Chapter 66: From Nurmengard to Auschwitz

Dumbledore's absence was unsettling, as was the mystery surrounding Grimm's fate. However, I resolved to utilize this interlude to pursue Grindelwald. Based on the intelligence I had gathered, Grindelwald was under the watch of thirty wizards, who rotated every two days. A daunting number, yet with my modified body and the aid of a phoenix, it was achievable. My objective was not to eliminate everyone; I merely needed to reach the prisoner and exit—preferably without drawing attention. I was confident; if I expressed a desire to kill Grindelwald, they would roll out the red carpet for me, leaving me unhindered after Dumbledore's inevitable demise. Yet, following Albus's death, Grindelwald would serve no purpose for me. Officially, he was deemed unworthy of extraction, but I knew Dumbledore had visited him on several occasions. This led me to several possibilities: Albus could be in love with Grindelwald, a notion I found unlikely, or perhaps he sought to instill guilt and forgiveness in him—also improbable. The most logical conclusion was that Dumbledore aimed to extract something from Grindelwald's memories. If the headmaster could do it, so could I, even if it meant incurring significant losses or sacrifices. I had numerous questions for Grindelwald, ranging from his dueling experiences and the nature of sacrifices to the connection he shared with Albus, not to mention the Deathly Hallows. Perhaps Gellert possessed the knowledge to activate the Resurrection Stone—hello, my army of Inferi? Ollivander insisted that the Elder Wand could not possess its own source of magic. I hoped he was correct. At the very least, Gellert should know how the Elder Wand functioned! I was eager to inquire about how he, wielding the Elder Wand, managed to be bested by Dumbledore; perhaps that knowledge would prove useful to me as well. Of course, there was an inherent risk involved, but I had devised a retreat plan for this scenario. My earlier attempts to achieve my goal through peaceful means had yielded no results. Leaving Bellatrix to erase any traces of the summoning ritual for Grim, I began consuming strengthening potions. I also prepared special mixtures for Nagini before vanishing in a flash of flame alongside her.

Now, under the guise of concealment charms, Nagini and I soared over the Northern Sea—covering a hundred miles was trivial at my flight speed. Soon, I spotted the island where Nurmengard loomed. It resembled a colossal column, much like a Muggle skyscraper. There were architectural similarities to Azkaban; however, while Azkaban had a triangular cross-section, Nurmengard was quadrangular, topped with a pyramid-like superstructure. Unlike Azkaban, I felt no presence of Dementors here. Nurmengard was encircled by potent multi-faceted charms, ranging from common Muggle-repelling spells to protective and signaling enchantments.

I began to meticulously plan my entry. The complexity of the situation was compounded by the need to maintain my disguise. I felt akin to a prisoner using a spoon to burrow an escape tunnel. My thoughts were far from reassuring—Albus would return, and he wouldn't need to look far to find me. Seven hours later, I had navigated through all the protective spells without triggering a single alarm. However, I found myself not within Nurmengard, but on the island that housed it. The prison's wards were impervious to scanning; I could not discern the prisoner's location or whether any guards were present at all.

As I hovered in front of one of the barred windows, I peered inside, but the window merely mirrored the surrounding landscape, lacking any semblance of glass. I began casting spells once more. This time, it felt as if an immense, thick chain was anchored before me, and instead of breaking it, I was attempting to dissolve it silently. Of course, it would have been easier and faster to simply shatter the wards, but that would summon the guards. I persevered, feeling that aside from the time spent seducing Fawkes in the form of phoenix-Nagini, this was the most foolish endeavor I had ever undertaken.

Eleven hours passed before I successfully manipulated the wards, managing to alter my body into a gelatinous form and slip through the bars without making contact. Just as I was making progress, a magical alarm blared within Nurmengard, catching me off guard. I couldn't identify the cause—the disguise was intact, I hadn't touched the bars or wards, and Nagini remained outside, cloaked. The walls of Nurmengard ignited in a magical aura, revealing a network of energy that resembled bulging veins. At their intersections, buds began to swell, and a moment later, spells erupted toward me from all directions.

No signs of High Magic were present, but the sheer volume of spells was overwhelming, and they rained down on me from every angle. I dodged some, fortunate that they were projected in a linear path, while I blocked the remainder. Just as I relished the ineffectiveness of their initial assault, it began again—repeatedly, every half a second! Soon, golems materialized, some the size of a palm while others towered like cats or humans, and some even resembled walruses. They moved rapidly, running, crawling, or flying, although I couldn't take to the air myself. They launched spells from embedded amulets and attempted to overpower me with sheer mass.

