The days rushed past, blending together in a chaotic whirlwind of preparations for the impending battle at Azkaban. Thanks to the Time-Turner, everything felt condensed into a singular purpose. While my plan was not met with universal approval, my followers were inspired and began their preparations. However, a few unexpected developments arose: some mercenaries declined our offer, while others, despite their initial agreement, failed my loyalty tests.
After a brainstorming session, we concluded that our enemies had become desperate, recruiting mercenaries even from among the Dark Wizards. This would not aid them. I resolved to orchestrate a betrayal and friendly fire incident. Yet, the crux of the matter remained my battle strategy.
The simplest approach would involve engaging in battle alongside my own forces, akin to the confrontation at the Crouch house, but reversed—where I shielded my own while pursuing Albus. However, after careful consideration, I dismissed this notion. I would possess only twenty seconds of extraordinary power—perhaps not enough. The enemy might retreat even if they suffered losses.
Should I not launch a full-scale assault immediately? What if I were to perish before unleashing my full potential? My calculations indicated that I would be invincible, but there was no guarantee of that in reality. Strength is valuable, but I needed the ability to wield it effectively! It was akin to carrying a burden all my life and then casting it off. I could easily find myself in trouble due to lack of practice.
I had no desire to be among the first wave, especially while searching for Dumbledore simultaneously. I had taken many lives, but victory over a weaker enemy felt logical and safe. I refused to take unnecessary risks. Thus, I devised a different plan: my troops would engage the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix. Our numbers significantly outweighed theirs, and to even have a chance at victory, they would need to deploy all their resources and reserves.
Once my enemies had grown weary and were fully ensnared in the trap, I would strike. Nothing would remain of them. If Albus joined the fight, he would perish; if he did not, the next time he would have to confront me and my army alone. Under such conditions, he would not prevail.
I began to revise my ritual. Avada, Crucio, Imperio... No. No pinpoint attacks! Except for Albus! Only area attacks and more powerful ones! Hellfire, Twilight Flame, Matter Eater—yes. There was no need to be petty; each spell should have a designated kill zone, similar to my encounter with the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest.
There was also Antipatronus. Even if my "Black Flame of Voldemort" was far from perfect—it consumed excessive energy—it could be utilized in the current circumstances. I recalled my last meeting with Albus at the Ministry: strange tentacles had reached out from Albus. I hadn't fully deciphered that attack, but I could create one tentacle of my own. I would compensate for the lack of quantity with sheer power.
In addition to the most potent spells, I required the swiftest ones; Black Lightning would prove invaluable. However, I shouldn't become too fixated on Dark Magic—I am not Tom. While Light Magic may be inaccessible to me, I could still strike effectively with elemental magic.
As the Longbottoms and Albus had demonstrated, A Song of Ice and Fire is a formidable force. While it may only strike hard where a high-level fire and ice spell converges, making it a single-target weapon, I had devised a solution: a moving fire and ice front. Naturally, such firepower would position me as a prime target. I could not eliminate everyone in one fell swoop, so I had to ensure my own survival.
Thus, I required robust protection—protection that extended beyond myself. It would be foolish to rely solely on my own defenses; they would struggle to keep pace with me. At the bare minimum, they shouldn't be able to hit me. With that much energy, I could break through any anti-levitation spell. And thanks to my speed, they would be unable to strike me with Avada, which meant they'd have to break through my shields.
In addition to standard protection, I would maintain a super-powerful Universal Shield (which, while energy-intensive, would not pose a problem for me) and layer on two additional shields. The first would involve magical protection. I would constantly sustain a "Magic Whirlwind" around myself. Typically, this would be pointless—if one tried, they could break through it with a stunning spell. But with sufficient investment... most medium-to-weak spells would be blown away.
The second layer of protection should involve matter synthesis. I had developed a specialized alloy. Nothing supernatural—compared to adamantium, it was mere foil, but ordinary steel would crumble against it. I would continuously generate this material around me, allowing it to absorb enemy spells.
The plan was sound, yet certain aspects troubled me. First, the damned necroenergy! I intended to personally slay hundreds of people using Dark Magic! Perhaps I had spent too long in a painting, striving to kill without resorting to Dark Magic. As for the prisoners...
