Lord Voldemort SI

I continued my preparations for setting traps for Albus. The concept was straightforward: if fair competition was not an option, entice him into a trap. However, to ensure he would step into it, bait was essential. It reminded me of a bear hunt from the days before firearms—utilizing a sturdy, iron-bound pole laid on the ground. If the bear was provoked, the pole would be strong enough to impale it upon approach. Yet, if the bear remained calm, it would simply push the pole down with its paw.

I was nearing completion of the traps at both the Gaunt hut and the Inferi cave. An intriguing idea for a trap at Hogwarts came to mind, leveraging Salazar's basilisk. Unfortunately, my situation with Gringotts was less promising. Although I had alerted the goblins, they refused to store Nessie or a modified Aberforth in the vault. The only viable option left was to create a golem infused with precious metals. After examining Albus's work, I attempted to craft my own golem, but alas, it was not my forte. It was far simpler and more efficient to eliminate a magician and resurrect a high-quality conjuring corpse—a true masterpiece lich.

While Infernals were weaker than Albus's constructs, they were more numerous and required only magical energy to create. I did make some progress, and considering the energy and materials invested, it would have sufficed for two centuries. Yet, that was insufficient against Albus. Thus, I abandoned the notion of crafting a golem to await Albus in the Gringotts vault. Instead, I resolved to purchase a custom-built solution.

I began by reviewing a list of skilled artifact makers of acceptable caliber. Regrettably, this task was not suitable for Selwyn and Burke. I eliminated those who would refuse to collaborate with me, focusing on those who had reasons to assist and who harbored resentment toward Albus. Three candidates remained. One was virtually unreachable, being an ardent practitioner of human sacrifice for infusing life into golems and was wanted internationally. Tom was acquainted with the second candidate, who had dismissed Tom when he sought to be my apprentice, making his cooperation unlikely. However, the last candidate appeared promising. He had not engaged in any overtly illegal activities and was known to disfavor Dumbledore, a sentiment shared by many in Germany who believed life under Gellert's rule would have been better.

Soon, after once again transforming into a werewolf, I traveled to Germany. I found myself in a cozy house near Munich, awaiting an audience while flipping through magazines on the table. Among them was one titled "Mad Merlin," featuring moving illustrations of a parody of Camelot. Someone resembling Albus, or perhaps Merlin, was depicted conjuring a raspberry pie from thin air, humorously lamenting about a gluttonous Arthur. My mind reeled at the notion of someone powerful enough to create food from nothing while toying with Muggles—akin to an inventor of perpetual motion paying for electricity. I made a mental note to remember the author's name; he might be a potential ally.

After about twenty minutes, the homeowner invited me in. It struck me as incredibly rude to keep someone waiting past their appointment. The middle-aged man resembled a typical burgher, likely to enjoy a beer, yet he bore the aura of an elite-level mage. His eyes revealed a mastery of Occlumency that would take considerable effort to penetrate, guarded by various protective charms. Thoughts of his disdain for "limes" flitted through the Occlumency barrier.

"Hello, Abelard Schultz. I'm pleased you agreed to meet," I said.

"It's been a long time since someone offered me such a sum simply to meet with them. You have five minutes to pique my interest."

"I wish to fund your work on creating the perfect golem. Payment can be in any form, not limited to gold. I desire—"

"I'm not interested. I refuse to work with the English, even for money."

"Then what is your reason for this meeting?"

"To look into your English eyes and say 'Nein.'"

"Fortunately, my five minutes are not yet up. They say your family did not survive Grindelwald, and you escaped only because you were sixteen in 1945 and had not yet completed your education..."

"My entire family was under the Imperius Curse, like many others. And when you were arrested, you had a tattoo that read 'Die Dumbledore'?"

"It said 'die Dambldor.' That's German; it simply denotes a surname and an article. Albus is my idol; he saved the world from the 'black death.' I ceased to care about tattoos long ago. Your insinuations are outrageous! I will file a lawsuit to defend my honor!"

