Lord Voldemort SI

Upon emerging from the void, my immediate desire was to find a good place to rest. Unfortunately, taking a vacation was off the table, though the time-turner did provide some assistance. Instead, I focused on managing pressing matters. During my absence, the Auror Office had spiraled into chaos, and several Death Eaters were slow to respond to one another's calls for aid. What could be done? My mere presence would instill fear in everyone, including the neutrals and sympathizers among the Death Eaters, and that alone would help improve the situation. However, to maintain that fear, I needed to demonstrate my power.

To start, I assessed my abilities, beginning with an evaluation of my necroenergy. In the artificial realm, I had conjured dark magic primarily in the first six months of my confinement, attempting to escape, before resorting to less taxing methods. Remarkably, I had not taken a life during this time. Measurements indicated a significant drop in my personal necroenergy volume, although I could not quantify it accurately, as I had failed to measure the capacity of my "reservoir" from birth. Tests on dummies and transfigured objects suggested a loss of approximately a quarter of my power. It made me ponder: if a dark magician were imprisoned for two decades, would they emerge as merely a shadow of their former self? Their skills would remain, but they would need to rebuild their striking power from scratch.

This was a double-edged sword. On one hand, I felt weaker, drifting further from the level of the original Tom Riddle in terms of dark magic potency, necessitating more caution. On the other hand, who could truly challenge me? Except for Albus, no one would be able to stand against me, and I could always evade a large detachment. Moreover, with my current lifestyle, my necroenergy would soon replenish. Nonetheless, pretending that nothing had changed was foolish.

I sought out Ollivander, who in three hours crafted a new wand for me, a replica of Elena's wand, much to my fortune, as I still possessed Nagini's scales. It was superior to Frank Longbottom's wand and matched me as well as my former wand had. My strategy was straightforward: if anyone questioned why my attacks had weakened, I would attribute it to this new wand from Ollivander, and subsequently demonstrate my power—blaming him for any perceived inadequacies.

On a brighter note, my new body exceeded all expectations. The speed of my nerve impulses was astounding; I found myself thinking and moving more quickly than ever. When employing acceleration charms, individuals without such enhancements appeared to be standing still, regardless of their belief that they were sprinting. A friendly sparring session with Bellatrix, in which I used only "Expelliarmus," revealed that even a proficient battle mage moved as if wading through jelly in comparison to my newfound speed.

Based on these insights, I devised a new tactic: after consuming potions for speed and reaction, I would cast a speed-enhancing spell on myself, rapidly approaching my enemies to unleash "Avada Kedavra" at close range. Why close range? Because I now moved faster than the curse itself, making proximity crucial. In theory, I could replace "Avada Kedavra" with the Sword of Gryffindor if only I could locate it. The only obstacle was that I needed to cast specific spells on myself in advance to avoid overexerting myself and making it difficult to breathe. However, creating an air cushion with magic was well within my abilities.

Now the pressing question was: who could I test this against in a real combat scenario? Albus Dumbledore? Memories of Tom flooded my mind, reminding me of how he viewed himself as the Chosen One, a singular force of nature. Yet whenever Albus appeared, that illusion swiftly crumbled. Initially, Tom was terrified, convinced that all wizards could cast spells without wands and read his thoughts. However, he soon realized that his fears were largely unfounded: he had surpassed all his peers, but he could never quite match Albus's accomplishments in school.

Even in 1981, when Tom had become the Dark Lord with five Horcruxes, he still recognized deep down that Albus was stronger than him. The absence of a phoenix and my new body did not alter this fact. I also had to concede that Tom Riddle had been far more adept at evading Dumbledore: throughout the civil war, he had only encountered Albus twice, whereas I had faced him three times in less than a year! The first encounter at Crouch's house could be deemed a draw, but each subsequent encounter had ended worse for me—the thrashing of Lord "Elena" by the Ministry upon leaving the Department of Mysteries and the last incident that culminated in him retreating into a painting, followed by self-flagellation.

While I acknowledged that I was faster than Albus now, it was insufficient. He would undoubtedly devise a countermeasure. Perhaps he would manipulate the air density around us or conjure walls. The conclusion was clear: I would not engage Albus unless I was assured of victory. This meant weakening him before the battle while enhancing my own strength. Furthermore, I would never confront him alone with fewer than twenty wizards at my back.

