Hadrian Peverel: The Lord Of Haven

Chapter 14

The Ministry was predictable.

Voldemort was not.

Hadrian stood in the war room of Haven, a massive underground chamber built beneath the Great Hall. The air was thick with enchantments, layered protections that ensured no information ever left its walls.

A massive map of Britain stretched across the central table, its surface enchanted with real-time updates of magical movements. Cities and villages glowed softly, flickering when unusual activity occurred. Several locations were already marked in red.

Catherine stood at his left, flipping through the latest reports. "Confirmed Death Eater movements have increased. Small attacks—nothing large, nothing direct." She tapped the map. "They're testing the Ministry's defenses."

Jonas leaned against the wall, smirking. "Which means they'll find out how useless they are soon enough."

Matthias exhaled, arms crossed. "So, what's the play? We keep letting them pick at the Ministry until they get bold?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "No. We move first."

Silence.

Jonas arched a brow. "You're actually suggesting we go after them? I mean, don't get me wrong—I'd love a fight, but that's a bit… direct for you."

Hadrian smirked. "Not a fight. A message."

Matthias frowned slightly. "To whom?"

Hadrian exhaled, eyes scanning the map. "To Voldemort."

Catherine straightened. "You're planning to reveal Haven to him?"

Hadrian chuckled. "He already knows we exist." His fingers traced a small marked village in Scotland, one that had recently suffered an attack. "But what he doesn't know is how much of a threat we are."

Matthias nodded slowly. "So we show him."

Jonas grinned. "Oh, I like this plan."

Hadrian's smirk deepened. "We don't need to declare war. We just need to make sure he understands one thing."

Catherine glanced at him. "Which is?"

Hadrian's voice was calm, certain.

"That Haven is not his to touch."

The Death Eaters thought they could move in the shadows.

Now, the shadows would move against them.

The first strike was silent.

By midnight, Haven's operatives were already in place. No banners, no grand declarations—just precision and purpose.

Matthias led the first team, moving through the ruins of a small Scottish village that had been attacked three nights ago. The Ministry had done nothing. The people had been left to fend for themselves.

Now, Haven would show them a different kind of power.

Matthias signaled, and his unit—**cloaked figures moving without a whisper of sound—**spread out. Healers entered homes, silently tending to injuries the Ministry had ignored. Enchanters reinforced the shattered protections around the village. And in the center of it all, Haven's soldiers left something behind.

A single sigil, etched into the ground with magic.

Not a threat.

A warning.

Across the country, similar scenes played out. Haven's operatives arrived before the Ministry did. They cleaned up the messes left behind by Death Eater raids. They protected where the Ministry failed.

And by dawn, word began to spread.

Not about the Ministry.

Not about the Death Eaters.

But about Haven.

Jonas grinned as he read the first leaked reports from Ministry intelligence. "They're panicking." He tossed the parchment onto Hadrian's desk. "They don't know if we're helping or declaring war."

Catherine skimmed another report. "Multiple survivors have given the same statement—a different group arrived before the Aurors. Cloaked figures, no insignias, but no one was harmed. In fact, every person injured during the raids is now recovering." She glanced at Hadrian. "People are talking. Asking questions."

Matthias leaned against the map table. "And Voldemort?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "He's watching."

Jonas smirked. "Good. Let him."

The first message had been delivered.

Now, it was time to see who responded first—the Ministry, or the Dark Lord.

Chapter 14 – Part 3

The war room was silent, save for the soft hum of enchanted lanterns flickering overhead. The massive map of Britain spread across the central table, its surface alive with pulsing magical markers—each one representing a potential target, a piece of the Dark Lord's unseen empire.

Hadrian stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the edge, green eyes scanning the illuminated surface. For too long, Voldemort had been treated like a phantom, a distant nightmare only whispered about in the dark.

That ended now.

Catherine, standing to his right, flipped through the latest intelligence reports, her expression sharp. "We have confirmation. The Death Eaters aren't just attacking—they're maintaining a full logistical network. We've identified key areas where they gather resources, move recruits, and regroup after operations."

Jonas leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "So, what? We hit their camps and call it a day?"

Hadrian exhaled. "No. We dismantle them completely. Voldemort doesn't fight like a traditional army, but he still needs infrastructure. He has supply lines—he just doesn't call them that."

Matthias frowned slightly, studying the map. "What are we looking at, exactly? Where does he draw his strength from?"

Hadrian tapped the map, and the glowing markers shifted, highlighting several key locations across Britain.

"Five things keep his war machine running," Hadrian said smoothly. "We target them all."

1. Safehouses & Hidden Bases

A section of the map lit up in red, marking locations across the country—abandoned manor houses, underground bunkers, hidden magical enclaves.

"Voldemort doesn't have fortresses," Hadrian explained. "He has safehouses. Scattered across Britain, enchanted to keep them hidden from the Ministry. These aren't just places to regroup—they're staging grounds for his next attacks."

Matthias nodded. "Cut off their ability to retreat, and they're forced into the open."

Hadrian smirked. "Exactly. And we don't just destroy them—we expose them. We let the world see where he's been hiding."

Jonas grinned. "Nothing makes rats easier to catch than smoking them out of their holes."

2. Black Market Trade & Resources

Catherine gestured toward another section of the map. "Voldemort's forces don't just conjure weapons out of thin air. They rely on smugglers, rogue enchanters, and artifact dealers to keep them supplied. If we break those connections…"

Hadrian nodded. "They start running out of tools. Cursed objects, dark artifacts, illegally modified wands—none of it appears by accident. Voldemort has backchannels feeding his army. We find those channels. We cut them off."

Jonas whistled. "Let's see how deadly they are when they're fighting with secondhand wands and no potions."

3. Recruitment Networks

The map shifted again, marking isolated villages, wizarding orphanages, and certain districts in Knockturn Alley.

Matthias narrowed his eyes. "These aren't attack sites."

Hadrian's expression hardened. "No. These are recruitment hubs." He exhaled, fingers tracing a cluster of glowing points. "Voldemort doesn't just attract followers—he builds them. He preys on the isolated, the desperate, the disillusioned. His recruiters don't wear masks. They slip into communities, whisper promises, offer protection. And when people have nowhere else to turn, they listen."

Silence stretched through the room.

Jonas clenched his jaw. "He's making soldiers."

Catherine's voice was cold. "Then we take his army away from him."

Hadrian nodded. "We intercept his recruiters. We turn them against him, or we eliminate them entirely. If people need protection, they come to Haven—not to him."

Matthias exhaled. "And if the recruits aren't willing?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Then we remind them what happens to those who take up his cause."

4. Dark Creature Alliances

The map pulsed, revealing a different kind of threat. Markers appeared near dense forests, remote caves, and isolated settlements.

Matthias tensed. "Werewolves."

Hadrian nodded. "And vampires. And possibly giants, if he can secure them. Voldemort doesn't just rely on wizards. He recruits those the Ministry rejects. The creatures that are forced to the edges of society."

Catherine exhaled. "Greyback's pack?"

Jonas scoffed. "We are not negotiating with that monster."

