fourth Unforgivable does not exceed twenty minutes per day.

The problem is that the Brains could not be organized for teamwork. Yes, one could calculate something, relay the results to a wizard, who would then pass them to another Brain, but they couldn't work together simultaneously and autonomously.

Therefore, verification of my ritual by a single Brain will take several months. I won't get powerful spells anytime soon—months will be required. Instead of a few extremely powerful spells from the other Brains, I'll gain a couple of dozen new spells per month, which could be described as "trivial." For example, what do I need a new stunning spell for that only works on blonde women? Well, even if ten percent of the spells turn out to be useful, they'll suffice.

However, with the help of the Brains and some artifacts, I was able to achieve something. I've always wondered—why is a magical marriage needed? Not all pure-bloods have a source, and not all impose any obligations on themselves after marriage. The most obvious answers are tradition and remnants of some ancient religion. But the reality turned out to be much simpler. A magical marriage serves as a filter between the magical system of the mother and the fetus, preventing necro-energy from being transferred from the mother during pregnancy. The filter only works if the mother has a sufficient amount of necro-energy.

Merope used the Imperius or a love potion to persuade a Muggle to marry her. When she became pregnant, she had a "revelation" that it was immoral. The drop in her necro-energy level made it difficult for her to use magic and led to her death. Baby Tom inherited a substantial amount of necro-energy from his mother, which made it easier for him to master Dark Magic, and he followed the path of least resistance. Just think back to his tricks in the orphanage: the hanged rabbit resembles a budget version of the Imperius, and children writhing in pain resemble a light version of the Cruciatus.

Something similar, albeit much weaker, happened with Snape. When the Marauders bullied him as a child, he couldn't handle either James or Black in a one-on-one duel without "somewhat undesirable magic." But, naturally, he always lost to more than one opponent. He made a logical decision—he needed a new arsenal, so he invented Sectumsempra, and he needed a boost, so he delved into potions.

What does this change? I don't want a competitor, even if it is my own offspring. Moreover, what if the fetus absorbs too much necro-energy and Bellatrix starts thinking clearly about "why she loves me"?

So I need a magical marriage with Bellatrix. I need to review all the rituals, especially for wizards without a source. One Ritual—one Brain. And decide which one, after some modifications, will suit our case.

Now I know another way to get rid of necro-energy: childbirth. Let's leave it as a last resort. It's much faster to drain necro-energy into the source and from there to others connected to it.

The Arc of Death proved useful: when killing with its help, there is no necro-energy accumulation! Though, perhaps it doesn't kill? The Unspeakables have a hundred volumes of theories about what it might be, including "a portal to another world." But I had to drag Pandora away from the Arc of Death, so it doesn't seem to combine with astral vision. The woman I initially experimented on with astral vision entered the arc but didn't come out. I need to think about how to disguise the Arc of Death and how to convince Albus during our battle to switch to Astral Vision.

I tried to understand exactly how Albus hit me last time. The puzzle-spell was somewhat clear. The Brains will figure it out, though it is unlikely they will manage to connect more than a dozen identical spells. "Magic Tentacles"—we'll try, if possible, to modify the Blood Whip or the Invisible Whip into something new. I doubt there will be more than one tentacle, but this can be compensated by adding more Dark Magic.

But how to create a spell that ignores spells—this remains a mystery. The only option is to disguise it well as a natural magical background, because my current defense does not interfere with energy replenishment, meaning it's not absolute. By the way, I'll also think about an absolute defense, but I must not forget to include a way to break it from the inside.

Creating traps for Albus is progressing at its own pace. It is very difficult to do everything unnoticed by the Ministry and at the same time hope that Albus will perish there. For these purposes, I need to be absolutely sure that however many ordinary wizards enter—they will all die without reaching their goal; only a very strong wizard will have a chance, while the others will be a burden along the way. I also need to consider non-human magic: house-elves, goblins, vampires, centaurs, and others.

The Gaunt Shack was becoming a place even dangerous for me. Knowing all its surprises and personally setting them up, I wouldn't survive there

for more than a minute. And then my body would be completely dissolved.

Meanwhile, the Gaunt Shack didn't radiate any magic from the outside, making it pointless to try destroying it with Fiendfyre—I used something akin to the Fidelius Charm and a Phase Shift, similar to what goblins do with their vaults: if you want to reach the contents, you must enter, but removing the door or a chunk of the rock where the vault should be is futile.

