POV of Alison Harris.
Alison sat in the Department of Mysteries and once again observed the impossible.
The situation in Magical Britain was obvious: the white pieces had lost the game, completely and irrevocably. Dumbledore's former supporters were now either dead or neutral. The formerly neutral had now become Death Eaters. And the surviving Death Eaters were the kings of Magical Britain, although Voldemort didn't let them run too wild, as the most unruly among them had... died in battle. It happens: those the Dark Lord dislikes either reform or accidentally die. Voldemort was more dangerous than a sack of hungry vamp-kneazles.
At the last Death Eater meeting, the Lord had to lengthen the table: the Bulstrodes, Greengrasses, Foleys, Macmillans… And those were just the most high-born—the influx among the others was even greater…
The reason was simple: economic growth of 4% per month. And no reason to believe it would be less next year.
This whole picture had only one flaw: despite the white pieces having definitively lost, the white queen was still running amok.
Albus Dumbledore's defeat was preordained—Voldemort was bringing in new pawns faster than Albus could eliminate them, and he was also accumulating pieces. Time was working against his old school rival.
He held an extremely high opinion of his new leader's mental faculties, but in the case of Albus Dumbledore, the Dark Lord's brilliant facade was cracking.
Why rush things? Victory was inevitable!
Instead, the Dark Lord sacrificed the Lestrange mansion. To hell with the mansion, but so many of his own dead!
No, politically Voldemort had won: he proved that Albus Dumbledore was also a murderer and capable of Dark magic. And now they had evidence of Albus Dumbledore's crimes for the international court. But besides that, it had been shown that in terms of combat, Albus Dumbledore was no worse than Voldemort! And considering that the Dark Lord had to change bodies after that encounter…
How had Voldemort managed it? Only two ideas came to mind: either a Horcrux or a phylactery. Both would lead to madness in any scenario…
However, the Dark Lord had personally spared him a little time and, during a magical examination, demonstrated that he had neither a Horcrux nor a phylactery, which was certainly a relief. Someone else in his place would have been pleased by the special treatment, but he knew perfectly well—the Dark Lord's attention was as dangerous as death.
Instead of lying low now for sure, Voldemort decided to repeat the gambit with the trap-house.
Everything about this move bothered him, but most of all the fact that the Dark Lord had shown his cards so openly. He hadn't just set an ambush—he had set an ambush in his own home! At the Source of Slytherin! Why?
No, the house's defenses were very good. He had only been allowed to design the outer ring: Death Eaters from the new recruits, werewolves, a few vampires. The Dark Lord was seriously concerned that Dumbledore had arrived unnoticed last time, and this time, in addition to standard magical detection measures, he had brought in several regular and magically modified radar stations and wrapped the entire space around his house—a very modest one, by the way—in several layers of wire. The area was also covered by Dumbledore's captured artifacts, modified by the Dark Lord for stabilization against a nuclear explosion.
There were already rumors that the Dark Lord was… overdoing it a bit.
Underneath all this splendor, which resembled a concentration camp for himself, were three magical domes. One covered the land plot, and the other two—the buildings on that plot: the house and, presumably, a ritual hall.
The main forces were held in reserve and were to appear in parts, to avoid area-of-effect attacks.
More effort had been put into this than into the planned war with Magical Argentina. No sane person would ever walk into such an obvious trap.
All the more surprising was it to look into the crystal ball and watch what was happening. Albus walked right in! And not just walked in.
Albus was not himself. There were no colorful clothes, bells, or anything else… Dumbledore arrived in a simple gray robe, without a hat. And his beard was tied in the middle with a black rubber band.
Alison wanted to rub his eyes, but then remembered he was wearing a mask, as always. He wanted to reach for a bottle, but changed his mind.
No, he wasn't an alcoholic, it was just… this was Albus! An anomaly! What in the world was he doing?
There was one piece of good news: Albus was detected, as he made no attempt to hide.
What was happening was somewhat reminiscent of the battle at Azkaban, only in reverse: this time, Albus was chasing everyone around single-handedly.
For the second time in his life, the instruments were off the charts. Albus himself, with a couple of Stunning Spells, was taking down a chimera, which was incredible even for him, and with single charms, he was scattering Death Eaters without killing them. When it got really tough, he switched from wandless magic to a few waves of the Elder Wand, clearing a path for himself. And he moved forward inexorably.
They tried to do something to him, but Dumbledore was covered by a multi-layered defense of incredible energy saturation. He defended himself from the Unforgivables by encasing himself in a transfigured transparent material. Albus's spells flew in bizarre zigzags, seeking paths between the transfigured shields, while the enemy's Unforgivables flew only in a straight line.
Alison thought. If Albus had possessed an absolute weapon all this time, why hadn't he used it before?
He imagined Albus sitting in his office, eating lemon drops and giggling foolishly.
"A Phillips screwdriver against a yeti! Nunchucks against werewolves! Pepper against a basilisk!"—genius.
No, Albus wasn't like that. His brain supplied the next image.
Albus Dumbledore lays out a pentagram of lemon drops and summons the devil.
"Albus! I've granted your wishes a hundred times! And I'm interested, when will you finally give me your soul!" says the devil.
"You see… a soul is too expensive. Let's do it like last time—my collection of Chocolate Frogs?"
"I refuse!"
"Then I will give you the most precious thing I have—my multi-colored robe," says Albus.
"Every time I think you're an idiot, you do things like this and completely redeem yourself! Agreed! Divine power in exchange for your robe!"
No. Even for Albus, that was too much. But there was simply no other way to explain such a rapid increase in Albus Dumbledore's magic.
Although… He considered himself a scientist. A scientist relies on facts, and if his assessment of reality contradicts the facts, he must change his assessment.
What could grant truly limitless power? The Deathly Hallows.
Do the Deathly Hallows exist? If they do, then with Dumbledore's luck, it was only a matter of time before they ended up in his hands.
Then the Dark Lord's haste was also understandable…
But then… Albus Dumbledore couldn't lose!
Let's not get ahead of ourselves. If Voldemort wins, and he is on Voldemort's side, then all is well. If Albus Dumbledore wins, and he is on Voldemort's side, he'll get a five-star prison at worst. But if Voldemort wins, and he is on Albus Dumbledore's side, then it would be very painful for him.
What would win—Albus Dumbledore's immense luck or the Dark Lord's equally immense cunning?
While he was thinking, the Headmaster of Hogwarts scattered everyone and passed through the outer protective dome over the Slytherin house, conjuring his own, truly strange magical sphere, under which the entire plot fit.
We'll live and see. But something told him: after this battle, there would be at least one less great wizard in Magical Britain.
End of Alison Harris's POV.
The idea to remove the Fidelius from the house, lure Dumbledore here, and become the Secret-Keeper myself for the place where the Resurrection Stone is hidden (after all, I can't die!), seems to have been a mistake. Albus cut off all paths of retreat and was single-handedly crushing my servants.
I was seriously considering stopping using Dumbledore's name—at the sound of that name, everything goes wrong. He was supposed to die before reaching my house, taking all his Order members with him, whom he didn't even bring!
Bellatrix and I were in the ritual hall of our home. In the ritual hall itself, a glowing sphere hung above the floor, showing how Albus was habitually demolishing everyone.
Bellatrix had taken on my appearance and was commanding the source of magic, attacking Dumbledore from a distance. Considering how much time I spent on the disguise, she should look very much like me—it was like looking in a mirror.
In the ritual hall, there were fifty Muggles, covered by protection. I myself, disguised by both Metamorphmagus abilities and magic, was pretending to be one of the hostages.
The plan was very simple: if Albus did make it here, while he was hitting Bellatrix, I would hit him in the back.
So what? An excellent plan. She volunteered herself. The children were far away and in a safe place. Under potions, a strengthening ritual, and at a source of power, she was supposed to delay Dumbledore for at least a fraction of a second, and I would show the old man my signature move: you see Voldemort? No? Well, it's too late. The hardest part was to disguise myself well, especially with the hand-Horcrux, which felt its creator nearby and was trying to communicate with him. Calm down. We'll kill Dumbledore, and you'll live happily ever after.
