The dawn of the black sun

Timidly, the sun began to rise over Malfoy Manor, spreading its rays and warmth over the peaceful exotic creatures that Lucius had accumulated over the years to satisfy the various whims of his son. They rose, delighted to enjoy a new day roaming freely in the magnificent estate, completely unaware of the torments of their young master who contemplated the park while practicing to suppress his emotions behind his nascent Occlumency shields. An hour ago, he had woken up with a start, finally fully aware of what had happened the day before. His father was dead, and his assassin was now sleeping in his bed. And the last thing he had told him was that he never wanted to see him again. Why did his father have to give in to his whim once again? A shiver ran through him, and the pony shaking itself in a fountain moved away trembling. Then Draco began to feel an intense discomfort, as if an extremely foul odor had spread in the room. Except that his room continued to be filled with the lavender scent of the cleaning product used by the elves.

Thanks to the various war stories his father had told him, he understood that the dark lord had risen and was not happy. He had to face the facts: Nott senior was right. He was just a weak and cowardly child, completely incapable of facing his responsibilities as head of the Malfoy house. He absolutely had to find a way to avoid having to face the owner of such a dark and intense aura that it managed to tarnish the brilliance of the rising sun. Only now that his father was no longer there, Draco had little hope that the world would continue to submit to his desires.

Voldemort, for his part, was examining the half-terrified, half-resigned face of the Death Eater he had been surprised to find kneeling at the foot of his bed upon waking a few seconds earlier. Voldemort understood that the man was not a threat and lowered his wand while calming his magic. Or rather, the poor magic of his host and the almost infinite magic of the relics he was now able to summon almost reflexively.

What are you doing here, Peter? How did you get past the protections?

What protections, my lord? Asked the rat with a fearful look.

Voldemort examined the protective spells and alarms he had set around the room before going to sleep the previous night. All were intact. Voldemort then realized that he hadn't thought to protect himself from the animagus and was surprised to understand that despite Lucius's betrayal, he still instinctively trusted him (at least as much as Voldemort was capable of trusting another human being). It was strange but not undeserved, he thought. After all, the rat was the only one of his Death Eaters who had remained faithful to him and served him when he was still a powerless fragment of soul. Pity! If he weren't so weak and pathetic, he might have had some esteem for the rat (at least as much as Voldemort was capable of feeling for another human being).

Forget it, it's not important, what are you doing here? Isn't it obvious that your lord needed rest after yesterday's events?

Forgive me, my lord, but I thought you would want to know without delay that I have just witnessed the death of Dumbledore. From now on, nothing will stand in the way of your omnipotence.

An expression of intense surprise appeared on the youthful face. For a few moments, he had the impression that James's son had resurfaced. But very quickly, an expression of wild joy erased it.

Show me. Ordered Voldemort as he began to enter his mind without delicacy.

Once his red eyes, similar to X-rays, had finished examining his soul, a terrifying laugh escaped from his mouth.

You especially wanted to be the first to tell me. Even though I appreciate your diligence, I could just as well have learned it from the newspaper. Anyway, you're right, you couldn't have given me greater pleasure, but it would be selfish to keep this good news just for myself. Hold out your arm.

Docilely, Peter revealed his sleeve and presented the mark to his master. Voldemort touched it and immediately Peter felt an intense burning. A few seconds later, Voldemort entered the immense ballroom of the manor and like a king, he parted the nervous crowd of his followers who had hastily gathered upon feeling the call (dragging Wormtail in his wake). Everyone watched him sit on the throne that had been placed at the center of the stage usually reserved for musicians and other entertainments that enlivened the evenings organized by the Malfoys, wondering if they would survive this meeting. Everyone was now aware of Lucius's betrayal and all dreaded facing the predictable anger and suspicions that were sure to fall upon them. Nevertheless, it was with a joyful voice (as joyful as Voldemort's life could be) that he announced:

Good. I am pleased to see that none of you had any difficulty responding to this summons. However, this raises a question. Why did none of you think it necessary to inform me of Dumbledore's death?

Immediately, an immense commotion filled the room. Some showed their relief at living one more day, others the hope that the war would soon end in their victory, but all displayed intense joy. All except one:

My master, I fear that some ambitious ones have deceived you. Dumbledore is still alive. Declared Bellatrix with a mad look.

Quickly, she performed a wand movement that triggered the radio broadcast in the room, which her sister Narcissa had taught her during a particularly boozy New Year's Eve (it was long before Azkaban finished driving her mad). Dumbledore's voice then resonated in the room.