"What a pity. One individual who truly despises Dumbledore wished to commission a special creation from you," I said, deciding to channel my energies into a more convincing persona. I opted to embody Elena, mimicking her mannerisms, and summoned a phoenix to perch on my shoulder.

Abelard Schultz froze. "What about the prospect of fulfilling a childhood dream and earning some compensation? Naturally, confidentiality is assured."

Silence followed. "The old man is not as powerful as he appears. He couldn't protect his familiar, and he seemed unconvincing during his meeting with You-Know-Who at the Crouch house. The Dark Lord has many trump cards," I added.

"Let's say, hypothetically, I might entertain this proposition," he responded. "But I have no guarantees that my creation will assist you with your problem. Additionally, golems have a significant mobility issue. Even a mediocre magician could Apparate away and return with backup."

"I can enhance your creation. It will become impossible to Apparate or leave the designated meeting location, fortified with spells that will obscure the creation's origin and method," I asserted. "No one will fall into the trap."

I needed to fabricate something that bore a semblance of truth. "They say that You-Know-Who has taken his brother hostage," I informed him.

Another lengthy silence ensued. I refrained from probing his thoughts, yet I sensed the conflict within him. Was it worth risking his position, wealth, and freedom for schemes against Dumbledore?

"I agree. You'll fund the materials and pay me a competitive salary. I will also require rejuvenation procedures and your assistance at various stages of the work."

"I trust this will be safe for me?" I inquired.

"Of course," he answered, but I could sense the deceit underlying his words.

"Do you plan to betray me?" I pressed.

"No," he replied, and that seemed truthful enough.

"Will this golem be safe for me? Honestly?" I asked. "I thought about incorporating a fail-safe; if destroyed, it would detonate, causing significant destruction. Is this permissible?"

It was challenging to determine... The goblins wouldn't take kindly to a bomb in Gringotts. However, if no one could enter the vault, what was the concern? Worst-case scenario, the explosion could be contained within a spatial pocket. They had nothing to fear...

"I agree," I said, assuming Elena's guise.

Before long, I found myself back in England. Everything was progressing smoothly, save for one detail—I lacked the Slytherin Locket. It made sense to start luring Albus with live bait only when I possessed all five Horcruxes to prevent him from discerning the fakes.

Surrounded by medical reference texts, I researched the earliest age at which the survival of a premature infant could be guaranteed without adverse effects. I was eager to proceed; Alecto was already capable of bearing a viable child...

Soon, Sirius Black and I were preparing for Alecto's delivery. Sirius was in such poor health that he might not live to witness it... Yet he was desperate to see his child. He felt that trouble was looming for his mother and longed for her to meet his beloved and their grandchild!

After several days of preparation and examinations—where I felt more like a gynecologist than a dark lord—Alecto Carrow was induced into labor. The nervous system, magical core, and channels had already developed; the remaining issues, like underweight, were not critical. We could have opted for an earlier delivery, but I chose to avoid any risks.

So, the child was placed in an enchanted carrier, and there was nothing to worry about. Thus, under the care of a proud yet internally struggling father, Sirius Black's son was born.

I deliberated extensively over his name. Names seem trivial, yet they carry weight. With Bellatrix meaning "warrior" and Merope being the faintest star in the Pleiades cluster—legend has it that Merope, despite being a goddess's daughter, married a mortal. Even skeptics might ponder such significance. Deciding on "Castor," I aimed for a connection with Pollux, the second brightest star in the Big Dipper, hoping to flatter Alecto.

I contemplated which entourage to accompany me to the Blacks. Ultimately, I concluded that the Lestranges would remain on the sidelines while I brought Bellatrix and the Carrows along with the infant.

Soon, I stood gazing at the vacant space between Grimmauld 11 and Grimmauld 13. Bellatrix, Carrow, and I perceived nothing. With hope and precision, I began Legilimizing the awakened child. Entering the mind of a newborn, especially a premature one, was an experience beyond compare. The world was filled with scents, the urge to sleep, and perceptions akin to hallucinations, all revolving around the mother and her milk.