But she wouldn't be able to delay Albus under this kind of doping. I'd have to use backup plans.
It was time for the first of them: Albus Dumbledore approached my very house, where Lily and Harry were sitting. I wasn't particularly counting on Lily, but she was supposed to, while dying, give Harry maternal protection so that Albus would be dissipated afterward. In case that didn't work, I had drawn a monstrous runic pattern and disguised it. The meaning was very simple—if Harry was killed within this pattern, the one who killed the child would be scattered as ash.
Upon meeting, Lily started throwing spells at Albus. He first used an equivalent of a magical flashbang grenade: if the opponent has magical sight, they should fall with sensory shock. And Albus had taken down the protection against this spell.
But Lily demonstrated that Gryffindors are invincible. She doesn't have magical sight. Dumbledore's action was the same as if a scuba diver saboteur swam up to a ship and attached a magnetic mine with a timer. Only the mine didn't stick, because the ship was wooden.
At the most interesting moment, the connection was lost. When Bellatrix restored it, a stunned Lily was lying on the floor, covered by Dumbledore's protective charms. Dumbledore himself was casting something over Harry.
Come on. Kill the boy. Die yourself.
But Albus kept waving his hands, then the Elder Wand.
Could he have figured it out? Realized that the Horcrux wasn't mine? Unlikely. But figuring out that the Horcrux wasn't the child, but the donor skull inside him, was well within his capabilities.
Why a skull specifically? Because a skull-Horcrux is very difficult to extract from a person without destroying the person's brain in the process.
Come on, old man. The Horcrux is irretrievable. Kill Harry.
But it didn't work out. New protective charms began to cover Harry. Then that specific cradle dived under Dumbledore's protective charms.
What was he counting on? To heal him later? Send him to someone by parcel—you deal with it? Or did he see my trap? The damned old man is completely unpredictable. Why did he kill Neville, but not this one? Is he a gambler? Does he roll the dice every time? Double ones—you're unlucky, Neville. Die. Double sixes. I'll have to save you. You're lucky, Harry.
The old man flew out of my semi-destroyed house. The outer dome he had placed had already shrunk by a factor of ten—my servants were arriving and attacking, and they were hitting it with magic from the Ministry and Stonehenge.
Dumbledore began to wave the Elder Wand.
I would have gladly run away, but the entire space under the dome was sealed off from travel, including for house-elves and phoenixes.
The old man cast and cast, until the ritual hall with me in it was covered from the outside by a grayish sphere.
Then he started to break into the ritual hall.
He succeeded very quickly.
Poor Bellatrix.
The old man could have killed her instantly, but he quickly left her without protective charms, and then…
From the Elder Wand, a dirty-gray beam struck my wife. And it was the most magically expensive spell I had seen in my entire life. It contained several times more magic than I had, even with all the enhancing rituals.
I myself was waiting for the moment. Not now.
The beam rested on Bellatrix's body for a second and was absorbed.
With surprise, I found that I was no longer sensing Bellatrix's magic.
As soon as Bellatrix was deprived of magic, the old man stopped paying attention to her, casually stunning her and placing wandless charms on her, which began to enclose the stunned body in ever more protective spells.
And he himself turned in the direction of the expected attack. With his back to me.
The thing is, I hadn't told Bellatrix the whole truth. She was sure that while she was distracting Dumbledore, I was with Nagini in a pocket of expanded space attached to the ritual hall, ready to attack him.
And now Nagini appeared in the air, having brought the creator of my hand-Horcrux, who had taken on my appearance. He was under the Imperius Curse and was trying to Avada Dumbledore.
The old man acted with incredible speed. He easily left both targets without magical shields. Some potion flew at Nagini, which, as soon as it touched her feathers, put her to sleep. The Dark Lord decoy himself received the same spell as Bellatrix.
I had seen this spell for the second time in my life, but I was still trying to figure it out. Was it time, since the Elder Wand was occupied?
All fifty Muggle hostages, located in runic circles and covered by protection, were instantly turned into mush by my will. I myself diligently pretended to be a pile of twisted flesh.
Naturally, this was not for nothing. I had learned something new.
A chill filled the air. As if from nowhere, a huge demon burst into the ritual hall, filling almost the entire volume—gray-green smoke rushed towards Dumbledore.
Each of the Muggle victims was a carrier of goblin-made blades, sometimes poisoned. And all this wealth flew at Dumbledore.
I believed he could die right now.
No, there was good news. Albus's Elder Wand sparked. Like skin during a sunburn, fragments of some transparent fabric began to peel off Albus's body.
But still, Albus held back the attacks, clearly winning against the demon. The Source of Slytherin finally froze, turning into something like a photograph of black flame.
The dirty-gray beam resting on my supposed body died out. I felt a wave of mental influence on the target. It wasn't for nothing that I had poured a part of my memories into my supposed self, for example, about the alteration of Aberforth. A new spell from the Elder Wand fell upon the poor wizard.
I easily classified it as a memory charm, only… I don't even know how to explain it. There's a bridge over the Thames—that's a normal memory charm. Just now, Albus Dumbledore demonstrated a golden bridge over the Thames.
I was horrified. What was the old man doing? Everyone knows the main rule of a magical duel: fast, economical, high-quality. Choose any two principles when using spells. He had already poured so much energy into who knows what!
If what Albus had shown before had any sense, then now…
Albus Dumbledore is a wizard of unconventional magical orientation. Why weaken your own defense right in the middle of a battle? What is he doing?
As the quintessence of idiocy, I saw Albus Dumbledore reaching with his right hand towards the wizard he had "violated."
I couldn't wait any longer. After dealing with the target, the old man would scan the area and find me.
Two things happened simultaneously. The old man touched my supposed self. The finger on Dumbledore's right hand instantly turned black, and my supposed self instantly turned into a desiccated mummy, but did not die, because he had a Horcrux.
I myself, having invested heavily and focused the energy into a minimal volume, combined a high-level Light and Dark spell and struck Dumbledore in the back.
I hit him, but the Elder Wand held even that. Dumbledore himself, with a slight look of bewilderment, began to exchange spells with me.
Given his current doping, he would have easily wiped the floor with me.
But he didn't want to kill me—as I understood it, he was planning to do to me what he started doing to Bellatrix or what he managed to do to the Dark Lord decoy.
He tried to hit me with his magic-draining spell a couple of times, but…
Those times, Albus used it on a target without magical shields.
Those times, it was new, and now I had managed to figure out a bit about how to counter this spell, because it was a case where everything was thrown into a pile, and if you remove even one thing, it stops working.
And most importantly—back then, he cast it much faster.
Then the old man tried to throw goblin-made blades at me.
It wouldn't work: it's very hard to defeat someone with a cutting weapon for whom a physical body is highly conditional. Using Metamorphmagus abilities, I changed the structure of my body, either letting the blades pass through newly formed holes or squeezing them with flesh from the side, parting before the cutting edge.
My Avadas got stuck in Dumbledore's transfigured shields—the cursed old man had put on an aquarium, it seemed. He extinguished the Fiendfyre and Twilight Flame before they could flare up.
I called for the house-elves. Nothing. I called all the Death Eaters. Nothing. I threw an Avada at Nagini—the calculation was that she would be reborn as a fledgling and might be able to try to transport me. She died and was reborn as a fledgling. But the fledgling was still asleep and did not respond to anything. I felt her, but Nagini had turned into a sleeping beauty.
I was already thinking I could hold out when Dumbledore's wand sparked more intensely. And then the hanging pieces of transparent fabric on his skin began to char.
The old man stopped trying to deprive me of my magic. His strange memory-wiping spells flew at me.
I fought back.
But suddenly I found myself clamped as if in a vise—not in a duel of magic, but in a duel of wills. I could do nothing to Dumbledore, he could do nothing to me. I felt his mental pressure, which was stupefying. I looked into his blue eyes—they seemed to me like two oceans, as old as eternity. I wonder how old he really is? The old man himself could do practically nothing, just like me.
Alas, practically. He was building something like a "railway track." And along this track, his memory spell was slowly, at a snail's pace, coming towards me.