Hadrian's expression darkened. "No, we're not. Fenrir Greyback is too far gone. He enjoys what he does. But not all of them do."

Matthias folded his arms. "You're suggesting we make them an offer before Voldemort can?"

Hadrian nodded. "Some of them will take it. The rest…" He exhaled. "We make sure they never fight for him."

Jonas grinned, but there was something cold in his amusement. "Bet Greyback will love that."

5. Communication & Intelligence

The last markers shifted, forming glowing paths across the map. A network of hidden passageways, enchanted message routes, and underground meeting points.

Hadrian tapped the center. "And this is how we break him."

Catherine scanned the lines of magic. "His entire information network."

Hadrian exhaled. "**The Death Eaters aren't just a cult of killers. They have spies, informants, coded messages—**a way to stay ahead of their enemies. Voldemort always knows what the Ministry is planning before they act."

Matthias' eyes flickered with understanding. "You want to turn that against him."

Hadrian's smirk was slow, deliberate. "We don't just intercept his messages. We rewrite them. We feed his people false information, make them second-guess their orders."

Jonas let out a low whistle. "Damn. You really want to break his whole system, don't you?"

Hadrian met his gaze, voice calm. "I want him to realize he's already lost before he even steps onto the battlefield."

Silence stretched through the room as the weight of the plan settled.

Catherine folded her arms. "This is the first real war Voldemort has ever fought. Until now, he's been picking his battles."

Matthias nodded. "Now, he won't have a choice."

Jonas chuckled darkly. "This is gonna be fun."

Hadrian stepped back from the map, surveying his inner circle. "We begin immediately. Teams will be dispatched to the first targets by tomorrow night."

Matthias exhaled, adjusting his stance. "And when Voldemort realizes it's us?"

Hadrian smirked.

"Then he'll know exactly who his real enemy is."

The war was no longer coming.

Haven had already begun it.

The first strike happened under cover of darkness.

Hadrian stood atop the northern watchtower of Haven, watching as his teams moved like shadows, slipping beyond the city's enchanted perimeter and into the open world. The air was cool, still, but beneath that calm lay something unspoken, electric.

This was not a test.

This was the first step in dismantling Voldemort's entire war machine.

Catherine arrived at his side, her cloak whispering against the stone. "The first units have deployed. Matthias is leading the team targeting a safehouse in Yorkshire. Jonas is handling the black-market traders in Knockturn Alley." She handed him a sealed report. "Our agents are already intercepting messages. Within the hour, we should have real-time access to Voldemort's orders."

Hadrian took the parchment, glancing over the details. Precise. Efficient. Everything was in motion.

He exhaled. "And the recruitment hubs?"

Catherine's expression darkened slightly. "That's where it gets difficult. Some of these people aren't willing followers. They were tricked. Threatened. Others…" Her voice tightened. "Others went willingly."

Hadrian nodded, fingers tapping against the parchment. Voldemort wasn't just gathering soldiers—he was cultivating them. Young witches and wizards, drawn into his ranks with promises of power, of belonging. Some were lost causes.

Others weren't.

Hadrian's green eyes flickered. "Then we give them a choice."

Catherine exhaled. "And the ones who refuse?"

Hadrian's expression was unreadable. "Then we ensure they never fight for him."

— Yorkshire, Midnight —

Matthias moved silently through the overgrown field, his team following close behind. Ahead, a crumbling manor house stood against the night sky, its windows shuttered, dark. The only signs of life were the occasional flickers of movement—shadows shifting behind the curtains.

A safehouse.

Not just a place for Death Eaters to hide, but a staging ground for their next wave of attacks. According to Haven's intelligence, at least seven wizards were inside. Recruits, soldiers—it didn't matter.

Tonight, they would not leave.

Matthias signaled to his team. They split apart, moving in near silence, sweeping around the perimeter. The manor's wards were weak—hastily constructed, rushed. Voldemort's forces were expanding too quickly, spreading themselves too thin.

Matthias smirked. A fatal mistake.

He raised his wand.

The air pulsed.

The wards shattered in an instant, the protective enchantments collapsing like broken glass. From within the manor, shouts of alarm erupted. Figures rushed toward the windows—too slow.

Matthias and his team moved as one.

A blast of non-lethal magic ripped through the door, slamming it open. Smoke and shimmering hexes filled the entryway as Haven's operatives surged inside, cutting through the panicked resistance.

A Death Eater—**young, barely more than a boy—**stumbled forward, wand shaking. "Wait, please, I—"

Matthias didn't hesitate. A stunning spell hit him square in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Merciful. Efficient.

The others weren't as lucky.

The battle was over in less than two minutes.

Matthias stepped over a fallen Death Eater, surveying the scene. The enemy was unconscious, restrained, or too wounded to fight. His team had taken minimal damage.

One of his operatives approached. "What do we do with them?"

Matthias exhaled. "Secure the prisoners. Leave the bodies."

The operative hesitated. "And the ones who tried to surrender?"

Matthias' expression was cold. "We'll let Hadrian decide."

The first safehouse had fallen.

And it would not be the last.

— Knockturn Alley, 1:00 AM —

Jonas moved through the dimly lit streets, his pace unhurried. Around him, the usual low whispers of dark dealings continued—but something was different tonight.

The merchants who sold illegal wands, stolen artifacts, and cursed objects were nervous. The usual buyers, the robed figures who moved in shadows, were nowhere to be seen.

Jonas smirked. They knew.

Good.

He stepped toward one of the larger, more established underground traders—a man named Silas Greaves. He was a former Unspeakable, long since turned rogue, specializing in procuring illegal magical weapons for the highest bidder.

Jonas entered his shop without knocking.

Silas barely had time to react before Jonas was already seating himself across from him, smirking. "Silas," he said cheerfully. "We need to talk."

The older wizard's face paled slightly. "I'm not interested in whatever you're—"

Jonas leaned forward. "No, see, I don't think you understand. I'm not asking for a meeting. I'm telling you that we're having one."

Silas swallowed. "Look, if this is about business—"

Jonas smiled. "It is." He flicked his wand, and a sealed scroll materialized onto the table. "This is an official decree from Haven. You will no longer supply the Death Eaters. Your shipments are done. Your connections to Voldemort's people? Cut."

Silas let out a sharp breath. "You don't have that kind of authority."

Jonas chuckled. "No? Look outside."

Silas hesitated—then slowly turned his head toward the front of his shop. Through the murky glass, the street beyond had changed.

Haven's operatives stood at every corner, cloaked figures watching, waiting. The usual black-market runners, smugglers, and cursed item dealers were gone. The entire network was collapsing in real-time.

Jonas grinned. "I'd say we do."

Silas' hands clenched. "If I refuse?"

Jonas exhaled dramatically. "See, I was hoping you'd say that." He flicked his wand again—this time, revealing a second document. A list of names. Silas' clients. His connections. His entire operation.

"Here's what happens if you don't comply," Jonas said cheerfully. "This information goes straight to every neutral party who has a grudge against you. The goblins, foreign magical authorities, every bounty hunter worth their weight in gold." His smirk sharpened. "And in case that's not convincing enough—we'll make sure the Death Eaters know you've been compromised."

