Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Three Days After the Tomb of the Forgotten Was Emptied

Voldemort's fury swept across Britain like wildfire.

Hadrian sat at the head of Haven's war table, the latest intelligence reports spread before him. Across from him, Matthias and Catherine studied the same documents, their expressions unreadable.

Catherine was the first to break the silence. "Three confirmed executions." She set down the parchment, her voice carefully measured. "All Death Eaters. Voldemort is purging his ranks."

Matthias exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the polished stone table. "He believes someone betrayed him."

Jonas, sprawled in his usual chair, snorted. "Well, technically, someone did." He smirked. "Just not from his side."

Hadrian's lips curled slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on the reports. The Dark Lord's reaction was… revealing. He hadn't immediately struck out at Haven. He had turned inward.

Fear.

It was poisoning him.

"He doesn't understand what happened," Hadrian murmured, tapping the parchment. "And when he doesn't understand, he destroys." His green eyes gleamed. "Good. Let him doubt. Let him second-guess everyone around him."

Catherine exhaled. "If we press now, we could force him to make a mistake."

Jonas grinned. "I do love making Dark Lords miserable."

Matthias frowned slightly. "We need to be careful. A desperate Voldemort is unpredictable."

Hadrian smirked. "Then we make sure he never gets the chance to recover."

He waved a hand, and the war map of Britain shimmered into view. Locations marked in red pulsed faintly—safehouses, recruitment sites, hidden supply chains.

"His foundation is already cracked," Hadrian said smoothly. "We've taken his prize, but that's not enough." His gaze swept across the room. "Now, we burn the rest of his house down."

Catherine leaned forward. "Where do we start?"

Hadrian's smirk sharpened.

"With the people still foolish enough to follow him."

The war was shifting.

And Hadrian Peverell was about to make sure Voldemort never stood on solid ground again.

The plan took shape within hours.

Hadrian stood in the war room, the map of Britain floating between him and his inner circle. Points of red light pulsed faintly—each marking a Death Eater stronghold, a supply line, or a key supporter who still operated in the shadows.

"Voldemort rules through three things," Hadrian said calmly. "Fear, secrecy, and control." His green eyes gleamed. "We take all three away."

Matthias nodded, arms crossed. "You want to cut off his resources first?"

Hadrian flicked his wand, and the red markers shifted. "No. We start with his people."

Jonas smirked. "Oh, I like where this is going."

Catherine scanned the intelligence reports. "We have two categories of targets—true loyalists and opportunists. The first group won't break, but the second?" She tilted her head. "They'll run if they feel exposed."

Hadrian nodded. "And that's exactly what we want."

With a flick of his wand, he highlighted three names.

Lucius Malfoy.

Corban Yaxley.

Augustus Rookwood.

Matthias exhaled sharply. "Heavyweights."

Jonas scoffed. "Snakes. They'd turn on each other if it meant keeping their gold."

Hadrian smirked. "Then let's light a fire under them."

He turned to Catherine. "We leak carefully curated intelligence to the right channels—financial records, hidden transactions, communications between Death Eater cells. Enough to make them think the Ministry is onto them."

Jonas let out a low chuckle. "Ah, paranoia. A Dark Lord's worst enemy."

Catherine's lips curved. "Within days, they'll start scrambling to cover their tracks. And when they do—"

Matthias finished for her. "We hit them before they can hide."

Hadrian's gaze flickered with amusement. "Exactly."

Catherine set down her reports. "And the true loyalists?"

Hadrian exhaled slowly. "They'll never break. Which means we remove them."

Jonas leaned forward, grinning. "By 'remove,' do you mean—"

Hadrian's smirk was cold. "Yes."

Matthias didn't flinch. "Who's first?"

Hadrian raised his wand, and a single name glowed brighter than the rest.

Antonin Dolohov.

The man who had stood in Godric's Hollow, thinking himself untouchable.

Jonas cracked his knuckles. "Well. This should be fun."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "By the time Voldemort realizes what's happening, he'll have no one left to command."

The hunt had begun.

The first strike came before dawn.

Hadrian stood atop one of Haven's watchtowers, watching as the first teams slipped into the night. Cloaked figures vanished into the darkness—silent, precise, deadly.

They had their orders.

By sunrise, Dolohov would be gone.

Jonas stood beside him, arms crossed, watching as the last operatives disappeared beyond Haven's outer gates. "I almost feel bad for the bastard."

Hadrian smirked. "No, you don't."

Jonas chuckled. "You're right. I don't."

Matthias arrived next, his expression unreadable. "Our contacts inside the Ministry say Yaxley and Malfoy have already noticed something's wrong. They're moving funds, covering tracks."

Hadrian nodded. "Good. Let them run."

Catherine joined them, a fresh report in hand. "We just received confirmation—Dolohov is currently in a safehouse outside Dover. He doesn't know we're coming."

Jonas grinned. "Poor guy. He won't even get a chance to beg."

Hadrian exhaled slowly, watching as the sky began to shift from deep black to the first hints of blue. He didn't enjoy what was coming.

But he knew it had to be done.

Dolohov was a butcher. A man who had laughed as he slaughtered families, who had tormented those too weak to fight back. He had stood in Godric's Hollow, confident in his master's power.

And now?

Now, he would learn what it meant to be hunted.

Hadrian turned away from the horizon. "We move as soon as the signal comes through."

Jonas stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Time to clean up the Dark Lord's mess for him."

Matthias exhaled. "We're not cleaning it up. We're burning it down."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed.

And the hunt continued.

The attack was over in minutes.

Dolohov's safehouse in Dover had been secured, warded, hidden from the Ministry. But it wasn't hidden from Haven.

Hadrian had made sure of that.

Matthias led the strike team, moving with lethal precision. The outer guards were taken down before they could even raise a warning—silencing spells, disarming hexes, precise blows.

By the time Dolohov realized he was under attack, the battle was already lost.

He burst from his private chambers, wand raised, wild-eyed with fury. "Who dares—"

Matthias was on him before he could finish.

A stunning spell slammed into Dolohov's chest, sending him crashing into the far wall. His wand flew from his fingers, spinning across the room. He hit the ground hard, gasping.

"Don't bother," Matthias said coolly, stepping over the wreckage of the room. "You're not getting out of this one."

Dolohov gritted his teeth, struggling to rise. His eyes flickered to his fallen wand, but before he could lunge for it—

A silent force pressed down on him, holding him in place.

Hadrian stepped into the room.

Dolohov's breath hitched.

The young lord's green eyes gleamed in the dim light, his magic curling through the air like a living thing. He was calm, too calm.

Dolohov swallowed. "Peverell."

Hadrian smirked. "Antonin."

The older wizard's fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for his wand. He knew better.

Hadrian stepped closer, boots silent against the stone. "I seem to recall you standing in Godric's Hollow, thinking yourself untouchable." His voice was almost amused. "How does it feel now?"

Dolohov's jaw tightened. "You think this changes anything?" He sneered. "You kill me, and He will—"

Hadrian flicked his fingers, and Dolohov's voice cut off instantly.

The Death Eater's mouth still moved, but no sound came.

Hadrian tilted his head. "You're mistaken. I didn't come here to listen."

Dolohov tensed.

Jonas leaned casually against the doorway, smirking. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Catherine, standing beside him, sighed. "Jonas."

Matthias ignored them both. "What do we do with him?"

Hadrian studied Dolohov for a long moment.

Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice to a soft, deadly murmur.

"You don't deserve a trial," he said. "You don't deserve mercy. But I want you to understand what's happening."

He crouched slightly, meeting Dolohov's gaze.

"This war doesn't belong to Voldemort anymore," Hadrian whispered. "He thinks he's the predator. He doesn't realize he's already prey."

Dolohov's breathing was uneven now.

Hadrian smirked. "He'll learn soon enough."