If Albus enters and tries a widespread attack, he will almost certainly die before reaching the Horcrux. He will need to pass through all the curses to reach the box, which cannot be removed, open it, and only then destroy the Horcrux. Personally, I wouldn't be able to accomplish this task if I needed to relocate the Horcrux.

Additionally, the place has a small guard made up of failed wizards who now serve me after death. There was only one loophole left for a "special guard," which I still need to create.

However, I am particularly proud of the Horcrux itself—a ring that is a perfect goblin forgery, meant to represent the Resurrection Stone.

The production of the Horcrux was tedious. First, I performed plastic surgery on the victim and erased their memory. While remaining invisible, I convinced them that they were Voldemort. After a day and a half of hard work, they created the Horcrux. I then erased their memory again for safety. With potions and magic, I drove them insane. I hope Dumbledore won't notice the difference between this version of me and the real one… But the main point was the enchantments I placed on the ring before it became the Horcrux.

Knowing the true story of Dumbledore and his sister, I enchanted the ring with charms derived from the Mirror of Erised. Albus will desperately want to put on the ring, driven by both its allure and his desire to see his sister, as well as the belief that by collecting all three Deathly Hallows, he can easily get rid of me. After all, doesn't Albus have the Elder Wand and, as I suspect, the Cloak of Invisibility? So, he only needs to take the Resurrection Stone to rid the world of Voldemort. "Don't be afraid, you won't die, for you shall become the Master of Death!" That the ring is a fake, and the stone within it isn't real, is something Albus doesn't need to know.

Touching the ring is a terrible idea—it is heavily cursed. Alongside the "Kiss of Death," I added several other curses. The ring is also coated in a highly undetectable poison. But if that doesn't work, the Horcrux will defend itself, especially when worn on a finger under its protective influence.

The best part is, even if the old man survives, he won't understand anything—this is one case where the Mirror of Erised and the Resurrection Stone will show the same thing! Of course, I lacked the skill to replicate the Mirror of Erised: it's eternal, draws energy from an unknown source, and doesn't cause physical harm to the user. My version is much simpler: it works only once, shows your desire, and draws energy from the user—both magical and life energy—at an exponentially increasing, predatory rate. It would only last me a few seconds...

The Inferi Cave presented both easier and more complex challenges. Easier, because there was no need for stealth, but more complex due to its sheer size. It's one thing to enchant a few dozen cubic meters in a shack, but another to work on a massive cave. So here, I focused more on defense than curses. I need to add a couple of Dark Magic creatures to the inferi. Soon, Nessie will give birth, and I also have Horntail eggs… But mostly, I'm relying on an altered potion at the end. I've also redesigned the cave entrance system. Hopefully, Albus will be surprised. But there's still much work to be done with this hideout.

Now I'm about to tackle two things simultaneously: obtaining an immortal subject and increasing my authority among my followers. The Lestranges, Crouch, and Malfoy have been invited to the demonstration, although it's mainly for Lucius.

Through research on the Earth stolen from the Department of Mysteries, Lucius began identifying coordinates of territories that would be profitable for Muggles to buy. Large deposits of ore and oil were easily located. However, I am concerned about the large amounts of money passing through Lucius, but I've already found a way to exert additional control over him.

He's invited to a demonstration of You-Know-Who's power.

"Today, you will witness the power of Lord Voldemort! The demonstration's subject will be this Mudblood wizard," I declared, pointing to a bound man under several muffling charms.

Next to him stood a cauldron—a large cauldron with a boiling potion. At the same time, I would be testing the resurrection technology.

This was no ordinary man: under my pressure, he had already created a Horcrux, using a replica of Salazar Slytherin's locket as the vessel. Now he would die, and then I would resurrect him… But using Legilimency on him was pointless: I had already erased his memory multiple times, and the present company would not be able to remove this influence without my noticing.

"My loyal servants, check our subject," I ordered.

Beams of scanning spells were directed at the wizard. Soon, the conclusions were ready: he was alive and nearly healthy.

"Bella, inflict life-threatening injuries on the subject using Dark Magic," I instructed.

Bellatrix's wand flashed, and it was as if the victim had been bathed in acid. Only a mutilated lump of flesh remained, now lifeless. I was occupied—after death, people do not leave a greyish spirit behind, so it was necessary to quickly trap it in a spirit trap before it "materialized."

"Check the subject. I need your conclusion," I prompted.

The response was synchronized: the subject was dead.

"Bella, cast Avada Kedavra at the corpse and then burn it completely."

She did as instructed.

"And now, behold the true power of the Lord of Fates!" I proclaimed theatrically.