Summoning Hellfire to my aid, I unleashed it on my foes, clearing the area and shattering my disguise. Nagini, obedient to my command, slipped through the bars I had breached and perched on my shoulder. I marveled at the challenge: to render such a vast prison inaccessible to a phoenix. Perhaps I should have retreated to the window, where there would be ample space to maneuver, allowing the phoenix freedom to operate. However, I knew the protocols surrounding Grindelwald's containment; if there was even a hint of the prisoner escaping or being liberated from the outside, the guards were ordered to execute him. Thus, I had to act swiftly.

Once, many mages populated Nurmengard, and some even emerged alive after Gellert's downfall. I had previously identified several prisoners and guards, using Legilimency to glean insights into the prison's layout. While I couldn't view the cells directly, I managed to ascertain where gatherings occurred and pinpointed concentrations of magical energy. The first revelation was that there were far more guards than I had anticipated. Additionally, a substantial group was actively engaged with the protection of one specific room, logically indicating that a prisoner was held there.

With Hellfire blazing a path, I dashed through Nurmengard, fending off golems and guards alike. I hoped Gellert had designed the structure well enough that my chaotic destruction of its internal framework wouldn't cause a collapse. This was indirectly supported by the fact that, although Hellfire consumed the prison walls, it extinguished itself shortly after. I soon encountered guards, one of whom attempted to hit me with a Higher Defense Breakdown spell. In response, I transformed the air around him into ink, rendering him temporarily blind. I seized the opportunity, dashing in from the side and striking him with Avada.

Before I could even await the corpse's descent, I pressed on, only to be met by a formidable challenge: four wizards and seven golems, the latter clearly a product of Dumbledore's handiwork. In such encounters, it was prudent to eliminate the wizards first, as golems devoid of magical support posed no real threat. However, I believed in Albus's creations; I had witnessed their prowess firsthand, including their resilience during my attempt on Moody's life. The golems charged at me while the wizards, even under acceleration spells, were just beginning to cast their spells.

Investing my energy, I unleashed a Spirit Split, an area of mental magic. The golems aimed to shield their masters, but it was futile; only one wizard remained standing. Three golems clung to my defenses, while the surviving wizard hurled an Avada at me. I redirected my shield away from my body, pushing the golems back, and in the ensuing chaos, dodged the Avada by merely stepping aside. The curse moved slowly, almost like a languid ball in motion. Without hesitation, I employed the Blood Whip, letting it stretch and strike the mage. Despite the golems' attempts to shield him, the Whip navigated their defenses with ease, staying mere millimeters from their bodies.

The wizard's protective spells absorbed seven strikes from my Blood Whip before he was cleaved in two. I directed the Inner Blast Furnace spell at each golem, and while Albus's creations persisted, they were unable to catch up to me as I pressed onward. The mages? They were irrelevant; having missed a significant attack, they were out of the fight for the foreseeable future. After breaking down another wall, I confronted a magical barrier. Assessing the situation, I poured a special potion derived from my blood onto it. The barrier crackled and shuddered, and after sustaining two spells, it collapsed.

Inside the newly revealed chamber, ten mages and eighteen golems awaited me, spells flying at me ranging from basic Stunners to formidable Incinerator Charms. Given the room's size and the interference from the shooting walls and golems, evading all the attacks was impossible. My defenses held, though they sparked under the strain, and I decided to bolster them with more of my blood. There were numerous adversaries, and time was of the essence.

I hurled improvised rune grenades at them via telekinesis. Some of the projectiles were intercepted, but the resulting explosion was devastating. They suffered no casualties but were scattered throughout the room—their shock-absorbing charms and Inertia Dampeners only functioned within the confines of my defenses, meaning if a tank knocked them down, they would be displaced but not killed. Quickly, I recited the Imperius Curse, commanding them to turn on each other. I managed to impose it on six mages before the golems began to interfere. Unfortunately, half of the mages resisted my Imperius.

Ramming and Freezing Curses were unleashed by the mages, and Nurmengard continued to bombard me with raw magical emissions. These mages successfully extinguished the Hellfire before it could thin their ranks, forming a semblance of a line. They had overlooked one crucial detail. I managed to surreptitiously breach the defense of one mage and cast a spell with a complex name, known informally as the "Living Bomb." With a flick of my wand, the mage detonated, and it was no ordinary explosion; the shards of his body were transformed into destructive energy via Dark magic.

Two nearby mages perished in the blast, and the line broke once more, leaving them vulnerable to the Twilight Flame that surged through the gap. The situation devolved into a standoff: me and three imperiled mages against three wizards and their golems. The imperiled mages launched their attacks, exposing themselves to their allies and the golems, who hesitated to strike their own. I was not bound by such limitations. When one of the imperiled fell prey to a stunning spell, buried beneath a pile of golems, I cast the Living Bomb spell on him.