Silas paled.

Jonas leaned back. "So, let's keep this simple. You work with us now. Or you don't work at all."

Silas swallowed hard. Then, finally, he nodded.

Jonas grinned, standing up. "Smart choice."

By the time he left the shop, the black-market network was dead.

And the Death Eaters had lost their biggest source of magical weapons.

By dawn, Voldemort's forces would know what had happened.

Their safehouses? Compromised.

Their supplies? Cut off.

Their recruits? Intercepted.

And soon, their leader would have to make a choice.

Ignore Haven, or acknowledge it as his greatest threat.

Hadrian stood at the watchtower once more, the first light of morning cresting the horizon.

Jonas arrived at his side, grinning. "It's done. We just took apart half his network overnight."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Good."

Matthias exhaled. "And when Voldemort retaliates?"

Hadrian smirked.

"Then we remind him why he should have never ignored us."

The war had begun.

And this time, Voldemort was the one who had to be afraid

Voldemort's response was immediate.

By midday, the first reports arrived. Death Eaters were scrambling. Their safehouses were gone, their supplies vanished, and their recruitment lines severed. The carefully maintained web of fear and secrecy Voldemort had built over the years was collapsing.

But it wasn't the loss of resources that had unsettled him.

It was the fact that he hadn't seen it coming.

Hadrian sat in the war room, scanning a fresh report as Catherine and Matthias stood across from him. Jonas lounged against the far wall, looking more amused than concerned.

"His forces are trying to regroup," Catherine said. "Our agents inside Knockturn Alley report that some of his more cautious supporters are going into hiding. The Ministry is too slow to react, and now that Voldemort's people are exposed, they're afraid."

Matthias tapped a location on the map. "He's already lost four key strongholds. If he doesn't push back soon, he risks losing the illusion that he's untouchable."

Hadrian exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "And that's why he's going to move."

Jonas smirked. "The question is where?"

Hadrian already knew the answer.

He flicked his wand, and the map of Britain shifted, the glowing markers rearranging themselves. The locations of Voldemort's remaining strongholds appeared—isolated villages, abandoned estates, hidden manors.

But Hadrian's focus wasn't on any of them.

He was looking at one particular name.

Godric's Hollow.

Matthias frowned as he followed Hadrian's gaze. "You think he'd actually go after it? Why? There's nothing there for him."

Hadrian's green eyes flickered. "Not for him. For me."

Silence.

Catherine exhaled. "He knows who you are."

Jonas let out a low whistle. "Damn. That didn't take long."

Hadrian leaned back slightly, fingers steepled in thought. "He's never been one to waste time. We dismantled his operations in a single night. That was a message. Now, he's sending one back."

Matthias folded his arms. "Then we beat him to it."

Hadrian nodded. "Prepare a team. We leave tonight."

Godric's Hollow was not just a historical landmark. It was a symbol.

Voldemort thought he could use it to send a warning.

Hadrian would turn it into a grave.

Godric's Hollow – Midnight

The village was silent.

Hadrian stood at the edge of the old graveyard, cloaked in shadows, watching as the cold wind stirred the fallen leaves. The houses in the distance were dark, untouched by magic—this was a Muggle town, after all.

But there was something wrong.

The air was too still.

Matthias moved beside him, wand in hand. "They're here."

Catherine adjusted the enchanted bracelet on her wrist, scanning the area. "At least a dozen of them. No direct signs of movement, but I can feel the magic in the air. They're waiting for us."

Jonas cracked his neck. "Well, let's not keep them waiting, then."

Hadrian's smirk was brief. "Stay close. We do this fast. No unnecessary risks."

Matthias nodded. Catherine checked her wand once, then stilled. Jonas grinned. And then they moved.

They slipped through the narrow cobblestone streets, barely making a sound. The houses were small, old-fashioned, quiet.

Then, in the distance, the Potter Cottage came into view.

Hadrian exhaled slowly. He hadn't been here in years. The ruins of the old house remained untouched—a silent monument to a life that had never truly been his.

Then, the air shifted.

Magic pulsed.

Shadows moved.

And the first Death Eater stepped forward.

He was tall, wrapped in flowing black robes, a white mask reflecting the dim moonlight. Behind him, more figures appeared—twelve, maybe thirteen. All silent. All waiting.

Hadrian smirked. "Took you long enough."

The lead Death Eater tilted his head slightly. Then, with slow, deliberate ease, he removed his mask.

Beneath it, a pale, thin face emerged, framed by dark, shoulder-length hair. His features were **sharp, cruel—**but there was something familiar about him.

Jonas tensed. "Well, that's not good."

Matthias exhaled sharply. "That's—"

Hadrian's smirk didn't fade. "Antonin Dolohov."

The Death Eater's lips curled into something like amusement. "You know me, then?"

Hadrian tilted his head. "I know exactly how you die."

Dolohov chuckled. "Bold words. But we both know this isn't a fight you can win." He gestured lazily to the ruined cottage behind him. "This is where it all started for you, isn't it? A fitting place for it to end."

Hadrian exhaled. "You talk too much."

Dolohov's grin widened. "Then let's skip to the part where you beg."

He moved first.

A flick of his wand, and a bolt of sickly green magic tore through the air. Fast. Precise.

Hadrian barely tilted his head, the curse missing him by an inch.

Jonas lunged, flicking his wand—a blinding white hex shot toward the nearest Death Eater, sending him flying backward.

Matthias took on two at once, his movements precise, brutal. His first opponent dropped in seconds—**a perfectly placed Stunning Spell—**before he turned to the next.

Catherine whispered a word, and the air shimmered. A protective barrier snapped into place around Hadrian, deflecting three spells at once.

Dolohov smirked. "Not bad." He flicked his wand again, and the ground beneath Hadrian cracked, splitting apart like a jagged wound.

Hadrian stepped forward.

The earth stilled. The magic recoiled.

Dolohov's grin faltered. "What—"

Hadrian moved.

He didn't cast. He commanded.

With a wave of his hand, the air rippled, and a pulse of invisible force sent Dolohov crashing backward, his wand flying from his grip.

The other Death Eaters hesitated.

Hadrian raised his wand. And the battlefield belonged to him.

Matthias finished his opponent with a clean disarming spell. Jonas grinned as he sent another Death Eater flying into a gravestone. Catherine held her shield, barely breaking a sweat.

Dolohov coughed, struggling to his feet. His expression was no longer amused.

It was afraid.

Hadrian stepped toward him, slow, deliberate.

"You thought you were hunting me," he murmured.

The air hummed with power.

"But you were already dead the moment you stepped into my shadow."

Dolohov vanished.

Not Apparition—forced displacement. Hadrian had thrown him back through his own spell, shattering his attempted retreat. He slammed into the cobblestones with a strangled gasp.

Jonas grinned. "Damn. That's just embarrassing."

Matthias sighed. "Do we kill him?"

Hadrian considered it. For a moment.

Then he turned away. "No. We send a message."

Catherine exhaled. "And the others?"

Hadrian glanced at the remaining stunned, injured, or unconscious Death Eaters.

His smirk returned.

"We let them crawl back to Voldemort and tell him the truth."

