Lord Voldemort SI

I sat at the table during a Death Eater meeting, innocently twirling my wand in my hands, ready to deflect any potential attack. I also maintained an active connection with my familiar, prepared to escape if needed, and listened to Voldemort's plan. Yes, that's right—I was impersonating Elena Ivanova, while Pandora, under the Imperius Curse, played the role of Voldemort, sitting at the head of the table and delivering final instructions based on my mental dictations.

Undoubtedly, Snape would have done a better job, but I don't trust strong Occlumens. His involvement was limited to knowing where the real Voldemort was, ensuring that his Lily wasn't in danger.

The risk of the Imperius Curse failing on Pandora was minimal—possible only with my death, and I saw no signs of resistance from her. Besides, I had given her special potions. It was quite a challenge to disguise her properly.

Still, having the Lovegoods under the Imperius was a fortunate investment. In the magical world, there's yellow journalism, like "Fifty Ways to Start a Sexual Relationship with Muggles." The *Quibbler* has an even worse reputation than that. I once flipped through it—Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Blibbering Humdingers, spells to enhance potency, not for the readers, but for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks! So, the news that Xenophilius Lovegood continued his publishing career, heading to Atlantis after unsuccessful Snorkack hunts with a three-dimensional map of the real Atlantis pieced together from readers' letters, didn't raise any eyebrows. Little did the readers know how his wife was spending her time: ordering Death Eaters to rob the Ministry of Magic…

The plan for entering the Department of Mysteries was simple. It was foolish to storm through the front entrance, and even dumber to attack or try to capture the Ministry. But where brute force wouldn't work, a traitor opening the door from within would. August Rookwood, a Death Eater working in the Department of Mysteries, would transport us through an unused entrance for experimental Chimeras. This way, we'd arrive directly in the Department of Mysteries. Quietly, we would take everything that wasn't nailed down. The primary targets were Brains and Time-Turners. Secondary targets included artifacts like "The Edge of the Polygon" and other items. After that, we'd leave. Unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to access the Restricted Section of the Department, as Rookwood didn't have clearance and only had a vague idea of what went on there. From what I understood, those in the Restricted Section only ever leave for the Ministry.

Of course, Rookwood wasn't the only one working in the Open Section of the Department of Mysteries. But we chose a time when it wasn't popular, and we weren't planning on crashing into the head of the Department. The Unspeakables were either busy with other work, under the Imperius, or Rookwood had conveniently found urgent work for them in other parts of the Ministry. We also had ideas about neutralizing potential Order of the Phoenix observers.

There were downsides to this plan. Afterward, the presence of a traitor in the Department of Mysteries would be obvious, even to a postal owl. That's why we intended to make it as blatant as possible, leading to Rookwood's exposure, and he would be declared a fugitive. It would appear as though he had been our only agent, and we traded a queen for a handful of pawns. I wasn't planning on abandoning August, but he'd have to leave his job and engage in research in my new Science Department. Hopefully, the Ministry wouldn't search too thoroughly for other traitors and would overlook a few recently recruited staff members. They should—since I erase their memories after every report, they don't even know they work for me. Some are under the Imperius, too. If caught, people would assume they had been under the curse. After a few months in St. Mungo's, they'd return to work.

But my biggest concern was having to go on the mission almost without protective charms. The Department of Mysteries was full of magic detectors (the magical residue of a spell could interfere with the research objects), and Rookwood couldn't create a big enough "blind spot" for us. If a fight broke out, it would resemble a western movie—the first one to hit would win. But I still drank potions for quick reflexes.

I sat to the right of "Voldemort," next to Edward, between Bellatrix and Rabastan (Bella refused to sit with Rodolphus). Now, it was time for the final words.

"Edward Lestrange will lead the operation," said Pandora, who today looked just like the Dark Lord.

It made more sense to have Dolohov lead a combat mission, but a fight wasn't planned. If things got heated, Edward could handle it, or ask one of the fighters for advice.

"I will remain here as backup. Snape will also warn me if Albus Dumbledore orders the Order of the Phoenix to act," said "Voldemort."

The official reason: You can handle it yourselves; it's not my business to act like a laborer. But if things went wrong—like Dumbledore showing up—I'd be there to save you. Snape would alert me as soon as the Order moved, being a member himself.

There was no point in sending Snape on the mission—whether a master potion-maker or a seventh-year student, it didn't require high qualifications. More questions from Dumbledore about Severus would be unhelpful.

As for Lily, she wouldn't be of much use either. In a fight, she'd be questioned by both sides, so it was better for her to stay out of it, especially since her loyalty was questionable. I gave her instructions, and she would stay at home, watched over by house-elves.

"Although Edward Lestrange will lead the operation, I appoint Elena Ivanova as the mission's observer with command priority," "Voldemort" added, much to my surprise.

I stood and bowed.

"Your will shall be done, My Lord," I replied.

It's challenging to bow without breaking eye contact.

To be honest, it was a delicate situation, even though I had discussed it with the Lestranges in advance.

