Bab 389: 0388 Destiny?
The oppressive silence in the dimly lit room hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire. The young lady stood motionless; her emerald eyes fixed on the grotesque figure before her.
After what seemed like an eternity, the silence was finally broken by her clear, measured voice. "You're recovering well, Mr. Dark Lord, If you're willing to remain in the forest for a bit longer, you might soon regain a healthy body."
Outside the door, Frank Bryce's old face contorted in confusion. This brief exchange had opened up a whole new world of bewilderment for the elderly caretaker. Someone had actually chosen to call themselves 'Dark Lord'? The absurdity of it struck Frank, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. What kind of person would adopt such an ominous, theatrical title?
Frank had a premonition that he was involved in a bizarre incident. The man and woman in the house before him were clearly not law-abiding citizens.
Inside the room, the figure known as the Dark Lord stirred in his chair. When he spoke, his high-pitched voice was laced with an emotion that had been absent before.
"A healthy body, yes, yes—" he pondered, the words dripping with longing. For the first time since Frank had begun eavesdropping, he could detect a hint of normal, human feeling in that unsettling voice.
The Dark Lord continued, his tone becoming more energetic. "I must admit, I never imagined I would recover in this way. Yes, with just a little more patience, I can regain my original powers. How wonderful. But—"
But then, the warmth vanished from the Dark Lord's voice. His tone shifted dramatically, becoming cold and sharp.
"I think you also know, Miss Cliodna, that the forest is no longer safe. The Ministry's people could appear there at any time."
There was another pause, and when the Dark Lord spoke again, his voice had taken on an almost appeasing tone. "Ah—I trust you, Miss Cliodna. Those rabble would be no match for you, but before I regain all my powers, it's beneficial for us to keep a low profile—"
Frank strained his ears, trying to catch every word of this bizarre conversation. His mind was whirling with questions. Ministry? Powers? What on earth were these people involved in?
Cliodna's response cut through Frank's thoughts like a knife. "If you hadn't insisted on killing that woman, Bertha Jorkins—"
Her words, though spoken in the same cold voice, carried a trace of barely suppressed anger.
Frank felt his blood run cold.
A murder!
They were discussing a murder as casually as one might discuss the weather!
His aged heart began to race, pumping adrenaline through his veins. The name Bertha Jorkins meant nothing to him, but the casual mention of her death sent waves of horror coursing through his body.
Cliodna continued, her voice tight with restrained emotions. "Dealing with memories isn't difficult for wizards, nor for us. Yet you still insisted on killing her— I don't mean to criticize your style of doing things, Mr. Dark Lord, but your actions undoubtedly puts us in danger."
The tension in the room was palpable now, so thick Frank could almost taste it. He found himself holding his breath, certain that at any moment, these two killers would turn on each other.
After another nauseating silence, just as Frank had decided to leave the old house to warn the villagers, the man who always had his back to him spoke again.
"Dealing with memories. Yes, you did suggest that, Miss Cliodna. But I remember explaining to you—"
The Dark Lord said coldly, "Altering memories isn't a foolproof method. If we encounter a powerful wizard, the memory charm won't work. This was confirmed when I interrogated her, wasn't it?"
Frank's confusion grew with each passing moment. Talk of wizards, memory charms - it was as if he had stumbled into some bizarre fantasy novel.
The Dark Lord's voice softened slightly, taking on an almost persuading tone. "We're allies who have gained each other's trust, aren't we, Miss Cliodna? You followed your predecessors' instructions to find me, hoping I could help you out of your predicament. And I, at my lowest point, have no one but you to rely on. We're mutually supportive allies, so we should be honest with each other." His voice hardened again as he added, "You've never approved of the plan I felt compelled to execute to regain my strength, have you?"
The room fell silent once more, Cliodna apparently unwilling or unable to respond. The Dark Lord, undeterred by her silence, continued his monologue.
"I have my reasons for using that boy. I've expressed my firm resolve to you, Miss Cliodna. I won't use anyone else. I've waited thirteen years; a few more months won't matter. As for the boy being under strict protection, I believe my plan will work. By then, I will have no weaknesses, and you will be on the verge of ending centuries of wandering fate."
As Frank listened, his mind spinning from the implications of what he was hearing, the scene inside the room shifted.
The woman in the room was Cliodna, the current priestess of the Druids, whom Bryan had been searching for without any news for a year.
Compared to a year ago, Cliodna hadn't changed much. Only when facing this notorious Dark Lord of the wizarding world did her usually gentle demeanor disappear. Her emerald eyes remained vigilant, and her floating strands of green hair in the still air proved that her power was always controlled to use when necessary.
"Mr. Dark Lord—" Cliodna began lowering her gaze, unable or unwilling to look directly at the misshapen creature curled up in the chair before her. A wave of regret washed over her, not for the first time in the past year. How many times had she cursed her impulsive decision to seek out this monster, even if it had been at the directive of the Twin-Serpent Staff and the instructions of her predecessors?