Then, without another word, he raised his wand—

And Dolohov fell lifeless to the floor.

The room was silent.

Matthias exhaled slowly. Jonas whistled. Catherine said nothing.

Hadrian turned, his expression unreadable. "One down."

Jonas grinned. "And a whole lot more to go."

The hunt continued.

The news of Dolohov's death spread fast.

Within hours, whispers circulated through Voldemort's network of supporters—an attack, a betrayal, a warning.

By morning, fear had begun to take root.

Hadrian stood in the war room, watching as Catherine marked the latest developments on the enchanted map. Red markers flickered and dimmed. Some were already gone. Death Eater cells disbanding, safehouses abandoned.

"They're panicking," she murmured, scanning the reports. "Some of them are running. Others are waiting for orders." She glanced at Hadrian. "Voldemort hasn't reacted yet."

Matthias exhaled. "That won't last."

Jonas, seated lazily on the edge of the table, smirked. "Oh, he's fuming. He just doesn't know what to do yet."

Hadrian remained silent for a long moment, fingers tapping against the polished wood. Dolohov was only the first. His execution had sent a message.

But the true test was still coming.

Catherine flipped to a new report. "Lucius Malfoy has increased security around the Manor. He's moving money, shifting assets. Yaxley has done the same. They know they're targets."

Jonas stretched. "And here I thought they'd actually put up a fight."

Matthias scoffed. "They're cowards. They don't fight battles—they buy their way out of them."

Hadrian finally spoke, his voice calm, decisive.

"Then let's take that option away from them."

The room stilled.

Catherine arched a brow. "You want to hit Malfoy first?"

Hadrian smirked. "No. Yaxley."

Jonas grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Hadrian turned toward the map, eyes gleaming. "We're not giving them time to adjust. We strike tonight."

The hunt was far from over.

It was only just beginning.

The attack on Yaxley was different from Dolohov.

Dolohov had been a warrior, a loyalist—he had fought, and he had died fighting.

Yaxley?

Yaxley was an opportunist. A man who had risen through Voldemort's ranks not by skill, but by manipulation, deception, and power plays. He had no interest in dying for the cause.

Which meant he was going to run.

Hadrian had no intention of letting that happen.

By nightfall, Haven's operatives were already in position.

Catherine stood near the war room's enchanted map, watching as Yaxley's movements unfolded in real-time. The Death Eater had abandoned his usual locations, moving erratically between different safehouses.

Matthias scanned the latest intelligence. "He's trying to disappear. He knows he's next."

Jonas grinned. "Well, he's not wrong."

Hadrian studied the map carefully, tracing Yaxley's route. Patterned movements. A man used to control, trying to regain it.

But there was one mistake.

One thing men like Yaxley always did when they felt threatened.

They ran toward what they thought was safe.

Hadrian exhaled. "He's going to Malfoy Manor."

Catherine's eyes flickered with realization. "He thinks Lucius will protect him."

Jonas scoffed. "Lucius doesn't even protect his own dignity."

Matthias straightened. "If we cut him off before he gets there—"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Then we take out two Death Eaters at once."

Silence stretched across the chamber.

Then Jonas grinned. "I love this plan."

Catherine exhaled, already adjusting their forces. "We'll have to be careful. Malfoy's estate is heavily warded. If we hit them wrong, the Ministry might interfere."

Hadrian smirked. "Then we don't hit them wrong."

He turned toward the war table, his voice smooth, certain.

"Prepare the teams. We move tonight."

By dawn, Yaxley would be gone.

And Lucius Malfoy?

He would learn what it meant to be hunted.

The trap was set before midnight.

Hadrian stood in the shadows of Wiltshire's countryside, watching as Yaxley's private carriage approached Malfoy Manor. The night was still, the sky clear and cold, the vast expanse of the Malfoy estate silent under the moonlight.

It was the perfect place for an execution.

Jonas, crouched beside him, smirked. "He really thinks Lucius is going to help him."

Matthias, positioned further ahead, kept his wand ready. "Malfoy will let him inside. But he won't protect him."

Catherine, watching from the high ground, murmured, "We don't let him reach the door."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "We won't."

The carriage slowed as it neared the outer gates. Yaxley, wrapped in a dark traveling cloak, glanced around nervously before stepping out. The wards surrounding Malfoy Manor flared briefly, scanning him—then allowed him through.

Jonas exhaled. "Annoying. We'll have to break the wards if we go in after him."

Hadrian smirked. "Who said we need to go in?"

A flick of his wand—and the world shifted.

Magic crackled through the air, unseen but precise. The ground **beneath Yaxley's feet rippled, twisting—**and suddenly, the pathway moved.

One step too far—

And Yaxley vanished.

Jonas let out a low whistle. "Did you just rewrite the space under his feet?"

Hadrian's smirk widened. "He's not inside anymore."

The carriage driver, unaware of what had happened, continued forward toward the estate. But Yaxley had fallen straight through an invisible portal—one that now deposited him outside the Malfoy wards, on the opposite side of the gates.

Right where Hadrian was waiting.

A choked gasp escaped Yaxley as he stumbled, eyes wide with panic.

He wasn't at Malfoy Manor anymore.

He was surrounded.

Hadrian stepped forward, calm, unhurried.

Yaxley froze.

"Peverell," he breathed, his face draining of color.

Hadrian tilted his head. "You ran."

Yaxley didn't deny it. His fingers twitched toward his wand.

Hadrian sighed. "Don't."

Yaxley lunged anyway.

Jonas flicked his wrist.

A silent hex slammed into Yaxley's wrist before he could even reach his wand. The sickening crack of bone filled the air as the Death Eater staggered, clutching his useless arm.

Matthias stepped forward, voice cool, emotionless. "You really thought Malfoy was going to protect you?"

Yaxley panted, glaring at them. "The Dark Lord—"

Hadrian cut him off. "Won't save you." His green eyes gleamed. "No one will."

Catherine flicked her wand, and the air hummed as layers of magical barriers wrapped around them. No escape. No witnesses.

Yaxley knew.

His breath hitched, and for the first time, true fear settled in his eyes.

Hadrian exhaled, stepping closer. "Tell me something, Corban." His voice was soft, almost kind. "How does it feel to be hunted?"

Yaxley said nothing.

Hadrian smiled slightly. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know."

Yaxley shook his head. "I won't—"

Hadrian flicked his wand, and the world darkened.

Not physical darkness—magical suppression, suffocating, absolute.

Yaxley gasped, eyes widening in panic.

Hadrian's voice was calm. "Oh, I think you will."

Lucius Malfoy would wake up to an empty doorstep.

And by the time the sun rose, Yaxley would be nothing but a ghost.

By dawn, Yaxley was gone.

Hadrian stood in Haven's war room, hands resting on the polished map table, watching as the latest intelligence reports came in. The ripples were already spreading.

Lucius Malfoy had awoken to silence. His estate—untouched. His wards—undisturbed. His personal guard—unaware that anything had happened.

But Yaxley never arrived.

Jonas smirked, flipping through the reports. "Malfoy's been sending out quiet inquiries all morning. No public alarm, of course. Can't let the world know his friends are vanishing."

Catherine scanned another document. "He's ordered additional security. His personal Floo connections have been restricted to family members only."

Matthias exhaled. "He knows he's next."

Hadrian smirked slightly. "Good."

Lucius was a snake. A survivor. He had never been a warrior like Dolohov or an enforcer like Yaxley. His loyalty was to power, not ideology.

And now, power was shifting.

Catherine set down her parchment. "Voldemort's forces have begun reorganizing. The purges have stopped."

Hadrian's fingers drummed against the table. "Because he knows this isn't coming from inside."

Jonas stretched lazily. "Took him long enough."

Matthias frowned. "Then the real question is—what does he do next?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "He has two choices."

Catherine nodded. "He either retaliates—or he starts looking for an alliance."