Elena had earned a terrifying and peculiar reputation, even by Death Eater standards. What pure-blood wizard would ask for a pack of werewolves as a reward instead of money, land, or positions? That's even worse than house-elves! Furthermore, Elena stood outside the usual chain of command among the Death Eaters, calmly dismissing everyone except the Dark Lord without explanation. She was a rogue agent, working on something super-secret, dabbling in potions with Snape at the Lestranges' estate, cutting up prisoners and homunculi with Sebastian Rosier in her free time, all while managing to give Lucius Malfoy a nervous tic.

But now there was a problem. Edward would lead the operation, meaning everyone had to obey him. Yet the Dark Lord had just declared that command priority wasn't Edward's!

It was a tricky situation, especially considering some of the Death Eaters didn't get along well with me—Elena.

We rose, donned our masks, and set off on the mission. 

The beginning of the mission was incredibly dull. We stood in one of our secret bases (though "base" is an exaggeration—it was just an empty underground cave that functioned as a storage room) and waited for Rookwood's signal. We deactivated our protective amulets, stripped away almost all of our defenses, and reduced the remaining protections to the level of "if you try hard enough, you could break through with a single Reducto." After about thirty minutes, Rookwood gave the signal. Using a Portkey, we transported ourselves to the Ministry, into another empty storage room.

This place had once been used for keeping live, or better yet, dead specimens of experimental Chimeras. However, after Newt Scamander's work, the anti-advertising of Grindelwald, and the tightening of magical laws, the facility had been shut down and abandoned.

Naturally, you couldn't just Portkey directly into the Ministry. Certain areas, like the Minister's office and the Department of Mysteries, were sealed off from even phoenix travel. Rookwood couldn't create a pass for us to those places. But a third-rate storage room, unused for over fifty years and formally under the Department of Mysteries' jurisdiction? Rookwood had accidentally found it while rummaging through old papers looking for secrets. The room's protections against transportation had been deactivated long ago, simply forgotten. No one cared enough to maintain its security codes or deactivate the protections entirely. Why bother when they could just use other entrances for Chimeras?

Of course, there were active transport hubs, but they were heavily guarded.

Rookwood greeted us as we arrived. I applied the most reliable disguise and went ahead to scout, being the most gifted wizard in our group, while the others waited. In the rooms we were targeting, there were no Ministry personnel, aside from a few under Imperius. However, there were three Order of the Phoenix observers.

What should we do? Kill them? But what if an alarm was raised? Use Imperius? Unforgivables could be detected. Transfigure or stun them? If their vital signs were monitored, it would be noticed.

The Department of Mysteries was an interesting place—heavily shielded, and even a phoenix couldn't apparate in, unlike most other levels of the Ministry. For this reason, these individuals couldn't be in constant contact with Dumbledore.

Soon, a solution presented itself. The isolated individuals were subjected to the Fourth Unforgivable. Three lunatics lay there, staring blankly at nothing.

Time to report to the superiors. Thanks to the potions, I broke Olympic records in running and reported back within a minute:

"Three observers, likely from the Order of the Phoenix, have been detected and neutralized. No other intruders have been found. We can begin."

Shortly after, we were standing in the Department of Mysteries' main hall. Everything here was black, even the floor and ceiling. Black doors, all identical, with no handles or plaques, were spaced evenly around the circular room. Between them, blue flames flickered in candelabras. The cold, flickering light reflected off the smooth marble floor, making it look like dark water beneath our feet. A low, rumbling sound echoed, and the candles on the walls slid sideways. The circular room spun like the blades of a helicopter, then abruptly stopped, and everything was still again. Even with my enhanced potion-boosted perception, it was hard to tell which door we'd entered through.

If the recruitment booklet was to be believed, the Department of Mysteries dealt with research into magical phenomena, the study of death, time, space, thoughts, love, and the recording and preservation of all prophecies ever made. Rookwood had access to most of it, so it was time to begin the operation.

"The Brain Room," Rookwood announced loudly.

One of the doors swung open.

I felt the effects of the potions—I could see clearly, even as the dim light of the previous room gave way to the bright chandeliers in this one. My vision was perfect, and my eyes didn't need time to adjust.

We found ourselves in a room illuminated by low-hanging golden chandeliers. The room was almost empty. Previously, it had been filled with equipment for obtaining brains, but that had been destroyed as Dark Magic. About a hundred years later, most of the other equipment used to make the brains work was removed as well.

Now, the room was nearly barren, except for a few tables and an enormous glass tank occupying the center of the room. The tank was so large that you could drown everyone present, and the water level wouldn't drop by a millimeter.

Rookwood approached the tank and started tapping on the glass. He then climbed a set of stairs that led to the top of the tank. Pearl-white blobs—brains—began floating toward the surface, through the murky green liquid.

With a flick of his wand, Rookwood cast the Fourth Unforgivable on one of the brains. It twitched for a moment, then stilled. The other brains began to shuffle about, like fish in an aquarium during feeding time.

"I'm here, my darlings," Rookwood said to them cheerfully. "We're moving."

So, this is what you become, Hagrid, after finishing Hogwarts...

Soon, we drained some of the dark green liquid from the tank and began transferring the brains one by one into jars, then loading them into containers with expanded space. One brain was placed not in the original solution but in a synthesized one—Rookwood had the formula. The brain seemed comfortable enough. Now, the key was to get them back to base. Avery, under disguise, along with the brains, headed to the storage area and waited for the signal to leave. Unfortunately, we had to leave all together. Rookwood, using the Imperiused staff, disabled the alarm. To the monitoring system, it would appear that repairs and rearrangements were underway, but if anything disappeared from the Department of Mysteries, the alarm would sound.

