Mission redemption

A week later in London, in the great hall of the ministry, everyone was fleeing in a rush. Once the last elevator had left, the swarming crowd that had clustered against the golden doors hurriedly sought a hiding place. Once everyone had found shelter, the great hall echoed with a fearful silence and ragged breaths. Only the moans and psalms of the wizards condemned to torment broke the silence and reminded that the place was the center of a vast evil empire that now stretched from the Strait of Gibraltar to the Ural Mountains.

The reason for this escape was simple. Five minutes ago, they all felt a wave of raw magic tighten around their necks. All of them now knew what it meant: the master was back and he was not happy.

When he finally appeared, Voldemort crossed the hall quickly without even a glance or gesture for his servants. He barely distractedly cast a Cruciatus Curse on a young recruit who, unaccustomed to this new routine of terror and obsequiousness, had not sufficiently hidden. But unlike his usual behavior, he did not sit on his throne to watch the tortured and take out his anger on some of them. He continued his stride to the elevators, and when he realized they were all occupied by his minions, with a flick of the Elder Wand, he cut the cables of one of them and the cabin crashed with a dreadful sound of broken bones.

The dark wizard smiled and, with no regard for the agonized pleas of the survivors pouring out from the now blood-covered golden cabin, he stepped over the corpses and trampled the broken arms until he reached the center of the cabin. With a wave of his wand, it repaired itself and began to descend into the depths of the ministry with the unfortunate ones who hadn't had time to crawl outside on board.

But the dark wizard paid them no attention, and when a few seconds later the elevator reached the deepest basement of the ministry, he left them without a single glance. They all then breathed a sigh of relief. Usually, the master's rages left them with injuries far more serious than a few broken ribs.

It was only once he had passed the door lined with protective spells (which he himself had placed) leading to the veil room that he stopped his run and collapsed from fatigue against the wall. Voldemort was exhausted. Over time, without understanding why, this place had become his refuge. The place where he could let go without risking being observed or simply disturbed. And the more his army progressed in its conquest of the world, the more time he spent there.

First to reflect and now to hide his weaknesses from his servants. The conquest, which had initially been swift and exhilarating, had gradually turned into an ordeal for the dark lord. And again, could one speak of conquest given the little control he had over these territories? Most had just become lawless areas returned to complete anarchy, from which resistance movements regularly emerged, paralyzing his efforts. And this, even at the heart of his empire. While he had believed that the fall of the Hogwarts enclave and the massacre of all its inhabitants would put a definitive end to any attempts at resistance, the event had, it seemed, ignited the United Kingdom.

Since then, he had to face a curiously extremely well-organized resistance. He admitted he had made a misjudgment. He thought that the destruction of the Umbrage government would allow him to complete his takeover.control of the country and make it a safe base from which he could calmly go on to conquer the rest of the world. Already he had embarked with barely enough men. If only he could have postponed his attack by a few months.

The solution would have been to take care of pacifying these territories himself, but the external front occupied him completely. There too, the actions of that cursed Constance had destabilized his strategy. He had planned for her lies and swift attack to sow confusion and terror among his enemies. He had thought he could, as in England, pit his enemies against each other and weave alliances based on false promises. And at first, that is what happened. Europe fell into his hands with disconcerting ease, with some witch communities even welcoming him as a protector. But the activism of Constance and the former leaders of the old international witch confederation had convinced, through these proofs (and others she later gathered in occupied Europe), some of his enemies (both muggles and witches) to form a fragile alliance against him.

At first, he had thought he could quickly break this ridiculous alliance by getting involved in the battle himself. However, they had reacted quickly. Instead of concentrating their forces for powerful counterattacks, he had scattered them into small groups insufficient to stop the advance of his troops, but more than enough to cause terrible damage to his army stretched to the extreme along the vast borders of his territory. Not to mention that these cowards fled as soon as he appeared on the battlefield, without trying to fight him.

At the beginning, he had appreciated the terror in the eyes of his enemies at each of his appearances and the full awareness of his overwhelming superiority that he read in their eyes. However, he was now tired of this routine consisting of an accumulation of mediocre victories and a few crushing defeats during the rare moments of rest he allowed himself. At this rate, it would take him years to conquer the world and probably centuries to destroy all desire for resistance. If he even managed to do it. The example of what had happened at Hogwarts was beginning to make him doubt.