I found a foolproof solution: if a prisoner was slain by a golem I had transfigured, no necroenergy would result. Thus, I would have to undertake this risk; in the worst-case scenario, I could regain my senses over time.
Second, what if I were to fail? Anything could happen in life... Unfortunately, my project for immortality, while initiated, remained unfinished. Therefore, I prepared an escape route: I would spend the majority of the time leading up to the fight within a rune circle, with a second one in a different location, under Barty's supervision, containing my blood and Nagini's. If everything went awry, I could depart; they couldn't block that remotely.
Third, there was the wand! Ollivander was a skilled master, perhaps the finest. The previous wand suited Tom perfectly. My new one also matched me flawlessly, although we lacked the cohesion and experience of working together—it felt akin to wearing freshly purchased, unbroken boots straight from the store. The issue was different. The wands were simply not designed to withstand the magnitude of energy I planned to channel through them.
Most likely, no wand would last more than four seconds before burning out. So I had procured several—I would swap them out as they succumbed to the strain.
Fourth, time. Victory in twenty seconds? Now, that's what I call a blitzkrieg! Twenty seconds was insufficient. According to my plan, my troops would engage, while I remained in reserve, weaving spell structures and feeding them the barest minimum of energy to prevent their dissipation.
And so, I would labor for about an hour, reaching my limit. Then, when I received power, the spells would begin to "swell" and assault the enemy.
Fifth, I needed to ensure my own enjoyment without harming my own forces. I would need to maintain a mental map of the battlefield. The Devourers were simple to track—they bore the Mark. But what of the others? I would figure something out, but for now, we would commence production of a new type of amulet, outwardly resembling the standard "soldier's death medallion."
The primary dilemma remained: Albus, damn him, Dumbledore. I believed in him. He would undoubtedly devise some form of reflective shield, a spell to dispel magic or matter, or even sacrifice himself to reach me. No, he wouldn't stand a chance in a confrontation based on the sheer volume of magical energy, but he would undoubtedly develop some cunning, underhanded tactic.
In the worst-case scenario, he might resort to Dark Magic, and even if it resembled a battle with Pandora's box, I would no longer care.
I had been working on this. My best idea was to open a portion of my memory in the event of a mental duel, allowing him to experience what I had witnessed in Auschwitz. But one cannot foresee everything!
Now, I was compelled to digress: Dolokhov had summoned Elena to speak. We met at one of the Death Eaters' bases. The dialogue lacked originality: "How is your service to the Dark Lord?" they inquired.
"Fine. I salt the mudbloods," I joked. In truth, it was a reference to salting slugs. I knew of no potion or ritual that would utilize salted Muggle-born parts. But they believed me!
"And this morning, I found myself in the local 'asshole.' Dolokhov presumed I was Russian; hence, he often employed slang. As I recalled, 'asshole' was the equivalent of Knockturn Alley in Russia.
"I have much to attend to. What did you wish to discuss?" I prompted.
Dolokhov unfurled a massive map of Great Britain across the table and conjured a bottle of wine. I abstained from drinking but studied the map.
"The Dark Lord has commanded us to prepare for a general battle. Is that wise? We're already winning. A year at most, and we'll triumph. Albus Dumbledore... with all due respect to the Elder Wand, he alone won't defeat us all. Gellert Grindelwald once devised a means to recharge himself from sacrifices, expending a hundred Muggles to power the accumulator stone, then replenishing himself. This is why the Elder Wand never fell silent throughout the war. The Headmaster of Hogwarts will not consent to this.
It implies that sooner or later, he will perish; if he does not die, he will be forced to launch acorns from the Forbidden Forest at us, riding a centaur. A commendable plan. But! I trust in Dumbledore, for I have witnessed his capabilities. Perhaps he won't vanquish everyone single-handedly, but he will possess enough strength to take me down with him.
In short, your proposal is overly optimistic."
"The Dark Lord's decision is final," I responded, infusing my gaze with greater fanaticism and loyalty.
"Very well," Dolokhov replied, taking a small sip from my glass and grimacing, as if from counterfeit vodka. "I have some observations to share; don't be alarmed, and promise to contemplate them. Point your finger at any location on the map of Great Britain."