We found ourselves back in the hall.

"The Time Room!" Rookwood ordered.

The doors spun, and we entered yet another newly opened room.

Inside, we were greeted by Imperiused Broderick Bode, an employee of the Department of Mysteries. He stood in the corner, with a self-conjured opaque sphere covering his head—an illustration of "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil."

Light and reflections filled the room. Clocks of every shape and size surrounded us. Some stood still, others ticked slowly, and a few spun so fast they stayed in place only because they were bolted to the floor. Shelves of Time-Turners stood to one side, some small, like the ones I'd seen before, others huge, with hourglasses as tall as a person. These were valuable—must be taken. The Death Eaters began loading everything into shielded containers.

But that wasn't what caught my attention the most.

A shimmering glow came from a glass, dome-shaped container at the far end of the room. According to Rookwood, inside it, time flowed backward. If there were no side effects, it would have been a great alternative to the Elixir of Life...

Edward was giving orders while the Death Eaters loaded everything, using both magic and their hands. Each clock was connected to mana collectors before being stored. I just stood and watched. Edward had apparently decided that the most important thing was for me to stay out of the way.

Rookwood, meanwhile, was working on something involving a large, man-sized transparent vessel that appeared to be full of sparkling, swirling light. I cast a spell to enhance my vision. The level of detail increased dramatically, though at the cost of my field of view—it was like looking through a microscope. I realized the "light" was actually grains of sand, moving at incredible speed. Oddly, they should have had the effect of buckshot on anything solid, but they passed right through the seemingly dense object. I switched my vision back to normal.

In the stream of sand, something was glowing—an egg. Soon, a bird emerged from the egg. If not for my magical vision, I might have mistaken it for a hummingbird. Before long, the bird reverted back into an egg, and the cycle began again.

"A unique idea—creating a phoenix using the Sands of Time. They haven't succeeded yet," Rookwood told me as two Death Eaters loaded the vessel with the bird into a transport container. "But I must say, when I first started working here, that bird looked very different through magical sight."

Soon, the room was empty. Yaxley carried its contents to Avery.

Phase one complete—Time and Mind.

We wouldn't be able to access the locked room—I had no idea how to get in without triggering an alarm. Besides, I doubted we could steal "love." Though the idea was amusing: "Albus, now I've got pockets full of love!"

I was also interested in the Planet Room. Not for interplanetary portals—not yet, I wasn't that scared of Dumbledore.

But we did enter the Planet Room. If not for the pre-applied spells, we would have floated in zero gravity. The plan was simple—we would take the model of planet Earth. Not to sabotage the Unspeakables' work or inflate my ego by shouting under Veritaserum, "I'm the master of Earth!" It turned out that the Earth model was something like a three-dimensional blueprint for locating valuable resources. That meant we could buy a plot of land from Muggles for next to nothing, then find treasure there.

Then we moved on to the Artifact Room.

I thought our research labs were chaotic, but this...

I had heard about it from agents in the Department of Myst

eries or from Rookwood's memories, but reality exceeded my expectations.

I surveyed the Artifact Room from a balcony about a hundred feet above the floor. It looked like a low-budget horror movie set featuring a mad scientist with limitless resources. The enormous space, larger than a football stadium, was filled with lab cabinets where burners of all sizes and colors hissed and sparked. Above the burners were retorts that looked like the work of a hiccupping glassblower, with a number of spouts ranging from none to infinite. Colorful liquids bubbled, spat, and evaporated in the retorts. Everywhere, objects that could be classified as either antiques or trash were piled up. Among them were what appeared to be high-tech devices, resembling alien technology. Thin glass tubes and catwalks connected various parts of this chaos in a three-dimensional web, like Blibbering Humdingers in Astral vision.

It was indescribable—you had to see it to understand. The closest we ever got to replicating this was when we tried to make several Acromantulas more controllable by feeding them Muggle and magical drugs, only for them to start weaving webs like maniacs.

Adding to the chaos were about 150 golem workers, overseen by four individuals—our agent and three Imperiused Unspeakables. They seemed to be running around aimlessly, monitoring the liquid levels in the retorts and the readings of countless instruments, most of which I didn't recognize, aside from thermometers, manometers, and mana-meters. The Brownian motion of wizards and golems in the already cramped aisles was made worse by the strategically placed buckets of various ingredients and piles of half-melted or suspiciously smelly bits of stone and metal.

Edward was issuing orders, while I observed the madness below with a stoic expression. Even compared to the chaotic memories of Molly Weasley, a mother of seven struggling with a tight budget and an annoying aunt visiting for the night, the Burrow full of garden gnomes, and a ghoul on the roof, this section of the Department of Mysteries seemed like utter insanity.

I downed a fresh vial of Polyjuice and descended to take a closer look.

I watched as the Death Eaters worked, pulling out anything they could reach and take. Among the loot, the most valuable item for me was an Obscurus Seeker.

I wanted to take everything, but that wasn't possible. Some things couldn't be disarmed, some didn't fit into the expanded containers, and others were too big, too small, or too explosive. Sometimes they were all those things at once.