Jonas arched a brow. "An alliance? With who? The Ministry? Half of them would rather arrest him, and the other half are too spineless to help."

Hadrian exhaled slowly. "The Ministry isn't the only player in this war."

The room fell silent.

Catherine was the first to understand. Her expression tightened. "You think he'll turn to the foreign markets."

Hadrian's smirk was cold. "Voldemort may be many things, but he isn't a fool. If his war effort is collapsing, he'll look outside Britain for support. Weapons, potions, funding. There are plenty of dark-aligned families in Eastern Europe and beyond who would jump at the chance to invest in a rising power."

Matthias exhaled sharply. "If he secures outside support, we'll have a harder time keeping pressure on him."

Jonas rolled his shoulders. "Then we cut him off before he can make a deal."

Hadrian nodded. "**We're not done hunting. We've forced him into a corner—**now we make sure he has nowhere left to turn."

Catherine tapped the map, where several locations glowed faintly—ports, trade hubs, known meeting points for underground magical dealings.

"He won't risk traveling himself," she murmured. "He'll send envoys. People he trusts."

Matthias scoffed. "That list is getting shorter by the day."

Hadrian smirked. "And soon, it'll be nonexistent."

The Death Eaters had once hunted in shadows, unchecked.

Now, they were the prey.

And the hunt was far from over.

Now, let's continue the story.

Hadrian stood in Haven's council chamber, scanning the latest reports. The world outside Britain was shifting, and Voldemort was watching.

Catherine set a fresh document on the table. "We've intercepted a coded message. Voldemort is sending envoys to the Balkans."

Matthias exhaled sharply. "He's looking for weapons."

Jonas scoffed. "Of course he is. Britain's magical society might be stuck in the past, but the rest of the world? Wars don't happen with just wands anymore."

Hadrian's green eyes flickered with amusement. "He's adapting."

Catherine tapped the report. "There's a meeting scheduled in Romania. He's reaching out to arms dealers—people who specialize in cursed artifacts, enchanted firearms, possibly even dark magical creatures."

Jonas smirked. "Let's crash the party."

Hadrian nodded. "Get a team ready. We move before he secures anything useful."

Matthias frowned. "And if we're too late?"

Hadrian exhaled, his smirk turning sharp. "Then we make sure he regrets it."

The hunt was no longer just in Britain.

Now, it was going global.

The mission required precision.

Hadrian stood in Haven's secure transport chamber, adjusting the protective charms on his coat. The room was sleek, modern—a fusion of magic and practicality. Unlike the outdated halls of the Ministry, Haven's facilities were built for efficiency.

Jonas leaned against a nearby console, checking his gear. "So, we're off to Romania to ruin Voldemort's shopping trip?"

Catherine, securing the final details, didn't look up. "We're not just ruining it. We're making sure he never gets another chance."

Matthias studied the mission plan. "His envoys are meeting with a weapons broker near Timișoara. A former Durmstrang student—well-connected, morally flexible." His eyes flicked to Hadrian. "Do we eliminate him?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Not immediately. First, we need to know what he's selling—and who else he's dealing with. Then we decide."

Jonas smirked. "Ah, the classic 'gather intel first, kill second' strategy."

Catherine exhaled. "Try to focus, Jonas. This isn't Knockturn Alley. We're dealing with international arms traders. If we're not careful, we start a war with the wrong people."

Jonas shrugged. "Pretty sure Voldemort's already doing that for us."

Hadrian rolled his shoulders. "Enough talk. Let's move."

With a flick of his wand, the portkey activated, pulling them across space in a seamless burst of magic.

The hunt had reached Romania.

And before the night was over, Voldemort's plans would burn.

The mission required precision.

Hadrian stood in Haven's secure transport chamber, adjusting the protective charms on his coat. The room was sleek, modern—a fusion of magic and practicality. Unlike the outdated halls of the Ministry, Haven's facilities were built for efficiency.

Jonas leaned against a nearby console, checking his gear. "So, we're off to Romania to ruin Voldemort's shopping trip?"

Catherine, securing the final details, didn't look up. "We're not just ruining it. We're making sure he never gets another chance."

Matthias studied the mission plan. "His envoys are meeting with a weapons broker near Timișoara. A former Durmstrang student—well-connected, morally flexible." His eyes flicked to Hadrian. "Do we eliminate him?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Not immediately. First, we need to know what he's selling—and who else he's dealing with. Then we decide."

Jonas smirked. "Ah, the classic 'gather intel first, kill second' strategy."

Catherine exhaled. "Try to focus, Jonas. This isn't Knockturn Alley. We're dealing with international arms traders. If we're not careful, we start a war with the wrong people."

Jonas shrugged. "Pretty sure Voldemort's already doing that for us."

Hadrian rolled his shoulders. "Enough talk. Let's move."

With a flick of his wand, the portkey activated, pulling them across space in a seamless burst of magic.

The hunt had reached Romania.

And before the night was over, Voldemort's plans would burn.

The courtyard was quiet.

Hadrian led the way through the iron gate, his steps measured, his senses tuned to the pulse of magic in the air. The space was enclosed by high stone walls, ivy creeping along the cracks, the only light coming from enchanted torches set along the perimeter.

Sorin Vasile was already waiting.

The arms dealer stood near the center of the courtyard, flanked by two bodyguards draped in heavy furs—likely hired muscle, their wands visible beneath their coats. Sorin himself was unassuming, dressed in dark, well-fitted robes, his long blond hair tied neatly behind him. But his eyes—**sharp, intelligent—**flickered over Hadrian's group with careful assessment.

"You're late," Sorin murmured, his Romanian accent crisp.

Hadrian smiled faintly. "Unavoidable." He took a slow step forward, letting the torches cast his shadow across the stones. "We heard you had something… valuable for sale."

Sorin studied him. Then his lips curled slightly. "That depends on what you're willing to pay."

Jonas smirked. "We're not here to haggle."

Sorin chuckled, amused. "No, I don't imagine you are." He gestured lazily to one of his guards, who stepped forward and pulled back a thick black cloth covering a wooden crate.

Hadrian's gaze flickered to the contents inside.

A dozen wands. But not ordinary wands—they pulsed faintly, radiating something… wrong.

Matthias frowned. "What are these?"

Sorin's smirk widened. "Curious, aren't they? Experimental wandcraft—illegal in most of Europe." He tapped the nearest wand, and the glow flared—unstable, volatile. "Designed to channel magic beyond normal capacity. Dangerous, unpredictable… and effective in the right hands."

Jonas scoffed. "And you were planning to sell these to Voldemort?"

Sorin's smirk didn't falter. "I don't take sides, Mr. Peverell. I deal in opportunity. And right now, Britain is a… thriving market."

Hadrian's smirk was cold. "Not anymore."

Sorin stilled.

The bodyguards shifted slightly. The air grew tense.

Catherine's voice was calm. "Voldemort isn't expanding. He's collapsing. And if you make the mistake of supplying him, you'll go down with him."

Sorin's expression did not change, but Hadrian saw it—the briefest flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

He was calculating. Weighing his options.

Hadrian stepped forward, lowering his voice. "You're a businessman, Sorin. You don't invest in dying markets." His green eyes gleamed. "So I'll give you one chance. Sell to Voldemort, and you make an enemy of me."

Silence.

Then Sorin smirked once more, but it was thinner this time.

"Interesting offer," he murmured. His fingers **brushed the crate lightly—**and the wands inside vanished in an instant, sealed away with a single nonverbal spell.

Hadrian didn't blink.

Sorin exhaled, stepping back. "It seems I'll need to reconsider my business interests."

Jonas grinned. "Smart choice."

The bodyguards did not move. The night remained quiet. But Hadrian knew what had just happened.

Sorin had folded.

And Voldemort?

He had just lost another weapon before he could even wield it.

Hadrian watched as Sorin dismissed his guards with a flick of his hand. The tension in the courtyard lingered, but the decision had been made.