Jonas arched a brow. "Which is?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed.

"That he's already lost."

The battle was over.

The war had just begun.

Got it! From now on, I'll only include the chapter number at the beginning of each chapter and remove all other headings. Let's continue with the next part.

The Death Eaters lay scattered across the ruined cobblestone street, groaning, barely conscious. Smoke curled through the night air, the remnants of shattered spells lingering in the cold wind.

Hadrian stood in the center of it all, calm, unbothered, victorious.

Jonas nudged one of the fallen Death Eaters with his boot. "Think they got the message?"

Matthias flicked his wand, binding Dolohov with unbreakable restraints. The once-arrogant Death Eater was bleeding, struggling, eyes burning with something between rage and fear.

Catherine approached, her voice measured. "He'll report this to Voldemort the moment he escapes."

Hadrian smirked. "Good."

Dolohov hissed, struggling against the invisible binds. "You think you've won something, boy?" His voice was sharp, venomous. "You don't understand what you've started."

Hadrian crouched beside him, meeting his gaze evenly. "No, Dolohov. You don't understand."

Dolohov's breath hitched slightly, the weight of Hadrian's presence settling over him like a storm waiting to break.

"This war doesn't belong to Voldemort anymore," Hadrian murmured. "It never did." He tilted his head. "He thought he could take the world while everyone was still afraid. But fear only works when there's no one left to stand against it."

Dolohov bared his teeth. "You're nothing."

Hadrian chuckled, low and dark. "And yet, here you are—broken, humiliated, crawling back to your master with nothing but failure." His smirk widened. "Tell me, does that frighten you?"

Dolohov refused to speak, but the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes betrayed him.

Hadrian stood. "Take him."

Matthias hoisted the Death Eater to his feet with a sharp flick of his wand. The others—stunned, injured, or too terrified to fight—were already being gathered by Haven's operatives.

Jonas rolled his shoulders. "What do we do with them?"

Hadrian didn't even hesitate. "We let them go."

Matthias frowned. "Are you sure?"

"They'll run straight to Voldemort," Catherine pointed out.

"Exactly," Hadrian murmured. He turned toward the shadows, where the remnants of the Potter Cottage loomed, silent, undisturbed. "Let him know that he's not untouchable. That Haven is watching."

Jonas grinned. "You're playing with fire, mate."

Hadrian smirked. "I am the fire."

They left the Death Eaters behind, disarmed, humiliated, and completely powerless. By the time they reached Haven, the message would have already reached Voldemort's ears.

And soon, he would have to make a choice.

Ignore Hadrian Peverell.

Or acknowledge him as his greatest threat.

By dawn, the first ripples of Hadrian's strike had already spread.

The Death Eaters who survived crawled back to their master, bruised, battered, and humiliated. They did not return in triumph, bringing tales of power and dominance. They returned in silence.

And Voldemort was waiting.

The Dark Lord sat in the depths of his latest stronghold, the air around him thick with dark magic. The room was cold, colder than it should have been, the fire in the hearth struggling to burn. Shadows clung to the corners of the chamber, flickering unnaturally.

A group of robed figures knelt before him, silent, unmoving. Dolohov was among them, his head bowed low, his jaw clenched tight. Even he did not dare to speak first.

The silence stretched.

Then Voldemort rose.

His movements were slow, deliberate. He stepped forward, the hem of his robes whispering against the stone floor. The air grew colder with every step he took.

"Tell me," he said, his voice smooth, measured. "Who did this?"

Dolohov swallowed before answering. "Peverell."

The fire in the hearth roared to life, then died in an instant. The sudden shift in magic made some of the kneeling Death Eaters flinch.

Voldemort tilted his head, expression unreadable. "Peverell?"

Dolohov hesitated, as if realizing too late that he had already lost control of the conversation. "He was… prepared for us."

Voldemort's crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light. "You mean to say that you failed."

Dolohov flinched. "He—"

"Enough."

The word was spoken softly, but the magic in the room pulsed violently. The shadows tightened around Dolohov, unseen forces pressing against his throat. He gasped, hands clawing at nothing, his body shaking under the weight of Voldemort's displeasure.

"You disappoint me, Dolohov," Voldemort murmured. "I do not tolerate failure."

The shadows tightened.

Dolohov's breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. The other Death Eaters did not move. They did not dare.

Then, just as suddenly, the pressure vanished. Dolohov collapsed forward, gasping, his forehead pressed against the cold stone.

Voldemort studied him for a long moment before speaking again.

"This Peverell," he murmured. "Tell me, Antonin… what did you see?"

Dolohov's breathing remained unsteady, but he forced himself to speak through gritted teeth. "Power."

Silence.

Voldemort tilted his head slightly. "Explain."

Dolohov swallowed. "He is not like the Ministry, my Lord. He does not hesitate. He does not fear. He commands magic in a way I have never seen."

Voldemort's fingers tapped once against the armrest of his chair. His expression remained unreadable, but something in the room shifted.

"And what do you believe he wants?"

Dolohov hesitated. "To destroy you."

For the first time in a long while, Voldemort laughed.

It was a soft, amused sound, but it was no less terrifying.

Then he leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming.

"Then let him come."

The Death Eaters remained silent, waiting for their master's command.

Finally, Voldemort spoke again, his voice smooth, deadly.

"Gather our forces. Find out everything you can about this… Peverell." He smirked slightly, the barest hint of intrigue flickering behind his expression. "If he wants war—"

The fire behind him flared violently, casting jagged shadows against the walls.

"Then I shall grant him one."

The Death Eaters vanished into the darkness, moving to carry out their orders.

And miles away, in the heart of Haven, Hadrian Peverell was already waiting.

The Ministry reacted just as quickly—but with fear instead of anger.

By midday, Catherine entered the council chamber, a fresh report in hand. Her expression was sharp, controlled, but there was an underlying tension in her movements.

"They know."

Hadrian looked up from where he was reviewing intelligence on the next phase of their strategy. Across the table, Matthias and Jonas paused their discussion, turning their attention to her.

Catherine set the parchment down. "The Ministry has received reports of the attack in Godric's Hollow. They know the Death Eaters were routed, and they know it wasn't them who did it."

Jonas smirked. "That must sting."

Catherine exhaled. "They're calling an emergency session of the Wizengamot. Bagnold has already spoken with Crouch. They're trying to decide if we're an ally or a greater threat."

Matthias folded his arms. "They'll try to contain us."

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Let them try."

Catherine hesitated. "There's more."

She reached for a second document—this one bearing the official seal of the Ministry of Magic. "They've requested a meeting."

Silence.

Jonas whistled lowly. "Twice in the same month? They must be desperate."

Matthias frowned. "They wouldn't reach out unless they felt like they had no choice."

Hadrian leaned back, fingers steepled. "They don't."

Catherine tapped the parchment. "The wording is careful. They're not demanding anything. They're asking. They want to discuss 'collaboration in the interest of preserving stability.'"

Jonas snorted. "Which means they want us to fight Voldemort for them while they sit back and pretend they're in charge."

Hadrian smirked. "Precisely."

Matthias exhaled. "Do we respond?"