Voldemort stood up and approached the now inert veil. Although not an ounce of magic emanated from the old stone arcane anymore, he shivered. Suddenly, it was like a revelation. That feeling of unease he was experiencing. That cold grip around his soul too weak to achieve his ends, he had already felt it on the worst day of his life. The day when his destiny was stolen from him by that vulgar mudblood who refused to hand over her child. He, who had the kindness to spare her life in exchange for her child, had her maternal love spat in his face.

From the orphanage, he had a lot of trouble with the concept of love. He first convinced himself that he had a problem in not being able to feel it, then he understood that love was a lie. A story that men had invented to avoid killing each other.

Then there had been Lily Potter. According to the books he had read, the ancient magic she had used to disrupt the creation of his last Horcrux could only work if the sacrifice was motivated by genuine love. However, the world had sufficiently proven to him that love did not exist. Could it be that another force was at work that day when he nearly achieved true immortality? The prophecy, which he had been unable to fully obtain from Potter's mind, spoke of a power that the Dark Lord knew not.Was she talking about the mysterious power behind the relics? What connection was there between them and the Potters? What would happen if he tried to create new horcruxes? Would this force manifest itself again?

Since his resurrection, he still hadn't taken the time to create new horcruxes. He told himself it was due to a lack of time or a sufficiently important victim. But deep down, Voldemort was afraid.

Voldemort let out a huge scream filled with pain, anger, and frustration, before starting to demolish the ancient arch with bombarda that covered the room with a thick cloud of dust and a smell of sulfur. When the dust settled, only debris remained of the arch. Then with a crazed look, he said, staring at the sky:

Whoever you are, I will find you and I will kill you. It's time to put an end to these stupid little games. I can no longer afford to waste my time. It's time to change methods. Subtlety is over, the world will know what it costs to resist Lord Voldemort.

Then he left with an evil laugh.

Yes, that's it! Why didn't I think of it sooner?

Then he shriveled up and continued in a very different tone:

It's true that it would be violent. Such barbarity is not worthy of the heir of Slytherin.

Then he began to pace back and forth, continuing to talk to himself.

But what am I saying? Yes, these are Gryffindor methods, so what? If there's one thing I've always agreed with Dumbledore on, it's that all houses have their value. Voldemort always respected the courage and simplicity of Gryffindors and vilified the Slytherins who got bogged down in needlessly complex plans to excuse their cowardice. What, my Death Eaters? Those larvae will follow me no matter what I ask of them. I've trained them well. Anyway, they're too stupid to understand my intentions.

Then he left the room, repeating to himself one last time: it's the only way. I can't wait any longer.

A few moments later, a rat jumped from the ceiling beams where it had been hiding to gracefully reach the ruins of the ancient stone arch. After a quick inspection of the area using its developed sense of smell, which informed it that it was definitely alone, its body quickly elongated and it became a small man with a balding head and shifty eyes who let out a sigh of relief. Earlier, he had truly believed he had been discovered and that his last hour had come. But he didn't have time to rest to recover from his emotions.

He had been watching the dark lord in his moments of intimacy when he believed himself alone for a while. He was mulling over the prophecy and Dumbledore's last words. Little by little, a plan had started to form in his mind. A completely crazy plan. A plan so absurd that he had made an effort to push it to the back of his mind.

But he no longer had time to find a better one. Whatever the new plan of the Dark Lord was, if it was terrible enough that even he had qualms about implementing it, then everything had to be done to stop him. He absolutely had to find Theodore Nott.

OooOoOoOoOo

The next day, Voldemort called an exceptional meeting of all his Death Eaters in his office at the top of the ministry, transformed for the occasion into a throne room.

Did you understand my orders well?

Yes, my lord. But what should I say to the French wizards I gathered on the eastern front?

Tell them to hold their position.

But my lord...

What? Voldemort spat angrily.

