Azkaban

My lord, your power is limitless. How were you able to achieve such a feat when you cannot cast a Patronus? One of the emaciated men in prisoner attire kneeling before Harry gushed in flattery.

When he had killed his father and grandparents, Voldemort had felt so much joy that he finally believed he had a memory powerful enough to allow him to finally master the Patronus. The next day, when he cast the spell, he almost shouted victory when for the first time a shapeless silvery wisp emerged from his wand. However, despite his efforts and the years, he was never able to produce a corporeal Patronus. Few were aware of this weakness, and everyone should know that it was not a good idea to remind him of it.

Fire. Shouted Voldemort angrily.

Dolohov screamed when part of his right arm disappeared in the flames. Fortunately, as painful as his injury was, there was nothing a good potion couldn't heal. Since Nott's escape, many others hadn't been so lucky. He knew that by acting this way, he was only reducing the number of his servants and the loyalty of the survivors. However, he couldn't help it.

To say that he had wanted to mark young Nott to slightly break the spirit of his host. He didn't know exactly what the nature of their bond was (as soon as he tried to access memories involving the people Harry cared about like his parents, that bizarre house-elf, or his friends, he felt an intense pain that forced him to retreat) but the teenager was pathetic enough to have become attached to the son of one of his most loyal Death Eaters. He hadn't anticipated for a moment that Nott would refuse the honor he was giving him. And even less the impact his escape would have on his state. Never had he felt so... unstable.

He remembered nothing, but his Death Eaters claimed that Nott had fled because for a few seconds, he had been paralyzed. Or rather, that is what Voldemort had read in their minds. (They would never have dared to confess this to him)

Voldemort felt himself losing his footing. What irony. While he had never been so powerful, he had never felt so weak.

He was more convinced than ever that his problems would end when he could use the 2 Dursleys and Harry's 3 friends to create new horcruxes. Chance had it that Harry had exactly the right number of close ones for him to have 7 again.

Normally, he would never have taken the risk of dividing his soul so much, but Voldemort did not believe in coincidences. Not since he had discovered the power of the relics. From now on, where he would have seen a chance, now he saw signs sent by a higher power working in the shadows to lead him to greatness. As long as it was in his interest, Voldemort would play the game. Nevertheless, as soon as he had the opportunity, he would teach this entity what it cost to treat Lord Voldemort like a mere pawn.

However, despite all his efforts, he found no trace of either the Dursleys or Harry's three friends. Thanks to the efforts of his Death Eaters and his spies, he had been able to find many of the Order's hideouts since Nott's escape. But every time he went there with his Death Eaters, they turned out to be empty. He wondered once again if there was a spy in their ranks.who was informing Dumbledore. But that was impossible. The terror he instilled in his troops had at least the advantage that none would ever have the courage to sell information to the old fool. And yet Voldemort doubted.

With a majestic step under the gaze of his men, all kneeling before him, he advanced towards the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. He cast a disdainful glance at the bodies of Aurors strewn on the ground, then unleashed his power, which clashed against the protections of the most secure tower on the island. For a few seconds, a magical battle ensued, then it was overwhelmed by darkness, and the walls cracked. Finally, with a horrible death cry, an entire section of the tower wall collapsed. From the cells, now opening to the void, emerged the incredulous faces of several men and women marked by malnutrition and scabies. One of them leaned towards the void with a smile. Voldemort flew to meet her and once at her level, gently took her chin in his hands to force her to look him in the eyes:

Hello Bella

She responded with a cold and genuine laugh. A laugh that echoed his own feelings. The fortress of Azkaban was his now. And after he had managed the feat of killing a Dementor, he had no doubt that the soul-eaters would quickly join him. He knew no more than Dolohov how the relics had been able to do that, but as soon as he began to feel the effects of the Dementors' proximity, he knew he was capable of it. What had started as a simple reconnaissance mission quickly turned into a full-blown conquest of the fortress. If he could do that, then his powers had no limits, and with such allies, the ministry would soon fall into his hands.