Hadrian considered it for a long moment before standing.

"We do."

Jonas arched a brow. "Really?"

Hadrian nodded. "But on our terms. They come to us again. And this time, we make sure they understand exactly where they stand."

Catherine set the official parchment aside. "I'll draft a response. The moment they enter Haven again, we make sure they know—they are guests, not rulers."

Hadrian's green eyes flickered with something cold, final.

"The world is shifting. And for the first time in history—the Ministry isn't in control."

This meeting wouldn't be about negotiation.

It would be about power.

The Ministry's delegation arrived at sunset.

This time, there were no veiled threats, no carefully worded demands. Only an uneasy silence as their portkeys activated, depositing them at Haven's secured entry point.

Minister Millicent Bagnold stood at the front, her expression unreadable. Behind her, Barty Crouch Sr. walked with sharp, measured precision, his mouth set in a firm line. A handful of other officials flanked them—senior Aurors, Wizengamot representatives, political aides.

They had come with numbers, but not with confidence.

Hadrian stood waiting for them, flanked by Catherine, Matthias, and Jonas. Behind them, the Peverell Guard watched from the walls, their presence visible but silent. A reminder.

Bagnold's eyes flickered to them before returning to Hadrian. "Lord Peverell."

Hadrian inclined his head slightly. "Minister."

Crouch's gaze was sharp. "You've been busy."

Jonas grinned. "You're welcome."

Crouch did not react, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. They had been forced to come here. The Ministry wasn't accustomed to that.

Hadrian gestured toward the Great Hall. "Shall we?"

They entered the chamber in calculated silence. The long council table had already been set, but the seating arrangement was deliberate—the Ministry officials were placed opposite Hadrian and his people. No equal footing.

Bagnold settled herself, smoothing her robes, but it was Crouch who spoke first.

"You've declared open war against the Dark Lord." His voice was even, but there was an underlying tension. "Was that your intention?"

Hadrian smirked. "I wasn't aware war needed a declaration."

Crouch exhaled sharply. "You understand the consequences of this."

Hadrian leaned forward slightly. "I understand far more than you do, Director."

Bagnold interjected before Crouch could respond. "Your interference has been… significant. The Ministry cannot ignore it."

Hadrian's smirk widened. "Then don't."

Silence stretched.

Catherine folded her hands on the table. "The Ministry has failed to contain Voldemort. You know it. We know it. The wizarding world knows it." She tilted her head slightly. "Which is why you're here."

Bagnold's fingers twitched slightly, but she kept her voice level. "What do you want, Lord Peverell?"

Hadrian exhaled slowly. "Recognition."

Crouch's jaw tightened. "That is impossible."

Hadrian chuckled softly. "You misunderstand. It is inevitable."

The weight of his words settled over the room.

Jonas leaned back lazily. "You don't have many options left, you know."

Matthias' expression remained impassive. "Voldemort is gaining power. The public is losing faith. And Haven is growing stronger."

Catherine tapped the parchment in front of her. "You've already lost control of the narrative. People are looking to us for protection. Business owners, diplomats, families—even some of your Aurors."

Crouch's fingers twitched slightly, but he masked it well.

Hadrian studied him for a long moment before speaking again, his tone smooth. "The world is shifting. And you're here because you don't know how to stop it."

Bagnold exhaled slowly, pressing her palms against the table. "We are here to discuss stability."

Hadrian smirked. "No. You're here to discuss survival."

Silence.

Crouch's voice was cold. "And you believe Haven will be the deciding factor?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "I don't believe, Director. I know."

The Ministry had come to negotiate.

Instead, they were being shown just how little power they had left.

The weight of Hadrian's words settled over the room, pressing down like an unspoken spell.

Bagnold's face remained carefully neutral, but there was something strained in the way she held herself. Crouch, however, was less composed—his fingers curled into the wood of the table, his jaw set tightly.

They knew.

They had come here believing they could steer the conversation, that they still had some level of control.

But this wasn't a negotiation.

It was a reminder.

Hadrian tilted his head slightly, green eyes flickering with amusement. "You seem uncomfortable, Director."

Crouch exhaled slowly. "Your arrogance will be your downfall, Peverell."

Jonas let out a soft chuckle. "That sounds like something people say before they lose."

Matthias shot him a look, but didn't disagree.

Catherine folded her hands together, voice calm, measured. "The Ministry wants stability. So does Haven. But we both know that stability doesn't come from desperate policy meetings and reactionary measures." She tilted her head slightly. "It comes from control. And right now, you don't have any."

Bagnold inhaled slowly, as if choosing her next words carefully. "What exactly are you proposing?"

Hadrian leaned forward slightly. "An understanding."

Crouch's expression darkened. "You mean submission."

Hadrian smirked. "No, Director. That's what the Ministry does. I mean progress."

The air shifted.

Catherine flicked her wand, and a fresh parchment materialized in front of Bagnold. The Minister hesitated before glancing down at it—her eyes scanning the carefully worded document.

Jonas grinned. "We took the liberty of drafting something for you."

Bagnold's expression didn't change, but the tension in her shoulders was obvious. She already knew she wouldn't like what it said.

Matthias exhaled. "A treaty."

Crouch's jaw clenched. "You're out of your mind."

Hadrian tapped his fingers against the polished stone table. "Am I?"

Catherine's voice remained cool. "You came here because you have no alternatives left. The Ministry cannot openly fight both Haven and Voldemort. You don't have the resources. And if you try to restrict us, you risk turning the public against you entirely."

Bagnold looked up, her gaze calculating. "And what would this treaty entail?"

Hadrian exhaled. "Simple."

His fingers traced the edge of the table, slow, deliberate. "Haven remains independent. The Ministry does not interfere in our affairs, our laws, or our security. In return, we will not move against you, nor will we undermine your remaining authority."

Crouch's nostrils flared. "You're asking us to acknowledge you as an equal power."

Hadrian's smirk widened. "No. I'm telling you that you already have."

Silence.

Jonas looked entirely too pleased. "You can say no, of course. But that means two things—one, you'll be publicly seen as trying to fight the only people actually doing something about Voldemort. And two…" He grinned. "We won't have a reason to keep letting you play government."

Matthias exhaled sharply. "Jonas."

Hadrian didn't correct him.

Because he wasn't wrong.

Catherine's voice remained composed. "You don't have to agree today. But the longer you wait, the weaker your position becomes."

Bagnold studied the document carefully, her face unreadable.

Then she looked up, her expression as neutral as ever. "We will discuss this internally."

Hadrian nodded. "Of course."

Crouch, however, did not move. His hands remained clenched against the table, his entire body tight with barely concealed frustration.

Finally, he stood, movements stiff. His voice was like steel.

"You've made a mistake, Peverell."

Hadrian smiled. "Not as many as you, Director."

Crouch's lips pressed together tightly. He gave one last glance toward Bagnold before sweeping out of the room, his footsteps sharp against the stone.

The rest of the Ministry officials followed.

When they were gone, Jonas let out a low whistle. "Well. That was fun."

Matthias sighed. "We just cornered the most powerful government in wizarding Britain. They won't take this lightly."