It was presumptuous to challenge a magician stronger than oneself, as victory often favored larger forces. Nevertheless, history is rife with instances where the weaker party triumphed. Take the Russo-Japanese War, for example. I had no intention of fighting fairly—ambushes, traps, poison... I could unleash an army upon him; perhaps a sufficiently large detachment of reinforced werewolf wizards could handle him with my support. Speaking of which, the identity of the werewolf traitor had been confirmed—he was now with Dumbledore's Order.

What to do with Albus? I could isolate him internationally, oust him from his positions, and convince everyone that he was malevolent while I portrayed myself as virtuous. Though the latter was unlikely; only a complete fool could be appointed Minister of Magic... Lockhart? No, the wizarding world hadn't degraded to that level yet. If the Dark Lord were to be painted as virtuous, he would be a fox animagus. Killing Aurors, much less civilians, would garner no sympathy. However, one individual truly deserved to perish—Alastor Moody.

After numerous failed attempts on his life, I had compiled a wealth of intelligence regarding his behavior in challenging situations. Getting to him at home was impossible; he and Albus had fortified his abode, plus the Ministry provided for him. Perhaps if martial law were lifted, I might catch Moody off guard, but in the current climate, that seemed unlikely.

Paradoxically, the most viable opportunity to apprehend him would be at work when he assisted the Auror squad. He would not fall into a trap easily; he would scrutinize everything, refusing to enter any location that didn't meet his standards. However, it was plausible to lead the Auror squad into a trap, which would then morph into an ambush—too much even for Moody. Initially, I contemplated orchestrating a powerful explosion, but I was uncertain whether I could eliminate Moody with a single blast. The aftermath would likely expose me and invite reinforcements. Worst case scenario? Bearded reinforcements.

I did not wish to waste a nuclear charge replicated from a Muggle military base. First, I had no means to counter a megaton nuclear explosion, aside from instant movement prior to detonation or, perhaps, manipulating space (which was not my forte). Second, I had spent my recent time confined within a minuscule artificial world, and returning there was not an option—Higher Magic was out of reach for many, and even the most inept wizard with a wand could transfigure, albeit temporarily, a few tons of uranium in a matter of days.

Thus, my second decree upon seizing power was to enact a Taboo spell against the transfiguration of uranium and plutonium. My next idea was to devise a plan involving the "Inner Circle led by Voldemort" against one eyeless casualty. With sufficient force, it would be feasible to achieve victory without losses or risk. Unfortunately, hiding such a crowd would prove difficult. Moody was no fool: if he learned that the Dark Lord and his allies were slaughtering five Aurors or civilians, he would not heed the call but would instead declare, "We will avenge you."

Could I quickly transport Death Eaters using the Phoenix? This would work for anyone but Moody. I had no idea how he maintained contact with Albus. I could successfully loop any signal, but these were intricate spells; I needed to envelop Moody and the others within a magical dome completely severed from the outside world, including Phoenix movements. Then, I would swiftly eliminate them with the forces trapped within the dome.

This led to the conclusion: I must be part of the decoy squad while the remaining forces maintained magical isolation of the area. The decoy squad must not appear excessively strong or weak; otherwise, Moody would not come to their aid. Naturally, I would prefer to include Dolokhov, Jugson, and others in the decoy squad under Polyjuice, but this raised another limiting factor: anticipating failure, I could only bring those whose loss would not be catastrophic. While I could escape quickly with the Phoenix, the others might not be so fortunate. The Phoenix could carry one or ten, but the odds of us standing side by side during the fight were laughable. Evacuating everyone one by one was a guaranteed failure for all except perhaps the first or second wave.

So, the plan now appeared as follows. The werewolves, eager for their Lord's return, decided to conduct a grand sacrifice. They would use not only random Muggles but also a few Mudblood wizards who were maniacs, along with an enhanced werewolf who had lost his fighting abilities due to injuries (to provide me with cover through the emanations from a clumsy sacrifice). However, they failed to adequately shield the ritual site with magic. A squad of Aurors responded to a weak signal, leading to a magical confrontation. The Aurors called for backup. Albus? Yes, Gryffindor with Merlin's support—the reinforcements would be proportional to the threats at hand. Moody took personal control of the fight against the enhanced werewolves and would show up himself, accompanied by the elite five of the Auror Office, supported by golems transfigured by Albus—these forces were more than sufficient.