At that moment, Voldemort did not doubt that he could have cast a Patronus. But now it no longer mattered.

He thought with rage that all he had left to do was to make sure that Karkarof and Rosier had successfully completed their mission at Gringotts so that all the pieces would be in place. This time, nothing would stop him. Not even death.

oOoOoOoOo

Hey, hi, how are your daughters doing? Asks Stéphanie to her colleague from the Magical Police Brigade.

Frankly, it's been so long since I've seen the twins that I'm starting to wonder if I didn't dream the birth. Robert replied.

Be careful, I could repeat everything to Susan. In my opinion, she would have a very strong opinion on the matter.

You wouldn't dare.

It depends, are you buying me a coffee?

A man who was standing silently in a corner with a gloomy expression then exclaimed:

I don't know how you two manage to stay in such a good mood. I'm on the verge of cracking.

Well, you know Gil, he... Robert tried to answer him, but Gil interrupted him again:

If at least what we were doing was useful, but on top of that, we spend our time dealing with this damn World Cup and searching for those 3 Death Eater brats that the Gazette keeps talking about. All because their filthy rich parents. If it were my son who disappeared, they wouldn't care at all.

Yeah, but it's still important to find them. It's normal for him to ask us to work overtime. Tried to defend Stéphanie without really knowing why (she too was not very satisfied with her work lately).

But his response seemed to have the effect of further angering Gil:

My ass. As far as I'm concerned, they can rot in hell. Who's going to mourn the loss of a Nott? And in the meantime, the escapees are still on the loose. Frankly, what's gotten into the leaders? The minister has gone completely mad.

Hey Gil... She tried to warn him, but carried away by emotion, he continued his speech even louder.

No, but seriously. We can't continue like this! We need to do something to postpone the final and mobilize to find the escapees before there are any deaths.

A characteristic cough was heard.

A cold sweat ran down Gil's neck, who turned around. Umbridge stood in front of him with her horrible little girl smile plastered on her face.

Should I understand that you have some criticisms of the recent decisions of our administration, Mr. Anderson?

No, none, Madam Umbridge. It's just...

Perfect, keep it up, Mr. Anderson. We need men like you. Would you be interested in coming to my office tomorrow at 2:00 PM? We could discuss your transfer request.

My transfer request? But I haven't made any request for ....

Don't worry, I will make sure to approve it quickly. It would be a shame to lose a valuable man like you because we couldn't offer him sufficiently stimulating challenges.

Gil thought for a moment about punching the horrible toad in the face. Then he thought of his son who would soon be returning to Hogwarts (which would represent a significant cost) and his brother and sister who, like many wizards, depended directly or indirectly on the Ministry of Magic for their livelihood.

Yes, Madam Umbridge. Thank you for your consideration.

You're welcome. It's my job to ensure that the ministry's employees remain motivated to faithfully carry out their tasks.

Then she left. Gil realized that he was now alone. Without him noticing, the other two had fled. Forgetting the pile of work waiting for him on his desk, he ran to lock himself in the bathroom where he cried over his own helplessness and worried about the fate Ombrage had in store for him. The latter, on the contrary, was jubilant. By climbing the hierarchy and accumulating power, she had quickly realized that nothing was more satisfying than abusing her power to crush this kind of individual, whose idealism brought nothing but disorder.

Of course, inevitably, a small voice (which strangely resembled that of her late mother) whispered to her that it was wrong. But at that moment, Umbridge had no trouble silencing it. Unlike Fudge, she wasn't stupid and could clearly see that what was happening now went far beyond the usual quarrels between politicians. She didn't know exactly what it was about, and even today, she sometimes doubted. It was subtle enough that from the outside, no one noticed anything. It was therefore not surprising to her that most wizards (and that incompetent Fudge) hadn't seen anything either.