Hadrian leaned back, exhaling. "They don't have a choice."

Catherine nodded, watching as the Ministry delegation disappeared past the gates. "Now, we wait."

Hadrian smirked. "Not for long."

The Ministry had walked into Haven believing they could control the future.

Instead, they had been forced to confront reality.

And soon, they would have to make a choice.

Accept Haven.

Or try to fight what was inevitable.

The Ministry's delegation returned to London under the cover of night.

Hadrian stood atop Haven's northern watchtower, watching as their portkeys activated, spiriting them back to the world they were so desperate to hold onto. A world they no longer controlled.

Jonas joined him a few moments later, leaning against the stone railing. "Think they'll sign it?"

Hadrian didn't answer immediately. Below them, the city of Haven was still alive—its streets illuminated with floating lanterns, its people moving with purpose. Unlike the Ministry, Haven wasn't crumbling under the weight of an outdated system. It was thriving.

"They won't have a choice," Hadrian said at last.

Jonas smirked. "I love when you say that."

Matthias approached from behind, his arms crossed. "They still have options. They could try to fight this. Push propaganda. Convince the public we're dangerous."

Hadrian exhaled. "Let them."

Catherine joined them last, carrying the latest intelligence reports. "They won't act immediately. Bagnold will try to maneuver politically before giving us an answer." She tapped the parchment in her hand. "Meanwhile, we have a more pressing concern."

Hadrian glanced at her.

"Voldemort is moving," she said.

Jonas straightened slightly. "Already?"

Catherine nodded. "He's issued orders to double his recruitment efforts. But it's not just that. He's searching for something."

Matthias frowned. "What?"

Catherine hesitated before placing a second document onto the table. "We intercepted a coded message. His inner circle has been tasked with locating a specific magical artifact."

Hadrian's green eyes scanned the parchment, his expression sharpening.

The item Voldemort sought wasn't just any weapon.

It was an anchor.

Jonas whistled. "I don't like the sound of that."

Hadrian's gaze darkened. "That's because you shouldn't."

The Dark Lord wasn't just retaliating.

He was searching for something that could shift the balance of power entirely.

The chamber fell into silence as Hadrian studied the intercepted message.

Catherine, Matthias, and Jonas watched him closely, waiting. He read the parchment twice, slowly, his mind already working through the implications.

Finally, he exhaled. "We need more information."

Catherine nodded. "Our best analysts are already decrypting the rest of the message. But we know one thing for certain—Voldemort is searching for an artifact tied to ancient magic. Something he believes will give him an advantage."

Jonas frowned. "How do we know he doesn't already have it?"

Matthias shook his head. "If he had, we'd feel the consequences by now. Whatever this is, it's still hidden."

Hadrian tapped his fingers against the table, thinking. "Do we have a lead on where he's looking?"

Catherine pulled out a second document. "There are three locations his followers have started investigating. One in Wales, one in Albania, and one—" She hesitated. "—in Egypt."

Jonas let out a low whistle. "Well, that's inconvenient."

Hadrian exhaled. "Not inconvenient. Expected."

Matthias frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hadrian leaned back slightly. "Voldemort doesn't act blindly. He's after something connected to an ancient bloodline, an old source of power. Egypt has more buried magical history than any place on Earth." His green eyes flickered. "And it's no coincidence that his obsession with immortality started after his time there."

Silence stretched through the chamber.

Catherine's expression darkened. "So you think this isn't just about gaining power?"

Hadrian's voice was smooth, calm. "No. I think he's trying to finish something he started decades ago."

Jonas rubbed his jaw. "Alright, so what's the plan? Let him dig up whatever cursed artifact he's after, then deal with it later?"

Hadrian smirked. "No. We move first."

Matthias straightened. "You want to intercept him?"

"More than that," Hadrian murmured. "I want to make sure he never finds it."

Catherine nodded, already flipping through her notes. "Then we need to act now. The longer we wait, the more ground he covers."

Jonas grinned. "I do love a good treasure hunt."

Hadrian pushed his chair back, standing. "Then let's begin."

The Dark Lord thought he was chasing a forgotten power.

He didn't realize Haven was already ahead of him.

The preparations began immediately.

Hadrian stood in Haven's war room, the enchanted map of the world glowing beneath his fingertips. The locations Catherine had marked pulsed faintly—Wales, Albania, Egypt. Three places where Voldemort's forces were already moving.

He studied them carefully, then exhaled. "We divide our forces."

Catherine nodded. "I've already selected teams for Wales and Albania. They'll leave within the hour."

Matthias folded his arms. "And Egypt?"

Hadrian's green eyes flickered. "That one's mine."

Silence.

Jonas let out a low whistle. "You're personally handling it? Must be important."

Catherine looked less amused. "Are you sure that's wise? We don't know exactly what Voldemort is searching for yet."

Hadrian smirked. "That's why I need to be there first."

Matthias exhaled. "You're planning on leading a strike team?"

Hadrian shook his head. "No. I'm going alone."

The chamber stilled.

Catherine's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's a risk."

Hadrian tilted his head slightly. "So is waiting. If I bring a team, we leave a footprint. If I go alone, I move faster."

Jonas grinned. "And more dramatically."

Matthias sighed. "Jonas."

Jonas held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just saying—swooping in, stealing an artifact out from under Voldemort's nose? That's peak dramatic."

Hadrian chuckled but didn't argue. He had no intention of letting Voldemort claim whatever it was he was searching for.

Catherine exhaled, still skeptical. "If you're set on going, at least take some precautions. A secured portkey. A backup team on standby."

Hadrian nodded. "Already arranged." He turned back to the map, tapping the Egyptian marker. "By the time Voldemort's people arrive, they'll find nothing left to claim."

Matthias studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Then let's make sure they never see us coming."

The mission was set.

By the time the Dark Lord made his move, Haven would already be three steps ahead.

The journey to Egypt was swift.

Hadrian activated the secured portkey from Haven's private chamber, feeling the familiar pull of magic wrap around him like a vice. The air shifted—compressed—rushed past him in a blur of colors and sound.

Then, just as suddenly, he arrived.

Heat pressed against his skin. The scent of ancient dust and magic lingered in the air.

He stood at the edge of the desert, beneath a sky littered with stars.

Egypt was unlike any place in the world. Its magic was old, heavy, woven into the very land itself. The ruins that dotted the sands were not just relics—they were remnants of an era when wizards had ruled as gods.

And somewhere beneath this desert, Voldemort was searching for something buried.

Hadrian adjusted his cloak, scanning the landscape. He wasn't in a city—this was deep in the desert, miles away from the nearest settlement. The only signs of life were the faint glow of magical wards flickering in the distance.

Wards meant excavation.

Excavation meant Voldemort's followers were already here.

Hadrian smirked. Perfect.

Keeping to the shadows, he moved forward. His steps were silent, his magic tightly controlled—no trace left behind.

The ruins ahead were massive, half-buried beneath centuries of shifting sand. Tall, crumbling pillars stretched toward the sky, etched with forgotten hieroglyphs. There were symbols of power, of warding, of something deeper—something protective.

This was no ordinary site.