A Time-Turner? Unlikely; when the place and time are not chosen, utilizing it becomes exceedingly complicated. Now, it was my turn. Initially, the Death Eaters would establish solid protection over the area from a safe distance—on the surface, it would seem like a routine operation, while Moody and others would send "we are fighting" signals to the Auror Office. In reality, their communications would be severed, allowing us to isolate even London—no one would notice anything.

The only stipulation was that I needed to position the most loyal among them to ensure they would not be tempted to trap me at a critical moment. Meanwhile, one of the inconspicuous werewolves beneath the dome would transform into the Dark Lord and swiftly eliminate all opponents. As a backup, I could utilize the Phoenix—its movements within the dome would not be restricted, and one of my latest ideas for an innocuous trap would fit perfectly. The fight would take place at an unfinished Muggle warehouse above the excavation level; who would pay attention to scattered reinforcements? There would be not a trace of magic!

I would conceal the Phoenix in the backpack on my back. To prevent Alastor from noticing it prematurely, I would place it in a container with space expansion, and I would consume the Polyjuice potion. If things went awry—should I underestimate the one-legged man or he managed to shout for Albus—I would quickly signal my team to remove the protection, allowing me to escape. Albus was powerful, but he would not be able to instantly shield himself from the Phoenix's movements; the latter scenario did not apply—he would have been prepared for me. What about the werewolves? That would be their problem. Naturally, I would not disclose this to them, supplying them instead with dummy emergency Portkeys.

The plan began to unfold. The Death Eaters turned on their protective charms, creating the illusion of a routine operation. Meanwhile, an unsuspecting werewolf would turn into the Dark Lord, initiating a swift and decisive attack. As the chaos ensued, I would remain hidden, my true identity secured, allowing me to manipulate the situation to my advantage.

---

**Alastor Moody's POV.**

Today was dull. Albus had forbidden me to roam the streets, so I sat in the Ministry with the Rapid Response Team, attempting to instill some sense into them. This team consisted of myself and four of the finest Aurors, whom I had personally selected. They were truly the best of the lot. Additionally, Albus was concerned for my safety and had allocated fourteen transfigured humanoid golems for reconnaissance or to take the brunt of any attacks. "Constant vigilance! Await the signal to call for backup! At any moment!" I began my session.

"The angular velocity of a point on a circle is inversely proportional to the length of the arm of rotation at a constant linear velocity," I lectured. "With the same amount of effort expended, a wizard with a wand at their ear will turn faster than one with a wand in an outstretched hand. Although a mage wielding a wand in an outstretched hand can attack immediately, they must extend their arm toward the target. I calculated these hundredths of a second and concluded that a wand held in outstretched hands is almost always more advantageous—unless you need to peek around a corner!"

Yet, before I could finish, I was interrupted. Thank Merlin! Finally, something to engage with! We received a call from an unfinished Muggle warehouse. A group of werewolves had decided to conduct a sacrifice, and they were utterly brainless. Perhaps they thought their actions constituted a sacrifice, but in reality, it was simply murder; they wouldn't be able to gather even a drop of magic through such actions.

I signaled for my team to prepare. They reached for their potions—no harm could come to them now, there were no complications in sight. I personally verified the authenticity of the signal and the imprint of the magical trace. There was little magic at the location, even less Dark magic. The enemy hadn't even cast standard anti-scanning charms—only high-level werewolf mages using Dark Magic could potentially pose a threat, along with someone gruesomely torturing a wounded werewolf on an altar.

Honestly, even those five Aurors could manage, but I wanted to avoid losses. I sent a message to Albus, establishing a constant magical link. If the signal was interrupted—something that would happen if all eleven communication protocols were compromised—Albus would come to investigate. However, that would not be necessary; only the Dark Lord and Elena were capable of such a feat. While it was possible that more than a dozen Death Eaters could do it, given recent events, that seemed unlikely.

