章 1678: 41
Chapter 41: In Blind Search of PowerChapter Text
I was again working using a Time-Turner. How did I survive without it before?
Voldemort-1 at last succeeded at modifying Lumos into an analog of a laser beam. It was unlikely to get through an average wizard's shields but mowed down muggles in one pass. I now had "Light magic" to demonstrate to dimwits and dropouts. Any number of rays of any color: white, gold, yellow… And the fact that it was simple coherent radiation would stay my secret.
Voldemort-2 worked on a defense against Dumbledore's disembodiment spell. The old man somehow condensed an entire ritual into a single spell. It didn't seem possible to replicate without the Elder Wand, but developing a specialized shield was well within my power.
Voldemort-3 was mulling over "Dumbledore's Golden Flame." Unlassifiable Light magic related to the Patronus charm, impossible to recreate with my issues in the field. I knew the words, the wand movements, poured in the needed energy but got no results. It left me feeling like a squib.
I thought of creating my own version by using the mirror opposites of everything Albus did. Combine the Well of Darkness, Twilight Flame and Antipatronus, make it self-guiding… A bit of mental impact would do some good as well… In theory, Dark and Light spells of this level canceled each other out like colliding electron and positron. But even a test version of "Black Flame" was untold amount of work away.
Voldemort-4 added the basilisk venom Malfoy helpfully supplied to the simmering poison for Albus Dumbledore. It could use some more of Aberforth's blood to strengthen it…
Voldemort-5 was trying to filter out the necessary elements from gratuitous cruelty in potions and rituals. So far, it only resulted in more corpses.
Voldemort-6 was thinking what muggle industrial methods could be applied to certain branches of magic.
Muggles rose on their culture of materialism. I wanted to follow their example. But how? If we all did nothing but permanently transfigure steel day after day, a single muggle steel mill would still outperform the whole of Magical Britain. This particular problem got partially resolved with selective adherence to the Statute, but it was far from the only one.
The majority of spells, especially performed by an average wizard, stopped working after the author's death. Most enchantments had limited use. There were, of course, some powerful artifacts: the Hallows, the Sorting Hat… But they came with their own issues. Each of these masterpieces gained if not sentience then at the very least a personality. Using them required either meeting their requirements or negotiating… Or modifying them, at the risk of breaking the object or dying…
In other words, every witch and wizard was their own universal toolkit, warehouse, factory and communication system. Very convenient. But with their deaths, most of this production capacity vanished instead of going to their heirs. Financial capitals accumulated, magic did not!
My thoughts whirled around raising every dead magical being for forced community service… No, impossible. And dangerous. The whole world would declare me evil and unite to attack. I didn't particularly like this idea myself: people would forget how to work, causing every new generation of undead to decline in quality…
Voldemort-7 finally managed to adjust one of the prisoners' eyes to work in Pandora's mode but ran into complications.
First, the prisoner saw everything blurred and in much lower resolution than Pandora. Second, the prisoner's "Lovegood sight" ate up her magical energy. Third, it created mind-altering effects similar to a medley of narcotics. But Pandora experienced no side effects whatsoever! And neither did her husband or daughter!
This suggested Lovegoods' strangeness was the result rather than the cause of their ability. Either I did something wrong or there were substantial differences between inborn and acquired versions of their sight. Should I still try adapting it to my own body?
One of the most important rules of magical safety warned against casting pleasure-inducing spells on yourself. It was all too easy to become addicted and die, unable or unwilling to cancel the spell. I had already tried using it as a weapon against others, but every euphoria spell had near-zero shield penetration…
There was something profoundly wrong with this world's magic: excessive Dark magic use caused insanity, excessive "spying into the astral plane" did the same minus the violent urges. At least constantly conjuring water blades didn't melt me into a puddle…
After weighing the risks, I decided to continue working on "astral sight" for myself but not use it without extreme necessity. The negative side effects should get minimized by the new body…
Voldemort-8 was reading newspapers. Rufus Scrimgeour elected Minister, Alastor Moody appointed Director of DMLE. It would be ideal to sic Scrimgeour and Albus on each other, but agents reported the Order and the Ministry worked reasonably well together.
The bad news did not end there: our prisoner deliveries from Africa were getting disrupted. Coincidentally, the Headmaster of the largest African magical school received a promotion within the ICW… I knew just whose beard was poking from behind it all.
Voldemort-9 was working on Snape's vows and listening to his report. Lily fell behind on her study plan. Didn't voice any desire to learn Dark magic! I'd have to subtly convince her. No, not subjugating spells. Well-tailored nightmares. And if Lily caught on after I erased my traces, she truly was worthy of the inner circle…
Lily Potter
Lily loved sleeping. She often dreamed of James and a world without the war. No matter how illusory, the brief reprieve felt comforting. But today she had a very different dream. She found herself on the ashes of her house, weeping over Harry's burned body. The Dark Lord was standing next to her.
"They captured the secret keeper and tortured the information out of him," he said, pointing at corpses that had been the assault team. "The special forces sent to eliminate you targeted the entire house. Your shields and amulets saved you. I came as soon as the house elf called me, but your son was already dead. We need to go, their reinforcements will arrive any moment now."
But Lily could only cry.
She woke up with a gasp, jumping to her feet to check on Harry. He was peacefully sleeping in his crib.
Prophetic dreams or not, the scenario was frighteningly plausible. Could the Fidelius really turn from a secure shield to a millstone dragging them down to their deaths? It already had once before…
The Aurors wouldn't attack a child… But then again, the Lord and Snape had shown her many memories of their battles. More often than not, Aurors and Death Eaters could only be told apart by their uniforms. They'd easily kill Harry by accident while trying to apprehend her.
She desperately thought of what to do. Ask the Lord to put protections on Harry… No, she wasn't insane. She checked Harry's toys twice after every one of the Lord's visits. A couple more months of this pace, and her scanning charms would come out wandlessly…
Guards? No, thanks. The Lord's goons were no more trustworthy than the Aurors.
House wards? If someone got past the Fidelius, no wards would save them. If anything, stronger protections usually provoked a stronger attack. Snape once showed her Fiendfyre… A horrifying sight…
No, Lily knew what she must do: learn to defend her baby boy herself.
She always felt reluctant leaving Harry with the house elf but had no better alternative. Her "healing session" with Snape was about to start. She apparated to the Lestranges' grounds, as far as possible from the train-sized hose that was the Dark Lord's new snake.