Hadrian exhaled. Voldemort wasn't just looking for an artifact. He was looking for a secret.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Three cloaked figures stood near the ruins, whispering among themselves. Their robes were dark, their hoods pulled low—Death Eaters.

Hadrian's smirk widened. This would be fun.

He moved.

A silent step, a flick of his wrist. The sand beneath their feet shifted, swallowing sound, muffling their presence.

The first Death Eater barely had time to react before Hadrian struck.

A stunning hex—silent, precise—hit him squarely in the chest. He crumpled to the ground without a sound.

The second turned, eyes wide. Too late.

Hadrian moved like a shadow, smooth and unstoppable. His wand barely twitched, and the second man collapsed with a whispered spell.

The third tried to run.

Hadrian appeared in front of him in an instant, wand raised.

"Going somewhere?" he murmured.

The Death Eater froze, trembling.

Hadrian stepped closer, his green eyes gleaming. "Tell me what you're looking for."

The man swallowed hard. "I—I don't know—"

Hadrian arched a brow. "Wrong answer."

A flick of his wand, and the air around them tightened—magic pressing against the man's lungs, not painful, but suffocatingly heavy.

The Death Eater gasped. "Wait—wait—it's a tomb!"

Hadrian stilled. "A tomb?"

The man nodded frantically. "A hidden one. They say it holds something older than anything we've ever seen." His voice shook. "

Hadrian stepped deeper into the ruins, his boots barely disturbing the sand beneath him.

The air was thick with magic, a lingering pulse of something ancient, something that had not been awakened in centuries. He moved carefully, scanning the crumbling hieroglyphs and worn carvings along the stone pillars. This place was more than just an excavation site.

It was a warning.

He reached the entrance to the tomb—a narrow opening between two massive stone slabs, partially buried beneath centuries of shifting dunes. The Death Eaters had cleared just enough sand to reveal the entrance, but they had not yet ventured inside.

That meant one of two things.

Either they were waiting for reinforcements…

Or they were afraid to enter.

Hadrian smirked. Cowards.

He stepped forward, his wand flicking once. A pulse of magic rippled outward, scanning for enchantments.

A response came immediately.

The air shifted.

The runes along the stone flared to life, glowing with a soft, golden light. Not hostile. Not a curse.

A test.

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "Let's see what you're hiding."

With a slow exhale, he stepped into the tomb.

The temperature dropped instantly.

Inside, the walls were smooth, untouched by time—not crumbling like the ruins above. The passage stretched downward, illuminated only by the soft glow of runes embedded into the stone.

Magic whispered along the edges of the chamber, old but patient.

It was waiting.

Hadrian's footsteps echoed as he moved forward, tracing his fingers along the hieroglyphs. He could feel the magic in them, woven deeply into the stone. Protective enchantments, preservation spells—but no signs of a curse.

Interesting.

Voldemort's followers had clearly believed something was buried here.

But Hadrian was starting to think they had misunderstood.

This wasn't a tomb.

This was a prison.

He reached the end of the passage, where an enormous stone door stood sealed.

Its surface was marked with intricate carvings—symbols of binding, of containment. The runes pulsed as he approached, recognizing the presence of magic.

Hadrian exhaled. "So. You're holding something in

The tomb shuddered as Hadrian's magic pressed against the sealed door.

The runes flared brighter, their golden glow twisting into something more complex—a response, not a rejection. This wasn't the crude, decayed magic of a long-forgotten tomb.

This was something else.

Something alive.

Hadrian's green eyes flickered as he read the enchantments woven into the stone. Not just protective wards. Not just barriers. These spells were meant to bind, suppress, contain.

His smirk deepened. "Oh, this just got interesting."

With a flick of his wrist, his magic pulsed outward, analyzing the structure of the spellwork. The runes flickered—reacting, responding. They weren't resisting him.

They were assessing him.

A test.

The realization sent a thrill through Hadrian's veins. This wasn't just a door. It was a gatekeeper.

And it was deciding whether he was worthy.

He exhaled slowly, then spoke in Parseltongue.

"Open."

The response was immediate.

Magic rippled through the chamber, the stone humming beneath his feet. The carvings shifted, rearranging themselves into something new—a language that hadn't been spoken in millennia.

Then, with a deep, resonating grind of stone against stone, the door began to move.

Sand and dust cascaded from the shifting stone slabs as the ancient seals unlocked themselves, one by one. The air stirred, then stilled.

And the tomb exhaled.

Hadrian stepped forward as the passage beyond was revealed. Darkness stretched before him, vast and untouched. But the magic inside was not silent.

Something waited.

Hadrian smirked. "Let's see what Voldemort is so afraid of."

And he stepped inside.

The moment Hadrian crossed the threshold, the air shifted.

The oppressive heat of the desert vanished, replaced by something cold, weightless. It wasn't the natural chill of underground stone—it was something deeper.

Something ancient.

His boots barely made a sound against the polished obsidian floor. This was no ordinary tomb—the walls were smooth, untouched by time, free of the wear and decay of the ruins above. The golden runes from the entrance continued here, but they were different now—not warnings, but instructions.

Hadrian exhaled, running his fingers lightly along the carvings as he walked.

They told a story.

A story of a being who was never meant to be found.

The deeper he moved into the tomb, the clearer the magic became. This was no grave. This was no sanctuary.

This was a prison.

And whatever had been locked away here… was still inside.

At the heart of the chamber, something shifted.

Hadrian stilled, wand raised.

Then, the darkness moved.

A whisper of sound, a ripple of air—and suddenly, he was no longer alone.

A figure stood at the far end of the chamber, barely visible in the dim, flickering light.

Tall. Cloaked. Unmoving.

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed as he took a single step forward.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The figure tilted its head slightly.

Then, in a voice that was neither human nor fully alive, it spoke.

"You are not the one who was promised."

Magic crackled through the air.

And the tomb awoke.

The chamber shuddered.

Magic rippled outward, pulsing through the air like a living thing. The golden runes along the walls flared brighter—not in welcome, but in reaction.

Something was wrong.

Hadrian's wand remained steady, his green eyes locked onto the figure in the darkness. It did not move. It did not breathe. But it was very much aware of him.

"You are not the one who was promised," it repeated, its voice **layered, distorted—**as if more than one voice spoke at once.

Hadrian tilted his head slightly. "Promised to who?"

The figure did not answer immediately. Instead, the air around it stirred, distorting the shadows at its feet. Then, slowly, it stepped forward.

Hadrian didn't flinch. He had faced monsters before. But this… this was something different.

As the figure came into the dim glow of the runes, its form became clearer. It wore no mask, no hood—only a cloak of darkened mist that seemed to shift unnaturally around it.

But its face…

Hadrian's fingers tightened around his wand.

It had no face.

No features, no flesh—only a smooth, endless void where its face should have been.

And yet, somehow, Hadrian knew it was watching him.

The magic in the chamber hummed with recognition.

"Your blood carries the echoes of an old name," the figure murmured. "But you are not the one the Dark One seeks."

Hadrian exhaled slowly. "Dark One?"

The figure's presence thickened. "The one who calls himself Voldemort. He was meant to come."