Though the ritual would yield superior results, my improvisation sufficed for the moment. I used my magic to prevent the golems from retreating from the explosion's epicenter. The ensuing detonation claimed one imperiled mage, while the enemy lost a significant portion of their golems. One of my adversaries hurled a vial of potion at me, igniting it before it could reach the protective barrier. This was precisely the outcome I desired—the chamber erupted in light and sound, creating a disorienting effect that even my sensory filtration system warned me about.

When the blinding flash subsided, I found myself without any remaining mage opponents, while the golems succumbed to the Hellfire's relentless assault. The source of the magical disturbances drew nearer, and I sprinted down the corridor, smashing through a frost-covered door until I reached my destination. The unremarkable chamber was inscribed with runes and encased in magical shields, resembling a vault in Gringotts. Four wizards stood guard, two of whom were nearly as formidable as Moody.

They awaited my arrival. A purple mist conjured by one of them surged toward me. Despite its comical appearance, the spell proved effective: it obscured visibility, nullified scanning spells, and eroded my defenses, though it paled in comparison to Hellfire. Avadas and other spells, including those of Higher Dark Magic, streamed toward me through my blind spot. I felt as though I were a driver hurtling down a foggy road at high speed, with visibility limited to five meters—the maximum range of my defense—while obstacles emerged unexpectedly in my path.

The enemy's attacks were thwarted by my defenses, albeit at great cost to my magical reserves, and while I evaded the Avada curses thanks to my swiftness, even the dimmest of minds would recognize that I could not dodge indefinitely. Then the golems emerged once more. For what felt like the tenth time that day, I summoned Hellfire to consume the fog, which it did effectively, but soon dissipated without traversing even two meters. The situation was dire.

Logically, the chamber housing the Dark Mage was likely protected against Dark Magic, suggesting that I must either win without resorting to it or employ it minimally. Recalling my years spent in the painting, I began using the wand for eternal transfiguration. Drawing upon my blood, I cast a large-scale transfiguration spell. In an instant, I, the mages, the room, and part of the corridor were encased in a massive steel ingot. I felt like a bubble submerged in a carbonated drink.

As I worked, the fog persisted—being magical in nature, it could not be simply blown away, and while it corroded the steel, it required time to eliminate the blockage. Mages could not attack through solid objects, and the golems were unable to breach the steel. What kind of attack could I execute while enclosed in this steel ingot? I discerned the positions of my foes through the voids in the steel. Following my will, I melted portions of the steel and shaped it into rune patterns, channeling energy into this framework.

Given my lack of clarity regarding the locations of the stronger mages versus the ordinary ones, as well as the golems, I targeted all areas equally. Only two mages withstood my assault. I attempted to melt all the remaining steel and crush my opponents with a sentient, molten river, but my transfigured creation was pulled toward a fractured wall, as if an open space awaited beyond.

Exhausted, I found myself face-to-face with two powerful mages. Reflecting a Finger of Death spell from one and a Diamond Ball from the other, I pondered the predicament I had landed in. This was supposed to be a stealth operation! I had intended to infiltrate quietly, scan Grindelwald, or perhaps engage him in a game of darts, using a photocopy of Albus as a target. Then Gellert would shed tears of affection, revealing that every April 30th, the Elder Wand would not function from 5:30 PM to 5:35 PM! Yet, here I was, embroiled in battle.

It was one matter to eliminate thirty wizards, and entirely another to confront thirty out of ninety-six! I had already expended considerable energy, and I still needed to return. However, I had yet to reach my objective! One of my adversaries made a critical error. No, he acted correctly; anyone in my position would have been dead, save for Albus and possibly Moody. Yet, I was intimately familiar with the spell he cast—a specific attack of Dark Magic that was intended to age me to death in an instant.

This spell behaved like an electric current, favoring the path of least resistance. I sidestepped, redirecting my defense against the second mage's own shield. The spell leaped from me to him, and in an instant, he transformed into a decaying corpse mid-fall. A brief moment of hesitation cost him dearly. He had managed to evade the Avada, nearly at point-blank range. Fragments of the Nurmengard wall flew toward him, propelled by my telekinesis.

While his defenses neutralized them, I cast the "Crushing Dungeon" spell on the debris. The spell endeavored to crush the fragments, though it failed to do so. They were simply too robust. However, pressing them inward was feasible, even through the mage's defenses. Soon, the mage succumbed, his body resembling a sparrow after a thousand rounds of duck shot. The remnants of the Nurmengard wall continued to vibrate, reducing the already deceased mage to a pulp.

Twenty-six seconds—that was all it took for me to reach my target, costing the guards nineteen corpses in the process. A few may have survived, but I turned my attention to the cell before me, which was adorned with runes and encased in frost. How to gain entry? It would take too long to decipher the magical locks! The guards and golems would be upon me in mere seconds, despite the barriers I had erected behind me.