Snape was already waiting in the training room overflowing with concealment charms. He looked… in many ways, as he always had: dowdy and nondescript. Yet at the same time he walked with a bounce in his step, his face hid a smile, and his eyes lingered on her the same way James's once did… She felt tempted to punch him, but it wouldn't solve anything.
"Today, I will show you how to make your water whip multi-tailed," he began, "and to transform it into a cutting net. It is excellent for area attacks against multiple weak enemies. Then we will continue practicing the deceleration charm."
If only she had learned it sooner, she wouldn't have killed Wormtail…
"It's all very interesting, but let's do it later. I was wondering if you could show me some… alternative defensive magic…" she asked timidly. Fuck, she wasn't even this nervous before her first time with James.
"What exactly are you interested in?" Snape asked impassively.
He was always like this, unreadable. Lily once tried to hit him legilimency during sparring, like she had read in a book. She instantly fell unconscious. Snape said that he was the worst possible subject for a beginner and offered to find her a muggle, but Lily declined.
"Whatever you recommend," she said.
"Very well. The blood shield. Watch."
Snape cut his hand and drew a cup worth of blood. He worked rather slowly, carefully enunciating the spell and waving his wand. In the end, his blood spread into a thin film between them.
"This film is no thicker than a milliliter! I can puncture it with a finger!" Lily exclaimed. "And why isn't it clotting? Can muggles use blood magic since they too have blood?"
She wasn't as naive as her questions suggested. She read some books at the Lestranges' library, and the Lord told her some things when he explained his duel with Rosier. No, Lily was curious what Snape would say… And how well it matched the Lord's words.
"Lily… It's not that simple. You can power a spell as you always do, with magical energy. The same energy permeates our bodies. You can sacrifice your hand or any other tissue for a spell, but the loss will be permanent. The only exception is blood. Blood of a magical being. Transfusing a muggle's blood will only save you from dying from blood loss. It cannot be used to cast spells. As for the strength of my shield… Trust me, it will easily hold off your Reducto or a tank shell. But the spell will continue weakening, draining a part of me to deflect every attack. Its effectiveness depends on the individual's power and skill in blood magic."
Got it. Magical blood was gas, and blood magic an engine. The car's performance hinged on the quality of the gas and the engine itself.
All right then… She wasn't going to kill anyone with banned magic. This was nothing like the dreadful spells she found at the Lestranges' library… Yet none of those books mentioned a "horcrux." What could it be?
No, she'd only learn to defend Harry with something more than schoolyard spells. Learn the blood shield and maybe one other benign thing. Then, Harry would have twice the chances to survive.
"Repeat the incantation again, I want to try it," she said.
"I don't think this is a good idea. Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure," she said resolutely. If the Lord was here, he'd know she lied.
"First, we are going to learn the safety protocols. And Lily, if you don't want to die prematurely, never use blood magic without me or the Dark Lord present. Unless, of course, someone is trying to kill you."
At her affirmative nod, Snape began explaining how not to die from blood loss…
Voldemort-10 was leading a third-rate raid. Death to muggles and mudbloods! To be honest, it served no real purpose. I was rarely seen in public lately, and this should placate people's concerns about what their Lord was up to. Murder as usual, you just don't always find the evidence.
Voldemort-11 finished sketching Nymphadora Tonks's energy system. I now theoretically understood what to do. There were three core problems.
First, I had yet to adapt her system to my own body. It would take time to circumvent the risk of turning into a little girl.
Second, I could not for the life of me pinpoint her reflexes for controlling the transformation. Without them, I might turn into an octopus at the worst moment. Or melt into a puddle of goo. Forever…
Third, I didn't know how to give myself metamorphism without destroying my own body in the process. I saw no choice but essentially create a new body with given parameters. It would take thoroughly modifying the flesh, bone and blood ritual, especially since I wanted to achieve more than metamorphism…
My muggle part doggedly hampered the progress. Logically, the girl must create new cells with every transformation. Using her gift should have aged her. But it didn't.
Fine, let's for a moment assume that she didn't age any faster because her cells had infinite division potential. But that should have made her immortal, and metamorphs died from old age no differently from ordinary wizards.
I tried to grasp the full depth of the problem. Was this it, a new variety of immortality not requiring the Philosopher's Stone? I knew a ritual for turning human blood into a concentrated source of energy. "Feeding" on it prolonged life like blood did for vampires. But a single human life didn't last long, and every subsequent donor caused addiction and diminishing returns… Perhaps this ritual was worth trying with a metamorph? I couldn't afford killing my only one, better find more…
Voldemort-12 was again pouring over the data from inherited horcruxes. I've been unable to refine splitting the soul into anything useful. Increasing the soul sounded much more promising. Becoming someone else's horcrux should theoretically increase my durability to the level of a standard horcrux: invulnerable to nearly everything save for the most powerful Dark magic and creatures. The problem lay in hosting a foreign consciousness. It was a path straight to schizophrenia, or worse, succumbing to the horcrux's control.
I could use Barty's or Bellatrix's soul shards… But if they found out my secrets -their Lord was gone, I used to be a muggle and cared nothing for blood purity- they may reconsider their loyalties. And the only way to dispose of the horcrux meant suicide. This could be resolved by using a much smaller soul piece, but no one below the level of Grindelwald would likely succeed at creating multiple horcruxes…
I also considered the concept of reusable suicide bombers. Someone makes a horcrux, enters a target building and detonates it. I resurrect them, they enter the next target and repeat the process. Not a bad idea overall, but if this kamikaze were captured, the enemy might somehow learn he had less than a whole soul. The horcrux secret would float to the surface at a bad time…
I refused to accept defeat. There must be some way to adapt Tom's horcruxes into something useful…
Voldemort-13 worked on increasing Dark magic effectiveness to at least Riddle's old level.
The working assumption was increasing "necroenergy" and decreasing the portion of the remaining soul. In other words, murders acted as a resonator for Dark magic. To avoid spiraling down Riddle's path, I've been making calculations to see whether it would be possible to appropriate other people's kills for my own use. Travel to ancient Dark wizards' glory grounds and try to leech on their legacy…
The results suggested I'd need a location of great many violent deaths by fire or suffocation, all within the past century. A truly staggering number: over a million murders…
Dark magic has been banned for centuries, nothing recent came anywhere near these numbers… Kill a million myself? Doing so safely would stretch the conflict for another half a century, and delaying was just as deadly…
Tom's memories were stumped by the enormity of the task, so I started remembering my past life. Muggles loved their wars. A recent battlefield? No, they must have died not as warriors but as cattle… And that gave me the answer. I went abroad with Pandora.