Like a tourist staring at the Parthenon, I hugged a massive steel column.

"No. This definitely won't fit," Edward said to me. "And we can't cut it."

Shame. It was something that looked like a mess of dozens of power lines welded together at bizarre angles, each about sixty feet tall. As far as I knew, it was the artifact "The Bloodline Slayer." You could pour magical energy into it (preferably with the help of hundreds of wizards), and after a while, it would strike an area with lightning. As I understood it, such things were banned because they damaged the planet's ozone layer. Hypothetically, it could kill Dumbledore—if he stood in the line of fire. Oh well, it'll stay here for now. But if I decide to storm Hogwarts, I'll know what I need and where to find it.

Now, I looked at a regular flying magic carpet.

"A sports carpet, supposedly from the 'Dust Storm' company," explained one of the Imperiused wizards. "Though it's actually just an English knockoff of a famous Persian brand. Allegedly cursed."

"What, did it stop flying? Or does it explode?" I asked.

"Not exactly," the Imperiused wizard replied evasively. "We're not sure of the exact issue yet, but the carpet's flying abilities tend to suddenly switch to fatal ones. It happens when the speed reaches 108 miles per hour, as long as the altitude is above 40 meters. In short, at high speed and great height, the carpet's passenger unexpectedly finds themselves in free fall, tightly bound in strong fabric that doesn't cushion the impact at all." The Imperiused wizard hesitated. "Frankly, if it weren't for the wind tunnel testing, we'd be running out of golems for experimentation. In my opinion, a flying object that suddenly turns into a brick can't be considered 'flying.'"

"We're still working on this interesting incident," added another Imperiused wizard. "What's particularly intriguing is that the effect occurs when the speed is measured in miles per hour, but the altitude is measured in meters. Although the built-in altitude spell is calibrated in feet, and all the internal systems indeed operate in feet, we haven't found anything resembling a computing mechanism. How does it manage this? We'd really like to know."

Lately, some of the enchanted Muggle devices we had been working on had found their way to Ministry officials. They even set up a study to investigate them. This had a dual purpose—recruiting interested Unspeakables and later observing the results of the Department of Mysteries' research. For example, these rifles, mines, and rocket launchers, which had been used by Imperiused agents to try and kill Alastor Moody. We were now copying the Ministry's research reports on our specimens and taking back everything transportable. Since we couldn't study everything at once, we let some of it slip through, only to retrieve the results later from the Ministry.

The third Imperiused wizard started to say something about their trophies: "Knowing about a technology's existence without the ability to use it is no different from ignorance," but I was no longer listening.

Imperius was indeed a very useful spell. Wizards remained focused on their work, believing we were a commission with the right to inspect everything.

Three hours later, the loading was complete. It was time to leave.

But I had at least one more idea. So, I and the Death Eaters, except those guarding the cargo, received direct orders and headed to the Death Chamber.

The new room, rectangular and dimly lit, was about the size of the Time Room but almost empty. Its floor descended in steep steps, forming a large stone pit about twenty feet deep. We stood at the top of these steps, or benches, arranged in an amphitheater-like layout around the room. Looking at them, I was reminded of the full Wizengamot court chamber. But here, instead of a chair with chains at the bottom of the pit, there was a stone platform, and on it stood an ancient, cracked archway. It looked so old and fragile that it was unclear how it hadn't crumbled into dust. The archway, standing without any additional support, had a torn black curtain hanging in its opening. Despite the stillness of the cold air, the curtain fluttered faintly, as though someone had just touched it. Through magical sight, however, the curtain didn't resemble fabric at all...

And I heard music and whispers.

"Does anyone else hear music or whispers?" I asked.

I felt the scrutinizing gazes of my colleagues. A hesitant "no" followed.

The Veil of Death—such an interesting thing. Unfortunately, this wasn't my lab or the Lestranges' house—bringing Pandora here was dangerous, and it would be foolish to bring Abidemi—he wasn't a fighter and might recognize me in this form.

"Edward, I'm going to check something. Cover me," I ordered.

Instantly, I activated Astral Vision. The world changed. The Death Eaters remained the same, but the archway...

The voices became clearer, as if they could be understood, especially if I got closer. The veil fluttered as if touched by an invisible wind, inviting me in with a gentle embrace. The archway, despite its fragile appearance, suddenly seemed alluring.

I felt an overwhelming desire to step through the arch, convinced it was the right and only decision.

I started descending, ignoring the echo of my footsteps. All I had to do was get closer, and I'd hear everything. Maybe just stick my head under the veil... or better yet, go through entirely...

Then there was darkness. And pain. Unbearable pain.

I woke up lying in a small pool of blood, staring at the ceiling through normal vision.

"Are you alright?" Edward asked me. "I've already healed the wound."

"What happened?" I asked, confused.

"With a crazed smile, you started walking toward the Veil of Death. We called out to you, but you didn't respond. When you got too close, you ran into a transfigured barrier that Rabastan had placed on either side of the arch. We decided to save you by casting spells at you."

My whole body ached.

"What spells?" I asked.

"All sorts. Repelling, Stunning, Shield Breakers, we even tried to pull you back with Carpe Retractum and Lasso spells. If Rabastan hadn't conjured a transfigured steel plate to block both sides of the Veil, you'd already be through. Instead, you got knocked back and hit your head on the floor," Edward explained.