But for her, who had made sure to be involved in every decision-making (even minor ones), it was impossible to miss that from now on, the purebloods were closing ranks. She also couldn't miss the sudden retirements and appointments serving as a mysterious consensus among the purebloods (whereas usually, they fought among themselves for the best positions). Adding to this the recent changes of allegiance by several high-ranking officials, one thing was clear: the purebloods had found themselves a new leader. A leader sufficiently legitimate to resolve differences between the great families or strong enough to force them to set them aside.

After Dumbledore's thunderous statements during the trial, one name quickly came to her mind. However, she hadn't wanted to believe it. It was so... She had no word to describe how absurd it was. Her ministry was threatened by a child just 14 years old and a ghost. Nevertheless, since the escape, she had to face the facts. Dark days were looming, and if she did nothing, the ministry would not survive. She had to strengthen discipline and ensure that the transition was as short as possible. If she managed to maintain order during the regime change, then the ministry would endure, and the Death Eaters would have to deal with her administration to run the country.

Umbridge was not worried about what was to come. After all, the Death Eaters are hardly more cruel than the average politician. The only difference is that they allow themselves to be openly so. When they have power, they will become more reasonable again. Umbridge was used to dealing with this kind of character and knew what to expect, she tried to reassure herself. With a bit of luck, she might even take the opportunity to get rid of some undesirables.

But deep down, she wasn't so sure she was making the right choice. Maybe she should contact Dumbledore? No, thought Umbridge. Most wizards saw him as a living god and blindly trusted him to solve their problems. But Umbridge had been in the front row to see the man's limits and his progressive degeneration over the years. Dumbledore was too old to support a new war. Moreover, he had no regard for order and the ministry. He and his band of anarchists and misfits would remorselessly sacrifice the ministry (as well as the political stability they had struggled so hard to build since the last war) in an attempt to postpone the inevitable.

She returned to her office, repeating to herself like a mantra that, no matter what happened, she just had to ensure order and discipline were maintained. The world might collapse, but not the ministry. At least not as long as she had a say.

OooOoOo

So, kids, these holidays by the sea are going to be pretty nice.

Theodore did not reply and moved away to hide the weakness caused by the side-along apparition that the young Auror, whom Dumbledore had tasked with accompanying them to their hiding place, had subjected him, Justin, and Blaise to.

To Theodore's great relief, this morning, the Hogwarts nurse had finally acknowledged that he was sufficiently recovered to be moved, but he was still weak.

Once recovered, he examined the surroundings and saw that he was on the threshold of a cottage at the top of a cliff where the ocean waves crashed at a rhythm.regular. Even if he still doubted the director's protection, he had to admit that it seemed like a good hiding place. The location was isolated enough that no one would notice it, and the nearest inhabited place seemed to be a small fishing village visible in the distance. Added to this were protection spells so powerful that the air around the cottage seemed solid and a fidelitas cast by the director himself. Then he saw another Auror come out of the house to greet them, and he understood that guards must be taking turns constantly to protect the place (and supply it with food).

He glanced at Justin and Blaise who, without further concern for him, were marveling at the landscape and the metamorphmagus talents of their bodyguard.

Without paying further attention to their babbling or the suspicious look cast at him by the old auror temporarily guarding the place, he began to move forward with the help of his cane and went inside. Quickly, he found a living room and, with tears in his eyes, sat on an old rickety sofa that must have dated back to the construction of the place. At that moment, he hated his body and its weakness. But he couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. With the help of occlumency and a habit deeply ingrained in him, he repressed his emotions and gently placed his cane beside him instead of throwing it violently through the window as he wanted to. Pomfrey had assured him it would be temporary and that in a few weeks, he would have regained most of his abilities. His father had taught him the importance of details and had especially noted the word 'most.' But he was pulled from his dark thoughts by the arrival of a thin, horse-faced woman accompanied by a massive man whose mustache made him look like a walrus. Both were dressed in Muggle fashion. Probably more Muggle-borns who had no respect for their traditions or culture.