After scanning the communication artifacts with my magical eye and finding nothing alarming, I ordered everyone to prepare for a recovery while the patrol Aurors on the other side ensured the stability of the transport channel. As soon as they moved, the air rippled with magic. The connection was severed. Suddenly, a massive Antipatronus surged toward us. Initially, I thought it was a ghostly Antipatronus, but I quickly realized it was corporeal, manifesting as an Obscurus. A trap!

I immediately commanded my men not to hold back and sent a request for assistance to the Aurors and Albus. Perhaps this was premature, but it was better to be a living paranoid than a dead fool. Even if the enemy had blundered and failed to eliminate us, the defenses were set by someone of high caliber or multiple experienced wizards, providing us with backup. Yet, there was no response!

While I deliberated, I unleashed a series of spells at the primary enemy—a werewolf who, under the guise of the Antipatronus, launched Waves of Darkness. According to my calculations, my spells should have breached the werewolf's defenses, followed by nonverbal bone-crushing spells to incapacitate him. Without bones, he would be unable to fight. But I was mistaken. I realized this when flashes of green light scorched my eyes.

It was embarrassing to admit, but the attacker blurred into a haze. All five of my patrolling Aurors died instantly. To be honest, I would have caught a few Avadas myself, but the unknown adversary made a mistake: he and his squad were covered by Albus's golems. Though they lagged behind the attacker in speed, they were not significantly slower and acted in a coordinated manner with a shared field of vision.

To the enemy's credit, he attempted to neutralize the golems, transforming the ground into a swamp, animating reinforcements, and tying up the guests. Someone was also obstructing the werewolves from retaliating. A brilliant strategy; I would have applauded it, but my hands were occupied casting area spells and Hellfire, while with my left hand I reached into my pocket to crush the vial of potion Albus had given me.

If Albus was telling the truth, this potion didn't require ingestion; it could be absorbed through the skin. The enemy miscalculated, though: he didn't anticipate that I had special golems that could levitate, rendering them unaffected by soil viscosity. It was also challenging to restrain them; they tore apart the Muggle reinforcements that emerged from the foundation blocks, attempting to ensnare us.

Albus's potion worked instantly, allowing me to see the attacker, though he still outpaced us. Too bad. I had hoped that Albus had managed to contain You-Know-Who for a longer duration. How did I ascertain the identity of the attacker? A phoenix perched on his shoulder. Three golems, two Antipatronuses, and one Hellfire surrounded the enemy. Instead of losing momentum and transitioning into a defensive stance, the enemy simply vanished in a blaze of flames, only to strike again from another angle.

Three golems were consumed by the Well of Darkness. The assumption that You-Know-Who would protect his allies turned out to be incorrect. We concentrated our magical attacks on the werewolves, hoping he would shield them, allowing us to subdue him. Instead, the werewolves fell—one after another, until the last was a high-level Dark Magic user. It cost us half our golems.

The solitary silver lining was that the five of us somehow withstood You-Know-Who's assaults. It was strange; two years ago, he had hit much harder. Even Elena had been more formidable during our encounter in Diagon Alley! Perhaps it was a matter of leverage—how many times you win in speed, you lose in strength.

Back-to-back, the five of us attempted to vanquish the attacker. He operated like a machine: limiting maneuverability through transfiguration, unleashing Avadas. Whenever the Avadas struck Albus's golems or our transfigured shields, he would execute area attacks, searching for a gap in our defenses and the transfigured shields, only to begin transfiguring once more.

But I was already tired of witnessing reinforcements emerging from the ground like giant worms, clearly trying to bind us or extract someone from our defensive circle. A new development arose. A considerable volume of air had morphed into soil, and he attempted to cover us with it. I tried to reverse the transfiguration but to no avail. Was it an eternal transfiguration? Too much soil? A test from Albus? No, he would never sacrifice his own for the sake of an experiment!

Our defensive line was nearly overwhelmed by a torrent of mud. Thankfully, we managed to hold firm; the blow wasn't strong enough. Otherwise, we would have been pulled apart one by one, leading to our demise. Consequently, we split into two groups: myself, Kingsley, and four of the seven golems, while two suicide bombers accompanied three golems. You-Know-Who opted for the smaller squad.