We soon arrived. I saw nothing special in either normal or magical sight. Pandora claimed seeing pillars of fire and loud barking. How was it even possible to see barking? But I knew she was telling the truth.
Auschwitz…
It felt like a very appropriate place for gaining "Dark Power." Part of these people were slaughtered, part sacrificed by Grindelwald. But I didn't come here in search of sacrifices. I needed an echo of over a million deaths, killed in a particular way. This was perfect.
Now I knew what to take and where. But not how. It would be akin to bringing a muggle to London and telling him to count the exact number of bricks in every building.
No, the overall direction was clear: an immensely complicated ritual, draining the magic out of the entire Inner Circle and depleting our coffers on ingredients… But the sheer volume and dissonance of this many deaths would kill me in the process. I needed a way to carry out very high quality calculations.
Catching muggle mathematicians with computers won't do. A muggle could only calculate the simplest of spells. Creation of anything substantial began with imagining the desired result and conducting a series of thought experiments with magical sight. The visualizations were then analyzed and correlated with standard table values. There was no single correct path, which killed all attempts to automate the process or develop an algorithm for muggles to follow.
Some artifacts simplified this process or performed the calculations, but they were rare, complicated, extremely specialized and magically draining. Hence, the previous Minister authorized the Unspeakables to try an experiment: extract wizarding brains of various freshness to create live computers. But these aquarium brains refused to work.
I had to speak to Rookwood. Immediately. We should clean the Department of Mysteries of everything but the most useless junk such as prophecies. But first, prepare proper habitats for the brains and find a way to convince them…
Voldemort-14 was speaking to Rookwood. He recently recruited another Unspeakable with promises of unrestricted research of muggle technology. This new one was a subpar wizard but an excellent techie.
"My Lord, this is a breakthrough! We call it technomagic!" they raved, interrupting each other. "Here is a combustion engine that transfigures air into petrol and its fumes back into air. We get a car with unlimited driving distance and zero emissions! The enchantments don't interfere with electrical circuits! We're also developing firearms with unlimited ammunition!"
Pray tell, why I do need any of that? I wasn't planning to crash muggle markets. Although… Muggles under Imperius with unlimited silver bullets could make decent werewolf hunters. With a perfect price-to-quality ratio… But werewolves were all on my side. They just didn't know it yet.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"Yes, here!" Rookwood shoved some blueprints into my hands. "The prototype itself is too large to fit here, it is stored at a remote base."
The blueprints told me nothing. Multiple cross-sections only worsened the picture, but the overall shape resembled a stereotypical UFO.
"A flying saucer?" I voiced the first thing that came to mind.
"An interesting name… And very apt! Muggles are incapable of building anything remotely similar because they can't create omni-directional propulsion! But we did it! It flies completely unmanned, only needing occasional charm renewal!"
Rookwood talked and talked… Muggles had a lot of great ideas, but something always limited them: quality of materials, fuel efficiency, weight of flying apparatuses, effectiveness of life support systems.
His team took a couple of muggle specialists as consultants under Imperius. Rather than completely rely on magic, they modified the materials as needed. Made the parts lighter and more durable, increased or decreased friction… Away with bolts and soldering, yes to permanent sticking charms and space expansion! Self-replenishing water broken apart with electrolysis, the resulting hydrogen burned as fuel… It sounded utterly mad, but they claimed it already worked.
"Augustus… How will any of this help us?" I asked the obvious.
So far I only had one idea: put Malfoy's homunculi into the flying saucer and stage an alien invasion… Well, not exactly an invasion, our powers only extended so far. First contact with an extraterrestrial civilization. It'd be fun to watch muggles scramble… But what would that gain me apart from new problems?
"It will give us enormous opportunities for expansion after the victory!" he said.
Yes. Dark wizards in space. Just what we needed.
"How is the flying tank coming along?" I asked.
"Weasley's levitation charms successfully took hold. I reconstructed the spells and can apply them to any object. We do have a flying AFV with magically expanded interior, but it's nothing special: overheating from the inside followed by one good blasting curse turns it into a pile of broken metal."
Too bad… I was hoping for something more worthwhile. Maybe try reinforcing it on my own?
"But we created these two specimens," Rookwood said and pulled out an amulet.
From the adjacent room burst in two… designer abominations. The first was an ordinary metal cabinet on tank tracks… Tank tracks attached in the most unexpected places, with pipes sticking out between them. The second was a meter-wide hovering metal ball. Also with protruding pipes…
"My Lord, these are experimental battle golems "Cube" and "Sphere." The first moves on any surface with adhesive tracks, regardless of gravity. The second one flies a foot away from the surface. They're both equipped with standard muggle weapons -machine guns and a flamethrower. Inner storage of forty cubic meters allows for plenty of ammunition and a large supply of paralyzing and poisonous gases. Defenses - magically reinforced titanium plates plus universal shield and attention-repelling charms applied before every fight. They obey the wearer of the amulet, understand over fifty commands, tell apart allies from enemies. Each was created with a sacrifice of one dog.
Disadvantages are standard for golems. These two in particular have been optimized for ranged attacks against muggles, but I doubt we can produce sufficient numbers for complete cleansing. With full control and mobilization of England, our ceiling is about twenty thousand of these machines, we'd simply run out of manpower to maintain any more in working order. I understand your plan to take over and put the economy on military tracks. But I think it may be more prudent to use magically modified microorganisms to remove the majority of muggles. We can then pick off the survivors with conventional methods."
Why were they all so thick-skulled… I had no intention of waging war on any muggles. At all. And neither was I going to kill mudbloods. Their corpses could be used after natural death. I only wanted to quit playing separate worlds and siphon their resources without breaking the Statute!
"Brilliant work, Rookwood."
It really was interesting, only not very relevant. At least they didn't create a reactor that produced energy by burning muggles alive, like I predicted. I probably spent too much time around Rosier… Rookwood had done all that without killing a single human!