I could envision using the Twilight Flame to animate the shadows, transforming them into black fire that would consume the door, granting me passage. Instead, the cell's protections simply fell away without my intervention. I cast scanning spells and employed a couple of newly transfigured dolls as decoys. My heart sank as I discovered only a handful of ashes within the cell. No, I had calculated everything correctly—I hadn't killed the prisoner—but the scanning spells indicated that he had recently succumbed to poison, and his body had subsequently burned.

Cursing the security system, I opted to take the ashes anyway, even if I wasn't sure what use they would be. Had the brain been intact, I might have extracted something, though it would have been far more challenging than interrogating a living individual. As it stood, it felt like a complete waste of time! I secured the ashes in a conjured vessel and prepared to retreat, only to be met with fresh disappointment.

Damn Nurmengard! I couldn't fathom what Gellert had done to it, or whether it was a feature of the prison itself. Muggles had a term for it: a diode—a one-way conductor of current. Current could flow in either direction through a wire, but only in one direction through a diode. Nurmengard was a prison—a perfect prison—designed to prevent anyone from leaving. And it succeeded! I could fight my way out, but I felt the guards closing in. This time, monstrous spells were unleashed around me, intended to bind me before I could be safely destroyed.

Should I attempt a breakthrough? There were simply too many foes, and Nurmengard itself thwarted my escape! I was left with two options: die fighting or remain in Grindelwald's cell, relying on the mercy of my enemies. Summoning the Death Eaters? By the time they arrived, I would likely be dead, and they wouldn't be able to breach the barriers as I could.

Taking Grindelwald's ashes, I mentally steeled myself and began to weave magic. I recalled one dubious experience from my past—according to Crouch Sr., I had killed myself in a flash of atomic flame. But Albus had somehow survived! How?

I couldn't believe that the old man had managed to contain an explosion larger than a megaton. If he could, it rendered any confrontation pointless; we would have to declare him omnipotent. He could have survived in two ways: through a phoenix or by wielding the Elder Wand. I longed to forget about that incident, yet I had refined the transfiguration system for nuclear weaponry. Besides, I contemplated how Albus endured it.

The phoenix—a mysterious creature. Numerous works had been dedicated to its method of movement—vanishing in a flash of flame. One author had even proven that the phoenix, together with an object, transformed into a special flame before re-emerging from it. This same magician had attempted to measure the phoenix's speed, concluding it was either infinite or exceptionally high. I had developed my method that would, theoretically, allow me to survive a nuclear explosion.

As Nagini leaped, I would snap the Time-Turner, finding myself in a locally slowed-down time stream. Combined with Nagini's jump, this would mean that for a brief moment—merely a couple of seconds—neither of us would exist in this reality. It was not a panacea; magic could still reach me, and I would be unable to defend myself during this form. I would simply vanish and reappear moments later. But the mages—they were tangible and not "phoenix flame." A nuclear explosion would obliterate them, and Nurmengard as well.

There were drawbacks: all of this was developed purely in theory; I had yet to test it for obvious reasons. The bomb needed to be crafted with precision to prevent premature detonation, while simultaneously incorporating a temporary transfiguration so that the nuclear reaction would cease after a few seconds, allowing me to return to a position where my defenses could function. On top of that, Nagini was unable to move within Nurmengard.

Having grown weary, I began my work. Transfiguring the bomb—though not entirely a bomb; why require a casing, stabilizer, parachute, and other components? I needed one protective spell to shield the bomb, another to enable Nagini to move within my protection, and the spell itself to transfigure the bomb while simultaneously activating the Time-Turner and imbuing it with a special spell.

In an instant, I vanished in a flash of flame. Voldemort's adversaries had no time to react. There was simply an explosion, and they found themselves at ground zero. They experienced no pain; they were merely vaporized. Nurmengard was designed to withstand a myriad of threats, but not a nuclear blast of over a megaton from within.

Instead of a quadrangular skyscraper, a far larger nuclear mushroom arose in its place. The island on which Nurmengard stood ceased to exist, much like Bikini Atoll during nuclear tests. Had this transpired anywhere else on the planet, Muggles would have surely noticed. But Nurmengard was so well-shielded that spy satellites failed to detect the flash. Muggles would have identified the radioactive isotopes, yet the bomb was crafted through time transfiguration, and mere seconds later, the atoms and their decay products vanished without a trace.

A blast wave surged forth, but Nurmengard was far from inhabited areas. The ensuing sea wave was attributed to an underwater volcanic eruption. Fourteen and a half seconds later, in a sweltering location, Voldemort and his familiar reappeared in a blaze of flame. With her last reserve of magic, Nagini managed to transport the exhausted wizard home through a series of apparitions; fortunately, the phoenix possessed a greater range of movement than standard apparition.

A fatigued Voldemort drank a potion to induce vomiting and once again embraced the toilet, instructing the house-elves to secure the vessel containing the ashes. He reflected on how often he found himself teetering on the brink of death. A grim realization struck him: he needed to develop a method for surviving body destruction, akin to Horcruxes, but without incorporating his soul. He had some ideas, but they were mere sketches for the time being.