Then came the saying about perforated toilet paper—where it is thin, it tears. The first to succumb to Avada was John Maslow. Our newest recruit, who had joined us after the massacre in Kosoy, where we had lost two men. The damned You-Know-Who slipped behind him, nearly pressing his nose into Maslow's back, and released Avada. No chance.

Kingsley and I retaliated with Avadas aimed at You-Know-Who while Moody thickened the air around him to the consistency of a treacle-like jelly. We had a fighting chance; fortunately, three golems were latched onto the enemy's defenses, preventing his movement. Yet he vanished, akin to a phoenix, leaving behind a mass that resembled a fortune-telling ball, filled with black smoke.

There was an explosion—powerful indeed, though the radius did not exceed twenty meters. Another testament to Albus's creations: such an explosion would have obliterated an ordinary golem, yet these withstood it, attempting to recover. Despite appearing as if they had been bitten by a giant, with only legs remaining from one golem and the second losing its left half, the third was reduced to mere remnants.

You-Know-Who reappeared behind Freelow. He attempted to dodge or turn around, likely relying on the supersensitivity charm, but fate was unkind; another Avada claimed another life, and a new corpse littered the ground. We managed to restore our defensive line, though now only three of us remained alongside four golems. We stood back-to-back, trying to corner the enemy.

He evaded our standard attacks and Avadas. Occasionally, our area attacks caught him, but his defenses absorbed the damage. Additionally, the enemy showed no hesitation to fly and move like a phoenix. Soon, new transfigured soil began to materialize, surging toward us, threatening to scatter us like a mudslide.

This time, I recognized my blunder: I had neglected to transfigure it back. Signaling to Kingsley, we conjured Hellfire. The soil was consumed by the revived flames. However, the enemy persisted, continuing to assault us using the same tactics. This time, we were not five with ten golems, but three with four; You-Know-Who had finished off the damaged golems.

Though the fight lasted mere seconds, I began to tire. The others likely felt the same. The problem was that we couldn't win this way—the target was simply too agile. And hoping that he would exhaust himself before we did was foolish.

Well, if the situation escalated, I would Emperor the Pope, and he would absolve my sins. I signaled my comrades to cover me as I prepared to cast a special spell. You-Know-Who quickly grasped my intentions. Blood needles and especially lethal spells surged toward us. I could take pride in the fact that You-Know-Who had shed his own blood for me!

In slow motion, I witnessed as one of his attacks struck me. A healthy man, alive and conscious, transformed into a pool of pus. Following that, Avada reached me. A cascade of spells erupted into the gap. I managed to block them, but I realized I would not evade Avada, and the transfigured shield crumbled under You-Know-Who's onslaught.

It was unfortunate that I fell short. Kingsley tried to shield me, but Albus's last golem acted swiftly, absorbing a dozen Avadas. Afterward, the ground went berserk, ensnaring the golem, solidifying it, and carrying it away. Where it promptly encountered the Source of Darkness and began to decompose.

I'd need to propose to Albus the idea of golems with their own protective spells. But I had succeeded! The idea was simple. The enemy transfigures everything. Therefore, we must ensure that there is nothing left to transfigure. Our goal was to make it so that any object transfigured would be instantly obliterated.

The enemy could not be reached with pinpoint spells. We needed to envelop the entire area of combat in an offensive spell. You-Know-Who would endure for some time within the spell he created, but it would at least weaken his defenses, allowing us to engage him. Most importantly, the spell would consume all the "blood projectiles" and transfigured soil hurled at us.

Alastor Moody's left arm vanished—it was painful. But a rapidly forming Dark Blot emerged, hurtling toward You-Know-Who. He easily dodged, continuing his barrage of attacks, but the blot expanded, gradually consuming more of the space available to us under the dome, constraining the enemy's movements.

Using the blood loss from my arm, I launched the Spear of Blood at the Dark Lord and constructed a Shield of Blood. Most importantly, to disrupt such a spell, You-Know-Who would need to limit his own maneuverability. From that distance, I wouldn't miss with Avada—the target was no more than fifty meters away.