Jonas smirked. "Well, that was easy."

Sorin arched a brow. "Do not mistake practicality for cowardice." He tucked his hands behind his back, studying Hadrian. "You're making a lot of enemies, Peverell."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "No, Sorin. I'm removing them."

A beat of silence.

Then Sorin chuckled. "Fair enough."

Catherine stepped forward. "We need names. Contacts. If Voldemort isn't coming to you, who else is he turning to?"

Sorin tilted his head, considering. "You ask for a great deal."

Matthias folded his arms. "You owe us a great deal."

Sorin exhaled. Then, with a slow movement, he pulled out a small slip of parchment and handed it to Hadrian.

"Three names," he murmured. "His next meetings. But you didn't get them from me."

Hadrian took the parchment, eyes flickering over the writing.

Three locations.

Three potential alliances Voldemort was hoping to secure.

Hadrian smirked. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Sorin's smile was sharp. "Let's hope it stays that way."

Hadrian turned, his cloak shifting as he strode toward the alleyway exit. Catherine, Matthias, and Jonas followed, disappearing into the mist.

By the time the sun rose over Romania, Voldemort's plans would already be falling apart.

And soon, he would have no allies left.

By the time they returned to Haven, the world had already begun to shift.

Hadrian stood in the war room, rolling his shoulders as the familiar hum of protective wards settled around him. The mission had gone exactly as planned—Sorin had bent, Voldemort had lost a supplier, and now, they had new targets.

Catherine dropped the parchment Sorin had given them onto the center of the enchanted map. The three names glowed faintly, locations flickering into place.

Jonas, arms crossed, let out a low whistle. "Voldemort's getting desperate."

Matthias frowned, studying the names. "Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and—" His voice tightened slightly. "South America."

Hadrian exhaled. That was unexpected.

Britain's magical world had always been isolationist. Voldemort's war had been contained within the country's borders, and while he had sympathizers abroad, his power base had been purely local.

But now?

He was looking outside Britain.

Seeking allies.

Seeking weapons.

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "He's losing control here. And he knows it." He tapped one of the locations. "This is his next move."

Catherine nodded. "Then we stop it."

Matthias frowned slightly. "Three targets. We can't be everywhere at once."

Hadrian smirked. "We don't have to be. We just have to be faster."

Jonas leaned forward, grinning. "So, which of these lovely international disasters do we crash first?"

Catherine studied the reports. "The South American connection is new. If he's looking that far out, it means he's trying to expand—not just sustain what he has."

Matthias exhaled. "The Middle East contact is dangerous. If he secures that deal, he'll have access to war mages—people who won't care about his ideology, just what he can pay."

Hadrian's gaze flickered to the third name—one deep in the Balkans.

That one was personal.

That one had to be handled by him.

His fingers traced the glowing name. "I'll take the Eastern European target myself."

Jonas arched a brow. "Just you?"

Hadrian smirked. "This one doesn't require an army. Just the right kind of conversation."

Matthias didn't look convinced. "And the others?"

Catherine tapped the South American contact. "We'll send agents to intercept this deal. Cut it off before it forms."

Matthias nodded. "And the Middle East?"

Hadrian's smirk was sharp. "We let Voldemort make his move first."

Jonas tilted his head. "Risky."

Hadrian chuckled. "Necessary. We need to know exactly what he's offering before we take the board out from under him."

Catherine exhaled. "Then we have a plan."

Hadrian pushed off the table, adjusting his coat. "Good. Because we don't wait. We move now."

Jonas grinned. "I do love it when we ruin someone's day."

Hadrian's smirk widened. "Then let's get to work."

The hunt wasn't just continuing.

It was accelerating.

Hadrian's portkey activated with a sharp pull, magic wrapping around him as space compressed—and then he landed.

The cold air of Montenegro hit him immediately.

He stood at the edge of a quiet mountain town, where cobblestone streets wound between old stone buildings, their rooftops dusted with snow. Muggle cars lined the roads, their engines silent in the early morning chill.

But Hadrian's destination wasn't inside the town.

It was beyond it.

He turned toward the distant ruins perched along the cliffs, their dark silhouettes barely visible against the sky. That was where his target would be.

Jonas, who had arrived with him, adjusted his coat. "Voldemort's contact really picked the most dramatic location possible."

Hadrian smirked. "Poetic, isn't it?"

The man they had come for was Miran Drakos, a smuggler with ties to the darker corners of Eastern Europe's magical underworld. He was known for trafficking dangerous artifacts—things even Knockturn Alley refused to touch.

And now, he was planning to sell to Voldemort.

Hadrian exhaled. Not if we get to him first.

Catherine's voice crackled through the enchanted communicator in his ear. "Drakos arrived two hours ago. His men are watching the roads leading up to the ruins, but they don't expect company."

Jonas grinned. "That's their mistake."

Hadrian adjusted his wand holster. "Let's not waste time."

They moved quickly, silently, slipping through the town's backstreets before reaching the rugged pathway leading up to the ruins.

The old castle had been abandoned for centuries, but tonight, firelight flickered between its broken walls.

Drakos was inside.

Hadrian's smirk sharpened.

Time to introduce himself.

The castle ruins loomed ahead, half-buried in shadow, the stone walls weathered by centuries of wind and time. But tonight, it was alive.

Faint torchlight flickered from inside, illuminating the silhouettes of Drakos's men—guards stationed along the crumbling battlements, watching the winding path below.

Hadrian and Jonas moved silently, staying close to the jagged rock formations along the hillside. The cold wind howled through the cliffs, covering the sound of their approach.

Jonas flicked his wand, and a small shimmering barrier wrapped around them, dampening their magical presence. "They've got eyes on the road, but they're not watching the ruins behind them."

Hadrian's smirk was sharp. "Then we go in from above."

Catherine's voice crackled through the communicator. "Two men on the south wall, three near the entrance. No sign of Drakos yet."

Matthias's voice followed. "Do we eliminate the sentries?"

Hadrian exhaled. "Non-lethally. If we kill them all, Drakos will know this isn't Voldemort's doing."

Jonas smirked. "Right. Because we want him afraid of the Dark Lord, not us."

Hadrian nodded. "For now."

With precise, fluid movement, they scaled the rock face along the eastern side of the ruins, bypassing the guarded entrance completely. The stone was slick, the wind sharp against their skin, but Hadrian's grip never faltered.

Jonas muttered, "Remind me again why we didn't just blast our way in?"

Hadrian smirked. "Because we're professionals."

Jonas grumbled but said nothing.

At the top, they reached a narrow ledge overlooking the ruined courtyard. Below, two guards stood near an open passageway, talking quietly. Further in, a massive wooden table had been set up, crates stacked high with stolen magical artifacts.

And at the far end of the hall—

Miran Drakos.

Hadrian studied the smuggler carefully. The man was broad-shouldered, his long coat lined with enchanted silver, his wand idly tapping against the table. His presence was controlled, powerful—but there was something else.

Drakos was nervous.

Hadrian smirked. Good.

Jonas nudged him. "So, do we say hello, or let him sweat a little longer?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed.

"We make an entrance."

With a flick of his wand, the torches around the hall flared violently—light bursting, shadows stretching, magic crackling through the air.

The guards barely had time to react before Hadrian dropped down from above, landing in the center of the room like a shadow unfolding.

Drakos shot to his feet, hand darting toward his wand—

Hadrian raised a single finger.

"Don't."

The air tightened instantly, pressing against the room like a vice.

Jonas landed beside him, smirking. "I love dramatic entrances."

Drakos's men hesitated, their hands hovering over their weapons.

Hadrian took a slow step forward, the firelight catching the gleam of his emerald eyes.

"Let's talk, Miran." His voice was smooth, deadly. "You were expecting the Dark Lord."

A pause.

Drakos's jaw tightened.