"There's no alarm," Rookwood reported. "As soon as you asked for cover, I temporarily deactivated the security, looping the readings for the duty officer."

"Did anyone take a blood sample from me? Was I scanned?" I asked, awkwardly getting up, cleaning the blood, and restoring my basic protective charms.

"No," they replied.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"A few seconds, no more," Edward replied.

Judging by the Legilimency, he was telling the truth.

"Then why does my whole body hurt?" I asked

.

"Your shields held against the Stunning Spells. Imperius didn't work. To stop you from walking into the Veil, we had to hit you with several Cruciatus curses," Edward said. "Imperius and Confundus didn't work."

Death Eaters: Cruciatus for the win. For your own good. And it actually worked! Gotta remember that.

"May I ask, what was that all about?" Edward asked.

I had no idea, but death had been very close.

"The Veil of Death is exactly what the Lord needs for his experiments. I just checked. We're taking it."

The question of whether or not to take the Veil of Death remained open. But if it worked so well with Astral Vision, it would be simple to set up a fight with Albus near the Veil and lure him into using Astral Vision. It was clear—we had to take it. The only problem was that it was a difficult object to transport, but the Death Eaters could handle that.

I had to make sure to find out who cast the Cruciatus and how close I came to walking through the Veil. Out of a dozen elite wizards, only one remembered to use transfiguration!

There was nothing more for me to do here—the Death Eaters would handle removing the Veil from the stone pedestal without my help. Besides, I now feared getting too close to it.

"Edward, I need to check something elsewhere," I said. "If anything comes up, contact me through the standard protocol."

Edward looked at me as though I were insane.

"You'd better stay with us. The Lord ordered you to observe the operation. How will you observe if you're absent from the scene?" Edward said.

Pushing my Legilimency, I probed his thoughts—he was wondering if I had hit my head too hard. Or maybe I was just crazy by nature. He was also very concerned about what would happen if I died and how the Lord would react. And who would take over the werewolves...

"I must insist," I said firmly.

"That's a foolish decision. You shouldn't do that. You're supposed to observe the operation, not wander off. Besides, the Veil might have affected you, and you might draw unwanted attention and put the mission at risk," Edward warned.

He was thinking about whether he should stop me. But the Lord had ordered everyone to follow my commands. Should he cause a scene, risking a fight during a covert mission? Or maybe he should just say that Elena was a little unwell and order someone to Stun me?

"This concerns the Lord," I played my trump card.

"I'll send Rabastan with you," Edward immediately suggested.

"No, this is a top-secret matter."

Edward regretted bringing me back to consciousness.

"Go wherever you want. If you blow the mission, you'll answer to the Lord yourself," they told me.

I left the Death Chamber. Maybe I had hit my head too hard, but a plan had formed in my mind that I needed to carry out. When else would I get another chance to be in the Department of Mysteries?

Soon, I found myself in the Hall of Prophecies. Following Rookwood's memories, I found the one I was looking for. Shelf ninety-seven.

*S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and (?)*

Yes, that cursed prophecy. I stood before it, waving my wand, checking for authenticity and magical traps.

It seemed like an ordinary prophecy, without any spells or hidden plutonium inside.

Now, the question—did I need it?

On one hand, no.

On the other hand, what if it contained something important? What if it said that the Dark Lord had a rare magical defect, and on March 17th of every year, his defenses were vulnerable to a Reducto spell cast by a wizard born on July 19th? All I had to do was take the prophecy, listen to it, and put it back on the shelf. No one would know I had been here, let alone touched the prophecy.

What if I wasn't the Dark Lord, and touching the prophecy would drive me insane? I used the comparison spell that Rookwood had shown me. No, it was safe for me to touch.

But should I take it? I hadn't been this nervous in a long time. My mind raced through the pros and cons… I felt like a teenage girl deciding whether to sleep with her boyfriend for the first time—on one hand, I was curious to try, on the other hand, I feared the potential problems…

I didn't want to take the prophecy, I truly didn't. But I felt like a thief—I didn't take it with my right hand, but my left hand did.

Inside the crystal ball, the smoky figure of Trelawney emerged. Focusing, I listened to the prophecy:

*"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"*

As soon as she finished speaking, I was filled with disappointment. Even if taken seriously... What nonsense! Bane gave clearer, better prophecies! This one was terrible, and nothing was clear.

*"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord..."* So, it's not guaranteed he'll be my enemy? Maybe he'll have the power to defeat the Dark Lord, but he'll become my most loyal servant! Besides, power alone is useless without the skill to wield it—strength is nothing without a point of application. And he needs a motive to fight.

*"Born to those who have thrice defied him..."* What counts as defiance? No one's challenged me to a duel three times! But you could challenge me mentally, or drunkenly while talking to a mirror, and declare your defiance of the Dark Lord three times, or even a thousand!

The seventh month. Okay, let's assume that means July, though the reference point is unclear, so it could be any year. But the year isn't specified either! Maybe my enemy will be born in a hundred years? A thousand? Moreover, this could easily be my own child with Bellatrix—I defy myself, she defies Elena, who is really me, and the child has good genetics, so he's strong, and any month of birth will do since there's no reference point!