Carefully probing Antonin's mind, I directed a beam of light to a location in the center of the map.
"And?" I prompted.
"That's precisely my point. You can point your finger anywhere in Great Britain, and you will find the optimal site for battle. Azkaban is an island! A small island!" They stared at me, yet I remained silent.
"Our massive army... werewolves, giants, the dead, magical beasts... will trample upon a tiny patch of ground! Where there is no room to maneuver! And not everyone can fly like Dementors! How can we leverage our numerical advantage under such conditions?" I continued to stay silent.
"Moreover, we were ordered to hold our position! Us! How can I convince the giants and Greyback to hold their ground? The most we can do is send them in as a massive battering ram, hoping they either perish or create a breach in the enemy lines!
And the mercenaries? We've already recruited over a hundred mercenaries! Where do we place them? They are not our tight-knit fighters! Instead, they have been assigned commanders—Mulciber and Amycus Carrow! And they will be at the forefront! Pureblooded wizards from the most ancient and noble families leading the charge! Where the survival rate is fifty percent!
Although, to be fair, a fifty percent survival rate in the front lines is typical during a standard battle, and in a general conflict, our inexperienced fighters will be running around the field, struggling to distinguish friend from foe. And since the desperate enemy is already recruiting fans of Dark Magic from foreign mercenaries, the survival rate for the first wave will plummet to zero! Why send our people there?
If we deploy morons who can do nothing but stand shoulder to shoulder and cast "Protego," it won't be any worse. And they'll learn much faster and be cheaper. Not only are some of our ranks misplaced, but some will be absent entirely! Crouch! He was once such a promising young man, and now he spends his free time chasing women, ordering potions from Snape! Both of them will be absent during the battle! And it's unclear what they will do!
Bellatrix! Recently, she has been even more erratic than usual! And I have no idea where she will be! And you! The Lord explained your absence by saying he would send you on a "sabotage operation." A sabotage operation during a general battle?! Alone?!
And the Dark Lord himself has stated he will not engage in battle until Dumbledore appears!"
Dolokhov was growing increasingly frantic.
"Dark Magic is engineered to inflict maximum damage in minimal time. If you fail to kill, ensure the wounds do not heal and the next battle proves fatal! Its ideal application is a raid—transforming magical energy into death and retreat. Instead, we must hold our position!
How does zero mobility align with a raid? Sooner or later, we will tire! This absurd plan for reconnaissance is baffling. They did not permit the allocation of flying squads. During this period, we, the elite, will remain in the rear, pretending to be artillery and magical support! Under such conditions, the battle could drag on.
And then... the Ministry will unleash its full might against us! If we truly infuriate them, they will disregard maintaining boundaries and defensive spells at the national level—no one will assault England, and they will strike from Stonehenge. And then... we might lose..."
He turned to me, speaking so quickly that I couldn't penetrate his mind. Yet I glimpsed my reflection in his eyes: a thin woman gazing back at him with a smile.
"What do you want from me?" I inquired.
"From a military perspective... this operation is even more futile than the assault on Hogwarts," he warned. "I would assume this is a jest, but April Fools' Day has long passed. And it's unlikely anyone managed to cast Imperio on the Dark Lord."
"But on the other hand... If viewed differently... the suicide squads consist of those who no longer fit the organization's new direction. The Dementors and Dark Beasts... they still need to be thinned out after our victory, unless we're planning large-scale military operations. Since I personally am not in the decoy squad, I'm indifferent."
"Did you arrive at this conclusion independently or did someone assist you?" I asked.
"It's hard to say... It feels as if I've gone mad. Or perhaps everyone else has gone mad except me. Most of our ranks are ready to worship the Dark Lord. The Lestranges, our Artefactors... nearly everyone. Barty and, for some reason, Malfoy are particularly eager. They'll rush into battle even without wands if the Lord commands it.
Mulciber, after arguing with you at the last meeting and shouting that 'he'll call a fool a fool, and a Mudblood a Mudblood,' realized he was in disgrace and is now preparing for some ritual that should ensure his survival. Only Amycus Carrow, tasked with leading the mercenaries, is a fool, but he's always been that way."