As the monitoring of the Dark Lord Decoy's consciousness through the hand-Horcrux showed, after being hit by this spell, you forget everything. Everything and for good, even how to breathe.
And then the old man would do whatever he wanted with me.
Never mind. I must hold on. Either he'll burn out, or my own will get here, or Nagini will wake up.
And the ribbon of the oblivion spell crept closer and closer to me…
POV of Lily Potter.
She had assumed she couldn't defeat Albus Dumbledore. But that she couldn't do anything at all—that was beyond her.
She was awakened by the Death Eaters. Or rather, by Snape.
When asked where her child was, they told her—you were the only one there.
About half of the Inner Circle and several hundred regular Death Eaters were crowded around the ritual hall of the Slytherin house from the outside. Some were trying to break the sphere, others were throwing spells at it. But it was like… the edge of the world—everything touched this edge and disappeared.
Lily didn't have the highest sensitivity to magic, but she could feel a battle going on inside.
"The object cannot be scanned," Rookwood said, simultaneously sad and happy.
"It's all simple here," Mulciber said aloud, "some kind of games with space, combined with a modified Sphere of Extermination."
"And how did you figure that out?" Rookwood asked him.
"Elementary. I sent Imperiused people in there. They got through, but they died."
"The price of passage?" Rookwood inquired.
"Magic. A lot. More than we have. You pass through and give up your magic. Not enough magic—you pay with your life."
"So what's happening in there?" she asked.
"The Sphere of Extermination is a spell developed by blood purity fanatics," Rookwood began. "The idea is very simple: some area is fenced off. The one who passes pays for entry with a drop of magic. If no magic is detected, it begins to drain life energy. This spell was created to fight Muggles, but it's too complex, expensive, and capricious. And how to raise the threshold so that a powerful wizard dies upon passage… I have no idea at all."
"I'll go," said Edward Lestrange.
"Foolish. You'll die senselessly," Mulciber replied.
"Dad, two words," Rabastan began.
"Later," Edward replied.
"I really hope I'm doing the right thing," said Rabastan.
At that moment, Edward was instantly felled by a Cruciatus from Rabastan, followed by a couple of delayed-pain spells that rendered him incapacitated for the next few hours.
"What are you doing, you idiot?" a chorus of voices rang out, and wands were pointed at Rabastan.
Lily realized with horror that she was doing the same thing.
"I'll go myself, let him lie there."
"We are all ready to do anything for the Lord," Malfoy began. "But he is immortal! And our senseless death will not help him!"
But while Lucius was talking, Rabastan was felled by a Cruciatus, followed by several Imperius Curses and mental attacks from other Death Eaters.
"The Gryffindor in him acted up!" Mulciber began. "The Master, Edward, and even this kid will thank us for preserving pure blood!"
But if Dumbledore was in there, then most likely her son was there too! If he was still alive…
"I'll go!" she said, for some reason aloud.
"Don't!" Snape began, but he was immediately dropped to the floor by a Cruciatus from Alecto Carrow.
"Of course! Go!" said Mulciber. "The Dark Lord will reward you generously! Who am I to oppose the will of the Queen of the werewolves?"
'What werewolves?' she thought.
But instead, she approached the barrier.
It was simple. Even simpler than opening a door. It was like opening your eyes. No need to cast anything—just walk through.
She was on the other side. There, magical exhaustion and pain throughout her body awaited her. Conjuring a Blood Whip, she walked on.
Soon she saw them. The ritual hall was no longer there.
On the floor lay a pale and unconscious Bellatrix, like an onion wrapped in various protective spells. Next to her—a mummy.
Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort, like two statues, stood opposite each other. A silvery ribbon wound from Albus to his enemy.
"Where is my son?" she said aloud.
But no one answered her.
She struck Albus Dumbledore with the Blood Whip, but it instantly fell limp.
"Avada Kedavra!" she said, aiming at the old man.
The Avada passed through Dumbledore's protection and hit something like a glass wall—transfigured matter. She herself fell to the floor. It felt as if her veins were being torn out—she had too little magic left.
Could she really do nothing to Dumbledore, even if he didn't resist and stood still in front of her?
And the silvery ribbon kept growing. It was only about a meter away from Voldemort. No, there was something she could do.
After all, being different from everyone else—it's not about the Elder Wand, not Horcruxes, not the Deathly Hallows, not the power of dozens of wizards, and not a multitude of positions.
She ran under the spell that had almost connected the two greatest wizards of modern times.
Before the spell touched her body, she heard Dumbledore's voice in her head: "No!" She didn't see the old man himself, but instead, she saw Voldemort's smile.
End of Lily Potter's POV.
Why, why every time I meet Dumbledore do I feel like a rape victim?
This damned spell is almost upon me, and then—bam, and goodbye brains. How can I resist it without a brain? The only hope is that after my death, my brain and memory will return to me.
Lily ran into the room.
Damn it. I would have been happier to see someone else, or a crowd of werewolves. Are they all smoking something out there? If I survive and find malicious intent in their actions, I'll order Bellatrix to punish them. Although she's without magic… Fine, I can always find an executioner.
Lily started spouting some nonsense about Harry, then struck Albus with a Blood Whip. She picked up a goblin-made blade from the floor and tried to pick through Dumbledore's protection—zero effect. Same with the Avada.
But if she tries to Avada me now, she'll kill me, albeit at the cost of her own and her child's life. And Albus would be able to capture my spirit. A sad outcome.
Instead, Lily charged at me like a battering ram. What was the point? Did she imagine herself as an ancient galley?
I discovered the point when Albus's spell hit her in the back. The old man was mentally screaming something and at the last moment managed to reduce the power of his spell.
I tried to smile, but couldn't.
For a fraction of a second, it seemed to me that I had fallen in love.
Lily, if you survive… I'll give you a brain with rhinestones.
Lily lay between us. Our stalemate with Albus could have lasted a long time, but Albus was getting more and more exhausted. The outcome was the same—what's the point of standing like statues? Sooner or later, you'll burn in the literal sense of the word, or my people will break in.
The old man broke our clinch. We again switched to a duel of spells. His Elder Wand now resembled a transformer, and he himself—a peeling and sunburnt tourist, and the entire hand of his right arm was black.
Then Albus simultaneously used a cascade of Light and Dark spells and one powerful Song of Darkness and Light. My protection was rapidly disintegrating; he could have killed me, but he didn't need to.
Leaving me practically without protection, he tried to hit me with his right hand.
The absurdity of the situation struck me, but considering what he had recently done with that hand to a wizard who has a Horcrux…
All my protective spells were broken, but I intercepted Dumbledore's right hand with my left hand-Horcrux.
Why? Why is the fate of the world always decided by a fistfight?
However, it only resembled arm wrestling on the surface. As soon as I touched Dumbledore, I understood what was wrong with his hand.
That fool caught my perfect Kiss of Death in the Gaunt shack! He made a mistake at the very first trap! It's clear that this is Albus, and he can't die immediately, even after receiving a definitively fatal wound, but… all I needed to do was take Bellatrix and go on a sex cruise with her, faking my death while the old man dies. And then come back a couple of years later!
No, instead, I had to persistently arrange dates with the old man so that he would have the opportunity to take me with him to the other side.
The curse I had placed on Albus, which he then enhanced, wanted to jump to me. Metamorphmagus abilities didn't save me, a prosthesis wouldn't have saved me either, but the hand-Horcrux…
At first, a parity was established between them. I felt the Horcrux straining its powers. I saw the curse on Dumbledore's hand crawling higher up his arm.
I didn't wait to see who would win. I simply detached the hand-Horcrux from myself, burning the flesh adjacent to the Horcrux with ordinary magic.
It would have been painful, but… I was under such painkillers that I would laugh my head off if someone were sawing my head off with a hacksaw.
The hand-Horcrux clung to Dumbledore's hand. Apparently, the curse modified by the old man was too strong for the Horcrux. A gray mist separated from the hand, and a scream was heard. And the hand itself fell to the floor, like the hand of a mummy. Simultaneously, the wizard whom Albus had turned into a living corpse died. True, Albus got his share too: the blackness grew up to his shoulder.