And the rest was no less frustrating. *"The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal."* What rubbish! How can a child and the Dark Lord be equals? Does this mean I have to adopt someone and give them my surname? *"He will have power the Dark Lord knows not."* What kind of power? Two Elder Wands? Deathly Hallows—there are three of them! He'll gather them all, rub them together, and a genie will pop out and rid the world of me? Or maybe his power is sexual? He'll seduce my Bellatrix, and she'll kill me in my sleep? Or it could be beauty! A girl I'll fall in love with, who'll poison me, perhaps by applying poison to her lips? Anything could qualify as "a power the Dark Lord knows not." Like an exotic familiar. Not to mention that my enemy might not even be a wizard—he could be a Muggle. This person could discover a new physical force like anti-gravity and tear me apart with it.

And how could a child defeat me? I can admit that a child might be stronger than I was at two or ten years old, but not stronger than me at fifty! Furthermore, how could one die from a baby? I can see three possibilities: breaking a vow, being protected by someone's charm (like Dumbledore), or using an experimental spell that backfires. That's it.

The most plausible scenario involves the second option—when I was in the Potters' house, Lily could have died to save Harry. When I visited the Longbottoms, a house-elf wanted to die for Neville. That doesn't really count as protection, but considering Samhain and the fact that I had five Horcruxes… According to Horace Slughorn, Gorp the Wicked created the first Horcrux on the night of Samhain, so perhaps it's not a coincidence. After all, magic isn't physics; what matters isn't just what you do, but how, when, and by whom. Merlin knows what might have happened to me, or rather to Tom. Waving a machine gun under power lines during a storm near a transformer might end badly… Though the idea of soul transference seems a bit extreme.

Tom thought the prophecy referred to either Harry or Neville. Let's consider that hypothesis, given the current circumstances.

Neville has a better chance of killing me: I'm sleeping with his adoptive mother. I could very well be having unprotected sex with Bellatrix while he sleeps in the next room. Hypothetically, Neville could get scared of a thunderstorm, run to his mother, think she's in pain, and blast me with raw magic. But that's not lethal; otherwise, wizards would have gone extinct by now! And I can regrow my eyebrows, even if I don't manage to shield myself with wandless magic.

According to the story about the Deathly Hallows, Harry's ancestors owned the Invisibility Cloak, while mine owned the Resurrection Stone. While I'm teaching Lily Occlumency, Harry will put on the Invisibility Cloak, sneak up behind me, and stab me.

As for

 this unknown power—we both descend from the Peverells… The Peverells must have ruined their source of power, just like the Gaunts and the Slytherins; I need to check how much necro-energy the boy has, lest Harry's corporeal Patronus tear me apart with a single blow. I'll need to investigate the Potters' place of power and see where the Peverells lived.

What epic plans are flooding my mind? Back to reality—let's analyze the prophecy text further.

The text ends: *"And one of them must die at the hands of the other."* If it must happen, it doesn't mean that it will. I should be sitting in Azkaban right now, never finishing school, but that's not the case! About *"dying at the hands of..."* what if I want to kill him with a spell? With a crossbow? Or order someone else to kill him? I'd be perfectly fine with that person dying of old age! Or eternal imprisonment. Or just never existing (Time-Turner, though risky). Plus, I have a phoenix! Nowhere does it say death must be final. He kills me, I kill him, then we resurrect and go watch Quidditch together.

At the thought of "Quidditch," Tom's opinion of the game hit me hard...

Honestly, watching Quidditch is stupid. Worse than playing it: the risk of falling from a broomstick held in the air above a cathedral onto frozen ground, without protective charms, getting hit by a Bludger aiming to break your ribs, the opportunity to meet the kind, lovely opposing chasers eager to break your bones. Not to mention the piercing wind that makes your teeth rattle, rain that soaks your cloak through, and snow that clogs your eyes so you can only recognize the stadium wall by crashing into it. And then there are the referees, whose photos should be included in encyclopedias as illustrations for the article "Bought and Paid For."

But I mustn't stray from the topic.

*"For neither can live while the other survives."* Will nightmares haunt me? Or will I be struck with migraines? Living peacefully—does that mean in Azkaban? Or in the Mental Health Ward at St. Mungo's?

And there's so much more to poke holes in regarding the prophecy. It doesn't say the prophecy pertains to a human. Could it be a goblin? Or a dragon? The planet isn't specified either... This line of reasoning could go on indefinitely, especially if I include multiple galaxies and the possibility of more than one universe...

I really shouldn't have touched this prophecy—it's far too vague. Fine, let's put it back. I didn't take it with magic; I'm disguised as a Death Eater—working in gloves, so it's unlikely anyone will realize I took the prophecy. I carefully returned it to its place, even though I really wanted to smash it. Preferably over Trelawney's head. Maybe I could order Snape to kill her? No, it's better to completely ignore this prophecy. Just in case, I need to scan Harry and Neville again. There's no power in them, just children, even if they are wizards! But if I ever want to kill them, I'll only do it through others' hands, so that I'm never implicated.

Having replaced the prophecy, I made my way to the Death Chamber. Just as I was nearing it, I received a signal from Edward. Fortunately, it wasn't an emergency call.