His mind was akin to that of a kitten, yet I succeeded in seeing through his eyes. He glimpsed the porch of Grimmauld Place 12! It was as if I were a pilot—Carrow, cradling the child, moved where I directed. I adjusted her path based on the child's perceptions. When we were merely five meters from the porch, the door swung open.

A house elf stood at the threshold—the very same one that Tom Riddle had failed to kill while testing the Inferi cave's defenses! I grasped Alecto's shoulder and urged Bellatrix along. We entered the house without hindrance.

"Oh, what an honor! The Dark Lord himself is among us!" the house elf bowed vigorously to everyone, including me, repeatedly. "And our beloved lady Bellatrix! A worthy pureblood woman accompanies you!"

"And this is..." The house elf glanced at the container in Carrow's arms, "the heir! The pureblood heir!" The house elf collapsed to the floor, writhing in what seemed to be delight.

"Castor Black wishes to honor his ancestors," I announced from the threshold. "Where is Walpurga?"

Yet the house elf continued to groan, and the situation felt odd. Everything seemed too straightforward. The defenses should have allowed the Carrows through with the child but not necessarily us. And the house appeared... strange... neglected. Dust? With a house elf present? The gloomy grandeur of the Black residence had vanished, leaving it resembling a filthy cave in Gingema.

"Bellatrix, question the house-elf about Walpurga's whereabouts."

"Kreacher! Where is Walpurga? Respond immediately!" she commanded.

"Trouble! The lady was performing a very powerful ritual, and then everything exploded!" he replied.

"Is she alive?" The house elf nodded, tears streaming down its face.

"Take us to her," Bellatrix commanded.

Before long, we found ourselves in Walpurga's room. She lay there, an embodiment of a vegetable mage—a sight I had seen too often in St. Mungo's. My attempt at Legilimency yielded nothing; it felt as though a Dementor had kissed her.

"Kreacher! How could this happen?" Bellatrix cried out.

"The mistress was performing a ritual. For this, she took..." But I swiftly silenced him with charms, paralyzed him, and cast protections against house-elf movement.

"Bellatrix, take Alecto to the source. Do whatever is necessary with Alecto and Castor to regain control of the house's defenses. I will interrogate the house elf and relay everything. Just instruct him to obey me before you leave."

Bellatrix and Alecto issued commands to the house elf and proceeded to reconfigure the house's defenses for the new mistress. I turned my attention to Walpurga, who appeared to have lost her sanity, while the house's defenses lay dormant.

I focused on the house elf. "Do not resist me. Legilimens!"

I spent approximately two hours working with the house elf. Remarkably, his enthusiastic demeanor toward me remained intact, even after nearly perishing in the Inferi cave. He equated Regulus's death with a sacrifice for the Lord. In his eyes, the Dark Lord had sought to rid himself of something but failed, while Regulus resolved to destroy it at the cost of his own life to aid his master.

Yes, logic was not a strong point for house elves. Regulus should have at least made it clear that he was now on the opposing team. But this was not my primary concern. The house elves had failed to destroy the Horcrux and had merely hidden it within the house. Walpurga, however, had discovered the Horcrux.

After some investigation and a fair amount of shouting, she had ventured to the head of the family's office. Hours later, she emerged, clutching a book. Kreacher was unfamiliar with the runes, but the binding and cover bore the inscription: "The Highest Limit."

To my dismay, I had never encountered any reference to the "Highest Limit" ritual, despite my extensive research. The only knowledge I possessed was that those caught possessing a Horcrux were subjected to this ritual. Preparations were underway for the ritual, scheduled for October 31, 1981.

Whether it was the ritual's outcome or my own arrival that triggered the explosion, I couldn't ascertain. To the credit of the house's defenses, they managed to safeguard Walpurga and Kreacher, despite Walpurga standing just a foot away from Slytherin's Locket. They even partially restored the damage to the ritual chamber.