Now, the moment of truth had arrived. Perhaps the enemy would attempt to finish us off. However, it remained uncertain how long it would take. I would require new tactics. There was no guarantee he would perish before the spell undermined his defenses from within, or that You-Know-Who would flee.

No, I could have utilized this spell earlier; he simply didn't know how to counter it—his demise was guaranteed for him and everyone around him. You-Know-Who unleashed Hellfire and several area attacks directed at us. The dome transitioned from lilac to purple, and You-Know-Who vanished in a flash of a phoenix.

Kingsley and I cast the most powerful defenses we knew. Yet, they were insufficient to counter You-Know-Who's spells. Moreover, the Matter Eater continued its chaotic consumption. I cursed under my breath, waving my wand again. It wasn't solely injuries incurred from enemy attacks that had plagued me during this battle...

Moments later, I found myself leaning on Kingsley's shoulder. Standing on one leg was uncomfortable. It was even more uncomfortable as my lower leg slowly dissolved, as if bitten off piece by piece. Fortunately, I could take some painkillers now. Still, it was worth it: we were enveloped in a dirty gray sphere, approximately five meters in diameter. Outside, chaos reigned—raging flames and darkness.

"How are you, Shacklebolt?" I asked.

"What was that?" he queried in response.

"The forbidden spell 'Matter Eater.' It appears to have exhibited positive synergy with You-Know-Who's spell. Don't worry; even a small town can't be destroyed like that—I invested my last reserves of magical energy and my arm into it; it's only sufficient for the space within the dome."

"Can you reverse this spell?"

"No." And then there was that freak's spell. "But I have magical exhaustion! You seem to as well!"

I glanced down at my leg with longing. Half the distance from knee to buttock had already dissolved—the magic continued to siphon energy to sustain itself. We needed to devise a way to maintain the spell once my leg was gone. They said a person could survive with a quarter of a liver. But what of a wizard?

I would have attempted blood—but a safe amount had already been expended on the super-powerful Blood Shield; a bit more and I would lose consciousness. The weight of a leg exceeds the blood within the body. I desperately wished to ask Kingsley for assistance—he had two legs, and I had none! But I knew his answer: "I don't know such Dark magic!"

Kingsley attempted to assist. He conjured beyond his magical exhaustion and promptly fainted. Idiot. At least he had employed blood magic; in our time... Well, at least he would get some rest before he met his end. I sent signals with the artifact, but there was no communication.

Sitting on the ground and confirming my magical exhaustion, I watched helplessly as my leg continued to dissolve. So much remained to be done! Who would pursue the rookies without me? Who would lead the Auror Office? Who would inform everyone of You-Know-Who's return? Though that was not critical—soon enough, it would become evident to all.

I maintained my vigilance, concentrating on the order in which I would part with my body. After all, I had two kidneys! And my remaining leg above the knee wasn't wooden. I could even sacrifice my buttocks to support the spell; my whole backside ached from sitting in a chair for sixty hours a week, immersed in everything!

Sometimes, the Time Turner had its drawbacks. It would be far easier to work with steel buttocks. But it did not reach that point. Barely had the support of the defense completely consumed my leg without a prosthesis when the assault ceased: the offensive spells were nullified. I surveyed my surroundings. Together with the unconscious Kingsley, we were at the bottom of a crater capable of accommodating several city blocks.

Dumbledore and a dozen other wizards stood nearby. "Alastor, kindly remove the protection. Kingsley requires assistance, and so do you." The authenticity of Albus being present was confirmed by the restored connection and the communication amulet. Yet, constant vigilance!

"What did I say to Albus Dumbledore during our last Wizengamot meeting?" I prompted, pointing my wand toward the target. Naturally, I was magically depleted, but one Avada would be sufficient to knock him unconscious. Albus sighed tiredly and waved his hand, conjuring an opaque veil—an anti-eavesdropping spell that separated Moody and Albus from the others.

"You lauded my oratory skills and inquired if I could cast a non-verbal wandless Imperius over an area," he replied.

"Word for word!" I declared. After another weary sigh, Albus responded.