"I see the solution to the muggle problem in diplomacy," I explained. "In the event of an open war, muggle Britain would receive the support of other muggle governments, whereas we can't count on foreign magicals supporting us or even staying neutral. Continue working on your prototypes but don't enter them into mass production. I also would like to share a new coherent radiation spell with you. Try adding it to your golems and developing hand-held weapons for Imperio'd muggles. Right now, I'm more interested in a different matter. The Department of Mysteries. We need to put together a plan to loot it and find a way to force the aquarium brains work for us."
"We'd have to act with extreme care not to damage anything. As for the brains… My Lord, no one's been able to make them work," he said pathetically.
"Stage a death of one specimen and deliver it to me. Or find me the method of their creation."
Voldemort-15 was fiddling with what used to be Malfoy's homunculus but now lay a corpse with cut throat. The curse proved more resilient than I imagined. I again stared at the results of my calculations in the table of ritual ingredients. How was I to add "despair from betrayal" and "forsaken hope"? Who made these tables and what were they smoking? Why did it work?!
It seemed Lucius himself must participate in the ritual, as an ingredient. The challenge was leaving him alive and unharmed…
Voldemort-16 was inspecting newly delivered Erumpent horns together with disillusioned Pandora. Everyone needed a hobby. I searched for a horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Reportedly, this horn looked unique in "astral sight." I was very curious what could be brewed with it…
Voldemort-17 continued extracting spells from the copy of Slytherin's wand and categorizing them. By modern laws, the greatest founder of Hogwarts should have lived in Azkaban, regularly kissing Dementors.
Battle spells were more or less clear: some modern, some better, some worse. A few failed to work in principle, and I knew better than try them myself. I haven't as much as touched most of the Dark magic. Some ritual-specific spells burned the caster alive when performed without a proper sacrifice or runic pattern. Most other spells were clearly catalysts for potions, but I had no way of knowing which.
I had already pulled out several thousand spells, and the farther they strayed from Salazar's death, the less deadly they became. The hypothesis that Salazar lost his mind and was killed in the name of public safety was gaining more and more evidence.
Voldemort-18 was interviewing a new Death Eater candidate. The recently arrived African fugitive introduced himself as Abidemi. If his words were to be trusted, a pureblood. I was more interested in his abilities.
He appeared to be an average wizard with a baobab and grindylow saliva wand. His value lay in his rare specialties: stationary non-European style defenses and "charm sniffing." Shamanism, as I understood. Tom had never met a single shaman in Europe, they were easier to import from Africa.
If Albus read my mind, he'd know I was not a bigot. I hated everyone equally regardless of blood, race, gender, magical ability, religion, orientation… So, we were going to get our own token black Death Eater, like in American films.
"I've looked through your record. We are not concerned with murder, torture, rape or human sacrifice. However, I would like to see your skills in action. My student wants to watch as well," I said, gesturing at Pandora disguised as Elena next to me.
"Of course," Abidemi replied with a bow. "First, I must change."
When I worked, clothing made no difference. But who knew these shamans… As long as he didn't urinate in the corners, he could do anything he wanted. Although, if it stopped the Killing Curse, we'd have to introduce urotherapy…
Five minutes later he returned without any defenses, looking every bit like an African imagined by a 19th century Englishman. He stood barefoot, towering at two meters tall, dressed in nothing but a leopard skin with unknown, brightly glowing symbols. His face struck me the most. He had painted his eyebrows and outlined his forehead with his own blood, which bubbled with energy. But even that I barely noticed. The most imposing was his expression: without an ounce of humor, implacable, full of grace and power one must feel personally to fully appreciate in another. His eyes shined with conviction in wisdom beyond my understanding. If he gave that look to Tom, he'd already be on the floor under Cruciatus. I saw not a speck of sympathy, only harsh righteousness.
In Pandora's sight, his leopard cloth was swarming with "Nargles," hundred times their usual density. Maybe they were simply some minor spirits?
"Let us begin," he said in a dissonantly casual voice. "First, I will list all the charms on you and this woman. Then I'll raise a ward for you to evaluate. I work slowly. Please don't invade my mind while I do. I can answer all your questions later in any way you wish, with your truth serum or a full legilimency scan."
I waited for him to pull out a wand, but he only squatted down on his enormous feet. From his bag, he took out a dog's tail, some dark misshapen ball, and other items whose names and purpose I struggled to identify. He tied the tail to his belt, then picked up a small bundle of dried grass wrapped in red silk.
"Is there a safe in this room? I would like to put something valuable in it," he said.
I was hosting him in my study at the Lestranges'. It had an empty safe I never used, so I did as he requested. He threw the object inside and locked the door. I looked at him with a questioning expression.
"I put in… a valuable item…"
In magical sight, was something Dark. A horcrux or phylactery? No, this looked somewhat different… Probably just an undead-controlling talisman… made of grass? How?
I watched him carefully trace the safe door edge with his finger, forming a saturated with magic line. He returned to his spot in the middle of the room, picked up the dark round object and vigorously rubbed it.
"This is my mother's father," he announced.
I looked closer and saw it was a mummified human head with a few patches of hair still left at the crown. Oddly, it didn't feel magical at all.
"He is very wise," the man continued like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I will need his advice. Grandfather, this is your new friend."
He started speaking to the head in his language, occasionally stopping to listen to something and replying. It looked insane, but then the head began to glow like a Dark artifact. Pandora saw wrackspurts darting between Abidemi's head and his grandfather's… At one point they appeared locked in an argument. It must have resolved successfully because the conversation ended soon after. Abidemi looked around the room, pausing at a ventilation hole under the ceiling.
"There!" he said. "That's perfect. Grandfather needs a high place with a good view of everything."
He mounted the head on a corbel, facing the room. Once he returned to his spot in the center, he bowed in four cardinal directions and started to drag his nose like a dog trying to find a scent trail. He paced from side to side, sniffing the air and whimpering. The dog tail tied to his belt twitched as if it were alive. His movements and mannerisms so thoroughly imitated a hound that I hardly believed my eyes when he abruptly sat down and spoke.
"Never have I met a greater Dark wizard," he said respectfully. And legilimency said it was not a lie.
Then he started listing my defensive charms, guessing correctly nine times out ten - unprecedented, considering my anti-scanning ones. If he didn't know the name of something, he perfectly described its purpose.