As for Nurmengard... On one hand, it represented failure. I hadn't gleaned any valuable insights, and I had squandered the trump card I held against Dumbledore. Yet, looking at it from a broader perspective, it must have appeared quite impressive. If I were the Minister of Magic, I would be preparing for a hasty exit, while my enemies would likely flee the country. The destruction of Nurmengard, the annihilation of a multitude of resistant wizards in under a minute!

I feared that the wizards would unravel the situation and wield this weapon against me as well—there was no guarantee I would survive if someone else replicated my actions. But what if they failed to comprehend the nature of it? The traces of the battle and the remnants of Nurmengard's spells created an intricate mess, with no witnesses to speak of! Albus would eventually piece it together, but I doubted he would resort to slaughtering thousands as collateral damage, thereby severely violating the Statute of Secrecy.

I hoped Albus appreciated the spectacle I had prepared for him in the Cave of Inferi. Where was Albus, anyway? Perhaps he was already dead! Or maybe he had sustained a fatal wound and wandered off like a wounded beast to die alone. And what of Gellert? Who could say he'd revealed anything to me? I was entirely capable of fabricating a suitable memory using Snape's method: "Albus advised me to establish the Ahnenerbe." Or perhaps how Albus wept in Gellert's cell, lamenting that he hadn't wanted it to come to this, revealing a memory where he saw Grindelwald in the Mirror of Erised.

Did I need this? Absolutely! After all, trust is an essential component of power. It matters little whether that trust is founded on fear or respect. Yet respect is easily lost: "Come out for a fair fight!" Albus Dumbledore had proclaimed, brandishing the Elder Wand. Approximately fifteen minutes later, Bellatrix found me, engulfing me in a hug and throwing a fit. I was beginning to regain my composure and feign the demeanor of a powerful leader as I summoned the entire Inner Circle through her mark.

The decision was made—it was futile to yearn for ideal circumstances; I must work with the hand I was dealt. Once more, I would transform adversity into opportunity, fortunately, I wouldn't be the one to bear the brunt of it. One aspect of a politician's role is maintaining public image.

And so I found myself addressing a gathering of the Death Eaters. The message was clear: "I am formidable, and you are fortunate to stand beside me." I provided guidance on how to appropriately frame the events: Voldemort is so powerful that he easily obliterates Nurmengard, slaying Albus's lover, and he doesn't even deign to show up for a fair confrontation, despite having ventured into another's domain, where Albus would have nearly a hundred followers and the Elder Wand at his disposal.

In England, this was merely a conflict between two great wizards, with all casualties being the result of Albus Dumbledore's cowardice!

Later, I sought solitude with Bellatrix. What can I say? She was undeniably beautiful, though her midsection left much to be desired. The following day, Albus failed to appear. The day after came and went without him. Thanks to the Time-Turner, I had already recovered. England was gripped by turmoil, and the global community felt the tremors. It was impossible to articulate the chaos that ensued. Those who managed to spin the destruction of Nurmengard into an underground volcanic eruption in the North Sea were awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class.

The general hysteria subsided only when wizards attributed the collapse of Nurmengard to an unknown, one-time artifact, asserting that "naturally, it cannot happen again." We shall see; perhaps it will happen once more, so long as everyone gathers closely. I had no doubt that someone had pieced together the truth but was clever enough to keep it to themselves. I was now among the most powerful wizards of our time, with certain foreign governments extending offers of "non-aggression pacts" to the Death Eaters, which we eagerly accepted.

Initially, I had envisioned either launching an assault on the Ministry or orchestrating a coup to oust Scrimgeour, but now... we would merely bide our time. The faction advocating for compromise with the Death Eaters was rapidly gaining traction, all with minimal involvement from me. Soon, we would be invited to rule, provided that the lawlessness ceased.

I prepared to deliver a speech at Albus's grave, dispatching my servants to search for his body near the Gaunt hut (I feared it might be booby-trapped as a farewell gift) and preparing to publish Skeeter's works with minimal edits: "The Life and Deceptions of Albus Dumbledore" and "He's Not Your Dumby: The Secret Life of the Headmaster of Hogwarts," when astonishing news reached me.

Someone had infiltrated the location of the Well of Princes, capturing all the werewolves undergoing enhancements and destroying their equipment. Someone had stunned and apprehended a group of wizards celebrating Moody's death through the mass murder of Muggles. Through my channels, I learned that someone had taken possession of Alastor Moody's legacy. A bearded figure had been spotted at the Minister of Magic and later at breakfast in Hogwarts...