I began casting the ritual. It took about half an hour. Fortunately, I had preemptively thrown a Crystal Orb into the cauldron, transforming it with runes into a spirit trap—the spirit of the deceased was quickly drawn in.

There were several possible resurrection methods. I chose the simplest one. The only challenge was adjusting the ingredients for the ritual.

"Bone of the father, taken without consent," I intoned, and half a skeleton flew into the cauldron. "Restore your son!"

The shimmering, silvery surface of the potion hissed and burst, sparks scattering in all directions, and the liquid in the cauldron turned poisonously blue.

The father had been alive—I had to kill him.

"Flesh of the servant, taken under the Imperius Curse, restore your master," I threw in a severed hand.

The potion turned blood-red… So far, everything was going according to the recipe…

There were issues with the servant. I had to use a Muggle nanny hired for a child.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, restore your adversary!" I cried out again, watching as the potion changed color, becoming poisonously green.

The cauldron's contents became dazzling white. The key was not to embarrass myself in front of witnesses, as that would be disastrous…

The problem was finding the enemy's blood. He had no enemies, as he was a nobody. I had initially considered using the blood of the woman he had divorced, but was she truly an enemy? In the end, the wizard, driven to the brink by torture, killed a Muggle family, sparing only the oldest man. It was his blood I used now.

At this point, I waved my wand over the cauldron. The crucial part was to gag the victim and block their access to Legilimency as soon as the body formed, before they climbed out of the cauldron.

The skepticism of everyone present, except Bellatrix, was palpable.

The potion began to evaporate rapidly. Smoke inside the cauldron formed into a body—an exact replica of the wizard's former form, which I immediately Confunded. I also used an illusion to hide his red eyes, making him presentable to climb out of the cauldron.

"Behold the power of the Dark Lord! I command both life and death!" I declared with maximum dramatic flair.

Now, while savoring the extreme astonishment of those present, I needed to explain that I had no plans to resurrect their deceased relatives and that they should still avoid taking risks during raids…

This wizard would still be useful to me. I would try to inject as much necro-energy from the Princes' source into him as possible—after all, he certainly wouldn't die. I'd observe what would happen and gather statistics. But before the experiment began, I would need to sever non-essential parts of his body with Dark Magic and completely burn out all his magical channels and core.

Two hours later, I was back home. Reports are a curse; only Albus is worse.

The war continues at its own pace. Centaurs have driven all the werewolves out of the Forbidden Forest. Occasionally, my personal intervention is required. I've noticed that my encounters with opponents, unless it's Moody or Albus, have become routine—approach a small group under disguise and kill them all before they raise the alarm. The number of wizards I've killed among the Aurors and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while on duty has surpassed triple digits.

I was surprised to realize that we're now facing the third generation of Aurors—the 1970 and 1983 Auror Corps were completely different people, practically all except the elite fighters and bureaucrats. Of course, some were brought out of retirement, and many of those remaining were people who had lost relatives and friends, as well as ideologues and volunteers from abroad. But according to analytics, if we continue at this pace for another two years, there will be virtually no one left willing to defend magical Britain from me with a wand. I just need to survive those two years.

Today, however, is a special day. I am heading to a modest house rented from Edward for the day. A wedding—mine and Bellatrix's.

Rodolphus granted her a divorce. It was a relatively simple mutual ritual with shared bloodletting. In magical sight, her connection to the Lestrange line disappeared.

Then, for a couple of days, she drank potions of my creation and Abidemi's concoctions, which made her eyes water from the smell. Then it was time for my modified ceremony.

Yes, that's right. The only way to heal her was to divorce Rodolphus and conduct our wedding correctly. The situation was complicated by the fact that neither of us has a source, but not all pure-bloods have access to a place of power, so I managed to find a suitable ritual and modify it. Essentially, the channel to the source is formed, but it has zero capacity until you successfully connect to a place of power.

I was genuinely worried about the fact that I would now be married. As if a child wasn't enough, now I also had a wife. Oh well, nothing will really change in our relationship.

For my extremely modest wedding, I invited no one except the officiant—Barty Crouch Jr.

The spells of the Vows used were fairly standard, but soon the problems would begin.

Bellatrix, in her zeal, had once cast a spell on herself that resulted in a complicated magical backlash, which I only managed to unravel with the help of Pandora the Seer, the African shaman Abidemi, her divorce from Rodolphus, and several artifacts from the Department of Mysteries. The solution was simple—this time, her consciousness must not participate in the ritual. But she wouldn't be able to cast any spells while unconscious, so the marital duty tonight would be fulfilled while she was unconscious. It's logical: she created the Vows on herself once, and now I would create the Vows for her. Technically, I would have to channel energy through her pathways on her behalf to ensure that her previous self-inflicted effect would not conflict with the new one. Luckily, I had nothing unusual on me, so a nearly standard approach would work for me.