The traditional method was to remove the anti-scanning charms, then test the rest. Yet I saw him perform absolutely no magic… Another spectrum of magical sight?
"By the way, the illusion on your face is rather mediocre. I can recommend a toadstool brew to better conceal your appearance," he pulled out his wand and conjured an image of my real face.
That didn't impress me. Surely Moody could see through it with his wonder-eye, given enough time. And Albus, somehow…
"This woman here is unusual," he noted, "and not due to polyjuice. She can see a little, only not exactly like me. Every spell she is under was cast by you, including the Imperius."
I cut off my half-finished nonverbal Cruciatus. Hand reflexively led the wand into the optimal movement for the Killing Curse… But, as a matter of fact, why? What did he see that that was so special? Who knew how the Lord entertained himself? What if this was part of our bedroom role play?
"I know how to keep secrets, my Lord," he assured and went on to list every spell on Pandora without fail. Probably because she had much less shields…
I so badly wanted to kill him… But he was a professional "charm sniffer." He'd be useful… If he justifies the trust placed in him.
"Let's say you convinced me of your ability to recognize charms. Show me your stationary ward."
He laid a rope in a circle on the floor and senselessly danced around it for twenty minutes. When he stopped, there was suddenly a small dome in the center of the room. It looked like an ordinary, rather durable ward. But I didn't understand how it came to exist. At all. He created it without a wand, but I saw no signs of wandless magic. Some silly grimaces and dances- and the ward snapped into place like someone flipped a switch! Pandora saw only a little more: a shadowy bucket descended on the spot, then turned into the ward.
He again took out his wand, transfigured a dog, and placed it under the ward.
"You can break it to test its strength now."
I carefully looked over the dome. It should absorb rather than deflect spells… I raised my wand and sent a great penetrator at it. The ward held, only momentarily flickered into regular vision. What then, Fiendfyre? Because I certainly wasn't going to bleed myself before a newcomer!
After some deliberation, I used a construction spell normally reserved for excavating tunnels, with its vector of effect limited to the ward area. No need to punch holes through the Lestranges' home.
The spell ray hit the ward. It spread cracks, held for a second, and fell apart. The dog sat unscathed. Well, considering who tested it and how, the ward was decent.
"I'm satisfied with your skills. You are going to keep very quiet and give a few little vows to ensure it. Until I can be certain of your loyalties, you are not to leave this house. Now tell me, what do you have to offer my organization?"
"I can detect charms and curses on people and objects. Raise uncommon wards over houses. Not like the one you just tested but truly powerful. For that, I'll need ebony and non-mages for sacrifice," Abidemi continued listing his skills, but the most useful out of the rest was summoning rainfall.
I'd have to test him on something simple, not give him too much freedom and conduct a full mental scan… Then have a serious talk regarding his knowledge of werewolves and sex rituals. As I understood from his thoughts, he raped mainly out of love of magic… Fertility rites and Barty Crouch: combine business with pleasure. And the world shall tremble before the power of love!
"You are accepted and will receive the Dark Mark. You may not keep any secrets from me and will tutor Rabastan Lestrange in your specialties."
"I will gladly tell him everything I know, but he is unlikely to repeat it. Does he have his father's or grandfather's dried head?"
"No."
"Then he will fail. If he had it, he must spend many years drinking special brews before reaching enlightenment."
So what, I'd need a mummified head of a male ancestor for shamanism?
"What are you going to do right now?" I wondered.
"I must take care of this place. It is the center of your enemies' attraction, so Grandfather agreed to stay here and watch over everything. I will tie a rope around this building to begin the ward."
"This room is my office. Can your grandfather stay in a different part of the house? As well as the bundle you placed in my safe? You can keep the safe," I offered. "And you are to call me "Lord" or "Master." Speak to Edward Lestrange about the rules of his house."
"As you wish, Master. I agree to serve you in exchange for protection from the law and a fair pay. And sometimes I need live people. For good."
We went on to negotiations and the rules for handling prisoners. I'd have to examine that head at some point. Technically, it wasn't necessary to raise the entire body. But who would ever want a reanimated head? It couldn't speak without lungs…
"We must find another room for Grandfather," he reminded.
"What if the head scares our guests?"
"Grandfather says he won't let himself be seen by anyone he was not introduced to."
Abidemi changed back into European clothes, then received the Dark Mark and gave a series of secrecy vows with dignity and grace. Ten minutes later, he was already lecturing Rabastan on the theory of shamanism. And an hour and a half later, he lit up a cigarette and began tracing the rope's path around the house with chalk.
I went back to the Lestranges' cellar to check on the head. The tribal patriarch was still here, but legilimency on a house elf and all of the Lestranges I brought with me showed none of them could see the head…
Voldemort-19 was reading the latest experiment reports. Tests of magical creature blood on prisoners… More new torture methods… And this one made banshees angrier… Banshees, angrier? It was possible?
The experiment with breeding a giant boggart failed to replicate. They concluded that the original materials contained some unknown random variable that led to success… By the way, whatever happened to that creature that evolved from a boggart?
Voldemort-20 dragged a muggle to the inferi cave to upgrade its defenses. Albus would meet many nasty surprises starting from the very entrance.
Voldemort-21 was watching a team of Japanese curse breakers curse the Gaunt shack. They would be paid and obliviated upon completion, as per their contract. Then die and get up to guard this place.
Of course, this was only the preliminary part. By the time I'm done with it, the Gaunts' home would become a full-scale "Cursed Cabin of Curses." Hopefully, it would be enough for Albus…
Voldemort-22 sat surrounded by astronomy tables and half-completed calculations, stewing over the ritual for gaining a new body with enhanced reflexes, metamorphism, astral sight and so on… The body that must accept any future enhancing rituals without reverting into a mutant who can't show up in public without masking charms.
I'd need a day with a specific star alignment beneficial for rebirth. Go through a couple depleting rituals beforehand… Then some safer ones- after all, metamorphism could, with some stretch, be classified under advanced transfiguration… Incorporating Pandora's developments for animagus transformations. And not to forget rituals of connection and transfer…
I really didn't like how this was shaping up. I'd have to go through clinical death. Dying and having my consciousness transfer into the new body reshaped from the old… Nagini must be somehow included, fortunately my familiar already had a built-in rebirth ability.