Hadrian smirked.

"You got me instead."

The room was deathly silent.

Drakos's hand hovered near his wand, but he didn't draw it. The smuggler's sharp eyes flicked between Hadrian and Jonas, calculating, measuring. His men were tense, unsure whether to attack or wait for their leader's command.

Hadrian took another step forward, his green eyes gleaming in the firelight. "You look surprised, Miran. Did Voldemort not tell you to expect visitors?"

Drakos didn't answer immediately. His jaw tensed, but his fingers curled away from his wand—a sign that he knew exactly who he was dealing with.

"You're making dangerous moves, Peverell," Drakos finally said, voice steady. "Interfering in business that isn't yours."

Hadrian chuckled, low and smooth. "Oh, but you see, it is mine. Because you were about to do business with a dead man walking."

Drakos's eyes narrowed. "Voldemort isn't dead yet."

Hadrian smirked. "Not yet. But I like to plan ahead."

Jonas let out a mock sigh, rolling his shoulders. "I do enjoy when they still think they have a choice."

Drakos's men shifted uneasily, glancing toward their leader. They had been willing to deal with Voldemort because he promised power, but this?

This wasn't what they had signed up for.

Hadrian gestured lazily toward the crates stacked in the corner. "You've been in this game a long time, Drakos. You don't deal with people who are losing. You deal with survivors." His smirk sharpened. "So tell me—are you a survivor? Or a corpse waiting to happen?"

Silence.

Drakos's eyes flickered toward his men. He was outnumbered, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that didn't matter. Not against Hadrian.

Finally, he exhaled. "You want the deal terminated?"

Hadrian nodded. "I want every deal Voldemort has with you burned to ash. No weapons, no artifacts, no safehouses. Nothing."

Drakos studied him. "And if I say no?"

Jonas grinned. "Then we start decorating the walls with your insides."

Hadrian didn't look away. "Or you could say yes, walk away, and still have a business tomorrow."

Another long pause.

Then—Drakos sighed sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're a bastard, Peverell."

Hadrian smirked. "That's not a no."

Drakos muttered a curse in his native tongue, then turned to his men. "Burn it. All of it."

The guards hesitated for a split second before obeying.

Jonas raised a brow. "Well, that was easy."

Hadrian smirked. "Smart men don't fight losing battles."

As the first crates were set ablaze, Hadrian turned back to Drakos. "Now, let's talk about your future."

Because Voldemort's supply chain?

It wasn't just breaking.

It was falling apart.

The fire spread quickly.

Flames licked up the wooden crates, consuming the enchanted weapons, the dark artifacts, the carefully smuggled goods meant for Voldemort's war. Sparks shot into the air as curses bound within the objects ruptured and died.

Hadrian watched the destruction unfold, calm, unbothered.

Drakos, however, was less pleased. His mouth was set in a tight line, his arms crossed as he watched thousands of galleons' worth of merchandise turn to ash. His men moved carefully—some hesitated, reluctant, but none dared disobey.

Jonas exhaled, watching the fire with mild amusement. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Drakos shot him a look. "You'll forgive me if I don't celebrate the loss of my inventory."

Hadrian smirked. "That's the price of doing smart business. You won't get burned with Voldemort when he falls."

Drakos rolled his shoulders, considering. "You're gambling a lot on the idea that he'll lose."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "It's not a gamble. It's an inevitability."

Drakos scoffed but said nothing.

Jonas tilted his head. "So, what now? Drakos packs up and leaves the market entirely?"

Hadrian chuckled. "No. That would be unrealistic." He turned back to Drakos. "I know men like you. You don't stop—you adapt. So here's my offer."

Drakos arched a brow. "An offer, is it?"

Hadrian smirked. "You keep doing what you do—moving goods, making deals. But from now on, you don't sell to Voldemort or his followers. You don't supply them, you don't shelter them, you don't even acknowledge them."

Drakos studied him, expression unreadable. "And if I refuse?"

Hadrian exhaled, stepping closer, voice dropping to something silken, lethal.

"Then you disappear."

Silence.

Drakos held his gaze, tension thick in the air. His men had stopped moving, waiting for his decision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a slow breath.

"You're going to be a nightmare for the next generation of warlords," he muttered.

Hadrian smirked. "I try."

Drakos extended a hand. "Fine. Deal."

Hadrian shook it once, firm, final.

Jonas grinned. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Drakos shot him a flat look but said nothing.

Hadrian released his grip. "Pleasure doing business."

The last of the crates collapsed into cinders, the fire dying down to glowing embers.

By the time Voldemort learned of this, it would be far too late.

His supply chain was broken.

And soon?

His entire empire would follow.

The fire had nearly burned itself out by the time Hadrian and Jonas stepped out of the ruins, the glow of embers flickering behind them.

The cold night air of Montenegro hit them once more, but Hadrian barely noticed. His mind was already moving ahead—calculating, anticipating. This was more than just a single victory.

It was a shift.

Catherine's voice crackled through the enchanted communicator. "Status?"

Jonas grinned. "Mission accomplished. Voldemort just lost another supplier."

Hadrian exhaled, glancing back at the smoldering remains of Drakos's operation. "We're done here. What's the situation with the other targets?"

Catherine's tone was sharp, focused. "**The South American envoy never made it to their meeting point. Our agents intercepted them in Argentina—**no survivors. The deal is dead."

Matthias's voice followed. "Middle East contact is still in play. We let them think Voldemort's people are still coming, but the meeting hasn't happened yet." A pause. "You still want to wait before shutting it down?"

Hadrian's green eyes flickered. "Yes. I want to see exactly what Voldemort is offering before we cut him off."

Jonas tilted his head. "You think he's getting desperate?"

Hadrian smirked. "I know he is."

Catherine sighed. "Then we move fast. If he realizes what's happening, he'll change strategy."

Hadrian nodded. "Then let's not give him the chance. We're heading back now."

With a flick of his wand, he activated the secured portkey, and in an instant, the ruins of Montenegro vanished.

When they landed back in Haven, the night was still young.

And the war was far from over.

Hadrian stepped out of the portkey chamber, the hum of Haven's protective wards settling around him. The city was still alive despite the late hour—lamplights glowing, quiet conversations drifting from the open terraces of upper-district cafés.

But Hadrian didn't pause to take in the view.

He strode through the hallways of the war room, Jonas and Matthias at his side, their steps purposeful. Catherine was already waiting inside, scrolls and reports laid out before her, a fresh map hovering above the table.

The moment Hadrian entered, she flicked her wand, and the glowing markers shifted—new intelligence appearing.

"Voldemort knows something is wrong."

Hadrian smirked. "Of course he does."

Catherine tapped the map. "We intercepted a message from one of his lieutenants. The South American deal is completely dead, and word is spreading through his ranks that his Eastern European suppliers have… reconsidered their business relationships."

Jonas chuckled. "I love that we're ruining his economy."

Matthias, however, was frowning. "He's going to retaliate. He has to."

Hadrian's expression didn't change. "He will. But not yet." He gestured to the one remaining glowing marker on the map—the meeting in the Middle East. "This is his last chance to secure resources before his entire war effort collapses. He won't cancel this deal."

Catherine exhaled. "Then we make sure it never happens."

Hadrian nodded. "We let it play out—just long enough to see what he's offering. Then we take everything." His green eyes gleamed. "And leave him with nothing."

Jonas grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Hadrian smirked. "Let's end this."

The final strike was about to begin.

The plan took shape quickly.

Hadrian stood before the hovering map of the Middle East, Catherine beside him, tracing a faintly glowing route with her wand.

"The meeting is set to happen in Iraq, near the ruins of an old magical city." Her tone was steady, but her expression was sharp. "The site is heavily warded—meant to keep Muggle interference low, but also to deter unwanted magical visitors."

Matthias exhaled, studying the projected intelligence. "That won't stop us."