Afterward, however, Walpurga's mind was so severely compromised that she could neither eat, walk, nor think, and a house elf tended to her, concealing the "evil thing." Regrettably, the book detailing the ritual had vanished in the explosion.

I soon navigated through the house elf's whimsical traps and safely stored the intact Slytherin's Locket in a shielding container. The house elf then guided me to the safe within the head of the family's office, which housed the "terribly secret books."

About an hour later, the girls were free. Alecto emerged as the rightful mistress of the house and immediately set about restoring order, enhancing the lighting and activating the ventilation.

"What happened to Walpurga?" Bellatrix inquired as I exited.

What plausible explanation could I offer? "She attempted to curse Dumbledore from a distance," I fabricated. "It failed due to that fool who provided her with the ingredients, resulting in her madness," I indicated toward Kreacher.

"Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix declared, waving her wand, and Kreacher fell lifeless. He had seen too much, even if he hadn't truly comprehended it—neither Walpurga nor Regulus had explained anything to him. His loyalty belonged to the Black family, which now rested with Alecto, the former Carrow, and Castor.

The Blacks had left the heads of the house-elves; this way, one could utilize necromancy to extract vital information regarding what the house-elves had witnessed, should it ever be necessary. I now carefully disposed of Kreacher's body.

"Alecto, the house is yours. Care for Walpurga, but don't expect her to improve. We will seek new house-elves for you. In the meantime, join me in the head of the family's office to unlock one of the safes."

Shortly, the safe was opened, and I, dismissing everyone, began to leaf through the spell books. Initially, I skimmed rapidly, but once I had seen something, I would always remember it.

I must admit—old books were not to my liking. They lacked contents pages, page numbers, headings, paragraphs, or theses. They resembled biographies where the author rambled on about the poor meals served at certain taverns, the fiery mistress he had, and the lives he had taken, interspersed with his thoughts on magic and fantasies.

Instead, facts should be inscribed in black ink, speculations in gray, dreams in green, and drunken delirium in brown. The first book failed to captivate me— "The History of the Black Family." Bellatrix had read it, and Sirius had discarded it. A tedious read about ancestral greatness, it was comparable in soporific effect to Binns's lectures.

Had it contained descriptions of spells, it would have been intriguing, but as it stood, it was merely an advertisement for their lineage—what they had done, where they had been, and whom they had killed, all with no real substance. I would revisit it later.

The second book piqued my interest more. "The True History of the Black Family" appeared to be intended for the head of the family or a potential successor. It recounted the tale of the family's founder, who eliminated all competitors in blood. No one could withstand him due to his possession of a Horcrux. By the age of forty, he repented, reintegrated his soul, survived, started a family, and lived happily until he was poisoned by his fifth wife at the age of one hundred and forty—her motive was not personal animosity but rather the use of his children in rituals.

The third book, "Secrets of the Darkest of Arts," bore similarities to what I had previously read, with certain variations. It stated, "Dark Magic is capable of altering the magician to serve its needs," and "Once the soul is divided, the process is irreversible." It also referenced a collection of laws from the thirteenth century.

To my surprise, I discovered this collection right within the safe. Soon, I located a mention of Horcruxes, which read, "Destroy the one containing the Horcrux along with its vessel." It was clear that necroenergy was not eliminated but merely accumulated. One could grow in power indefinitely through torture with the Cruciatus curse.

If a dark mage were to endure five hundred years of such existence, they could potentially obliterate a dragon with a single spell. Had their personality changed? That was a dilemma for those who found themselves unsatisfied with such a mage.

But mages dealing with those who desired eternal life faced a unique challenge: they had to eliminate both the magician and the Horcrux, but the Horcrux was often elusive. To address this, they devised a method. It sufficed to locate the magician who had created the Horcrux or the Horcrux itself and to employ at least one in the ritual "The Highest Limit."