The direction to metamorphism was more or less clear, but I needed more. I needed a way to approach Light magic. The only one I saw was through blood magic, namely the Blood Protection Rite: voluntary self-sacrifice to protect someone else. Complete with a deliberate or reflexive burst of magic, of course. Love without magic didn't stop bullets.
Initially, I wanted to organize Diana Crouch an outing with her son, where they would get attacked by Aurors and she'd die to save him. Then I could take Barty's blood under pretense of some ritual or another. But I didn't like it: there was a significant possibility that her sacrifice would protect only Barty, even if his blood coursed through me.
Albus Dumbledore screamed on every street corner that murder mutilates the soul. It turned out to be true. Albus Dumbledore always lauded the power of love. What if it was also true? Perhaps Albus was right. Light magic required love, and no amount of synthesized hormones, altered neurotransmitters, mental magic or love potions would help. I truly loved life, power, wealth, and magic, but it wasn't quite the same…
However, the old man never took into account one little nuance: where to find love. Yes, I didn't love anyone. But someone loved me. I knew two: Bellatrix Lestrange with a woman's passion, and Barty Crouch, fortunately more platonically.
If I used them in the ritual, would the blood of those who love me bring any benefit? I went back to the calculations. No, it wouldn't…
But I was no street charlatan. I had data on the Dark Mark, a two-way connection masterpiece. I had my recent findings on horcruxes. Some attributes of the horcrux-base connection might be possible to recreate. So, before participating in the ritual, Bella and Barty would undergo some changes.
I'd have to fundamentally modify the ritual. An inner pentagram with five powerful wizards and five ingredients on top of the loving blood… Bone of the father. The muggle's body would do… Him being a muggle shouldn't be important, but it may be safer to alter the setup to add grandfather's bone. He was at least a wizard of some sort… Link them via someone who was connected to them both in life. Luckily, I had found Merope's body. Morfin, would I need him? Probably not. Unlike a direct line, my uncle's existence had no impact on my own.
Blood of an enemy… Too bad I had no access to Albus's or Moody's. Barty Sr. might suffice, if prepared properly… Killed by his own son, to add a spike at point five. Only then I'd have to add runes for patricide without Crouch Sr. noticing them. Finally, tie it all into the main system with Diana Crouch's blood. And add blood from couple of Aurors to compensate for low enemy quality with quantity… And maybe some more random victims - I had enemies anywhere I turned.
Flesh of a servant. Any Death Eater? Or the most loyal one? Logically, it must be two: the most loyal and the most disloyal, to play up the contrast. Whom to use as loyal? Rodolphus? Bellatrix? Barty? The last two were out, they were already a part of "loving blood." And what to take as flesh? Arm? Leg? Head? Need to tread carefully here… And the disloyal one? Steal Pettigrew's body. It was burned and decayed but would pass after a treatment. Living loyal - dead disloyal will produce an even greater contrast, only then I'd need to find with what magical animal's blood to offset it to prevent an explosion… And shove a quality copy into Pettigrew's grave. The last thing I needed was for wizards to go back to cremation.
Next came my own contrivances. Two more ingredients.
One was unclear… The tables didn't have this ingredient… I only knew that it belonged to the "traitor" category. What would I need? Blood of a traitor? Life of a traitor? They must betray me or someone else? I decided to look into it later.
The second was simpler. I knew exactly what it must be but not where to find it. Blood of a close relative… Tom killed his father too soon… But to think of it, kin blood could always be produced with a simple Imperio. Make a baby and be done with it. Moral qualms? What qualms - just an abortion. Shortly after birth. My life creed was simple: betray everyone but stay true to yourself. In the past, plenty of people killed their children to survive famine. Any way you cut it, my child would be less important than my own eternal life.
Although… The ritual didn't call for "heart of the firstborn" or "head of the father." Why was I so aggressive? I needed blood, not life. Killing would serve no purpose. And what if I end up needing more blood or some other parts in the future? Might as well keep the child… But someone must raise it. House elves were great, but their mindset would bring up a Mowgli…
This fundamentally changed the situation. If it was going to be something more than a single-use ingredient, then the mother couldn't be just anybody. So, I needed a woman to take care of my child. And a woman to birth the said child. Technically, it made sense to try Bellatrix: I now vaguely knew what was wrong with her. And if curing her failed, I could always tell her to raise the Lord's child from another woman.
I never wanted anything to do with children… Children, the lights of our lives… The only consolation was not having to get married or making more than one… I had to run to Bellatrix. Right away. Only talk to Edward and Rodolphus first, carefully choosing my words. It probably wouldn't be wise to tell anyone I wanted the child for a ritual… Damn, and Bellatrix already had Neville…
I decided to sleep on it. Mental magic and potions helped, but this Time-Turner schedule forced me to regularly rest.
A sudden urgent summons from Bellatrix jolted me back to reality. Putting everything on hold, I went straight to the Lestranges.
Nessie was lazily splashing in her pond. On the opposite side of the manor, Abidemi was carving some wooden figurines by hand, his national outfit making a stark contrast with the February landscape. He worked under acceleration and was completing them rather quickly. Everything appeared tranquil.
I was greeted by the full family, but only Bella spoke. She looked like a rape victim: tangled hair, rabid eyes, nail marks marring her face.
"My Lord, the Ministry is under attack!" she dropped a bombshell on me.
She was telling the truth. Well then, the baby would have to wait… I felt cheated, like I've been preparing a revolution and someone beat me to it…
"And who is attacking the Ministry?"
"No one knows for sure. They say it's you, my Lord. Is it true?"
She probably meant the Time-Turner…
I wanted nothing more than apparate to the Ministry to see what was happening, but they clearly wouldn't welcome me there.
"Tell everyone to keep their heads down and stay away from the conflict zone."
What could I do? Nothing? Claim it as my own cunning plan or blame everything on leftover Grindelwald's supporters?
Albus Dumbledore
Albus was drinking tea and thinking over Severus's report.
Strange, very strange. Voldemort hasn't been active lately. It could only mean he was busy preparing something monumentally vile.
"People continue to disappear from the London metro. Have you learned of any connection to Voldemort?" Albus asked his spy.
"As far as I know, he has no business in the metro. But there are rumors that the day you fought him at Crouch's, a creature escaped from a Death Eater lab. It's never been found. It may be responsible for the disappearances."
"What type of creature? Do you have its name or description? Magical properties?"