All this time, we didn't stop throwing spells at each other.
A few seconds later, Albus began to resemble a living torch—his time was coming to an end. I don't know what he did to himself, but even the Elder Wand started to burn.
I prepared to deflect an Avada with transfigured shields. I hit the old man with a song of Darkness and Light.
He answered me with the same.
How much longer can this go on!
Again, I'm "killed." I'm standing without a body, looking at Albus, who is trying to force my spirit into some object. I resist, thankfully I managed to cover everything here with the necessary bloody runic script in case of failure, to make it harder to take me.
But I didn't have to fight for long: the old man burned up in the flames along with his adamantine hand.
I watched and was afraid. Afraid that, like a phoenix from the ashes, a new Dumbledore would emerge. Younger and more energetic. Or from some drop of adamant, a wholly adamantine headmaster would assemble. Nothing of the sort happened.
Freedom. I'm finally free of Dumbledore! I'll declare this day a national holiday and build a bunch of monuments. Although… who needs that? It's better to give an extra, thirteenth allowance to all citizens of Magical Britain on this day.
I walked around the battlefield.
Nagini is sleeping. How to wake her up—no idea.
Bellatrix was left without magic, Lily—without a piece of her memory. How extensive? I used Legilimency. It worked very poorly, but—Albus had erased the first twelve years to nothing.
I am without a body, but that is fixable. I got off easy.
In my current state, I can't help anyone—it's time to leave through the back door and return here with a body.
In the form of a spirit, I seeped through the sphere underground. After Dumbledore's death, it was easy to leave, and the sphere was a one-way barrier.
Barty was far away, so I set a course for Nott—he was at home, ready for the ritual in case I needed to return.
This time, I didn't count during my flight; I thought.
Albus was right after all. Dark magic, Avadas, Fiendfyre, Horcruxes—it's all nonsense.
I had all of that, and it didn't stop Albus Dumbledore.
He was stopped by the power of love. The power of Bellatrix's love for me, the power of Lily's love for Harry.
And even though the old man just stumbled at the finish line—that was enough for me.
I will be the only Dark Lord who has mastered the power of love: they will shoot at me, but they will hit them.
The power of love—you don't even have to cast spells to win! And it comes with women who are willing to do absolutely anything!
I also pondered how I could have ended up in this life. For some reason, my consciousness only produced masterpieces of humor.
The most absurd explanation was that there were two chosen ones—Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter.
Neville Longbottom's luck was as immense as Albus Dumbledore's, only… negative.
Why not? His parents were killed by the Dark Lord, the child himself was given to his servants to raise.
Longbottom's negative luck was contagious: whoever came into contact with him also became a loser. Bella lost her magic, Rodolphus died. His grandmother committed suicide. Even Neville's parrots died when Bellatrix fed them magical herbs after Neville's own death.
I am better than the old Tom Riddle, right? More inventive? He got by only on the power of Dark magic! But as soon as I got involved with Neville, everything went sideways: plans succeeded only half the time, I never managed to kill Moody, Albus escaped from traps even when mortally wounded, and I couldn't even screw Bellatrix properly the first time! Not to mention that it took so much time!
Fortunately, Neville's bad luck turned out to be too contagious. As soon as I made him a Horcrux and put him in front of Dumbledore… Well, what are the chances that Dumbledore would kill so many, and with Dark magic at that? What are the chances at all that a great Light wizard would deliberately burn a child alive?
No, I understand—stress, Albus didn't have the opportunity to take Neville prisoner and leave with the Horcrux, he had to either let him go or kill him, but still…
And as soon as Neville died—I immediately become a Light Blood Mage, and Albus dies at our next meeting without inflicting a single injury on me!
And Harry probably has luck greater than Dumbledore's: as soon as Albus went up against him, the Archmage with two Deathly Hallows killed himself. And Harry himself, it seems, didn't even wake up!
With these thoughts, I flew up to Charles Nott's house. He was waiting for me.
I don't have many Blood Masters: Lestrange, Nott, Bulstrode, who recently joined us, and me, but I'm without a body.
"Let's begin," I ordered.
Nott had already been given a homunculus in advance, as well as the ingredients.
First, I possessed my artificial body, which resembled Quasimodo. Living in it was painful, and it had only slightly more magic than remaining disembodied.
Nott performed the ritual.
About an hour later, I emerged.
Lord Voldemort was reborn.
Soon, I summoned my followers.
It didn't go so badly after all: just a few accidental victims not from the Inner Circle and a dozen hostages.
Then we took some material and, three hours later, carefully opened the Sphere of Extermination over my ancestral source.
To retrieve two women and one child.
And now, let's get to work.
I started with Bellatrix.
When she came to, I told her that Albus was defeated. Alas, a dialogue did not ensue: Bellatrix realized she had lost her magic and started having hysterics.
I feel like a Muggle-born. It's like I've successfully integrated into this world, and then the locals come out with such pearls that you don't know what to do.
Bellatrix was afraid. Afraid that I no longer needed her—after all, from a pure-blood perspective, it would have been better if Albus had killed her. And her thoughts hovered in two directions: either the Lord would kill her out of pity, which was preferable, or he would simply throw her away—who needs a woman without magic?
What a stupid question. I need her.
A woman without magic is much more beautiful than a woman without breasts. A woman without breasts is much more beautiful than a woman without eyes. And I can protect you anyway.
As soon as I calmed her down a bit, she started having hysterics that "the children will despise her."
What nonsense! You are a pure-blood witch who was injured liberating the world from Albus Dumbledore! It's a heroic deed!
I managed to calm her down, but then she doubted whether she could give birth to another wizard.
Firstly, I don't care. Secondly, why not? Let's say Alastor Moody had a child. Would the baby be born with an artificial eye and a wooden leg? No. Injuries sustained during life are not inherited. In the worst-case scenario, you've already given birth with a surplus.
Bellatrix only calmed down after I promised "to spare no victims or effort to try to return her magic." I will try, but knowing Albus—it's useless.
After I managed to deal with my wife, I started dealing with Lily. I have a special plan for her. She became an important figure in my Inner Circle, but now she's not particularly needed. It's time for her honorable retirement.
I woke her up and showed her a living and healthy Harry.
She started waving her wand over Harry, from whom I had removed some of my concealing charms.
"Is he really… a Horcrux?" she asked me.
Not exactly him…
"Albus Dumbledore believed he would become immortal if, instead of the destroyed phoenix, he made one of the children of the prophecy a Horcrux. It didn't work with Neville, but with Harry…"
"There's a way to cure him, right?"
"Very risky," I began to lie. "And it's Dark magic."
"I'll be a volunteer!" Lily said.
"The birth mother is not suitable. But don't worry—I'll find a 'volunteer.' You just sit here and wait. You can't help me with anything."
"And what will I owe you?" she asked.
Well, what do you know! And I thought Gryffindor wasn't curable: it doesn't matter how many you've killed or whether you wield Dark magic—Gryffindor doesn't wash off.
"For the sum of your merits, including the fact that you were the only one who came to me at the end, this will be a gift from the firm for you."
Lily looked skeptical, but in the end, she gave me Harry. She didn't try to tag along.
Taking Harry and securely covering him with protection, I first went for materials, and then for Snape.
Soon we were at the Inferi Cave.
"Snape, all you need to do is wait for me here and not go anywhere," I told Snape in the small cave, "I'll explain everything later."
Sprinkling the entrance with my blood, I went further through the almost completely broken protection.
I remembered building this protection. Albus broke everything—it turned into a giant landfill.
Using the experience with Neville, I made Harry's skull a Horcrux, which almost guaranteed it would be irretrievable.
I placed Harry on a conjured table, weakened his protection, and began to speak. But not to the child, but to the Horcrux.
"I know you can hear me," I addressed the Horcrux. "You have two paths: resist me, and I will destroy you. The child means nothing to me, nor does his mother, nor that Occlumens. And the second path—you will do what I ask of you. You will not interfere during the operation, I will shrink Harry's brain and transplant it into another skull. The child will live. And you, the skull-Horcrux, will live here, in the center of the lake. I will place new protective charms. There are no wizards as powerful as Albus anymore, nor is there an Elder Wand. This will be your new eternal home."