"We've run into difficulties," Edward said as I entered the Death Chamber. "Rookwood says it'll be very hard to transport it magically. We need wizards on both sides of the transport channel."

"You all take everything we've gathered and leave. Afterward, we'll start transporting the Veil of Death. I'll ensure

the stability of the channel from this side."

"You might face difficulties getting away," Edward informed me.

I might. But I had a phoenix in case of emergencies. All I had to do was exit the Department of Mysteries, and then leave with the phoenix.

"I'll manage."

Soon, I was witnessing a unique sight—a dozen pure-blood wizards rolling the Veil of Death along the corridor, dragging a piece of stone pedestal. It looked like a scene from "ancient people build a menhir." Rookwood had said it was dangerous to enchant the golems in the corridors—the alarm could go off. And magic didn't work well on the Veil of Death—it couldn't be levitated. Well, enhancing their muscles should help...

"Faster," Rookwood urged. "We've got a maximum of half an hour."

Eventually, we reached our destination. The Death Eaters activated the portals and instantly vanished with the entire load. At that moment, sirens blared throughout the Department of Mysteries. Only I and the Veil of Death remained in the hangar.

Now it was my turn to act before they fully deployed the protections in this room.

I concentrated and began crafting something like apparation—not by stepping into the spatial tear myself, but by creating a gigantic tunnel, one side for the helping Death Eaters, and the other for me and the Veil of Death.

I felt a chill as I remained focused, using magical energy to stabilize the spatial tunnel. It was challenging; it felt like I was pushing not the Veil of Death, but Nessie. Fortunately, I knew it was possible—this Veil had been transported in a similar manner several times.

The reserve of my magical energy rapidly dwindled, though most of the burden was on the wizards on the other side. A strong feeling emerged that we were close to getting the Veil of Death through.

Finally, I succeeded—the spatial tunnel formed.

A couple of air-transfigured stone golems pushed the Veil of Death into the tunnel and promptly disintegrated—no point in wasting energy transporting those objects.

I attempted to step into the spatial transition tunnel myself but couldn't. It felt as though some force wouldn't allow me to enter.

Then, the Department of Mysteries' protections activated to the max, cutting off the hangar from all types of travel. The spatial transition tunnel collapsed, and the connection was severed.

Attempts to activate my Portkey or apparate yielded nothing. I called for house-elves and the phoenix—they didn't appear. Although Nagaina remained connected via my familiar and suggested flying with her wings. No, it was better to wait until I was out of the area where phoenix travel was blocked. I realized that if I wanted to leave with the phoenix, I first had to escape the Department of Mysteries.

But what troubled me most was that I would have been able to leave immediately after securing the Veil of Death! My escape was thwarted not by the Ministry's protections but by someone from my own side. Who could it have been?

Legilimency is useful if someone is planning something clever, but if someone made a spontaneous decision, I could have missed it.

Fine, I'll deal with the potential traitor later. I set records for the speed of wand movements and setting up protections and disguises. I activated my amulets. In addition to spells, I took a Polyjuice potion with a hair from Rookwood—he worked here, so maybe I could slip away quietly. Almost fully prepared for battle, I cast an invisibility spell, and about thirty seconds later, I stepped out of the hangar.

The deserted corridors of the Department of Mysteries were filled with various simple security golems.

While I managed to remain hidden in the corridors, the exits were thoroughly checked, and Aurors stood guard. Shedding my invisibility and other disguises, I approached one of the staff exits from the Department of Mysteries. Two Aurors stood at the entrance, aiming their wands at me.

"August Rookwood. Employee of the Department of Mysteries. Arrived to evacuate upon hearing the alarm," I stated.

"And since when do employees of the Department of Mysteries come to work with so many protective charms?" the Aurors asked, speaking into their radio-like devices.

"I put them on as soon as the alarm was raised," I lied.

"Hand over your wand," they ordered. "Remove your protections. We'll perform a werewolf check."

Not good. I needed to master metamorphosis quickly to avoid being caught with Polyjuice. I should carry another wand with non-restricted spells.

I had a dozen of these wands. But none of them had any of the last twenty spells on the list that could land me in prison—my minor spells didn't require a wand.

Smiling, I handed them a replica of Dumbledore's Elder Wand, slowly removing my protections.

"Prior Incantato!" said the Auror, pointing the tip of his wand at mine.

But this wand wasn't just a replica, it wasn't just a piece of elder. It contained a potion—Thestral bile and some substance from a Dementor. As soon as the Auror channeled magic into that wand, an explosion occurred. His defenses could have handled it, but the explosion happened inside the protection—it was like an anti-personnel grenade going off inside a tank. The protective shield splattered with internal gore.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Auror's protection disappear, and a pile of meat fell straight down—he probably died before his body parts reached the protective barrier.

The second Auror met his end by my wandless, non-verbal Avada Kedavra. He stood too close and didn't have time to react.

Why do all my attempts at negotiation end in combat? Robert, the centaurs, Albus, now these...

Using telekinesis, I opened the door. It swung open, but behind it was a wall.

Apparently, they had already closed off all entrances and exits except the main one.

I headed towards the main exit. More accurately, I flew at maximum speed, conjuring two fronts of Hellfire—one in front and one behind me, incinerating the smaller golems.