"No one knows anything. This is all I've learned."
Albus had accomplished a lot lately. He visited Gellert in Nurmengard. A chilling picture… He clung to the belief that Gellert lost his true self delving too deeply into Dark magic… That if Albus gave in to the same temptation, he could have easily taken his place… Truly, Dark magic was nothing but one pervasive digestive tract that turned everything added to it into the same final product.
He managed to pull out some information out of Gellert's mind, particularly what Tom might have done to himself prior to their last fight. Albus's hypothesis of horcruxes empowering Dark magic received a solid confirmation. After creating a certain number, Tom would outmatch Albus with his Elder Wand.
In the political arena, Albus discovered and partially halted deliveries of ritual victims from Africa. He set out to create an international coalition against the Death Eaters, but, alas, only the directly affected African countries agreed to join.
Back home, the Order's close relationship with Minister Scrimgeour soured when the Minister sanctioned the Department of Mysteries to use Dark magic to locate Voldemort's concentration camp.
Recently promoted Alastor was running around like a little boy with his new Time-Turner. Albus had to bind him with a vow not to interfere with the past.
The Board of Governors continued generating new headaches. This time, they brought Salazar Slytherin's wand to Hogwarts. The Americans were swearing it used to not radiate this much Dark magic. They insisted that "limeys ruined it." Whose fault was it, then? The paper trail implicated Bullstrode. Albus carefully checked the man's mind, but he was clean… It wasn't easy to unnoticeably probe a strong wizard's head within four minutes of idle conversation. Albus put up with a migraine for the next three days… It would be the easiest to blame Tom, but he would have stolen Salazar's wand, political repercussions be damned. Tom was always obsessed with his relation to Slytherin.
The Order had suffered heavy losses: the Tonkses, the Weasleys… But for some reason none of them were found strung up by the feet with flayed skin, like Tom used to enjoy… A sudden streak of mercy? Seeing the remains of an Auror who was first tortured then used in some ritual that blew him up from the inside in the middle of being kissed by a Dementor, it was impossible to believe in Tom's kindness. It confused Albus even further…
Next to all that, the Order's complaints about Moody forcing them to search for something in the metro looked laughable… Especially after that time when Alastor detained two muggles and made them confess to being Death Eaters. Albus checked the muggles and Moody- there had been no torture or mind control. Truly, Alastor needed no magic to work wonders…
Muggle newspapers reported increasing homeless disappearances… Voldemort solving the muggle homeless crisis by killing them? It was Albus's duty to investigate every lead, however far-fetched.
"Have you learned anything about my brother?" he asked.
"He is alive. I have no information on where they are keeping him or how he is guarded."
"Thank you, Severus. The information has been getting sparse, is it possible that Voldemort suspects you? He doesn't need legilimency to catch you on a lie, he may have noticed changes in your heart rate or other physiological reactions. Are you certain you fully control yourself and always drink the necessary potions?"
"I am always vigilant."
"Well, if this is everything, you are free to go."
After thinking some more while finishing his tea, Albus apparated to one of the metro maintenance tunnels.
He walked around disillusioned, switching between sight spectrums… Nothing. He pulled out his wand and spent an hour casting scanning charms in multiple tunnels. No results. Everything pointed to this being the most mundane, uninteresting place in the world.
Except for some minuscule inconsistencies.
The results of his magical sight and scanning spells didn't quite match. The discrepancy was faint, at the very edge of his senses, but it was there. And it was the exact difference between the magical constants of North America and England… Ridiculous…
Albus Dumbledore had many talents, but he was utterly hopeless at divination. His abilities ended at predicting tomorrow's weather. To him, the threads looked equally probable! He even made mistakes eating Every Flavor Beans!
Albus reached into his pocket to pull out an ordinary crystal ball his students used in class, then took a vial of processed dragon blood and dropped some in his left eye. He covered his right and looked into the crystal ball. What he saw perturbed him.
Every choice must create new points of divergence: somewhere he'd be drinking coffee, somewhere tea, elsewhere killing himself. Fortunately, all this madness was usually hidden behind merciful fog. But now Albus was looking into the crystal ball and seeing neither endless probabilities nor fog over the future. He saw one single line. Anything he did led to the same outcome: finding nothing and leaving the metro.
The future existed in constant flux. The mere act of his observing it should have changed it. Future could not be this predetermined, just couldn't… Least of all for the failure of a prophet that he was. But the crystal ball stubbornly showed the same.
Did it break? Albus tried a diagnostic spell. No, everything was right.
The only other remaining test option didn't suit him: Dark magic. But he knew an easier way to bypass it. He'd channel all his will into intent to destroy this place with area curses and let his thoughts seep out into the open. With a strong enough impact to compensate for outside interferences, the ball should show him the consequences.
When Albus imagined himself going all out with Dark magic, he usually saw the fall of the Statute or himself letting Grindelwald out of Nurmengard. But today, he concentrated on the immediate future.
As soon as Albus from a probable conjured a Well of Darkness, from the walls fell out a… thing. It resembled a dense, shapeless Antipatronus or a giant ink splotch. He was about to examine the creature closer when his crystal ball exploded in his hands. Did he pour in too much power? The creature interfered? Wanted to destroy the ball or was merely trying to understand it?
"I know you can hear me," said Albus. "Let's talk. If you are lost, I can help you find your way home or a safe island to hide on."
His words met silence. They were at impasse. He knew the creature was here. It knew it was discovered. But the creature was very odd- Albus couldn't reach it without resorting to exceptionally powerful magic. Magic that was either Dark, which he won't use, or magic that would obliterate the Statute of Secrecy by showing muggles Aurora Borealis over London.
"I am going to leave now. If you accept my offer, don't kill anyone and wait for me here at the same time tomorrow, out in the open. Otherwise, I will have no choice but bring others who won't be as kind," Albus said into the nothingness, feeling a tad foolish.
He hoped it heard and understood him. It was naive to expect anything less from a being that's been misleading Moody for over a month.
Albus disapparated, sat back in his chair and started thinking. The creature from Voldemort's lab had proven real. Horrifyingly real. It warranted alerting everyone this instance, especially Moody and the Minister to isolate and stop it from escaping.
The Minister would want to know what they were facing. What to tell him? The truth? You know, Rufus, I'm not a prophet, but I noticed this strange shadow in a crystal ball…
But delaying was deadly.