Jonas smirked. "No, but it means Voldemort thinks he'll be safe there."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Which makes it the perfect place to destroy him."

Catherine continued. "We don't know exactly who he's meeting yet, but we know what he's offering—gold, magical artifacts, possibly rare blood rituals to seal the alliance."

Jonas raised a brow. "Desperate much?"

Hadrian chuckled. "Very."

Matthias folded his arms. "Do we let the meeting happen? Or do we strike before it begins?"

Hadrian smirked. "We let it happen."

Jonas tilted his head. "That's bold."

Hadrian's voice was smooth, certain. "Because I want Voldemort to believe he's won. I want him to sit at that table, thinking he's about to secure his future—and then I want to rip it out from under him."

Silence stretched in the war room.

Then Catherine exhaled. "Then we'll need precision."

Hadrian nodded. "**And speed. We hit them hard and fast—**by the time the dust settles, the Dark Lord will have nothing left."

Jonas grinned. "I do love a good ambush."

Hadrian turned toward the transport chamber, his cloak shifting as he moved.

"Then let's go."

The final strike was about to begin.

The portkey pulled them across space, and the moment Hadrian landed, the heat hit him like a wall.

The air was dry, heavy with dust, the scent of ancient stone and distant smoke lingering in the wind. He stood at the edge of the ruins, his boots settling onto cracked sandstone. Ahead of them, the remnants of an old magical city stretched across the horizon—half-buried, forgotten by time.

But tonight, it was alive again.

Torchlight flickered within the crumbling archways, and the faint hum of protective wards pulsed beneath his feet. Voldemort's envoys had already arrived.

Hadrian smirked. Perfect.

Jonas landed beside him, adjusting his cloak. "I know I said I wanted a vacation, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

Catherine ignored him, her wand already tracing the outline of the wards. "They're reinforced. Stronger than expected."

Matthias exhaled, scanning the ruins. "He's being careful. He knows he's vulnerable."

Hadrian studied the golden glow of the barriers, fingers tapping against his wand. "Not careful enough."

A flick of his wrist, and the **magic around them shifted—**a silent pulse rippling outward.

Jonas tilted his head. "Did you just—"

The wards didn't collapse.

They bent.

Hadrian's smirk widened. "Now we walk in like we own the place."

Catherine exhaled. "Subtle."

Jonas grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Hadrian pulled his hood up, stepping forward into the ruins.

Tonight, Voldemort would think he was winning.

And then Hadrian would end his war before it even began.

The ancient ruins loomed around them, shadows stretching long under the flickering torchlight.

Hadrian moved silently, his presence barely a ripple in the thick, magic-laden air. The wards he had bent to allow their passage hummed faintly, as if sensing the presence of someone who did not belong.

From their vantage point above the main chamber, they could see the meeting unfolding below.

A long stone table had been placed in the center of the ruins, laden with gold, aged scrolls, and small enchanted artifacts. Voldemort's envoys—three cloaked figures—stood at one end, speaking in low, hushed voices to a group of men clad in deep crimson robes, their faces hidden behind veils of desert silk.

"That's them," Catherine murmured, keeping her voice just above a whisper.

"The Bloodforged Consortium," Matthias confirmed. His expression was grim. "Mercenaries. Curse-breakers. Smugglers. They've worked with every warlord in magical history."

Jonas exhaled, shaking his head. "And Voldemort wants them on his side."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed as he studied the exchange below.

He had let this meeting happen for one reason—to see what Voldemort was offering.

And now, he had his answer.

One of the crimson-clad men stepped forward, pulling back his veil just enough to reveal golden eyes and sharp, angular features. His voice carried through the chamber, rich with an accent Hadrian couldn't place.

"The Dark Lord offers much," the man said smoothly. "But gold is not what we value. We deal in power, Lord Voldemort's emissary. And you have yet to offer us something worth bending the knee."

Hadrian's smirk was sharp.

He won't be able to give them what they want.

One of the cloaked Death Eaters stepped forward. Their voice was smooth, but not confident. "The Dark Lord does not bend. He commands."

A sharp chuckle echoed from the Bloodforged leader. "And yet he is the one asking."

Hadrian saw it—the shift. The moment of hesitation in the Death Eater's stance. Voldemort's power was not as absolute as he wanted the world to believe.

Catherine's voice was quiet but sure. "They're not convinced."

Hadrian nodded. "Good. Let's make sure they never are."

With a flick of his fingers, magic coiled around him—silent, precise, deadly.

It was time to end the negotiations.

The air tensed as Hadrian moved.

Magic coiled around his fingertips, pulsing with controlled precision. From their vantage point above the chamber, he watched as the negotiation stalled, the Bloodforged leader's patience thinning with every passing second.

Perfect.

Jonas leaned slightly toward him. "We're making a scene, right?"

Hadrian smirked. "A very memorable one."

Catherine gave a small nod. "We strike the moment they show doubt. If we push them hard enough, they'll never consider Voldemort again."

Matthias kept his wand close, gaze sharp. "Then let's make it count."

Hadrian raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the torches lining the ruins flared—then burst, plunging the chamber into sudden, shifting shadows.

The Bloodforged mercenaries reacted instantly, wands drawn, their robes whispering against the stone. The Death Eaters hesitated—unprepared, unsure.

Then, from the darkness, Hadrian's voice rang out, smooth and lethal.

"Is this what you've been reduced to, Bloodforged? Taking scraps from a man who cannot even command his own empire?"

Silence.

The leader of the Bloodforged whipped around, golden eyes narrowing, searching for the source of the voice. "Who dares?"

Hadrian stepped forward, allowing the flickering remnants of torchlight to illuminate him. His emerald eyes gleamed, his cloak shifting with his magic's pulse. Jonas and Matthias moved with him, emerging from the shadows like wraiths, while Catherine remained unseen, ready to strike from above.

The Death Eaters stiffened in alarm.

The Bloodforged mercenaries, however, did not react with immediate hostility. Instead, their leader studied Hadrian carefully.

"Peverell," he murmured, and a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features.

Hadrian smirked. "A pleasure." His gaze flicked toward the Death Eaters, dismissive. "Though I must admit, I expected better company from you."

The Death Eater spokesman recovered, voice sharp. "You overstep, Peverell. You have no place here—"

"Neither does your master." Hadrian's voice was calm, final. He took another step forward, his magic thrumming through the stones beneath his feet. "Tell me, Bloodforged—do you plan to sell your blades to a man who cannot even protect his own ranks?"

A flick of his fingers, and in an instant, Yaxley's severed connection to Voldemort flared into the air—a magical echo of the Dark Lord's fury, his power slipping through the cracks.

It was subtle.

But the Bloodforged leader felt it.

His golden eyes flickered with realization.

Hadrian smiled. "Ah. You understand now, don't you?"

One of the Bloodforged mercenaries hesitated, then turned slightly toward his leader. "If he speaks the truth—"

The Death Eater cut him off. "Lies." His voice trembled, just slightly. "The Dark Lord is—"

"Losing." Hadrian's voice cut through the room like a blade. "One by one, his alliances crumble. His resources dwindle. His empire is falling apart."

The Bloodforged leader was silent for a long moment. Then, with measured slowness, he turned away from the Death Eaters.

A rejection.

Jonas grinned. "Oh, that's awkward."

The Death Eater's hands trembled. "You cannot—"

Hadrian raised his wand.

"You do not belong here anymore."

A pulse of magic exploded outward, knocking the Death Eaters back. The air rippled with controlled force—not lethal, but undeniable.

It was a dismissal.

The Death Eaters hesitated for half a second longer—then turned and fled.

Hadrian lowered his wand, turning back to the Bloodforged leader.

"So," he said smoothly. "Shall we discuss better business opportunities?"

And just like that, Voldemort lost another war asset.

The silence that followed was heavy with finality.