Then Snape approached me for a private discussion. "Master, Albus Dumbledore has returned," he informed me casually. The revelation knocked me off my feet. Albus had nerves of steel! After visiting the Well of Princes, he must have realized that I employed Snape's homunculi to siphon necroenergy into the werewolves. He had to suspect Snape.

Yet there was nothing—no torture, no intimidation, no rebukes. Did he believe Snape was innocent, or did he think him invulnerable? "What does he look like? Has he requested anything?" I inquired, hoping to hear that Albus had transformed into a version of Moody: sporting an artificial eye, a wooden leg, hooks for hands… and utterly incapable of magic, begging Snape for euthanasia!

Dreams, dreams...

"He hasn't changed in either appearance or magic. I found no signs of injury, nor has he made any requests of me." How?! How could this be possible?

Let's assume Albus had survived, but even without a scratch? The entrance and initial room filled with traps were trivial; they were merely designed to lull vigilance and deprive Albus of cannon fodder. But the Labyrinth! It was virtually impassable; even I, its creator, was powerless against it! After navigating the Labyrinth, the director would have encountered numerous undead!

And then there was the final stretch: curses, curses, curses of Higher Dark Magic! More curses on the ring and box! Most crucially, a modified Morfin—an indestructible guardian of the ring, coupled with the ring's perfect protections. Two Horcruxes that rendered one another unbreakable! It would have been prudent to conceal Morfin's Horcrux elsewhere, but then no one would believe it was a spontaneous creation, and Morfin could have sought to reclaim a part of himself.

Even with the Cave of Inferi, the protections were weaker—sources of magic aren't readily available, and I lacked the knowledge to produce them, unlike Horcruxes. Not to mention Grim. I wouldn't be surprised if Hogwarts acquired a new guard dog, "Fluff."

"Professor Kettleburn, behold my familiar!" Albus would exclaim with a smile, only for Kettleburn to faint at the sight. I struggled to grasp the situation... How could Albus be twice as powerful as me, if not ten times over? My thoughts conjured the most horrific scenarios—Albus deftly maneuvering through traps, identifying fakes with ease, effortlessly obliterating them before heading off to celebrate.

First, he would indulge in some revelry with Barty Jr., then proceed to Flamel's, where he'd outdrink the old alchemist with the Elixir of Life, claiming the Philosopher's Stone as a keepsake in awe. Afterwards, Dumbledore would thank Snape for his betrayal and encourage Voldemort to set more traps, for Albus had yet to warm up...

It was a challenge to maintain my facade of weary indifference, but I managed. How I despised that old man! I shared an animosity and fear that mirrored Tom Riddle's sentiments. Perhaps it stemmed from the Magic of the Name. Here I was, Voldemort—freely translated from French as "Flight of Death." That is why death perpetually surrounded me, and I perpetually eluded it.

Albus was the Sado-Maso bon Dominant, always victorious because only one could hold dominion. I should have labeled him differently: Pathetic Coward, False Hero, Useless Loser, Stupid Squib... "Is there anything peculiar about Dumbledore's behavior?" I inquired, sincerely hoping for something noteworthy.

"He has become even more eccentric," Snape replied. "But nothing that warrants your concern."

There! There was potential! Different curses existed, including those affecting the mind! What if Albus had become a fool? Then I would stand a chance against him! Or he might inadvertently end his own life, perhaps by sitting on a transfigured sparrow and leaping from the office window without protection!

"Show me the memories. Legilimens!" I commanded, pointing my wand at Snape and locking eyes with him.

I found myself immersed in Snape's recollections. There was Dumbledore, as always, draped in a garishly bright robe, soothing Minerva, who was in a state of hysteria—Dumbledore had chided her for allowing Voldemort to escape, handing him a failing grade in transfiguration.

Next, I witnessed Snape and Dumbledore engaging in conversation with the Deputy Minister about the murders of two schoolchildren at Hogwarts. The official attempted to implicate Snape, accusing him of overlooking Hume's potential as a Death Eater. Snape asserted that Hume was innocent or under the influence of the Imperius Curse.

Thirty minutes later, the Minister's representative erupted in anger, confronting Snape with rumors of "a double rape and murder at the school." In confusion, he inquired where the report of rape originated. Did the schoolchildren fabricate it? Snape countered that if it had occurred, it was solely in self-defense.

Half an hour later, the official stormed out of the Slytherin Dean's office with Dumbledore, cursing vehemently. If the latest rumors were to be believed, Albus had first offered the Deputy Minister lemon drops, only to snatch them away once he accepted.

At that moment, I felt like banging my head against the wall—so much effort for naught! I had concocted a unique, signature potion for Albus, laced with basilisk venom, which, in theory, even Phoenix Tears would struggle to counter. It was challenging to detect; to uncover it in food, I would have needed to prod it for an hour. Fortunately, my food was tasted by transfigured animals and house-elves.