I am extremely grateful to all of you for coming here. On that note, are you sure none of you would like a lemon drop before we start this press conference? No! What a pity. Nevertheless, you are probably right. The situation is serious and we must not waste any more time. If I have summoned you today, it is to announce that despite our disagreements, I have decided, as president of the Wizengamot, to officially appoint Miss Umbridge to the position of Minister of Magic and to grant her full powers….

Wormtail, who had naturally positioned himself next to Voldemort, turned considerably pale upon hearing the beginning of this speech. However, this only provoked a great burst of malicious laughter from Voldemort.

Lucius was right to praise Umbridge's qualities to me.

At the mention of the traitor's name, all conversations ceased and a leaden silence, only broken by the remainder of the speech composed of hollow phrases calling the wizarding community to rally behind its new leader, fell over the room.

But she has chosen her side and all her scheming will change nothing. Dumbledore is dead and by the end of the day, this country will be at my feet.Bellatrix, unless you wish to follow in your brother-in-law's footsteps, I would ask you not to bother me with unverified information anymore. Wormtail here has chosen of his own accord to sacrifice his night to bring me this firsthand information. And although his blood is as pitiful as his person, his lineage has never given me any reason to doubt his loyalty. Can you say the same?

But my lord...

Enough. This is clearly a crude manipulation aimed at asserting the legitimacy of what remains of this corrupt ministry and reassuring the horde of blood-tainted parasites who relied on this old fool to ensure their protection against the wizarding people who have chosen to rise up and restore the greatness of our nation. My dear Death Eaters, rejoice, for the time has finally come. Today, we take back our country. Today, your king invites you to the celebration, be ready!

Apart from Wormtail, who recalled a cinema session Petunia had imposed on Harry during the summer he spent with them in his rat form, none flinched upon hearing this speech and all cheered their lord. Half an hour later, it was an army of Death Eaters who had regained confidence in their leader that apparated into the strangely deserted ministry reception hall. On their master's orders, they marched behind him, wands in hand, in perfectly aligned rows as he strode up the long hall leading to the elevators. Initially terrifying and perfectly ordered, their march dispersed to become quite ridiculous when it became evident to everyone that the building was devoid of any spectators. Voldemort seemed increasingly angry as he entered the premises and found everything empty and destroyed. When they finally reached the top of the building occupied by the Minister of Magic's offices (without encountering any resistance), waves of pure hatred emanated from him.

My lord, it is a great victory. Congratulations. The ministry belongs to you. Tried to appease him, Wormtail, realizing he was the only one who would dare to speak to him (he was indeed a Gryffindor, after all)

Idiot. Did you take me for a real estate agency? What do you want me to do with empty premises? Does any one of you know what's going on?

Bellatrix saw in Wormtail's silence an opportunity to regain her place as the favorite, undermined by Lucius's reprehensible behavior.

My lord, Umbridge has ordered the relocation of the ministry inside Hogwarts.

And you couldn't tell me sooner? Crucio!

Voldemort left Bellatrix prostrate on the ground and sat in the minister's office. This young body in the large Victorian-style solid wood chair, clearly intended to impress the visitor, seemed comically out of place. However, none of them let on the slightest smile as they discreetly left, understanding that their leader wished to think in peace. Voldemort, for his part, could not calm down he had expected to be able to eliminate his last opponents within the government and convince the others to submit. Then, he would have placed an obedient puppet at the head of the ministry and would have completed the work started by Lucius by placing a mole loyal to his cause in each department to establish a climate of terror and suspicion at the heart of the ministry, which would have ensured that his orders were followed to the letter.

In theory, he could still carry out his plan. He could gather the Dementors and the Death Eaters and launch an assault on Hogwarts. However, his troops were still very limited, and Hogwarts was an extremely well-protected fortress. Not to mention that Umbridge and what remained of the Order (if there was anything left) had had a lot of time to prepare their defenses. Even with his new powers, he could only hope for a Pyrrhic victory if he attacked now. And such a brutal plan was unworthy of the heir of Slytherin.

After a few moments of reflection, he stopped his plan. Umbridge soon realized that she was no match for him.

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Author's note: For those who don't know, a 'Pyrrhic victory' is an expression that refers to a victory won at such a heavy cost to the victor that it is almost equivalent to a defeat. The expression comes from the King of Macedonia: Pyrrhus, who had to retreat after a victory against the young and too ambitious for his taste Roman Republic, because his troops had been too decimated during the battle.