But that's only half the problem—my modified wedding ritual could not be interrupted until the consummation was complete. Crouch's eyes were wide as house-elves' when I explained to him what was required.

For the first time that I can recall, Bellatrix opposed my decision, and I had to persuade her. In the end, I said that we needed another wizard to oversee and conduct the ceremony, and that there were few candidates: one of the Lestranges, Elena, or Barty. She finally agreed that Barty was an excellent choice.

The first part of the ceremony, involving words, wine, and blood, was complete. Bellatrix drank the Fertility Potion, which would ensure conception, followed by another potion—a sleeping draught. She glanced at Crouch in a way that made him swallow nervously and slowly sit down on the bed I had conjured.

With Crouch mumbling incantations and waving his wand, I began to undress, removing Bellatrix's clothing as well. This would be the most original way of lifting a curse ever. Now it was time for the fairy tale for adults: "The Dark Lord and the Sleeping Beauty Who Wants His Child."

At first, everything went well. I began the sexual act with Bellatrix, carefully monitoring the circulation of energy in both her and my magical systems. Everything was proceeding as expected. Later, I would delve into Pandora's memory, as she observed this through an enchanted mirror, to see how it appeared in the Astral Plane.

However, problems soon arose—I simply couldn't finish. It seemed that a motionless doll didn't excite me; it was too reminiscent of necrophilia…

"Master, should I leave?" Crouch Jr. asked politely after about five minutes.

"Stay where you are and don't stop casting spells!" I commanded. I wasn't sure what would happen if the ritual failed. Typically, it results in an explosion, though this time the energy was minimal, so the explosion would be small. But it might still be enough to harm me.

Without interrupting the act or the control of magical processes, I considered what to do. Should I use blood magic to help myself, or call a house-elf to fetch an aphrodisiac? No, that might ruin everything—the ritual was designed to rely solely on me, without any additional magic.

Should I wake Bellatrix so she could move and help me? That was also not an option: the ritual's scheme was built on the assumption that there would be only one conscious mind after the initial stage, and she could disrupt everything.

There was only one choice—continue the act and try to understand why the process was taking so long.

Eventually, it dawned on me: I shouldn't have had sex with her every day before the ritual; I should've taken a break for at least a couple of days. But while that mistake was forgivable, the other one was more significant: using my newly acquired metamorphmagus abilities, I had worked on extending the duration of intercourse! But that was based on the assumption of an active partner, which wasn't the case now!

After about fifteen minutes, I was completely frustrated. The act felt like sawing a log. At one point, I wanted to just fake it and claim it was ejaculation. But magic can't be deceived. I had to keep going…

Finally, it happened—it was the worst sex of my life. There was zero pleasure, and it was incredibly difficult to maintain arousal while thinking about how to avoid a potential explosion. And how would I explain this to Bellatrix? "Dear, you know, compared to Barty, you're just not up to par!" or "It's all Albus's fault; he's affected me!"

"Master, are you alright?" Crouch asked.

"Yes. Thank you for your service. You are dismissed," I replied.

Crouch bowed and instantly disappeared. I dressed, cast a couple of spells to ensure Bellatrix would sleep well, and rushed to review Pandora's memory.

Ah, there it was—the odd mark in the Astral Plane that Carrow had. Bellatrix could likely be congratulated on a successful wedding and probable conception, though it was too early to be certain about the latter.

Let her sleep; I have other matters to attend to.

POV Barty Crouch Jr.:

He had always known that the Dark Lord was the greatest wizard. Today, he was convinced of it—the Dark Lord resurrected a wizard! The man was killed right before their eyes, and then the Master restored him to life, giving him a new body!

The ease with which he did it was unbelievable! It wasn't a ghost or a homunculus, but the same wizard, able to perform magic. They checked everything—no errors, no deception. It was a fully-fledged new life.

Of course, it wasn't that simple; the Lord didn't explain much, but information in their organization was always given on a "need-to-know" basis. The ritual likely required lengthy preparation; it probably wasn't possible to resurrect someone who had died too long ago or too far from the Lord. But the potential and prospects were clear!

Then the Dark Lord summoned him personally to participate in a particularly important event. Barty expected at least the resurrection of Salazar Slytherin or changing the planet's orbit, but it turned out that the Dark Lord was marrying Bellatrix Lestrange.