The bitter irony of her situation was not lost on her. If the Druids truly needed to rely on a wizard's power to escape their predicament, there were countless more suitable candidates. Yet here she stood, allied with arguably the worst possible choice - a wizard whose very existence seemed to be an insult to the life-revering principles of the Druids.
"We are not wizards," Cliodna continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "but we are well aware of what Harry Potter means to the wizarding world. You want to use him, even at the risk of angering Albus Dumbledore."
The Dark Lord's response was immediate and defensive, his high-pitched voice taking on a grumpy tone. "Dumbledore is just a muddle-headed old man. He's not what he used to be—"
Even Frank, who didn't understand the situation, could hear that the Dark Lord seemed to be a little afraid of the person called Albus Dumbledore. His rebuttal carried a trace of humiliation, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Cliodna.
The faint firelight from the fireplace reflected on Cliodna's cheeks, casting a beautiful silhouette on the worm-eaten, pitted wooden floor.
The Dark Lord... or rather, Voldemort—
Everything about him went against the principles she held dear. The Druids, with their deep respect for life and reverence for nature, would never willingly associate with such a monster. Yet here she was, bound to him by the twisted threads of fate.
"Even so—"
Cliodna knew she couldn't persuade the evil wizard before her, but she still hoped he could maintain some sanity.
Her long eyelashes trembled slightly, showing her exhaustion and inner turmoil. "There is more than just Albus Dumbledore in Hogwarts,"
Apart from the creature before her who had desecrated life and completely degenerated into a devil and monster, the wizard who had landed to the Isle of Avalon with her was the most powerful and dangerous wizard Cliodna had ever met. To this day, Cliodna couldn't forget the chilling anger in that person's eyes in the central temple of the island after she obtained the Twin-Serpent Staff.
Bryan Watson.
This man's reputation had previously only shone in the wizarding underworld, but recently, his fame had gradually become known to the public.
"Head of the Student Safety Office at Hogwarts, Bryan Watson—" Cliodna continued, her voice tight with suppressed fear. "Mr. Dark Lord, you've seen the wizarding newspapers. He might be even more dangerous."
If the person the Dark Lord feared was Albus Dumbledore, then Cliodna herself strived to avoid encountering Bryan Watson again. But she knew in her heart that since she chose to follow the prophecy left by her predecessors, this day would eventually come.
"Bryan Watson, ah, the young man who killed Greyback?"
The Dark Lord was clearly amused. He spoke in an obviously joking tone,
"Yes, yes, the Prophet said he single-handedly killed Fenrir and many of his followers. But Miss Cliodna, that's hardly a difficult feat. I'd say it would be effortless for you too, wouldn't it? Why should we worry about a clown propped up by Dumbledore?"
Cliodna's bright eyes flickered with barely suppressed frustration. She knew further argument was futile and chose to remain silent, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
Voldemort knew he hadn't convinced the young Druid girl, but he didn't care at all. As long as she continued to obey his orders, her personal feelings were irrelevant. In the depths of his twisted mind, he was already plotting her eventual punishment for her insolence towards the great Dark Lord. Of course, he wouldn't kill her - not yet, at least. After all, Lord Voldemort rewarded those who provided assistance, even if that reward came with strings attached.
His mind raced with visions of the future. Once Cliodna had been broken and remade in his image, once the wizarding world lay crushed beneath his feet, he would turn his attention to her persecutors. The Church, with its considerable influence in the Muggle world, would make an excellent target. Destroying such a powerful institution would also serve as a demonstration of Lord Voldemort's supremacy, forcing the Muggle world to acknowledge his greatness.
These grandiose plans swirled through Voldemort's mind as a cold, cruel smile twisted his inhuman features. "I think I've convinced you, haven't I, Miss Cliodna?" he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Now, before we rest, let's entertain tonight's mysterious guest—"
'Mysterious guest?'
Frank's brain froze for a moment. In the next instant, many things happened.
The high-backed armchair creaked as its occupant stirred, and for the first time, Frank caught a glimpse of the being called the Dark Lord.
The sight that met his eyes was beyond anything Frank could have imagined in his worst nightmares. The creature that emerged from behind the chair was barely recognizable as human. Its body was twisted and misshapen, more reminiscent of some unholy hybrid between man and serpent than any natural being. The strong visual impact of this grotesque figure was too much for Frank's frail constitution. His vision blacked out for a moment, as his mind reeled from the horror before him.
"Nagini!" The Dark Lord's high-pitched voice rang out, filled with a mixture of anticipation and malice.
Almost simultaneously, Cliodna's voice cut through the air, "Don't harm any more innocent lives!"
In the chaos that followed, emerald mist erupted from Cliodna's outstretched hands, colliding with a sickly green light that burst forth from the Dark Lord's misshapen form. The collision of these two powerful forces created a blinding flash that pierced through Frank's drooping eyelids, burning his retinas as consciousness slipped away from him. Frank had no time to dwell on the strange sentences he had heard as he completely lost consciousness.
Meanwhile, two hundred miles away.
In the bedroom at 4 Privet Drive, Harry, his forehead covered in cold sweat, jolted awake from his dream.
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Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
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