Before long, aggressive entities would manifest in response to the summoning, capable of consuming the souls within both the Horcrux and the original magician, even if one of them was absent during the ritual. Subsequently, it was a matter of either dispatching the defenseless shell or allowing it to persist.

Unfortunately, the description of the ritual was absent.

"How fascinating... It appears Walpurga recognized the Horcrux and decided to..." For simplicity's sake, I thought, "feed it to the demons alongside Tom." What a clever method—this would immediately devalue the entire concept of a Horcrux. She had prepared and chosen the appropriate day.

Yet, she had fundamentally miscalculated: Tom possessed five Horcruxes, and as I had measured, the nutritional value of each, aside from the first, was less than half that of a human soul. The connection was not merely with the original magician but also with the other Horcruxes through the original.

Presumably, no magician wished or could divide their soul to create more than one Horcrux. Such a blatant error in the initial conditions could not yield favorable results. If the "demons" had any intelligence, they must have been offended—wandering the world in search of sustenance only to encounter an inappropriate ritual.

Slytherin's Locket... Tom first fashioned a diary, followed by a ring, and only then the locket. I surmised the demons were likely displeased with a mere one-eighth of a human soul. Why would they venture to another realm for less than half a soul, assuming a smaller fragment was even consumable for them? Consequently, they probably chose to feast on whatever they could find.

Or they simply rebelled. And Walpurga bore the brunt of it. I pondered whether she had lost her soul entirely or merely descended into madness. When considering Tom Riddle's state at that moment—having overloaded himself with necroenergy after killing James—the possibilities of what could have transpired were endless.

Could I partially attribute my current existence to Walpurga? With such thoughts swirling in my mind, I came across the last, unassuming book, titled "The Last Line of Defense of the Black Family." I had anticipated something about concentrated courage, honor, or family patriotism. Yet, I was immediately captivated by this book.

Not a single word of sentimentality—diagrams, runes, and explicit instructions on preparation emerged. It delineated how to ready oneself, how to prepare a victim, what to draw, and when to conjure, resembling a step-by-step guide. The complexity of the ritual struck me.

The seventeenth page detailed that a pureblood Black was to be placed within a specific figure, and their life (the text emphasized—life, not soul) was to be sacrificed to summon... a name that held no meaning for me but was understood as a proper name. This entity must be addressed by the name of the enemy written in its own blood, contemplating this enemy, and within a day, it would locate and eliminate the adversary before returning home.

What amused me most was that the summoned entity was both invisible and black. A cautionary note followed, warning that this ritual fell into high-level demonology, with no chance of success.

It was premature to declare, but the ritual appeared functional. Following this were numerous restrictive conditions: no non-pureblood Black or non-Black could be used, the Black's age had to exceed twenty years, and one couldn't utilize Blacks born specifically for the ritual (I cursed at this point, pondering how I could compel Sirius to father many children).

Furthermore, the sacrifice of a Black need not be voluntary. The final page modestly stated that the summoned entity was exceedingly difficult to control through Dark Magic and Blood Magic, and defeating it by other means was virtually impossible. Only the Great Magician, skilled in darkness, had a chance of overcoming it.

The twenty-fifth page bore an illustration of the summoned entity. One needn't possess extensive knowledge of magic to recognize Grim in the drawing. Thus, this was what you were—a "demon."

Demonology—how many interpretations of this term exist! It remains steeped in myth. In summary, magic, typically through a ritual involving human sacrifice, conjures "something" called a demon. Presumably, this being hails from a realm governed by entirely different physical and magical laws.

Demons vary in power and consciousness; for some, even a pixie could be considered formidable, while others, it is rumored, can consume a dragon in an instant. Numerous challenges accompany this endeavor: summoning, surviving, articulating one's needs, and ensuring the creature leaves no trace.