That nearly blew his mind. To him, the Lord of Fates simply existed with a wand ready to protect the wizarding world. The idea that the Dark Lord could rest and have perfectly human needs had never crossed his mind.

Naturally, he agreed.

The Dark Lord was an extraordinary wizard, so it was foolish to expect his wedding to be ordinary. But reality exceeded all his expectations.

What should he do with the memories of the Dark Lord making love to Bellatrix Lestrange? How could he face Bellatrix at Death Eater meetings after this?

As for the Lord… He had heard about premature ejaculation problems. But the opposite? That was something new. How to explain it? The Dark Lord had slept with many women, but none could make him climax? He could almost picture it: Voldemort reading reports, torturing a captive, while Bellatrix performs oral sex on him. Yes, Barty himself had never fully exerted himself in life… What nonsense was running through his head?

Recently, the Dark Lord had been throwing fewer Cruciatus curses at Death Eater meetings. They had concluded that the organization was working well, everyone was doing their jobs, and there was no need for punishments.

But what if that wasn't the case? What if the Dark Lord had simply found a woman and become calmer? Mulsiber had complained of phantom pains after receiving several "Crucios" from the Lord a year ago. Could it be that all he needed was to introduce a woman to the Lord?

And why did he need to put Bellatrix to sleep? Barty had only one idea—she was so terrible in bed that it was better to do without her participation.

But the Master deserved the best! He was obliged to help him! He had to find a good woman for the Dark Lord! Even if not a wife, then a mistress! And he would start searching right away!

POV Albus Dumbledore:

Albus Dumbledore slowly walked through the corridors of the Department of Mysteries, approaching the office of its head. Today, he had an important conversation that could change many things.

"Albus Dumbledore, here to see the Head of the Department of Mysteries, by personal invitation," he announced to the humanoid golem-secretary.

"You are expected. You may proceed," the golem replied.

The door slid open, much like the automatic doors in Muggle stores.

He entered.

The office was clean and tidy. In some ways, it resembled Bartemius Crouch Sr.'s workspace. Behind a desk sat a masked figure in a hooded robe, resembling a Death Eater. However, the mask design was entirely different.

Compared to Albus, the office's owner seemed almost colorblind. Black, white, and shades of gray. Nothing more.

"Hello, Albus. Have a seat," the person behind the desk said, gesturing toward a chair.

"Hello, Ellison," Albus replied. "Thank you, but I'll stand."

"I haven't been called that in a long time. According to official records, the person you mentioned died outside of Magical Britain a long time ago. Moreover, revealing the identity of the Head of the Department of Mysteries is a serious violation."

"What should I call you, then?" Albus asked.

"According to protocol, I am 'Head of the Department of Mysteries.' But my subordinates usually call me 'Mask.'"

"Strange. Knowing you, I expected something like 'Turquoise Helm' or 'Brilliant Mind,'" Albus suggested aloud.

"The mask is black on the outside and lined with turquoise metal inside, blocking Legilimency. But very few are supposed to know that. As for the 'brilliant mind'—we're no longer in school, and I've given up trying to prove that I'm better than you."

The wizarding world is very small. If you are a great wizard and not hiding at the bottom of a lake under the Fidelius Charm, you know all the other great wizards personally.

At the same time as Albus, another young man entered Hogwarts. He was in Ravenclaw. He was predicted to have a bright future and would have become the most famous wizard of his generation, regularly achieving top marks in all tests and exams—but Albus Dumbledore was always the best. The best at everything in magical Britain. And there is no prize for second place in the magical world. When Albus turned down the offer to become Head of the Department of Mysteries, Ellison became the youngest head in its history, even before reaching forty.

"I came to talk, old friend," Albus said. "But before I start, I need to know if you have anything to tell me. Anything at all."

Albus assumed the most relaxed and casual pose possible, trying to appear like Father Christmas. His right hand felt for the Elder Wand in his pocket, while his left hand held an artifact for communicating with Moody.

He had thoroughly investigated the incident involving the robbery of the Department of Mysteries. Ellison was not guilty. But afterward, he had met with an agent of Voldemort, a meeting he had not reported to the Minister of Magic or the head of the Auror Office—Alastor Moody. As a result, Albus was ready to remove the Head of the Department of Mysteries right here and now.