To talk to a sleeping child, addressing not him…
But a response followed. Harry, without opening his eyes, spoke in a sepulchral voice:
"I don't believe you."
"I am a pragmatist. Why would I waste time creating a new Horcrux? Driving a new wizard mad? Why would I throw a potentially powerful witch and a Potions Master in the trash?"
"I know too much. I've seen too much."
"What do you know? That Voldemort is a murderer and a liar? A cynic? Who doesn't know that? And who among those who come here to break you will be interested in a conversation? It was Albus who would have destroyed you in any case. You're useful to me as you are."
"I need guarantees. Lower your mind's defenses so I can see if you're lying."
"And you could launch an attack? No. You have one minute to think. If you refuse to work on my terms, you burn in Fiendfyre."
"I don't need a minute. I agree."
The surgical operation began. Through a pre-made tiny hole in the skull, extract Harry's shrunken brain, return it to its native cranium. Check the child. Seems normal. Cover him and myself with protection.
Then I burned the Horcrux in Fiendfyre. Nothing personal. You are still too important a witness. You saw Albus's death and the battle itself. And you yourself are easily replaceable.
Then I brought Snape back to consciousness.
"Congratulations, you have a wedding today," I startled him.
"With whom?" he asked, surprised.
"With Lily."
"But she doesn't love me!"
"I must admit, you've disappointed me. You spent so much time with her. Taught her a few things, and she never even kissed you once! But don't worry. You flawlessly fulfilled your part of the deal to eliminate Albus. By evening, she will love you."
"I am against coercion…"
"What coercion! Women are such mysterious creatures. Can you imagine, even with Legilimency, I understand less about women than without it! I really know their thoughts, but I still don't understand anything. The most logical conclusion is that they themselves don't know what they want. But one thing is for sure: women love winners, although they sometimes cheat on them with the vanquished."
"I don't quite understand what you're talking about…"
"It's simple. Albus the Evil Dumbledore made a Horcrux out of Harry."
"Really?"
"No! We'll tell Lily that he made a Horcrux out of her child. But I heroically cured the child. And I extracted and destroyed the Horcrux."
"Then she'll have a motive to love you, not me."
"Don't interrupt. The thing is, to deal with Albus's soul, I had to use the soul of a volunteer who was not a blood relative. I was fond of my own soul, so I took yours."
"Did you take it?"
"No, of course not. I'm not a Dementor."
"And in exchange for the child's life, you'll order Lily to be with me? That's kind of… vile."
"No. She will throw herself on your neck asking for forgiveness. And you say—only after the wedding. The wedding, by the way, will be this evening, I'll conduct it."
"That's kind of… too much…"
"Vile? Severus, who will love her more than you? Protect her better than you? She'll be eaten alive either by our own or by outsiders."
"I agree," Snape reported.
"Excellent. Now, the conditions. First, you take Harry as a package deal, and that's not up for discussion. You don't have to love him, Lily can handle him herself, but you have to give him money."
"Why?" he asked me.
There's a chance he's the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. If so, he's got a proposal to marry into Delphi's family… Or one of my descendants. If not, the boy's got a life as a famous athlete and a lover of fans. And magic, studies… Harry, here's a golden broom for Quidditch. Go fly. Work? Only fools and the poor work. Uncle Tom wouldn't lie!
"It's necessary. He is supposedly my illegitimate son. Then no one will touch you."
"What?" he asked me.
"It's very simple. The Lord's favorite got pregnant, but he grew tired of her. He ordered one of his courtly sycophants to marry her. And who do we have as the only half-blood in the Inner Circle? It also explains why she no longer participates in operations. We'll find her a simpler job—teaching werewolves at the School of Magic."
"At the School for werewolves?" he asked me.
"Calm down. The werewolves worship her, almost as much as me. And she herself is no novice. She'll manage. At the same time, she'll feel like she's doing a good deed. And I'll assign her protection."
"Alright."
"Second. I don't care about the color of the suits for the wedding and so on. Financial matters… Lily earned two million Galleons for her faithful service."
"How much?" Snape asked.
So what? Information about the diadem, information about the Cloak of Invisibility, tears as an ingredient for the ritual at Auschwitz, plus she heroically took a spell from Dumbledore in the back at the right moment.
"Two million Galleons is a quite sufficient price," I said. "Another five hundred for potions, but that's for Harry's sweets. Now you. For espionage and feeding Albus disinformation so well that he believed it—three million Galleons."
"My Lord, your generosity…"
"I'm not finished. We have several Muggle billionaires who want to live to be ninety or a hundred years old and still drink, smoke, use drugs, and have the virility of a young man. Through them, we'll legalize our funds, set up accounts for you in the Muggle world. Your yacht is now moored off the coast of Nice in the outer roadstead."
I wasn't lying about the yacht. Lucius gave it to me. And what do I need a yacht for? To sail it on the Thames?
"And why in the outer roadstead, not in the port?" Snape asked me.
"Talk to Lucius. As far as I understand, it's so big it doesn't fit inside."
Soon I introduced Snape to one of my lawyers, and he began to draw up the papers.
And I myself went to Lily.
At first, she was overjoyed for a long time about the healthy child, trying in vain to find traces of Dark magic or any other problems. You offend me. I fixed everything except his eyesight—that seems to be hereditary with the Potters. No, you could transplant a Muggle's eyes, but then you'd have to forget about magical sight. And killing people to fix Harry's eyes… Glasses are simpler.
"My Lord, my gratitude to you…"
I looked into her consciousness.
This was a completely different woman from the one she was a few years ago. I no longer evoked disgust, or even slight discomfort. But I already have Bellatrix, and Snape needs you. Besides… Your husband is dead, your former employer was killed with your help. I really want to stay away from you…
Now I will do what I have never done in my past life, what most likely no man has done before me. I will confess my love to her in order not to have sex with her. And in such a way that she rejects me and rushes precisely to the one who is needed… Strange—they called Albus a pimp, but in fact, I am the pimp. It all started so innocently—the elimination of the phoenix Fawkes!
What could I say so that I wouldn't be screwed out of gratitude? Lily's thoughts… It's almost disgusting to see how good I really am. Canonization is not far off.
"I was once given a prophecy that my destiny is a woman without a heart. I married Bellatrix—I thought it was about her. But now it seems to me that I was mistaken," I began.
"My Lord?" she asked me, broadcasting astonishment.
"You betrayed your husband's cause. You truly felt like a chosen wizard. You killed Peter Pettigrew and you don't regret it, even though he's just an ordinary envious person. And most importantly, you agreed to the use of Dark magic to save your son, without even trying to contact me or find out who would pay what price. You simply don't care, as long as you get what you want. You are truly a woman without a heart."
There was a slight confusion in her thoughts.
"Well, who paid what price for Harry?" she asked.
"Albus Dumbledore merged with your son's soul, and to save the child, I had to sacrifice someone else's soul. I need my own, and it's unclear how I would function without a soul. It's impossible to take just anyone for this ritual. But Albus Dumbledore was right about one thing—love is an incredible power. I had to use the soul of Severus Snape."
"So he's now… like after a Dementor's kiss?" she asked.
"Don't compare me to Dementors. He is still sane, can move, think, feel, and cast spells. He just doesn't have a soul. And his life will end with the death of his body. It's funny how it turned out—Severus Snape has joined the list of animals: no soul."
"But… I didn't want this. I didn't think it would be like this…"
Gryffindor is a plague, after all. It's a good thing I'm definitely not like that!
Well, I'm not going to kill them, am I? They served me well. And one should have many loyal people. That means I need to protect my own and multiply them.
Lily went from stuttering to tears, and then asked if she could see Snape. Of course, you can. If he's not a complete idiot…
POV of Severus Snape.
The ceremony was somehow mundane. No guests, no feast.
Voldemort had surpassed all expectations. He gave him money. He gave him the Prince's Source of Magic, near which the ceremony took place. Voldemort personally let his own blood and demonstrated mastery of permanent transfiguration—in a couple of minutes, he made a cottage with furnishings inside the house. And where did he get so much practice?