"It seems like you've exhausted them all, or perhaps you imperceptibly cast Imperius over the entire room at once? Will you teach me?"

"You are Albus," I retorted. "You-Know-Who has returned—with a phoenix, a new wand, and even more grotesque than before. He's not as powerful, but he moves at incredible speed, and he's utilizing transfiguration now. Sound the alarm, and prevent our men from venturing out in small groups."

I dropped my wards, observing how, after two waves of Albus's wand, he acquired a prosthetic arm and leg. It was regrettable that I couldn't sacrifice them to Dark Magic...

Then, I and Dumbledore watched as Kingsley was taken to St. Mungo's, and I followed Albus. Initially, I shared my memories, and then I recounted everything.

"I wasn't vigilant enough! I didn't anticipate You-Know-Who's presence! I didn't consider that he would transfigure; I limited myself to standard magical checks! Now I will consult Muggle standards for reinforcement, and if there's an excess of reinforcements, I won't approach, but will dispatch a squad for reconnaissance!"

Albus feigned interest, but inwardly he replayed his memories.

"Does anything about Voldemort seem peculiar to you?" he queried.

"Even more hideous than before. He resembles a massive, grotesque owl! His eyes bulge out, too! And his head spins like a helicopter, even when there should be a fracture!" I created a mock-up of the fight scene out of smoke.

"At first, he masqueraded as a werewolf while under the influence of Polyjuice. Voldemort would never stoop so low as to impersonate a werewolf."

"Good point! I missed him! Furthermore, he managed to conceal himself through magical means while torturing the werewolf on the altar! When you arrived, he simply adopted a new appearance. A phoenix emerged from his backpack, which contained a space-expanding container. After that, he initiated the combat," Albus explained.

"The mechanism of body transformation is unclear..."

"Albus, remember when I claimed I didn't care about your golems? That they compromised all stealth? I was mistaken! We need more golems! Stronger! Larger! More powerful! And provide them with artifacts! At the very least, Muggle machine guns with silver bullets!"

"The fight itself deviates from Tom's previous encounters. He wasn't a hit-and-run type. He relished in his superiority. Moreover, when one of the Aurors received a fatal strike and began transforming into slime, he writhed, blocking Voldemort's fields of fire, and Voldemort dispatched him with Avada to ensure he remained motionless and wouldn't obstruct him. There was no laughter, no reveling in the defeat of a vanquished foe…"

"Albus! I didn't appoint myself as his psychologist! Do something about this You-Know-Who! Next time, I'll be left without my manhood!" But Albus merely stared intently at the face formed from smoke.

"Observe. His head rotates like an owl's. The pupil alters shape and size too rapidly. I wager the optic nerve connects to the eye from behind... This body was likely crafted with intention, specifically for combat. This cannot be a mere side effect of the ritual..."

"Shall we kill him first, then conduct an autopsy?" I interrupted again.

"It appears that due to the adrenaline, you aren't prepared for conversation just yet. Rest. I have a series of questions for you."

"I checked Kingsley; he's one of us! He's not a traitor! How did he survive unscathed, while I barely made it— that bastard was primarily targeting me, and I absorbed the last attack."

"Not that. It's a pity this can't be sacrificed in Dark Magic..."

Voldemort Pov:

As I continued to ponder, I realized I needed to devise a plan of action. With thoughts swirling, I descended into the Lestrange training room. After establishing protection against eavesdropping, I turned to Lily.

"Snape has voiced complaints about you. He claims you attempt to eliminate him during training. For the second consecutive time, I commenced."

"Vile traitor! He administered something for me to drink! I've been absent for five days; Harry is exhausted."

"He saved you. And himself. No rebuke of 'Where was I?' That was good."

"I want to be able to defend myself against Snape next time. Will you instruct me?"

I had anticipated this request, though I hadn't expected it would arise in this manner.

"Twice a week for three hours. I'll teach you the techniques, and you'll practice them with Snape," I replied.

"And what do you want in return?" she inquired.

I hesitated momentarily. "I'd be quite pleased if you could eliminate one of my enemies. Additionally, I have political ambitions for you post-victory, assuming you survive."