"I have many things to discuss with you: the list of items that were stolen from us, Moody's latest attempts to shake us down for a super-weapon against the Dark Lord—this time, he's set his sights on the Sphere of Tybelum. If it explodes, it will destroy half of London, and I have no idea how to maintain the Statute of Secrecy afterward. Not to mention that it's Dark Magic. Also, I'm tired of his attempts to install listening devices in my office. Once a week, I return all the most valuable 'bugs' to him. We will discuss all this today. But that's not the main issue, Albus. I was contacted by Voldemort through an Imperiused agent. I've made my decision to refuse him. But unlike the situation with you and your brother, I had the sense to give a feigned agreement!"

Ellison looked expectantly at Albus, but Albus was not quick to let his guard down.

"What was your motive? Why did you refuse?" Albus asked.

"Albus, I'm an educated, civilized person! Torture, murder—it's not my thing!" Ellison replied. "My moral and ethical principles won't allow it!"

"And if we're being serious? From my experience, education only provides a scale for inhumane experiments and justifications for horrific methods," Albus remarked. "And the history of human civilizations shows that one civilization often destroys another—usually along with its people. All moral and ethical principles are typically only extended to one's own group. So when one's children are starving, it's a tragedy, but when children a thousand miles away are starving, it's merely unfortunate."

"I don't want to deal with a madman… Furthermore, the destruction of people is highly destructive, both for the individual and society as a whole," Ellison responded. "And anyway, I have never practiced Dark Magic nor done anything illegal!"

Albus stood, deep in thought.

"How about this? I'll remove my mask, and you can perform Legilimency on me. You know that I can't achieve absolute mental defense, so you'll be able to tell if I'm lying and whether I've joined the Death Eaters."

Albus Dumbledore nodded. Ellison removed his mask. Underneath was the face of an ordinary, slim, clean-shaven man. He appeared to be no older than fifty. After all, they had once obtained permission to use a Time-Turner together in their first year...

"Yes, I did overuse the Time-Turner," Albus thought to himself. "I should have used it less often."

Albus sometimes had the same nightmare: that, due to the Time-Turner, he was living his life in the time it takes a person to tie their shoelaces.

"Are you aware that your subordinates add new injuries to you every year?" Albus asked, considering what he would do if this turned out to be a trap.

"Yes, I'm familiar with our local folklore. But I prefer the saying, 'When the Mask gives an assignment, it twists my face, but when I submit the work, it twists his face,'" Ellison replied.

Dumbledore pointed the Elder Wand at the man sitting beside him and said:

"Legilimens!"

Feeling no resistance, he delved into the other's mind. There was Occlumency, but the defenses seemed distant, parting for the Hogwarts headmaster, and appearing merely as harmless decorations at the edge of perception.

Albus Dumbledore saw the conversation with the Imperiused Friedrich Bode, the gifts Voldemort offered, and the coordinates of the next contact locations. He saw Ellison's thoughts, his response, and the reasons behind it.

Having seen everything he wanted, Albus emerged from the memories after about forty minutes.

"What are your recommendations for improving my Occlumency?" Ellison asked.

"I'll send you a letter later. In short… You use a runic control method. Start by turning the runes of 'Closure' and 'Harmony' 90 degrees, and make the 'Mirror' rune multiplicative."

"I'll keep that in mind. I won't put the mask back on for now, so you can be assured of my sincerity. What do you think of Voldemort's proposal? You heard the words he relayed to me through the Imperiused agent!" Ellison asked.

Yes, the proposal was unusual and very unexpected from Tom. A soft, indirect control over Muggles, a state monopoly on trade with Muggles, a state monopoly on using Muggle inventions, subtle manipulation of Muggle high leadership through rather original means, no direct extermination of Muggle-borns but instead a "suitable employment program" through economic incentives. Instead of conquering the world, it involved attracting the right specialists to magical Britain. Instead of raids and random killings, it involved purchasing material from wizards abroad and using Muggles who died in accidents like transportation crashes. There would be no experiments on citizens within magical Britain. Essentially, Tom wasn't proposing to destroy the existing wizarding society but to build a parallel one where everything currently forbidden would be under his monopoly. It all seemed a bit… confusing…

"I'm interested in your opinion," Albus said.

"I'm at a loss," Ellison replied. "The most likely explanation is that it's simply a lie, possibly straight from the Auror Manual for Recruitment, section 3.2.7. The second possibility is that the psychological profile of Tom Riddle, created by the Auror Office, was prepared by idiots who should be fired immediately. The third possibility is that the Death Eaters are adjusting their course. Another possibility is that this isn't actually Voldemort. But that's unlikely."

"If you refused to cooperate with Voldemort, why didn't you report the recruitment attempt to the Auror Office or the Minister of Magic?" Albus asked.