Voldemort fulfilled his dream—he removed him from Hogwarts, no more stupid sheep. He made Bulstrode Sr. the Head of Slytherin, who also took the place of Potions Master at Hogwarts.
Snape himself was now the head of the Potioneers' Guild of Magical Britain… the youngest head of the Potioneers' Guild in history… Of course, the position was premature, but the Dark Lord had only accelerated the inevitable.
He was not just satisfied. The Dark Lord had outdone himself. But the main reward was something else entirely.
He recalled his last conversation with the Dark Lord.
"Albus had nothing to give you as a reward, Severus. He only thanked you. I would have thanked you too, but that's not enough," there was not a drop of arrogance in the Lord's tone. "Besides, everything was done, as you yourself said, for a special reward. Nothing to be ashamed of. You demanded, and you shall receive. Justice alone is too dry. And your prize is the height of beauty."
Everything in the world comes to an end. His wedding celebration also ended. He was showing Lily the rooms in the house. He himself was seeing these rooms for the first time. He would need to bring in more things.
He stood by the window and thought. It all turned out so absurdly…
He didn't even notice Lily approaching him. In a pink nightgown, she resembled some kind of cake.
"Harry's asleep, we're all alone," this was said with longing and without any passion.
It seemed, there it was—the dream—at arm's length. How long had he dreamed of this? But now… he wanted nothing.
"Good night, Lily. I'll sleep on the couch in the living room."
"Wait!" she grabbed his shoulder.
He looked at her. For the first time in a long time, he was ashamed.
"I understand you're angry with me. But Severus… Maybe… maybe you'll feel better? Maybe the soul is always with us? Maybe it can be created? Through actions, deeds, thoughts?"
It would be better if you kept quiet. It can be lost, through actions. Through magic. Like him. As a child, he called his father a soulless bastard and was mercilessly beaten for it. And now he was a soulless bastard, only from the point of view of Dementors—his soul was with him.
"I want something," Lily said.
You don't. You just feel sorry for me. You just feel obligated to me. You're just… a silly girl. A victim of someone who always lies and whom everyone, for some reason, believes. And just a part of my payment.
"You have no obligations here, Lily. You are free to do as you please."
"And what if I really want to?" she asked.
As she said this, her wide gown, whether because she made a sharp movement or from its own weight, half-slipped from her shoulders. She didn't even try to cover herself.
Blood rushed to Severus's… head. On the wavering folds of her clothes, the reflections of light from a lamp with a colored shade hanging from the ceiling played fancifully. Her bare neck and arms glowed strangely.
Severus felt he was powerless to refuse what was being offered to him. This was Lily! He truly loved her. For years he had spied and killed. Maneuvered between Dumbledore and the Lord. Looked into the eyes of death and horror—time and again he saw the Dark Lord. Each time he had the feeling that he was looking at him and as if solving some arithmetic problem in his head. It seemed to Snape that each time he was passing some kind of exam, where the price of passing was life.
It's unknown how he would have acted, but his apprenticeship with the Dark Lord had not been in vain. The Dark Lord taught not only Magic. One day he brought Severus to some flowering meadow and asked what he saw. Snape began to talk about birds, grass, and so on, but the Dark Lord answered differently:
"And I see a bunch of organisms that either want to eat each other or screw each other."
A good outlook on life. Realistic.
Another time, after the victory at Azkaban, after integrating with the Department of Mysteries, he asked the Dark Lord if he was not afraid of going mad if Dark magic really had a negative effect on the soul?
"Don't worry, Severus. I don't have a soul. It's simpler without it."
He did everything for his goal—and here was his goal. Lily would be happy with him. She would want for nothing, he could protect her, he wouldn't drink, unlike Tobias, or fight, he already had a seat in the Wizengamot in his pocket, they would have good children… And Harry Potter… to hell with him. Let him not get in the way, he wouldn't pick on the child.
Severus understood that to refuse her now would be the cruelest insult to a woman's pride, and that is never forgotten. Much worse than when he called her a Mudblood. And the Dark Lord, for all his merits, does not grant second chances. He didn't have a new master of the Elder Wand to hand over to the Dark Lord. Besides, he loved her. God is his witness that he thought more about her than about himself. He had already lost her, and he didn't want to go through that again. And for that, he just needed to… do nothing! The woman he loved was before him, and the warmth emanating from her filled all his senses. He couldn't reason in that moment. He was not ready for this, he was unarmed against it.
"I love you very much too, Lily," he said, kissing her.
It's okay, his love would be enough for two. And she would be happy with him.
But he was not thinking about that. He once asked Albus Dumbledore why he hadn't tried to negotiate with the Dark Lord. After all, after the defeat at Azkaban, negotiations could have been started, at least just to buy time?
"For those who open the door to him, there is no way back, my boy," Dumbledore had replied.
At the time, he thought the headmaster was overreacting. No, the headmaster was right.
End of Severus Snape's POV.
Let's read the newspapers. Evil is vanquished… Albus the Evil Dumbledore has fallen…
"Warriors of light fight till dawn"… What does the Order of the Phoenix have to do with this? Ah! It's about the Death Eaters.
What else is interesting? I finally found the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack! It's the horn of an Erumpent, just wrinkled in astral vision. I didn't really understand what to do with it, and just gave one to the Lovegoods, the second to the Department of Mysteries. Pandora herself received a reverse memory correction—I recorded a huge number of memories that do not correspond to reality in her consciousness, now it's very difficult to get anything truthful out of her. She's now like a book in which the letters have been cut out and mixed up. Naturally, I only did this regarding her service with me—she hasn't forgotten how to walk and cast spells, she's almost normal compared to how she was. And here's a masterpiece. "The Quibbler" magazine, co-authored by the two Lovegoods. Let's read the article.
Albus Dumbledore's Paradise
It seems that in paradise now, all they talk about is Albus Dumbledore. They say Peter was recently harassed by some homosexual bearded man in a ridiculous robe with a gnarled stick in his hands. He cast the Imperius Curse, tried to wipe his memory. They say an old man on a flying golden throne flew up to the gates of paradise. He strictly said that the head of the Order of the Phoenix would now be in charge of licensing guards due to the escalating situation, and that it still needed to be figured out who entrusted a decrepit old man with the master key to paradise and a responsible post. The keys would be safer in the hands of the master of the Elder Wand! He also inquired if there were any Galleons or at least underage children nearby.
Upon learning that there is no gold in paradise, and he wouldn't be allowed near the children because Dumbledore's previous wards died with signs of violence on their bodies, he sighed heavily and stole an apple from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. After which he left, advising Peter on his way out to "think about who he says what to." And he muttered something else under his breath. Either "Crucio," or "Imperio," or "Adesco Fire." But for some reason, it didn't work. In general, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts did not make the impression of a Light wizard on the apostle.
All the saints are nervous. Someone told them that their works, though divinely inspired, are not without extremism! And they definitely fall under an article of law, and Albus Dumbledore will surely get them if they don't make him the boss in paradise—then they'll get amnesty. Albus Dumbledore himself, as a high-ranking Light wizard, is very offended by the very thought that it is necessary to love one's enemies. What nonsense? Enemies belong in Nurmengard. Or Avada'd. Or burned. In extreme cases—fed to Dementors. You haven't got Alastor Moody on you, who wrote such a thing?
And the phrase that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven seems at least slanderous to Dumbledore. Especially since, as they found out from the most reliable sources, entering the kingdom of heaven is a piece of cake. One Imperius on the Pope and he forgives all sins. So Albus Dumbledore has had a season ticket for a long time!
When Albus becomes the boss in paradise, he'll bring order! First, he'll imprison John the Evangelist. "Revelation," it turns out, now falls under an article of the criminal code of Magical Britain, as it contains signs of inciting hatred and enmity towards the social group "demons." And there are no guarantees for Muggle-borns and their guardian in the magical world! And most importantly—what does it mean, judge not, and you will not be judged? He is the supreme judge, he is allowed!