Within seconds, I burst into the hall of the Department of Mysteries. Another spell sent me soaring up the elevator shaft—freedom awaited. I wanted to exit on any level, but the shaft was sealed with powerful spells—there was only one entrance to the Department of Mysteries and one exit into the Ministry's Atrium.

Soon, I found myself in the Atrium of the Ministry. And I realized this was a disaster.

I immediately walked into a series of small rune traps. They were supposed to paralyze and disarm me, but my defenses held for now. The spells affecting my senses were mitigated by my protective charms.

The hits to the area were powerful—any ordinary wizard would have been knocked out instantly, but I held my ground. However, the main problem wasn't the automatic defenses or traps.

The Atrium's protection, while not as strong as the isolating barriers of the Department of Mysteries, was formidable. It felt like looking at the ceiling of a large hall at Hogwarts through magical sight—everything shimmered. But a phoenix could get me out of here. Just not instantly; it would take time and energy to find a way through...

What I disliked most was the crowd awaiting me. They had probably decided not to look for a needle in a haystack—not to search for me in the Department of Mysteries, filled with valuable and explosive objects. They were simply waiting for me in the Atrium.

Thanks to the reaction potions and acceleration spells, time felt incredibly slow, allowing me to reflexively conjure shields and feel dread.

It would be easier to name who wasn't here.

My own people weren't here, nor was the Minister of Magic or Skeeter.

The Atrium was packed with Aurors, Dark Wizards, members of the Order of the Phoenix; it seemed like everyone had gathered, as if for a parade. They stood in a loose formation, shielded by golems and the Ministry's stationary magical barriers. Among them stood some animated statues—both humanoid and resembling owls. Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody were also present.

My Hellfire spell instantly extinguished. Attempts to hurl Twilight Flames and another Hellfire spell at them ended in failure—the spells simply dissipated midway. I was quickly overwhelmed by their numbers and strength. Avada Kedavras flew towards me, but the golems took the hits.

Alastor Moody, Albus Dumbledore, and around two hundred wizards were already casting spells at me. Moreover, energy tendrils, like those from a giant octopus, reached out from Dumbledore, invisible outside of magical sight. I instantly felt like a ship in the grip of a sea monster.

These tendrils pressed against the outer edge of my defenses, about two meters from my body. I felt pressure and a drain on my strength, but then the tendrils simply breached my outer barrier, even as they flared up. The tendrils ignited, but they moved forward slowly, as if they didn't notice. They began to melt, like candle wax. Inside the tendrils, there were no bones—someone seemed to have crafted a frame from fragments of geometric shapes, then coated it with some semblance of flesh.

At the same time, I felt a mental assault. I discovered that against my will, my left hand was rising, reaching for the strange appendages that vaguely resembled fingers, replacing bones with tendrils. I felt a pulling force. I had no idea what would happen if I grabbed that strange limb.

So, I summoned the most powerful Dark Spells I knew and directed them toward those tendrils, hoping they would

 hit instead of me.

The flash from the collision of energies knocked me out of magical sight. I hoped I had destroyed the tendrils.

But I had problems beyond Dumbledore.

The other wizards weren't sitting idle. A torrent of spells and waves of raw power headed my way. While their arsenal didn't compare to mine and lacked variety, their sheer numbers overwhelmed me. If there had been about twenty of them, I might have been able to manage something, but now, victory seemed impossible. They unleashed more power than I had and showed no signs of stopping—just an endless rain of magic. I would have died if the spells weren't non-lethal and not Dark; that was the only thing giving me the illusion of survival for at least a second until Nagaina arrived.

I tried to conjure transfigured objects in front of me to absorb at least some of the spells, but the transfiguration unraveled before it could even form.

I felt my defenses weakening, losing control over my flight as I slammed into the floor. Creating the most powerful protective charms I knew, I called for Nagaina. I had saved her for the final round, but I feared it was already here.

"My little bird, hurry up. These fractions of seconds are crucial for me right now," I told Nagaina.

While Albus continued casting standard spells, he unleashed another trick spell at me. It resembled a regular *Petrificus Totalus*, but its structure consisted of hundreds of fused paralyzing, stunning, and disarming spells, interlinked like a giant puzzle. It had more magic than my Hellfire.

And it was headed straight for my head.

I reinforced my defenses, shielding myself with my left hand, which held an activated protective artifact pulled from my pocket, and using all the blood in my left hand, I conjured another Blood Shield.

The spell struck the Blood Shield. It shattered. But every fragment continued to live its own life and attack! It made me tense to my absolute limits. It felt as if a wolf had leapt at me; I shot it, but then every cell of the wolf turned and attacked me! Moreover, while blocking that mosaic spell, I had to take on another spell from Albus, which turned out to be even less pleasant.

It halted and seemed to stick to my magical protections, remaining active. Just that was enough to make anyone fall to their knees before Dumbledore, begging him to take them as a student. Then the spell began to seep through my defenses, ignoring everything, even the active Blood Shield. Attempts to slow it down accomplished nothing. It was like defending against ants with a beekeeper suit—the ants were smaller and simply passed through the mesh. Cursed Albus, what's next? Enchanted neutrinos? As a last resort, I did the only thing that might make sense—I withdrew energy from all magical channels in my left hand, despite the associations it stirred of winding nerves around a stick.