"Report it to the Auror Office? There are surely his agents there, especially if they managed to infiltrate even my office. Speak to Moody? No, thank you. Whenever I talk to him, I have to restrain myself from summoning security and ordering him to be thrown out. The only thing stopping me is that, regardless of the outcome, I'll lose security personnel. The Minister? I fear the Minister will soon be replaced. Even if not, the Minister will still run to consult you. So, I simply cut out the middleman," Ellison replied. His thoughts were consistent with his words.

Albus Dumbledore sent a signal through the communication artifact to Moody and the special operations squad, canceling the arrest of the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Moody, however, was relentless, demanding additional signals to confirm that Albus was still himself. And he would get them.

"I'm glad you made the right decision. I thought that our school rivalry might have negatively affected you," Albus said.

"I'm no longer sixteen, and there's no sense in holding onto childish grudges. Foolish pranks shouldn't interfere with our collaboration," Ellison replied.

"Foolish pranks? Some of them were akin to attempted murder!" Albus exclaimed.

"Albus, you're exaggerating. It was all the fault of our Care of Magical Creatures professor, who operated on the principle of: 'Let's show something in Care of Magical Creatures that we were afraid to show in Defense Against the Dark Arts.' He was the one who brought an adult manticore to the seventh-year class. And he was the one who turned his back on the class and said, 'Step forward if you're not afraid of the manticore!'"

"But when he turned his back, you, using wandless magic, pushed everyone back a step, including yourself. And when the professor turned around, I was standing a step ahead of everyone else, and I was dragged off to meet the manticore!" Albus said.

"After that, your popularity soared! Imagine that—a creature attacked you, but you blocked it with a wandless spell, and then, using your wand, killed it with a single spell!" Ellison mockingly admired.

"Yes. And I spent four weeks in St. Mungo's with magical exhaustion and partially burned-out channels and core. I nearly became a Squib. And to top it off, the professor gave me a 'T' (Troll) for killing his favorite pet! What would you have done if I had died?" Albus questioned.

"Nothing. The professor was responsible for everything that happened during the lesson. I could have been held accountable only if I had cast a spell on you, the manticore, or the professor. But I didn't. I was just trying to protect myself and the students from the manticore. With wandless magic. Well, actually, it was a burst of uncontrolled magic. So, legally, I would've been in the clear. But honestly, I thought you'd just say you were scared and stay put, so I could call you a coward. But thanks to your Gryffindor tendencies—or rather, your heroic impulses—you stayed silent! I've grown up since then and recognized my mistakes. I don't intend to repeat them," Ellison admitted.

"If you've truly matured, then I'd like to hear your apologies for all the pranks you played on me," Albus suggested.

With a sigh, Ellison began to list them.

"In the Hogwarts Express before our first year, I ruined your Chocolate Frog. But you punched me in the eye for that, so we're even. At the Sorting Ceremony, I used my wand to create a sound wave that made it seem like you were passing gas under the Sorting Hat. I apologize. During your sorting, I shouted 'Azkaban!' But I was publicly flogged for that, so again, I apologize. From the first year, I spread rumors that you were the son of a murderer and Muggle-hater. I apologize. During our first Transfiguration lesson..."

Yes, for half of these actions, anyone else would've been expelled from school. But not the son of a very wealthy, influential, and pure-blood family from magical America. And Ellison wasn't just a spoiled brat—he was a genius. His antics were always directed solely at Albus.

And Albus listened and listened. Of course, he didn't actually need the apologies—he wasn't a child. But Moody kept demanding new and increasingly complex codes to ensure the communication artifact was still in Albus's possession. Moody, you're the best Auror, but you're paranoid—Ellison might be a great wizard, but he lacks combat experience. And he's skilled in neither Dark nor Light magic.

Sending Moody the required codes, Albus listened to Ellison's speech.

"In fifth year, I enchanted your Care of Magical Creatures homework. As a result, it read: 'I'm the only one in class who sees thestrals because I'm gay.' For that, you still got a 'P' (Poor), as the professor didn't read it and sent it straight to the International Competition, but they quickly restored the original text. You then challenged me to a duel, and I ended up in the hospital wing. After that, I never accepted your challenges, but still—I apologize. I sent you cookies in the shape of goats with Muggle laxatives in the name of Aberforth Dumbledore…"

"That was you? I always blamed Aberforth!" Albus interjected.

"Yes, that was me. I apologize."

Eventually, the lengthy apology came to an end.

They then spent a long time discussing the list of items stolen from the Department of Mysteries and the list of known agents of Voldemort.