Everyone in paradise is reviewing the records and arguing quietly, whispering, although they are still afraid to discuss it aloud. Albus Dumbledore is still fuming and shouting: who, he says, came up with this nonsense about the need to turn the other cheek? There is a risk that he will soon ask personally the One who came up with it. And Albus Dumbledore is a strict man, you can't get out of it.
The angels are weeping bitter tears. The newly deceased righteous from the Order of the Phoenix have explained that they will certainly be appointed a new boss instead of the old one—Dedalus Diggle. He killed himself trying to make a flying car. The angels don't understand what the threat is here, but they are frightened. And they are even more frightened when they are told that everything Albus Dumbledore commands sooner or later falls. And this has already happened to some angels, true, a long time ago, but it is still memorable to everyone that it did not end well for those fallen angels.
And the same heavenly newcomers say—Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody, who are well-versed in current earthly affairs, that they will certainly bring pitchforks and frying pans to paradise now. Because what kind of paradise is it without pitchforks and frying pans? How to torture detainees, Cruciatus is not enough! How to increase the clearance rate, how to maintain order at all? Without pitchforks and frying pans, it's a direct road to Dark magic! The only hope is that the contract for the supply of pitchforks will be given to Mundungus Fletcher. It will be expensive, of course, but there is a chance that in this case the pitchforks will miraculously disappear on the way and the frying pans will not reach paradise either. The old-timers of paradise can only guess what kind of spell this is—"Mundungus Fletcher." A formidable spell, it must be.
Only Godric Gryffindor is smiling mysteriously at something, looking at Albus Dumbledore. But what—he doesn't want to tell anyone.
But this does not cancel the general mood—it's nervous in paradise now. And on earth, to be honest, it was nervous before. So much so that one even wants to believe Albus Dumbledore. But why would one suddenly believe him? A man of principle, consistent, he never gave a reason.
A good article. The only thing better is the caricature of Albus as a reverse mermaid—the upper half of the body from a fish, and the lower—from a human.
My pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a call from Rabastan. He immediately stunned me with the news that the Muggle from whom he took hair for Elena's Polyjuice was dead.
And he even provided the results of the investigation: she was hit by a car. A very expensive car. As a more detailed investigation showed: Edward Lestrange got tired of his only son sleeping with a Muggle, and a car ran her over. Only Edward… A pure-blood wizard who had seen cars mostly near the Ministry of Magic. Opposite Buckingham Palace… As a result, the Muggle was hit by a car worth more than three hundred thousand dollars by the son of one of the Muggle bigwigs under the Imperius Curse. And the most interesting thing is—he really wasn't at fault.
In general, my people have relaxed a bit: Mulciber went to celebrate the victory over Dumbledore by killing Muggles. My Muggles!
A fine? He'll pay it. To hell with his mistress's second house, she hasn't even earned one.
I had to give a stern lecture, reinforced by a Cruciatus, and send Mulciber into exile in Africa for a couple of years—let him fight there, maybe he'll get smarter, maybe he'll die.
These Muggles also had a daughter, if Mulciber hadn't killed her too, she would have been a witch.
"My Lord, another Mudblood! A dead Mudblood! Who cares about her?"
I do! Dumbledore stumbled over one Mudblood. Even the most ordinary Muggle-born can cast a Cruciatus.
What was that family's name? Granger, I think. In my country, you don't kill my people, is it so hard to remember!
And then Flamel managed to cause trouble. The French reported that their Flamel has not been found and is most likely dead. Traces of Elena Ivanova were found at the scene of death.
Idiots! I didn't kill Flamel. Elena-Lily is fooling around with Snape. The power of love, however. Did Flamel decide to play a little trick on me? Is he counting on a civil war among the Death Eaters? Or is Flamel not involved here, and the French themselves faked it so that I would kill my servant?
A meeting of the Death Eaters was out of place. I pulled everyone right out of the celebration. After all, Dumbledore's death is like a wedding, and everyone was already in the middle of a drinking binge.
I announced that it was time for Elena to get married. And I asked if there were any volunteers.
I have never seen people sober up so quickly.
Almost in unison, two volunteers spoke up—Dolohov and Snape.
Bellatrix, who was sitting here under my protective charms, even suggested marrying her off to some Mudblood or a werewolf.
I said it was pointless: although Elena couldn't scratch Dumbledore and didn't justify my trust, so she couldn't be married to a pure-blood, she fought honestly, so she couldn't be married off to a Mudblood.
So I officially sent Lily to Snape. She was not against it.
I also said that she needed to change her appearance and pretend to be a Muggle-born, and to take up teaching werewolves at the School of Magic. Soon Lily Potter will be resurrected… And she will pass any check! The Dark Lord recruits Muggle-borns, and the pure-bloods are not against it! Falsification? Here are the results under Veritaserum, here are the oaths…
Bellatrix laughed so hard that I had to ask her to calm down twice.
So what? You can respond to your old name and walk around with your old appearance. And the Dark Lord's student is a Muggle-born—that's the pinnacle of tolerance!
Sending everyone off to celebrate further, I took my daughter Delphi from the returned Barty, and then began to gather my other children. They were all with the Muggles of different countries where I had left them. Bellatrix was happy. She started telling me that Delphi recognizes the spoon and opens her mouth herself. I nodded. I need to become the kindest and most caring father—for the next eternity.
I made myself fake documents in the name of Morfin Gaunt. He will teach Light magic at Hogwarts. An army of supporters from childhood over a cup of tea… Dreams come true!
A victim of Albus Dumbledore—a pure-blood Light wizard who teaches children.
And the appearance to match. I somewhat resembled James Potter, only my hair was different.
And glasses. After all, a person in glasses is a person with bad eyes, that is, disabled. And they should be treated with condescension.
A curly-haired, thin man looked at me from the mirror. Not at all scary and very approachable. A good public face.
Now let's deal with Nagini. My bird was sleeping.
We had a lot in common. She was a useful transport. And she brought slippers in her beak at home.
And also… Logically, I needed a psychologist to complain that I couldn't kill Dumbledore. But then, for security reasons, I would have to kill him after each session. Wasteful.
Among the Death Eaters, some solve their psychological problems with something stronger.
Drinking with strangers is dangerous. Drinking with Bellatrix is a triumph of impotence.
That's why I drank with Nagini and complained to her in Parseltongue. She even tried to comfort me.
Waking Nagini up by normal means was unsuccessful.
Then a plan was devised. The phoenix's death would serve to remove the curse from it. The curse is one-time, but the phoenix is not.
Nagini died in a ritual circle. A fledgling emerged from it.
"What happened, Master?" she asked and immediately fell asleep.
I repeated the ritual. Now Nagini was conscious a little longer. I see. I will live under a Time-Turner. Carry Nagini with me. For each ritual, she will gain about two seconds of freedom from sleep for good. Not so bad. And in the meantime, she'll have time to become friends with Loony on the basis of a love for sleep.
So much to do! I thought it was impossible to turn me into a "reborning corpse." I need to come up with a "cure." Some super-artifact on which my body must be placed to return to normal over time. But that's after creating my own Deathly Hallows.
I also need to figure out why goblins need gold and other precious metals. If I can adapt this for myself, I'll walk around in gold. But for now, it's pointless.
I also need to deal with an old acquaintance of Dumbledore's.
It's a pity such news can't be published: "Friends! We have conducted a total audit of the Department of Mysteries, whose leadership includes trusted associates of Voldemort, and we have found that in this corporation, every last Knut was spent on the latest developments. And not only was nothing stolen, but a significant portion of the funds was saved, and with these funds, bonuses were paid to the rank-and-file employees of the corporation, and the management refused their bonuses, spending this money on new research and technology."
But that's for the long term.
Now the half-beaten henchmen of Dumbledore on the international stage will crawl out, whom he called for a crusade against England in his article. After all, they hoped that Albus would somehow manage on his own, but he couldn't, but I have a plan for that too. Only four countries will oppose us, and a month ago there were seven who wanted to. Nigeria, for example, became our friend after proposing to catch Muggles not in it, but together with it in Bangladesh.
And as for those countries that are against me…
No, if it were the USA, Russia, China, and India, one could surrender immediately.
But it's Argentina, Chad, the Central African Republic, and Sudan. They cannot win.