Hadrian's smirk was slow, sharp. "Well, he's late."

A pause. Then, something almost like amusement flickered through the air.

"Perhaps."

The runes on the walls shifted again, rearranging themselves. Hadrian could feel the magic surrounding him now—pressing against him, testing, measuring.

The entity was not bound to this place by accident.

It was waiting.

Hadrian's fingers traced a subtle movement through the air, his magic responding to the chamber's pull. He had walked into this tomb to prevent Voldemort from gaining whatever power was hidden here.

But now, a far more dangerous thought settled in his mind.

What if he claimed it first?

The figure stilled, sensing the shift in his intent.

"You seek knowledge," it murmured. "You seek power."

Hadrian's smirk didn't fade. "Always."

The air grew colder.

Then, at last, the entity whispered:

"Then take it."

And the runes exploded in light.

The chamber roared to life.

Light flared from the runes, carving golden veins into the obsidian walls. The ground rippled beneath Hadrian's feet, and the weight of centuries-old magic pressed against his skin—ancient, waiting, testing.

Hadrian stood firm.

The faceless entity did not move, but its presence expanded, filling the room like a living shadow. The air around them thickened, distorting, bending to a power that had not been touched in thousands of years.

"Take it," the voice echoed again, layered, almost amused.

Hadrian exhaled slowly, green eyes sharp as he extended his magic, feeling the chamber's pulse.

It wasn't offering him an object—not a weapon, not an artifact.

It was offering a legacy.

A power once bound, now waiting for a new master.

Hadrian's wand pulsed in his hand, his own magic responding, reaching out, pulling at the invisible threads of the tomb.

The runes flared brighter.

And suddenly, he saw.

Memories not his own rushed through his mind—flashes of battles fought in a world long before his, of a wizard who had once stood where he did now, accepting the same choice.

A wizard who had been betrayed.

A wizard who had been sealed away.

Hadrian's breath slowed. This was not just a prison. This was a throne room. A place where power had once reigned and been locked away in fear of what it could become.

And Voldemort was coming for it.

Hadrian's smirk was sharp, deadly.

"Not today, Tom."

With a single, deliberate motion, he let his magic pour into the chamber.

The runes shifted, obeyed.

The entity before him tilted its head. Curious.

And then, for the first time, it spoke not in riddles but in understanding.

"You would take his place?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed.

"I would take what was denied to him."

The chamber shook. The magic that had been waiting—**for centuries, for a master, for a ruler—**recognized his intent.

And it bowed.

The runes pulsed one final time, then sank into his skin, into his magic.

The weight of the tomb vanished.

The entity stepped back, watching. "Then it is done."

Hadrian exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The power had not changed him. It had only revealed what was already there.

He turned back toward the entrance, already feeling the distant echo of Voldemort's magic approaching, seeking.

But when the Dark Lord arrived, he would find nothing left.

Because Hadrian Peverell had already taken what was his.

Hadrian stepped out of the tomb, the desert wind sharp against his skin, the magic within him still settling, adjusting.

The ruins around him remained unchanged, silent, ancient. But he could feel it—the shift, the absence.

Whatever power had once been locked away here was his now.

Not a relic. Not an object.

Knowledge. Magic. A legacy that had been sealed for a reason.

And Voldemort was on his way to claim it—only to find himself too late.

Hadrian smirked, pulling his cloak around himself. It was time to leave.

But just as he turned toward the distant dunes, a flicker of movement caught his eye.

A single figure stood at the far edge of the ruins, half-hidden by the darkness.

Hadrian didn't hesitate. His wand was already raised, magic coiling at his fingertips.

"Come out," he called.

The figure stepped forward, revealing golden eyes beneath a deep hood. Their presence was different from the Death Eaters—not hostile, but watching. Measuring.

"You are not the one we expected," the stranger murmured. Their voice was low, smooth, edged with something old.

Hadrian studied them carefully. "I hear that a lot."

The stranger tilted their head. "Do you know what you've taken?"

Hadrian smirked. "I know what I've stolen."

A slow chuckle. "Bold."

The air stilled.

Then, the stranger lifted a hand, and for a moment, Hadrian felt something familiar.

A presence like the tomb.

Not the same magic—but an echo of it.

Recognition flickered through him. This person was connected to the ones who built this place.

Not an enemy.

Not a Death Eater.

Something else.

Hadrian lowered his wand slightly. "And who are you?"

The stranger studied him for a long moment before answering.

"The last keeper of the forgotten."

Hadrian's smirk widened slightly. "Not forgotten anymore."

The stranger exhaled, a ghost of amusement in their expression. "No. Not anymore."

Then, with a flicker of magic, they vanished into the wind.

Hadrian stood still for a moment longer, then turned toward the dunes. His secured portkey was already waiting.

It was time to return to Haven.

And time to see what Voldemort would do when he realized the power he sought… now belonged to someone else.

Hadrian landed in Haven with barely a sound, the familiar wards welcoming him instantly. The city hummed with life, its lantern-lit streets stretching out beneath the night sky.

But he didn't head toward the council chambers. Not yet.

Instead, he moved through the quiet pathways of the upper district, past enchanted bridges and elegant towers, until he reached the war room.

The door opened before he could knock.

Catherine stood inside, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "You were gone longer than expected."

Hadrian smirked, stepping inside. "Miss me?"

Jonas snorted from his seat at the map table. "Not really. But we were taking bets on whether you'd make it back in one piece."

Matthias, standing near the wall, exhaled sharply. "And what did you find?"

Hadrian set a single parchment on the table. A rough, hand-drawn sketch of the tomb's runes, along with the transcribed words the entity had spoken.

Silence.

Catherine's eyes flickered over the markings. "This isn't just an artifact, is it?"

Hadrian shook his head. "No. It was a vault. A containment chamber." He leaned forward slightly, tapping the runes. "This wasn't just about power. It was about denying it to someone else."

Matthias frowned. "Voldemort?"

Hadrian exhaled. "Or someone who came before him."

The room stilled.

Jonas ran a hand through his hair. "So let me get this straight—you walked into an ancient death trap, found some lost magic, and brought it back here like a souvenir?"

Hadrian smirked. "More or less."

Catherine sighed. "And does he know?"

Hadrian's green eyes gleamed. "He will soon."

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

One of Haven's operatives entered, his face tense. "Message from our informants inside the Death Eater ranks."

Hadrian raised a brow. "Already?"

The operative nodded. "Voldemort arrived at the tomb an hour after you left. He found it… empty."

Jonas grinned. "I would have paid to see his face."

Hadrian chuckled but didn't look away from the report.

Voldemort wasn't just angry.

He was furious.

Catherine read the message over his shoulder. "He's blaming his followers. He thinks they were incompetent."

Matthias exhaled. "And when he realizes it was you?"

Hadrian smirked. "Then he'll have to make a choice."

Jonas arched a brow. "Which is?"

Hadrian leaned back, his voice calm.

"Fight me now." His green eyes gleamed. "Or realize he's already lost."

The Dark Lord had been searching for power.

But Hadrian had stolen it first.

And now?

Now, the real war could begin.

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