"Here's what Voldemort offered as gifts: two conditional combat spells from the founders' era, a method to age cognac to improve its flavor—Muggle cognac! A flying device that is a hybrid of magic and technology, and a ritual for measuring 'ereghu.' This is the eighteenth one I've seen. Honestly, I expected something like '1,000 Ways to Skin a Muggle Alive.' You eat sweets, and he drinks heavily," Ellison attempted to joke. "That explains why he can go weeks without appearing and then kill a bunch of people in one day."

Voldemort—an alcoholic? Ellison continued to perplex him, even after all these years... Always…

"Don't even try to joke, Ellison. It's not your strength," Albus warned.

Tom Riddle would never touch anything Muggle-related… Either he's changed, or Albus never really knew him, or this isn't Tom. But why reveal himself so openly? Was it a mistake? Is he seriously hoping for cooperation with the Department of Mysteries? Or is it simply a lie? What did Voldemort know about Ellison at the time of the recruitment attempt?

Albus studied the diagrams and drawings on the parchment.

"Very interesting. I will study this. Continue cooperating with Tom, extracting information from him unilaterally. Gain his trust and arrange a meeting with him. That's when I'll eliminate him."

"He's very cautious. No personal meetings. His paranoia rivals Moody's. By the way, about Moody—Albus, he's reached the first critical level of 'ereghu' accumulation. He's passed through a point of stable bifurcation. Such people should be retired. If he reaches the second critical level, it will be an unstable bifurcation point, making it more logical to eliminate him," Ellison informed Albus.

"I trust Alastor. I monitor his progress, and his use of Dark Magic will not exceed some personality disorder."

"As you wish," Ellison responded. "But now I have a question for you. I'm not joining the Order of the Phoenix. I'm not a fighter. But I will help you, albeit indirectly. What should I tell Scrimgeour? 'Minister, Albus Dumbledore—yes, the one with the Elder Wand, Hogwarts, and a private army—has a deal with me. What conspiracy at the Ministry?' Albus, wizards have been sent to Azkaban for less! The Department of Mysteries is fully accountable to the Minister; it's part of the Ministry of Magic, not the other way around!"

"I will handle that. You just keep silent."

"Maybe you should take advantage of public dissatisfaction with Scrimgeour's failure, remove him, and take his place? Then we wouldn't have to play at being conspirators! Rumor has it that your influence on politics is immense."

"You've been misled," Albus tried to joke. "But there will be no change in the Minister. You overestimate my capabilities. I'm just a school headmaster who occasionally advises people, and they believe him due to his reputation."

"Is there any point in asking where the Order of the Phoenix gets its funding?" Ellison inquired.

"No," Albus replied succinctly.

"Alright, I understand that," Ellison acknowledged. "Moreover, I have to tell you the truth. You've always been very skilled at playing the fool. And every time I've fallen for it, I've been badly burned. But I do have a question for you. You've already encountered Voldemort at the Crouch estate. It's possible he was in the Ministry in Rookwood's guise, and for reasons unclear to me—perhaps he's a transvestite—he's masquerading as his own disciple. In that case, a two-against-one duel would turn into a one-on-one duel. Albus, are you confident that you can defeat Voldemort in a one-on-one battle?" Ellison asked, with genuine interest.

Ellison had always been a law-abiding man. But he was never a kind one. He always aligned himself with the victors, and the truth interested him only as an objective reality in science.

He had refused to ally himself with Grindelwald and had now joined Albus for one reason—he was always on the winning side.

Albus thought about his plan to eliminate Voldemort. He had new spells, including "Whisper of Dreams" and "Cry of Fear." He had made significant improvements in mental combat. If necessary, he would use lethal spells. He had requested special potions from Nicholas for himself, and Nicholas had provided them. Recalling his apprenticeship days, Albus had brewed venom for a horned serpent and a potion that would induce a coma in a phoenix—or whatever Voldemort's equivalent of a phoenix was. Yes, Albus had few fighters left, but as a master of Transfiguration, he could create new golems. Very high-quality golems. But all of this would only be necessary if the plan involving the enchanted painting failed, and it couldn't fail…

After that, he could test the subject for Horcruxes. This would be easy if Tom were captured alive, or if a large enough piece of his body remained.

But if he were to lose, Tom would not have a peaceful life. Albus had already prepared a magical will and entrusted it to the right people, ensuring that the fight against Tom, and the mystery of his immortality, would not die with him… But it wouldn't come to that.

"Yes. I have a plan for eliminating Voldemort, and it should work," Albus stated confidently.