Somewhere in other countries.
The Minister for Magic of Magical Argentina looked sadly at the news summary. Albus Dumbledore was unlucky. A pity.
And so were they. The coalition was confirmed by only three African countries besides Argentina; three other countries refused. There were too few of them.
But time was working against them. They would have to start a war with Voldemort with the forces they had.
The Minister for Magic of Magical China made a decision. Neutrality with Magical Britain.
India did the same.
The Minister for Magic of the USA really wanted to start a war with Magical Britain—while there was still a chance to win, but they have a democracy! His decree was not approved by Congress. Nor was the law on the free supply of materials to all those fighting Voldemort. A pity. They would have to act differently.
The Minister for Magic of Magical Russia looked at the summaries. Fantastic. The economy of Magical Britain is growing at more than 4% per month! How are we worse? We need to establish the same order in Magical Russia, and everyone will be well! Only… whom to rob? What if we rob Muggles from Russia? An excellent idea! How to explain this to the Muggles? A drop in the standard of living? Production? Catastrophes? A decrease in life expectancy? Wars within the country? Let it be a perestroika!
Several powerful wizards around the world received a message from Albus, in which he asked them to "destroy the source of Voldemort's immortality." Some refused immediately, some agreed, most decided to think about it first.
Minerva McGonagall opened the last letter from Albus Dumbledore. In the parcel with an extension charm were Albus Dumbledore's Pensieve and a lot of gold. And a short letter: "Here is my whole life. Leave England. Tell the wizards the truth about my life and my enemy. I hope they will come to their senses." This was not how she imagined the fight against You-Know-Who. But Albus knew best. She would do everything.
Robert Arbogast looked at the unopened letter from Albus Dumbledore. The old man was an idiot. He should have killed all the Death Eaters during the last battle. It would have been easier for those who came after him! He simply burned Dumbledore's letter. If he wanted to say something, he should have said it while he was alive. He would create a proper resistance—an Avada in the back. He would take the Dark Lord's wife or child hostage and say—come to this place alone and without weapons. If he comes, he dies. If he doesn't, the Dark Lord's servants will mutiny. An excellent plan. He would find those who would like this plan.
Severus Snape, on the second day of his marriage, was in a benevolent mood. Lily was also doing well. She would love him, he was sure. And if she didn't… She was alive, healthy, and had everything.
His peace was disturbed by a strange owl. How did it get into the protected house?
He checked the contents of the envelope. Nothing dangerous. Then he crumpled it in his hands and used an equivalent of X-ray vision. Inside was a letter and… he had seen this object a couple of times—a Deluminator. No, thank you. He had had enough of that shit.
Without opening the letter, he threw it outside and then used Fiendfyre.
He managed to maintain control over the spell and extinguish it before anything started to spread.
"Severus… What is the meaning of this?" Lily asked.
"A letter from the Potioneers' Guild. The equipment broke," he said.
And he would somehow get out of it with the Dark Lord.
Somewhere.
He lay face down, listening to the silence. Completely alone. No one was watching him. There was no one here.
Albus was not entirely sure that he himself was here.
A considerable amount of time had passed—or perhaps no time had passed at all—and it occurred to him that he existed, that he was not just a disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying on something.
Therefore, he had a sense of touch, and there was also a surface on which he was lying.
Having come to this conclusion, Albus stood up.
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wand. Not the Elder Wand, but the one he had before—phoenix feather and rowan.
He instantly wished to be dressed—and he was. Transfiguration worked no worse than usual… Although this isn't transfiguration. There is no magic here.
Well then… He was dead. Expected.
He had lost. Deplorable. Voldemort had won—it is impossible to oppose the Dark Lord without stepping over the human within oneself. And if you can do that, then why would you oppose the Dark Lord?
He sat down in a chair that appeared out of nowhere and replayed his memories again and again. He was particularly interested in the last battle.
At first, everything was going normally. But then…
He recognized Lily in Elena. He couldn't kill her.
He managed to figure out that the Horcrux was not Harry Potter himself, but his skull. But how to extract it? You can't just talk a Horcrux into separating from its host, can you?
Then, having conjured the Sphere of Extermination, he broke into the ritual hall.
There he saw him. He was controlling the Source of Slytherin. And he also felt hatred, boundless hatred for himself—only Voldemort could hate him so much.
The target was hit by a magic-draining spell. But it was not Voldemort! As soon as the target was without magic, and therefore without Occlumency, he began to search for Voldemort in her memories.
And he appeared. With an Avada and a phoenix. The mark of the Horcrux creator was clearly visible in him—he had made a breach in the defense for scanning charms.
His enemy received all three spells: deprivation of magic, deprivation of memory, transformation into a living corpse.
The attacks of the demon, which Grindelwald would have envied, and the cascade of goblin-made blades had to be taken on his defense. It went haywire.
And then…
No, he had already understood that people had gone mad. Flamel said that at least the world was fine.
No, the world is not fine! How did Voldemort use Light magic? How? Intellectually, it's clear—some bloody bypass, but this… is terrible.
Even in such conditions, even when it was physically painful under the painkiller from Flamel, he managed to turn the tide of the battle.
And then Lily Potter, nee Evans, appeared. It is unknown how she passed through his defense, but she herself voluntarily put herself under his spell.
And he didn't have enough time to defeat Voldemort.
Having lost only one battle, he lost the war.
His thoughts were distracted by someone's groan and sobs.
He got up from the chair and walked towards the sound.
Then he met him.
A person of two halves. The left—half of an adult man. The right—of a child. No seams were visible. The creature tried to walk towards him, but it was doing poorly.
"Why did you kill me?" he was asked.
The creature tried to hit him. Albus hadn't fought with his fists in a long time, he had neither his potions nor his acceleration charms, but all this turned out to be unnecessary.
The creature simply fell and began to writhe, as if hitting an invisible wall.
"Who are you?" Albus asked.
"I lived in a cave. You killed me. And it's been hurting ever since."
Albus tried to use Legilimency. It didn't work, but he unexpectedly easily saw this wizard's life. An ordinary person whom Voldemort had tortured until he made a Horcrux.
Albus was not a coward. He never feared death. But now he was scared. He thought they were Voldemort's Horcruxes. In the worst-case scenario—the Horcruxes of his loyal servants. But if Voldemort makes Horcruxes out of others… how?
The Stone. The Resurrection Stone. The one he had was a fake. Everything was a fake. And the real Resurrection Stone is with Voldemort.
Albus wanted to return as a ghost. Maybe he could tell, manage to warn people… It didn't work. For some reason, it wasn't happening. Too much energy saturation in light of his noisy departure?
He had always feared his own mistakes more than the enemy's plans, but Voldemort had outsmarted him…
He thought Severus was on his side. Seeing a living Lily, he assumed Severus wanted to pit him and Voldemort against each other, to escape with Lily himself. No. It wasn't like that at all.
He remembered his conversation with Voldemort at the Crouch house. Yes, you really can do incredible things. And not just convince everyone that black is white.
What are you doing, Voldemort? Isn't it clear—these wizards will suffer here forever?
Moreover… Now this is a fairly hospitable place, but if you always, year after year, century after century, dump mutilated souls here… who can neither go back nor move forward and are doomed to be stuck between worlds forever… It is unknown what might happen, but clearly nothing good.
Alas, he had already done everything he could. He had no one to wait for here.
It was time for him to move on.
With an effort of will, he changed the reality around him.
He was standing near an exact copy of Beauxbatons. Only empty.
Albus approached the fountain that Flamel had made. It worked very simply—you throw gold into it, and it dissolves it, making the water in it rejuvenating.
But now Albus wanted the fountain to grant wishes.
In his pockets, he found only three Galleons. And no matter how much he wished for more—it didn't work.
With the hope that people would one day see the light, Dumbledore took out one of the coins and threw the first one into the fountain.
"May Severus Snape be ashamed," he said aloud.
The second coin followed.
"May Alison Harris make the right choice."
The last coin remained.
"May Voldemort have a heart."
Beauxbatons was dissolving like smoke. Albus walked on. It was time for him to go. To where old people go to make way for new people.