Hello, are you one of Harry's friends? Asked the woman.

Yes. Nott replied with the coldness of a polar ice cap in the middle of winter.

Despite the tone of his response intended to subtly make her understand that he wanted to be alone, she stepped forward with a forced smile (mentally, he heard Blaise's voice telling him that he always used that tone).

Hello, I am Petunia Dursley. I was informed of your arrival. How are you?

I did not authorize you to address me informally, mudblood. Theodore replied while thinking. He was sure he had heard the name Dursley before, but where?

The only thing he was sure of was that it was not that of a pure-blood family (His father had forced him to learn the name and genealogy of all the English pure-blood families).

Who do you think you are, you dirty thug. Vernon began to shout, his face purplish.

Vernon, calm down. Pleaded Petunia.

Nott kept his mask of indifference, but picked up his cane and stood up with difficulty. Even in normal times, he did everything to avoid being near an angry adult, so in his state, he had no qualms about fleeing.

Where are you going? Stay.

I'm going to my room. (He didn't know where it was, but exploring the place wouldn't hurt him)

Let me help you. She immediately offered upon seeing his disability.

Do not touch me. Theodore Nott does not need any help, especially not from a mudblood.

Young man, you will immediately lower your tone. My wife just wanted to help you. Vernon began to scold him, while Petunia looked at him in horror.

Nott!?

Theodore was used to his name provoking this reaction, especially among those who had experienced the last war. When he was younger, he would reflexively lower his eyes and flee as far as possible. But his father had taught him, through numerous punishments, that besides being unworthy of a Nott, this prey-like attitude only encouraged their detractors to attack them. So he forced himself to turn around and look her in the eyes:

Yes, Theodore Nott? Would you dare to disrespect my name.

A Nott killed my father and my mother.

As always, Théodore felt a pang in his heart upon hearing this, but showed nothing.

Well, it wasn't me. Now, let me pass.

I see that you have made the acquaintance of our charming guest. Said the auror who had finally appeared, followed by her allies. Don't worry, he barks a lot, but doesn't bite.

May I know the name of the one who dares to address the heir of the noble house of Nott in this way.

Tonks. But exceptionally, you can call me: 'Madam Auror please don't kick my ass, I'll be nice'. In a half-authoritative, half-amused tone.

He paused.

Are you Nymphadora Black? The half-blood cousin of Draco.

I am Tonks. She said in a tone where all trace of humor had disappeared.

Your Muggle ancestry doesn't matter. You are a Black.

Théo! Excuse him. He's been on edge since... Since he was born, actually, but now, it's different. Joked Justin in a small voice.

The auror gave him a dark look, then, obeying his colleague's silent order, went out to calm down. The old auror then advanced towards him with his limping gait, turned his glass eye on him, and warned him in a frightening voice:

I have my eye on you, boy.

Then Justin turned to the Dursleys with an expression of forced joy:

Hello, I am Justin Finch-Fletchley and this is Blaise, you must be Harry's parents.

Theodore then mentally called himself an idiot upon realizing who the Dursleys were.

Pleased to meet you. Said Petunia, shaking his hand timidly.

Don't worry, we all know that the gazette only tells nonsense. Justin assured her upon seeing her nervousness.

These are not nonsense. Said Theodore in a harsh voice.

Théo, what are you talking about? Asked Justin.

According to my father, these are real memories that the Dark Lord extracted from Harry's memory.

Your father, your father, always your father. He's starting to annoy me, that one. I thought you understood that he only talks nonsense. You'd have to be a real nutcase to do that to a child. Isn't that right, Mrs. Dursley?

Seeing his gaze, Justin thought that it was going to be long weeks.

oOoOoOoOo

Peter was panting, turning on the spot, his wand tightly gripped in his hand, waiting for something or someone. Then a blinding white light flew through the air. Peter thought of lightning as his wand flew out of his hand, he fell to his knees and pleaded:

Don't kill me!