"You're an intriguing individual, Antonin. You pose your questions and answer them yourself. Am I perhaps superfluous here?" I remarked.
"Do you know what they call you in the organization?" they inquired.
Somehow, I had always prioritized more pressing matters than discovering my nicknames...
"Damn Manticore?" I ventured.
"That's what the Ministry's imbeciles refer to you as. Within the organization, you are known as the 'Great Mute.' And that's true! Lily is always silent, and I also try, pretending that she is silent."
"And now I have a question for you. The Dark Lord has never been known to act rashly. Yet his current plan is a gamble. It might succeed; it might fail. Distributing fighters not according to ability but loyalty suggests that the unnecessary will be culled. But to engage in a pitched battle, you require strong guarantees of overwhelming superiority over the enemy. I lack those guarantees. I'm unaware of any additional troops, and you cannot hide another army. So what's the plan? Has the Dark Lord discovered another Elder Wand? I would prefer to depend on something more concrete than half-legends. Rookwood is an avid fan of modified spells: 'Look, a new record! This spell is twice as powerful with the same energy expenditure!'
Yet he neglects the fact that it only functions one time out of ten. I am deeply hesitant to place my trust in an unknown plan."
"Do not fret, Antonin. Everything will unfold seamlessly. But if something goes awry... I won't be there during the battle, and I'll ensure your escape. Let the English wallow in their own filth. Is this what everyone wishes to hear? That everything will be fine? And what about me? I'm the Dark Lord. It's akin to espionage; my role is to deceive people into believing.
Perhaps that is what Dolokhov expected to hear. But instead of relief, he appeared even more anxious. I had nearly reached his mind...
"I propose we solidify our alliance," he suggested.
"No oaths or contracts. Our alliance has already been sealed by the most powerful force—my word," I replied.
Yes, the Dark Lord's word held significant weight... particularly when it came to the deaths of all witnesses.
"That's not what I'm suggesting... I propose we cement our agreement in a way that only a man and a woman can."
Surprised, I pressed harder on his Occlumency than necessary. He sensed my intrusion and relaxed his defenses. He genuinely desired Elena... and he had not connected me with the Lord. Frankly, such thoughts would not bring me joy. I realized that Elena had a striking appeal, and I doubted anyone would attempt to court her. Very well, if Lily didn't favor Snape, I could suggest Dolokhov. Just a jest.
I felt mixed emotions. On one hand, everything seemed simpler for Tom: Crucio, kiss the robe. But for me? Conversations with my wife, discussions with the Death Eaters. Interactions with house-elves, a child... It was exhausting—not forgetting who I was deceiving, especially since I couldn't write it all down!
On the other hand, I was reminded of a Muggle movie I had once seen about penguins. Scientists had deployed a robot penguin equipped with a hidden camera among real penguins to capture their behavior. It culminated in a genuine penguin attempting to court the robotic one, only for its partner to destroy it. The initial introduction had been executed flawlessly, but I didn't want complications. Dolokhov had already proven himself to be utterly reckless!
The last thing I needed was a duel between Dolokhov and Snape... I had to articulate something that would divert Dolokhov's attention. Alright, I had already devised a plan. "A tempting offer. I would have accepted it earlier, but now... I belong only to the Dark Lord," I stated. "But this is a secret, and do not mention it to anyone, especially Bellatrix."
I anticipated the question, "How is that possible?" given that Dolokhov was unaware of the Lord's true appearance. Yet, instead, Dolokhov restored his mental defenses and asked, "And if you were to become pregnant? What difference does it make to you?"
"Everything is the will of the Dark Lord!" I retorted.
"And the child?" he pressed. Why was he so restless? He should have cast Crucio immediately, or better yet—Avada. So that I could be left alone by evening... Additionally, I needed to check on Mulciber and what kind of magic he was practicing.
"I'll think of something to avoid dealing with diapers. Most likely, I'll raise the child until they reach the age of four."
"I understand. It was pleasant conversing with you," he remarked, reminding me of the heightened need for secrecy. I bid him farewell and took my leave. I hoped I hadn't just dug myself into another hole.