The Death Eaters' footsteps echoed through the ruins, fading into the distance as they fled into the night.

Hadrian remained still, his wand lowered but his presence undiminished. Across from him, the Bloodforged leader watched with measured consideration, golden eyes sharp.

Jonas exhaled loudly, grinning. "Well, that was satisfying."

Matthias, however, remained tense. "They'll report this to Voldemort immediately."

Hadrian smirked. "Let them."

The Bloodforged leader tilted his head slightly. "You are either a man who courts danger… or one who already knows he has won."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Both."

A pause. Then, low, quiet laughter.

The leader's golden gaze flickered with something almost amused. "You intrigue me, Peverell."

Hadrian offered a small, knowing smirk. "Then perhaps it's time we spoke properly."

With a slow, deliberate motion, the Bloodforged leader extended his hand.

Hadrian clasped it firmly.

A deal was struck.

And Voldemort's last hope for outside aid burned to ash.

The deal was sealed, but Hadrian wasn't done yet.

As his grip firmly clasped the Bloodforged leader's, magic pulsed between them—a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken terms.

The Bloodforged had once been neutral. Now?

They would ensure Voldemort's war effort collapsed.

The leader—Amon Valerius—held Hadrian's gaze for a moment longer before releasing his hand.

"You've given me much to consider," Amon murmured. "And yet, I suspect you want more than just our rejection of the Dark Lord."

Hadrian smirked. "Naturally."

Jonas leaned in. "Here comes the part where he recruits you."

Amon exhaled, his amusement barely concealed. "You seek more than an ally in the shadows, then?"

Hadrian tilted his head slightly. "I seek partnerships. Stability. Influence." He gestured around them, to the ruins, the echo of an empire long past. "The wizarding world is stagnating, clinging to ghosts of power. You know this."

Amon's expression didn't change, but Hadrian saw the flicker of agreement in his golden eyes.

"You want to build something," Amon observed.

Hadrian smiled. "I already have."

Amon studied him carefully, then finally, inclined his head.

"Then perhaps it is time I visit Haven myself."

Hadrian's smirk widened. "You'll find it most enlightening."

The deal was struck.

Voldemort's last potential ally was no longer his to claim.

And soon, the Dark Lord would feel the full weight of his isolation.

The ruins of the ancient city stood silent once more, the last embers of torchlight flickering out as the Bloodforged prepared to depart.

Hadrian adjusted his cloak, turning slightly as Amon Valerius murmured something in a language he did not immediately recognize. The other mercenaries responded in kind, their deep, rolling syllables carrying an air of old power.

Jonas, standing beside Hadrian, raised an eyebrow. "Well, that definitely wasn't English."

Hadrian smirked. "Montenegrin, mixed with an older dialect."

Amon turned toward him, amusement flickering in his golden eyes. "You understand?" His voice was smooth, deliberate.

Hadrian responded in flawless, precisely enunciated Montenegrin. "Enough to know when someone is speaking carefully around me."

Amon chuckled, clearly entertained. "Then I will spare you the formalities, Lord Peverell."

Jonas muttered, "Oh, he likes you."

Hadrian ignored him. "You mentioned visiting Haven. I assume you'll want discretion?"

Amon inclined his head. "For now. My people do not make alliances lightly. But you intrigue me, Peverell. If your city is truly what you claim… perhaps we will speak again."

Hadrian smirked. "You'll find Haven exceeds expectations."

Amon studied him for a moment longer before turning on his heel, his crimson robes billowing as he strode toward his men. With a sharp command in their own tongue, the Bloodforged vanished into the night.

Matthias exhaled. "That went better than expected."

Catherine's voice crackled through the enchanted communicator. "The Death Eaters are long gone. No sign of reinforcements."

Jonas stretched lazily. "Which means we win this round. Again."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "We're not done."

Matthias frowned. "What's left? The Bloodforged rejected Voldemort, the Death Eaters ran—"

Hadrian smirked. "And now we make sure Voldemort knows exactly how badly he's lost."

Jonas grinned. "Public humiliation? I love it."

Catherine sighed. "I'll prepare the next move."

Hadrian adjusted his wand holster. "Let's go."

The night was far from over.

And when Voldemort learned what had happened, the world would feel the shift.

The return to Haven was swift.

Hadrian landed in the portkey chamber with barely a ripple of displaced air, his team arriving beside him. The hum of protective enchantments flared for a moment before recognizing them and settling back into the city's natural magical pulse.

Jonas stretched, rolling his shoulders. "You know, for once, I'd love a mission that doesn't involve ancient ruins, shadowy warlords, or people trying to kill us."

Matthias snorted. "So, you want to retire?"

Jonas grinned. "Gods, no. Just saying, we should get a drink before Hadrian drags us into another international crisis."

Hadrian smirked but didn't reply. His mind was already moving forward.

Catherine was waiting in the main war room, maps and intelligence reports laid out before her. She looked up the moment Hadrian entered. "It's already spreading."

Hadrian strode to the table, scanning the reports.

Voldemort's envoys had returned to Britain. They had run straight to their master, and the Dark Lord's fury was already shaking the underground networks.

Jonas peered over Hadrian's shoulder, whistling. "He killed one of them? Damn."

Matthias exhaled. "Voldemort doesn't tolerate failure."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "No. But he's making a mistake."

Jonas arched a brow. "How so?"

Hadrian tapped the report. "He's punishing his own people instead of addressing the problem. He's too used to control. He doesn't understand that it's slipping through his fingers.**"

Catherine nodded. "And when he realizes?"

Hadrian smirked. "It'll be too late."

Jonas chuckled. "So, what's next?"

Hadrian exhaled, thoughtful. "We let this fester for a few days. Let him rage, let his paranoia sink deeper. Then…"

His smirk sharpened.

"We give him something new to fear."

For the next two days, Voldemort's fury shook the underworld of wizarding Britain.

Hadrian sat in Haven's council chamber, watching the reports flood in. Across from him, Catherine read aloud from a fresh parchment, her voice calm despite the weight of the words.

"Confirmed: Rookwood is missing. His network inside the Ministry has collapsed overnight. Several of his informants have fled the country, and his safehouses are compromised. Voldemort believes it was an internal betrayal."

Hadrian's smirk was cold. "Good. Let him waste time hunting ghosts."

Matthias scanned another report. "Lucius Malfoy has tripled his personal security—wards, private mercenaries, restricted access to the Manor. He's afraid."

Jonas leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. "As he should be. But I'm still waiting for the grand finale, Hadrian. We've broken his supply lines, ruined his alliances, and turned his own people against him. What's the final blow?"

Hadrian exhaled, tapping his fingers against the polished stone of the table.

"It's not enough to take away his power." His green eyes gleamed. "We need to break his legend."

Silence settled over the room.

Catherine frowned slightly. "His legend?"

Hadrian smirked. "Voldemort thrives on fear. His power is secondary—his greatest weapon is the belief that he is inevitable, unstoppable." He sat forward slightly. "But what happens when we make him look weak?"

Jonas let out a low whistle. "Oh. We're going to humiliate him."

Matthias, ever the pragmatist, narrowed his eyes. "How?"

Hadrian's smirk sharpened. "We take something from him publicly. Something he values—not just for power, but for symbolism."

He flicked his wand, and a name illuminated on the map before them.

Azkaban.

Jonas stopped mid-stretch. "Wait, you're not saying—"

Hadrian's voice was calm, decisive.

"We break into Azkaban."

Silence.

Then Catherine exhaled sharply. "That's… insane."

Matthias didn't deny it. Instead, he leaned forward. "You want to steal his prisoners?"

Hadrian smirked. "No. I want to take the ones that matter. The ones he thinks are loyal. The ones he believes he has broken beyond saving."

Jonas let out a slow, delighted chuckle. "Oh, I love this."

Catherine, despite her earlier shock, was already considering. "Breaking into Azkaban is one thing. Getting out?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "That's where we get creative."