The sole remaining question was how to poison Dumbledore with it, as once it entered his system, I could bid farewell to the director. I devised a plan. Snape took a slice of Albus's lemon drop and ingested it. He then approached me. I extracted fragments of the slice from Snape's mouth, conducting both chemical and magical analyses. I scrutinized every lemon slice manufacturer in England and pinpointed a small company.

Subsequently, I poisoned all their products. Should mass casualties arise among Muggles, even the most dim-witted would struggle to attribute it to the Irish Liberation Army; wizards would spin tales of a "secret poison from the KGB lab." I hoped the USSR wouldn't collapse, or I would be at a loss for alternatives.

However, the mass deaths of Muggles might attract Albus's attention. To prevent this, I disguised myself as a Muggle and bribed an inspection organization to detain all the lemon slices in the warehouse. All of it was conducted without magic to avoid discovery! I had a golden opportunity to poison Albus, who would likely bring the slices to his office. Yet, instead of consuming them himself, he offered them to the Deputy Minister.

Not a bad alternative—the Deputy Minister's demise in the Headmaster's office would certainly raise eyebrows, and whatever the Headmaster had been treating would be poisoned. Just after the Headmaster failed to appear at the pivotal moment, the new head of the Auror Office was the Minister's former informant—Venson!

But Albus must have grown suspicious at the last moment! Almost Headless Nick had vanished from Hogwarts. Albus could have caught him aiding me. Theoretically, Nick should have claimed he wanted to join the Headless Hunters Club, and the Dark Lord promised to use Dark Magic to sever a piece of the pseudo-body holding his head. Albus must not suspect that I could command all ghosts; all I needed was to touch them with the Resurrection Stone.

"You've done superb work, Severus. Await your opportunity. Hogwarts will soon face an attack. Your task is to escort the children and remain in the Slytherin common room without venturing out. At the appropriate moment, alert the other deans. Ideally, the children will stay under supervision and remain stationary. I envision the headlines: the Dean of Slytherin saves the children!

No, I couldn't care less about the children, especially not mine. But there are children of Death Eaters among them! And neutral parties. I will issue a warning; remain still, and none shall harm you. I will not intentionally kill them. If someone chooses to play near the cliff, I've warned them. Should they run through the corridors, they risk their lives. But who among us enjoys breaking the rules?

Not in the sense of perusing Secrets of the Darkest Arts, but in the sense of sprinting through the halls while Hogwarts is under siege? Several Gryffindors will surely be absent... even if those Gryffindors somehow aren't in Gryffindor.

"Lord... Is it wise to confront Hogwarts? Beyond the Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix, the castle's defenses are formidable... Not to mention, you'll face Dumbledore wielding the Elder Wand in the place of his greatest power..." Snape began.

I sensed his trepidation, though I didn't know whether it was justified. I almost felt pity for him; being the "Dark Lord's apprentice" was a thankless task. It had to be challenging to engage the Dark Lord in a manner that made him feel that sound ideas originated from him. Why did Snape presume I would attack Hogwarts? Ah, yes! I must have been intoxicated with success after Nurmengard!

"It is not I who will launch the assault. The object will serve as an exception to Hogwarts' defensive systems," I clarified.

"May I inquire what it will be?" Snape asked.

Why not? Albus probably suspected it was a basilisk.

"A basilisk from Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. But this is a secret."

"Master... A basilisk is a powerful and dangerous creature, but in a direct confrontation against numerous wizards... even without considering the Headmaster... Without magical support, it won't last long," Snape began.

"Do not fret, Severus. This basilisk is protected by the 'Dark Magic of Salazar Slytherin.' It will prove challenging to handle. I can only imagine the opponents' astonishment when the basilisk begins casting spells... or striking with mental magic... The cup Horcrux attempted to heal the damage from the Hellfire. Perhaps it could have succeeded, but I increased the heat. They will remember the new Nagini for a long time, regardless of the outcome. However, it would be best to unleash the basilisk either when Albus is fatigued or when he ventures off in search of another Horcrux. That way, when he returns, nothing will remain of the castle's defenses.

"Leave me be," I commanded. Snape bowed and exited, leaving me to contemplate my next steps. I felt a growing desire to wait for Albus to succumb to old age. But the thought of waiting for Flamel's pupil to wither away was unbearable. I could easily envision it: "Albus Dumbledore, have you ever been convicted of selling counterfeit elixirs of life?"

Let's examine the facts: Albus had walked into my trap and emerged victorious, obliterating the entire trap and a Horcrux in the process. This indicated he was far stronger and more dangerous than he appeared. However, he was absent for three days. Perhaps he suffered magical exhaustion after all.

Albus had entered the trap, which meant that he was not omniscient. Hypothetically, he could destroy my next cache and become incapacitated for three days. Thus, I needed to either catch him in a state of magical exhaustion or ensure he returned to a captured Ministry and Hogwarts during his absence. If Albus showed up for the final confrontation without recovering from his exhaustion, the Elder Wand would undoubtedly aid him in overcoming me. He had already demonstrated miraculous feats of resilience.