It was not my intention. Dumbledore replied, thinking that he had a very unpleasant feeling of déjà vu.

Dumbledore stands in front of Peter, with his long robes whipping around him and his face illuminated from below by the light at the end of his wand.

Well, could I know why I should continue to trust you after you kept to yourself that the Dark Lord was planning to attack Azkaban?

Because you have no choice. You need a spy within the Death Eaters.

We always have a choice. Dumbledore replied, sending threatening sparks flying from the tip of his wand.

I wasn't aware. It was just supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. He didn't think he could take Azkaban so soon. I've already helped you so much.

You provided us with as much information as we wanted on the minor raids of the dark lord and nothing on the most important one. Exactly the kind of behavior I would expect from a double agent sent by the dark lord to gain my trust. The story of Severus must have inspired him.

The only response Peter could imagine was that the Dark Lord would never have given such suspicious instructions to one of his spies, but he doubted the remark would be well received. So he kept silent and waited, trembling. His patience finally paid off, because after a moment that seemed to last an eternity to Peter, Dumbledore lowered his wand and asked:

Even if the message comes from you or Voldemort, I want to hear it. What have you come to ask me?

The Dark Lord is gathering all his forces for a massive assault. He is letting very little information slip and spends most of his time on mysterious preparations with Karkaroff. But the date leaves little doubt. He wants to attack during the World Cup final.

We didn't need a spy to understand that he was going to try to take advantage of the final in one way or another. What will be the location of the attack?

Peter murmured the answer so faintly that the wind carried it away before it reached Dumbledore's ears. But even if he had shouted it in the middle of a sunny field, Dumbledore would have doubted he understood correctly.

Either Voldemort has gone completely mad, or it is a blatant trap intended to divert the order from the real site of the attack.

This time Peter did not shiver when the director used the cursed name without paying attention. He was convinced that his end was near. After all he had done, who would be crazy enough to believe him. Apparently Dumbledore:

Good! What is Lucius's plan?

oOoOoOoOo

Voldemort listened attentively to the report of his new spy in the camp ofDumbledore. Nevertheless, none of the information he reported really interested him. The only notable fact was a vague rumor saying that the Weasleys had finally joined the lemony one, but he didn't know if he should put faith in it. However, the news had nonetheless captured his attention. He thought back to the day when Dolohov had killed Molly Weasley's brothers. From the memories he had viewed in the minds of his servants, it was a memorable battle where the Prewett twins had displayed magical power and courage worthy of Gryffindor himself. And it was no exaggeration since after several centuries of disappearance, the sword of Gryffindor had finally made its grand return. During a battle that saw the victory of his loyal Death Eaters, he had finally been able to seize the Gryffindor relic that should have become his seventh and final Horcrux. A Horcrux that, thanks to Gryffindor's magic, would have remained perfectly protected in the mysterious place where the sword disappeared after use, only to reappear if a powerful warrior embodying Gryffindor's values manifested. The Horcrux could then possess him before he became a threat to his reign of darkness.

It should have been his greatest masterpiece, completing the work of his life. But instead... Maybe he could kill that Molly Weasley to create his new horcrux. In a way, it would be a way to come full circle and would probably be a murder glorious enough to mark this creation. After all, she was the matriarch of the most prestigious pure-blood clan opposing his reign. Not to mention that he had been able to observe her combat abilities before she withdrew traumatized from the battlefield. Like most members of her family, she was a powerful witch. If she agreed to abandon her ridiculous chivalric principles, she might even defeat Bellatrix.

Yes, it was decided. He interrupted his spy's soporific report and threw some Doloris at him to teach him to only report minor information and vague rumors. Voldemort had no time to waste on such stupidity.

Everything was going as planned and despite the gesticulations of that old fool, his plan was now ready and soon England would fall into his hands. At that moment, no family, however rich and pure, would be safe from his fury. He could then confront Molly Weasley and with her death, symbolically put an end to all resistance and mark the beginning of his eternal reign.