Matthias exhaled. "You realize what this will do? If we pull this off, Voldemort will—"

"Panic." Hadrian's smirk widened. "He'll know he isn't untouchable. That not even the walls of Azkaban can protect what he thinks is his."

Jonas clapped his hands together. "Alright, I'm sold. So, when do we start?"

Hadrian stood. "Now."

Because by the time the sun rose, Azkaban would no longer belong to Two Days Before the Azkaban Strike

Hadrian sat in Haven's strategy chamber, his green eyes scanning the latest intelligence reports. Every move Voldemort made was predictable now—every reaction, every moment of paranoia.

The Dark Lord was spiraling.

Jonas leaned back in his chair, flipping through a report. "Alright, I get that Voldemort's losing his mind, but why are we looking at Azkaban, specifically?"

Catherine placed a sealed scroll on the table. "Because it isn't just a prison anymore."

Matthias frowned. "You're saying Voldemort already controls it? Because last I checked, it's still under Ministry authority."

Hadrian smirked. "On paper."

He tapped the scroll, and the war map shifted, illuminating a detailed magical projection of Azkaban Prison. The familiar black fortress stood tall over dark waters, but several points along the structure glowed in crimson.

"These," Hadrian said smoothly, "are all the places where Voldemort's influence has already taken root."

Jonas's smirk faded slightly as he studied the map. "That's… a lot."

Catherine nodded. "Corrupt Ministry officials have been slipping people into Azkaban under false charges. Some of Voldemort's enemies have simply 'disappeared.'"

Matthias's jaw tightened. "So, what? He's turning Azkaban into his own private dungeon?"

Hadrian's smirk was sharp. "Exactly."

He flicked his wand, and the map pulsed, highlighting certain sections of the prison in deep blue.

"These are the prisoners that matter," Hadrian continued. "Not just innocent people, but assets. People who could shift the war in our favor if we get them out."

Jonas let out a low whistle. "So, you're saying we're not just breaking in—we're stealing his prisoners."

Catherine exhaled. "And exposing how deeply the Ministry has already failed."

Matthias rubbed a hand over his face. "This will break everything wide open. If we pull this off, the Ministry won't be able to pretend they're still in control. And Voldemort?**"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "He'll know that nowhere is safe from us."

Jonas grinned. "I love it when we make him miserable."

Hadrian's smirk widened. "Then let's begin."

The Azkaban Heist was officially in motion.

Voldemort.

Night Before the Azkaban Heist

The sky above Haven's war chamber was dark, the enchanted ceiling mirroring the storm that rumbled over the North Sea. Hadrian stood at the head of the planning table, his green eyes scanning the final layout of Azkaban's defenses.

Catherine tapped a section of the floating three-dimensional map, and the ghostly blueprint shifted, highlighting a series of layered wards and shifting corridors.

"The Ministry still maintains the outer wards," she explained. "But the inside is a different story. The Dementors are unpredictable, and Voldemort's influence is growing."

Matthias folded his arms. "Any sign that the Ministry suspects an attack?"

Jonas, leaning against the wall, smirked. "Not a chance. The idiots are too busy pretending they still control their own prison."

Hadrian's gaze flickered to Catherine. "Remind me of the primary obstacles."

She didn't hesitate. "Three major threats: The Ministry's outer defenses, the Dementors, and Voldemort's hidden forces inside."

She pointed to the outer section of the map. "First problem—the Ministry's automated wards. They scan for unauthorized Portkeys and Apparition attempts."

Jonas snorted. "Which means walking in the front door isn't an option."

Catherine nodded. "Correct. Which is why we're not going through the front door."

Hadrian tapped his wand, and the map zoomed in on the rocky cliffs beneath Azkaban.

"The prison is built on a magically sustained rock formation," he murmured. "But like any structure built on magic, it has weak points."

Matthias exhaled. "So we go under."

Hadrian smirked. "Exactly."

Jonas let out a low chuckle. "You're telling me we're breaking into Azkaban… from below?"

Catherine's voice was calm. "Through an underground passage that's been sealed for centuries."

Silence.

Then Jonas grinned. "I love this plan."

Matthias, ever the pragmatist, frowned. "Even if we get in, what about the Dementors? We can't fight them directly."

Hadrian's expression didn't change. "We won't fight them. We'll control them."

Jonas arched a brow. "I'm sorry, did you just say control the Dementors?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Yes."

Catherine inhaled sharply. "You found something, didn't you? Some way to override their natural connection to Voldemort."

Hadrian nodded. "Azkaban's original founders created the Dementor pacts to enforce order. Voldemort is hijacking that power. But if I sever his influence—they'll return to a neutral state."

Matthias frowned. "That's a theory, not a guarantee."

Hadrian smirked. "That's why I'm going in first."

Jonas let out a low whistle. "So, not only are we breaking into Azkaban, stealing prisoners, and humiliating Voldemort—we're also hijacking his Dementors?"

Hadrian exhaled. "Yes."

A beat of silence.

Then Jonas grinned. "God, I love working for you."

Hadrian turned back to the map. "We move at dawn."

Because by tomorrow night, Azkaban would belong to him.

Azkaban Heist – The Takeover

The Dementors did not attack.

They hovered in the darkness, their skeletal hands hidden within their cloaks, their eyeless faces turned toward Hadrian as if they could see him anyway.

Jonas muttered, "I don't like this."

Catherine stood ready, wand aimed, but Hadrian was calm.

He stepped forward, his magic pulsing outward—a slow, deliberate ripple of willpower, dominance, command.

The Dementors shuddered.

Matthias tensed. "Hadrian—"

"They're waiting."

Hadrian's voice was steady. Certain.

His power coiled through the air, meeting the ancient magic that bound these creatures to the prison. Voldemort had begun twisting their loyalty, bending them to his will—but the original pact that bound them to Azkaban?

It still existed.

Hadrian grasped it.

Magic clashed, pulled, fought.

The Dementors howled. The chamber shook.

Jonas swore. "I really don't like this."

But Hadrian's grip did not falter.

"You were made to enforce order, not to serve a false king."

His voice was calm, absolute.

"You will obey me."

And just like that—the howling stopped.

The air was deathly silent.

Then, as one—the Dementors bowed.

Hadrian exhaled slowly.

Jonas blinked. "Okay. That was terrifying."

Matthias shook his head. "But it worked."

Catherine, still gripping her wand tightly, murmured, "You just took Azkaban's greatest weapons for yourself."

Hadrian smirked.

"Now let's take the prison."

The Breakout

With the Dementors under his control, the rest of the operation moved fast.

• The wards fell. Catherine and Matthias unraveled the Ministry's outer defenses, severing the alarms before they could activate.

• The guards never stood a chance. Jonas disabled the wardens before they could react, stunning them with brutal efficiency.

• The prisoners were freed. Hadrian personally unsealed the high-security cells, releasing the political captives, the defectors, and the forgotten victims of Voldemort's quiet war.

The prisoners stared in stunned silence.

One of them—a gaunt man with hollow eyes—stepped forward. "Who… who are you?"

Hadrian met his gaze.

"Your way out."

By Dawn, Azkaban Was Theirs.

Voldemort's influence? Erased.

His prisoners? Rescued.

His legend? Cracked.

And when the Ministry realized what had happened, the world would never be the same.

Hadrian stood on the prison's highest tower, looking down at the stormy sea, the Dementors now circling under his command.

Jonas exhaled. "We just stole Azkaban."

Hadrian smirked. "Yes. Yes, we did."

And the war had just changed forever.

Want to get ahead in the story?

Read chapters ahead by supporting me on Buy Me a Coffee! Be the first to experience the next twists, power moves, and unforgettable moments before anyone else.

Join here: buymeacoffee. Com/har_pat

Your support keeps the story going—and gets you exclusive early access!