It was imperative that he did not emerge victorious. Thanks to my new body, I was already faster than the old man. It would be advantageous to become stronger as well. My ritual for enhancing power was prepared. I had invested significant time and effort into its creation. The complexity was staggering, and if performed correctly, it would elevate me to the level of the former Tom Riddle in terms of Dark Magic's destructive potential.

The classical execution of the ritual was undeniably lethal for me. Yet, I discovered a solution: balancing one echo of death with another. For this, I required the right "Catalyst," although it wasn't precisely a catalyst, as it would be destroyed during the process. As I approached the Catalyst, an exhilarating surge would occur, akin to champagne foam erupting from a bottle. I would briefly become significantly stronger, with some enhancements remaining permanently, akin to the former Tom Riddle's powers.

This was the perfect moment to confront Albus. I needed to finalize my dealings in Auschwitz, then wait for Albus to pursue another Horcrux. Once he was away, I would complete the ritual and temporarily gain immense strength. I would orchestrate a grand battle and emerge victorious. If Albus returned for the fight, he would meet his demise; if he did not, he would find nothing to return to.

It was a solid plan: first, ensnare Albus in a trap, then lightly throw controlled distractions his way, and finally confront him while being both stronger and faster. I also needed to address my ongoing issues with Ollivander; I had grown weary of constantly hearing the word "impossible" from him.

I rose from my chair and returned home. After removing the protective spells, I embraced Bellatrix from behind. I needed my own blood. "Darling, it's time for you to give birth. And I'll show you Poland; I doubt you've been there..."

Albus once referred to the Death Eaters as "the Dark Lord's toys" in one of his speeches. Old man, you're mistaken. For Tom Riddle, they were mere playthings, easily broken when he grew tired of them. But for me, they were invaluable tools—tools I needed. If I found myself without them, my progress would stall, or worse, cease altogether. I would protect these tools, and if worse came to worst, I would feel a twinge of regret.

Damn Rosier... Who could replace him in the ritual? But as I held my most precious tool—Bellatrix, formerly Lestrange—I felt an undeniable connection. It wasn't merely physical attraction; it was something deeper. The way she killed Sirius would linger in my memory for ages. This wasn't Hollywood, where villains were glamorized with elaborate cinematography and special effects. Cinematic violence is contrived. In film, good always triumphs over evil.

But in real life, the execution of Sirius Black was raw, unfiltered. If someone had captured it on film, it would have lacked the dramatic flair, showing only a man and a woman engaged in their grim work, devoid of close-ups or sensationalism. This was life, and thus such a documentary would resonate infinitely stronger than any action flick. Viewers would witness people engaged in their routine tasks, each familiar with their roles—some wielding magic, others wielding blades.

Albus Dumbledore would argue that this was not merely a film about cruelty; it also depicted cowardice—how a throng of sadists was necessary to humiliate and torture a single individual. He was wrong. It was simply a job, as routine as any other, essential for achieving goals. In an hour, Bellatrix would embrace Neville, playing with him and glowing cubes, while I, returning from a Death Eater meeting, would discuss the next day's menu with the house-elf.

Such moments would never make it to the screen, allowing people to believe that villains were fundamentally different from themselves, that such evils belonged to a bygone era, akin to tales of Hitler's camps. SS officers also loved their children, smiled, listened to music, and read books. A sadist is not necessarily a mindless ghoul like Greyback. Such characters are typically relegated to films.

In reality, murderers blend seamlessly into society, indistinguishable from ordinary individuals. This has always been the case. And what constitutes murder? An ordinary person spends so much money each day that they could feed a dozen starving people in Africa. That is murder through indifference. Murder in war is celebrated as a hero's feat; murder for oneself is deemed a crime. It's merely a convention to allow society to coexist.

Kill someone from another pack—that's what I do. And Rosier... I truly made an effort to save him, yet it proved futile. Hopelessly sick parts of the body must be excised. I had earnestly sought to negotiate because I craved peace, even a semblance of it. But neither Albus nor the Minister would listen to me. They refused to engage with the enemy? That's how peace is forged! Perhaps the next ones would be more amenable?

"My dear, I have an important ritual on the horizon, and your presence is crucial, but pregnant women are not permitted," I informed my wife. Bellatrix paused for a moment, but only for a moment.

"It won't be a problem if Delphi arrives a little early, will it?" she inquired, "After all, the Carrows' child turned out fine, and she gave birth sooner than I am now."

"Of course, everything will be just fine. I can hardly wait for our daughter's arrival," I assured her, placing a hand on Bellatrix's belly. The baby inside her kicked in response.

Albus Dumbledore would be defeated by the power of love!