"How do the Americans prove that there's no oppression of Black individuals? They have quotas for representation in films and organizations. How can I demonstrate that Muggle-borns are not oppressed in Magical England? By accepting a Muggle-born into the Inner Circle of Death Eaters. Naturally, your peers may not appreciate it. But if I were to announce you as Muggle-born Lily Potter, while wearing a sly smile... The key is convincing the Death Eaters that Lily Potter is the pureblood Elena Ivanova, while simultaneously assuring Muggle-borns that one of their own is among the Death Eaters. Otherwise, I'd simply be mocking public sentiment. We claim to dislike Muggle-borns? Just look at Lucius Malfoy bowing before her! We judge people by their actions!"

Lily seemed skeptical. "What if they don't accept me?"

"Nothing this time. I had once aspired to teach at Hogwarts, but Albus prevented me from doing so—at that time, he was hiding a Horcrux there. Now it's time to fulfill my youthful dream, even if it's with just one student. Where do we start? Are you going to beat me up to show your superiority? I'm not in shape today."

"There's no need for that. Thanks to Legilimency and Snape, I'm already aware of your capabilities. Let's begin with the Antipatronus. I'll demonstrate the spell and explain the technique, then you can repeat it."

An hour and a half later, a weary Lily had successfully conjured a Ghostly Antipatronus.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "If you had managed a corporeal Antipatronus during the first lesson, I would have had to fear for my position. But now we're wrapping up."

"But only an hour and a half has passed," she protested.

"Indeed, but we're finishing with the Antipatronus. Now, let's start on Legilimency."

"I once asked Snape to teach me Legilimency. He suggested I catch a Muggle for him or find a house-elf," she recounted.

"Everything will be different with us. I've found you a manual that won't leave you feeling morally conflicted while practicing it."

"Snape?" she guessed.

"No. I require Snape," I stated, waving my wand to open the chest I had brought with me, which was situated in the corner. Inside the space-expanding chest was a powerful cage containing a chained Dementor.

"A Dementor?" she asked, eyes widening.

"Precisely! Dementors communicate using mental magic, and they can be commanded through it. The advantage of training with Dementors is that no matter what happens, your mind won't burn out. While he might chill your thoughts slightly, I'll be there to back you up. However, be warned—the thoughts in a Dementor's mind are not for the faint-hearted; they primarily revolve around hunger. He'll train you to toughen up. Plus, visual contact isn't necessary with wand-based Legilimency."

Five minutes later, after absorbing my instructions, Lily attempted Legilimency on the Dementor. The outcome was as anticipated: the Dementor perked up slightly, while Lily collapsed to the floor, mumbling, "I feel so confined in this cage and dream of freedom... to find food quickly..." Her voice then faded into a murmur as she crawled toward the cage.

"Why on earth...?" I wondered. I pointed my wand at Lily and used Legilimency on her. It was clear she had caught the Dementor's feelings and mistaken them for her own. She genuinely wanted to kiss a Dementor.

This could pose problems. I'd need to ensure the cage was reinforced; I might lose track of her in a moment of impulse. Soon, Lily received a restorative potion, a few spells, and a bar of chocolate.

"When employing Legilimency, never forget about Occlumency! And avoid delving too deep, especially at the beginning! If this were a person, they'd already be drooling. But you can't get a Dementor like that. For the next hour and a half, she exhibited Gryffindor tenacity, managing to avoid such foolish mistakes. She experienced no moral torment, as Dementors, while not immortal, do not perceive pain in the human sense.

"That's enough for today," I finally declared.

"I can keep going," she argued, but the fatigue in her eyes indicated otherwise.

"Next time, you may continue. But be cautious; the Dementor could pick up some of your thoughts and secrets through such close contact, which is dangerous. We'll practice with a different Dementor each session. I'll remove it this time, and then you can try."

I conjured the Dagger of Ekrizdis, piercing the Dementor. The creature fell, dissolving into nothingness.

"See you in three days," I said, taking the chest and preparing to leave.

---

**Edward Lestrange's POV.**

Edward contemplated. Why had the Lord locked himself away with his student, gathering restorative potions and chocolate? Why did Elena emerge looking tired yet pleased? Some things were better left unexamined. He decided to let Bellatrix deal with her own issues.