The Death Eater with a strong Slavic accent knelt and said in a trembling voice, anticipating the terrible punishment that would surely befall him:

The allies have retaken Voronezh and are heading towards Kharkiv. Without your help, we will not be able to resist their advance.

But to his great surprise, Voldemort answered.

This is of no importance. Have your men hold their position and slow them down as best they can. Ha! And put those werewolf scoundrels on the front line.

After these last words, his Death Eaters bowed and began to leave the room hastily.

Did I tell you that the meeting was over? One of you has not yet received their orders. The dark lord interrupted them.

Everyone looked at each other with a questioning look on their faces. During the meeting, everyone had just received a series of absurd orders that were completely contradictory and practically impossible to accomplish perfectly. In any case, not if they also wanted to continue the pacification of the provinces that the master had assigned to them on the continent.

Draco! Called Voldemort.

A feeling of relief spread through the room, and a few smiles appeared well hidden behind the masks of white marble. Witnessing the humiliation of the last of the Malfoys after several generations of having to bend the knee before them was extremely gratifying. Only Bellatrix Lestrange did not fully enjoy the celebration, but this only doubled the pleasure of the spectators who knew that she would not fail to punish her nephew for not yet regaining the master's favor.

He advanced barefoot, in his patched robes. Despite his miserable appearance, he walked with pride, glaring with disdain at those who dared to raise their eyes to better see his downfall. Once in front of the throne, he knelt and with a defiant air asked:

Yes Master. What do you want me to wash? Your house elf is at your service.

An outraged and anticipatory murmur spread through the room. But the dark lord merely smiled. Draco should have been worried, but despite all this time, he had never been able to. His mind was so filled with hatred for the scarred one and the thing that had taken possession of him that he had no room left for fear.

Should I understand, dear Drago, that you find the missions I entrust to you unworthy of you?

Whatever the task, serving you is an honor, my lord. Drago forced himself to reply servilely. If he died here, he could never accomplish his revenge.

Endoloris! When Lord Voldemort asks a question, he expects an answer.

All the Death Eaters present started to laugh when they saw the young teenager begin to scream in pain. Once Voldemort lifted the spell, young Draco said, crying:

Yes, my lord.

Yes, what?

Yes, I find them humiliating. What he doesn't say is that he found it even more humiliating to have to admit it in public.

So young and yet already so arrogant. I should punish you for that. But on the other hand, this ambition does credit to Slytherin.That is why I have decided to give you an opportunity to show me what you are capable of. This morning a terrible rumor reached my ears, the center of this annoying rebellion that is growing day by day in our beautiful English lands would be Fort Nott. You know, your friend with whom you spent most of your summer before your father betrayed me.

Yes, I know her, my lord. He replied, trembling with anticipation as every time the dark lord mentioned his father's crimes. Then, seeing that nothing followed, he continued: her defenses are impressive, but there is no doubt that you will overcome them.

Endoloris!

You idiot! Do you think Lord Voldemort has nothing better to do? Haven't you listened to anything that was said? I don't have time to make up for the result of your incompetence. No, I'm giving you 3 months to crush this cursed resistance. Succeed and you will be honored beyond your expectations. Not only will I forgive you for your father's actions and return your ancestral estate, but you will also have the honor of receiving my mark and standing as an equal among my followers. Fail and I will ensure that it is the last time your family disappoints me. Think of your mother, given her condition I'm not sure she can withstand another punishment.

Yes, my lord, but how could I penetrate the defenses of Fort Nott? Drago asked, holding back tears.

So, young arrogant one, you want to play the grown-up, but you give up at the first difficulty. Use your brain, you fool. Why do you think I entrusted you with this mission? Use what you know about your friend and the traitor to his blood who accompanies him to find him and force him to open the doors of his fortress. Then kill him and all the other rebels.

After this final explanation, Voldemort stood up and headed towards the exit. Then, opening the door, he turned to face the still kneeling crowd:

On the way, I would destroy Moscow. Their victory at Voronezh should not give them too much hope.

Once he had left, everyone stood up. Only Draco remained petrified on the ground. He only started to move when his aunt gave him a hit on the back of the head while whispering in his ear:

You better not fail.

As if he needed that nutcase to understand him.