The creature escaped from Voldemort's lab. If he took interest in it, it was assuredly Dark.
The creature had strung Moody along and nearly outwitted Albus. It was intelligent.
The creature expertly concealed itself for weeks. Albus saw its image in the ball- a vaporous black mass. Lacking a physical body, it should be susceptible to banishment charms. In the worst case, Fiendfyre. No one aside from Albus would likely be able to handle it without Dark magic. They needed a better way to contact him…
The creature masked itself by blending in with the natural ambient magic. If that shadow Albus glimpsed in astral sight was not a hallucination, it may mean the creature existed on another level of reality. Then, standard methods would be as useful as chopping a shadow with an axe…
The creature understood what to do at a new location. It implied mind magic.
Every one of these qualities was explainable. Albus had seen them before, though never all in the same being. But how did it see the future? How far ahead? Not too far, otherwise it would have been invincible and not need to destroy the crystal ball.
Did Tom know of its abilities? A seer Voldemort would be the last straw!
Albus Dumbledore whipped out his Time-Turner.
One Albus hurried to Alastor to bring him up to speed and ask for advice.
Another Albus personally stood in the cordon around the metro station.
A third Albus went to convince Scrimgeour to fully activate the Ministry's defenses, which amounted to declaring a state of emergency for the first time since the war with Grindelwald. They barely finished the last charm when Albus received a message from the ambassador of France, asking whether it should be construed a declaration of war.
"Of course not. Our only purpose is stopping the Death Eaters from carrying out their plans," Albus replied. They should really be directing these questions at the Minister, not him…
A fourth Albus sat down with books on extinct magical creatures. Begin with America…
Tlahuilopochtli
It didn't understand where it made a mistake. Streams of magic from the large source formed a colossal, city-size cage impossible to escape unnoticeably. That strange wizard brought more fighters to surround it. Aside from his strange little staff, he now carried some… cloth that hurt to watch. Why wear it? And why did all other wizards ignore him?
There was one relief: they all inexplicably feared to use powerful spells and tried their best to stay unnoticed. Could the thoughts of the non-magicals it ate be true? But if the wizards didn't interfere with the mundane world, why did they come after it? It never ate any of their lot!
Now, the creature's thoughts were consumed by the offspring. Its kind reproduced dismally slowly. All it had achieved were two cocoons with smaller copies, at the cost of inability to reproduce for decades to come. The newborns were almost undetectable in their anabiotic slumber deep below the tunnels. Ignoring the instinct to protect both equally, it wrapped one with over three quarters of the film and hid it away from the main nest. There was a chance the enemy would find the less protected cocoon and stand down. The wizards should know how slow it multiplied, it nearly disintegrated creating the second one…
The white-beard offered to surrender. It didn't negotiate with food. Any information might lead the enemy to the children.
The creature didn't perceive the world like humans. It didn't truly differentiate between itself and others of its kind. It remembered its life in the ancestors' bodies and knew it would live on in its descendants. This was not faith or a philosophical paradigm but a self-evident truth. It saw only one option: fight to the inevitable death. One of the children would probably perish as well. But their deaths won't not be in vain - the second would inherit valuable information about the opponents' behavior and get revenge when it wakes up in a few decades.
The London metro stayed undisturbed. But between the tunnels, an invisible incorporeal body swayed like the head of a giant mushroom, biding its time.
It didn't attack the white-beard. Despite his sub-optimal tactics, he emerged victorious and unharmed in every future where they fought. It could have attacked a group of ordinary wizards, but why? It avoided battles that lasted too long to see their outcome. Why commit to an attack when it could stimulate the fight within the safety of its mind?
A three-wizard team waited in one of the smaller tunnels, their amulets hiding them from the entire electromagnetic spectrum. The creature soon found the correct sequence of actions to defeat them all without raising an alarm. A powerful mental attack engulfed all three. One immediately went insane from the flood of his worst fears. The other two were stronger. It thickened the ambient magic to block their communications and movements before revealing itself. Smoky tentacles shot out at the opponents' bodies. They passed through magical shields like rain through a sieve. But the creature didn't kill or eat them. It aimed for the brains, dissolving everything save for the most basic instincts, not to alert others with their deaths.
Shuffling through dozens of scenarios in its mind, it searched for the optimal tactics… Too little information. It had to kill and consume a wizard for a full access to their memories. Its mind's eye spread out a three-dimensional picture of the surrounding tunnels full of people. There were some weak wizards among them. It soon found the best target: in seven seconds, one would enter a bathroom stall and disapparate.
The creature sent part of its body ahead in long, thin threads, taking great care to stay hidden. In one swoop, the wizard got figuratively and literally swallowed by black smoke.
The first magical it ate in this life provided truly priceless memories. Its kind used to haunt human nightmares. But now not even legends remembered it! This new wizarding society was ideal: the Statute of Secrecy, ban on powerful magic… Almost all of the magic capable of harming it was illegal! Only a minuscule number practiced it, and they all operated outside the law! They would never defend non-magicas if it didn't threaten to expose the magical society! And it knew how to stay unnoticed. With such an unskilled population and only two powerful ones who would never work together, it didn't have to die here… A single wizard's memories might not be enough to feel secure in this conclusion, but this was neither time nor place for gluttony.
The wizards put all their efforts into stopping it from escaping. It decided to hide instead. Since wizards didn't rule over non-wizards, the food was not going anywhere. If only it knew this from the very beginning, it would have never been discovered… In this new reality, necromancy was outlawed. The wizards wouldn't summon the spirits of their disappeared brethren to learn what happened… But it was better not to get too arrogant, lest they pull something dangerous from the Ministry's lower levels.
The wizards couldn't maintain their blockade forever, not when it left them open to attacks from their own kind. They were at war with each other. Food destroying itself! Still, some were bound to survive, and there must be other places without a war… When the locals clash in their next battle, it will escape its prison once more. Escape and get far away from here. Far away from Albus Dumbledore with his disturbing wand and cloth. Far away from Voldemort, who somehow pulled it out of oblivion.
It was uncertain whether it had gathered enough strength to cross the ground beneath the wide expanse of water surrounding this island… But after eating several muggles, it knew that they had a tunnel underwater leading to a place called France. A tunnel was a very big tube, big enough for it to seep through the walls…
It knew where to go and how. It only had to wait for an opportunity.
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