And, of course, there's the matter of returning the entity or destroying it. The classic conception of a demon bears no relation to religious mythologies. As I understand it, many worlds exist, each unfathomably distinct. In some, as per calculations, there may be no matter whatsoever.

That's where something akin to a pseudo-intelligent, eternally starving amoeba could be drawn forth. They say some have even summoned beings resembling living organisms. Grim likely falls within this category.

For Tom, the entire domain of demonology was meaningless; he could not locate any texts or instructors. The last demonologists perished alongside Grindelwald, their most notable achievement being the demon breakthrough in the English Department of Mysteries during World War II, after which the pureblood population in England plummeted by half, particularly among those with significant magical prowess.

Yet, these remain rumors. It is plausible the English made some error and then blamed it on a scapegoat. Sorting through rune circles and sacrificial schemes in pursuit of an unknown result is more foolish than attempting to replicate the Hogwarts library through random symbol assignments.

To Tom, this was merely a dinosaur skeleton, but to me, it was a skeleton that had come to life. Was this something I desired? If I made my presence known, the number of individuals wishing to eliminate me would surge dramatically. Previously, Dark Wizards were tolerated; they lacked sufficient victims to destabilize the existing world order.

Now, the population had increased, and magical resources were dwindling. In the era of the pharaohs, one could mock the suggestion of sacrificing ten million individuals, even Muggles. Yet today, such notions had become reality. Even warfare was unnecessary—one could quietly steal from graveyards, substituting bodies with dummies, or Confundus relatives so they believed their loved ones had been cremated.

As the number of Muggles—potential material—grew, so too did restrictions. Anything enabling one to gain more power or utilize "puppets" was outlawed. As a result, necromancy, ritualism, sacrifices, and especially demonology faced eradication.

Those skilled in demonology were systematically exterminated. As far as I comprehend, even Muggles at the current level of development are utterly defenseless against a high-level demon (given that the creature lacks a physical form), while simultaneously, Muggles serve as tolerable and nutritious sustenance, creating a self-perpetuating cycle (the demon either grows stronger or begins to reproduce).

Not to mention the complexities involved. Numerous problems arise with the stick, and if something hostile and hungry attempts to bend you to its will... Moreover, something eternally famished and aggressive might be inclined to disregard your commands altogether.

And, of course, there's the question of communication with the creature—how to convey what is required when everything is novel to it, and the entity lacks speech? If Grim is at least as perilous as Tlautlipuzli, engaging with him would be dangerous.

Furthermore, the traps in demonology surpass those found in necromancy. While a necromancer can assemble something formidable, albeit unintelligent and loyal (assuming they do not bind the former owner's soul to the corpse), higher-level "demons" exhibit both intelligence and cunning.

It is unclear what to offer this demon beyond magic and sacrifices. I would sincerely welcome an introductory text on demonology, providing the fundamentals. Should the occasion arise, I could navigate the challenges I create for myself. Perhaps experimentation with "demons" comparable to bacteria or small insects exists?

Yet, instead of a primer, I discovered a manual on higher mathematics dedicated to one specific entity, accompanied by warnings about its formidable nature. The manual addresses the question of "what?" but entirely neglects "how? why? why?" and includes minimal theory, leaving it ambiguous as to the consequences of even slight alterations.

It remains unclear whether many Grims exist, with each summoning yielding a different one, or if there is a singular entity that can only be banished back. Should multiple be summoned simultaneously, would they return home or remain here, forming a nest?

The illustration depicted a male figure. Did this imply that these beings possess sexual reproduction? What if I summoned a female who was pregnant and gave birth here? How numerous would her offspring be, and how rapidly would they mature? Might any "demons" be suitable for more creative tasks? For instance, could I exchange prisoners for the Deathly Hallows or the Philosopher's Stone? Perhaps that was the Peverells' approach?

What energy expenditure in necromancer terms would this ritual entail? What method did the Blacks employ to arrive at this conclusion? The technique itself appears sound—eliminating the elderly and cripples, effectively controlling one's own population rather than abandoning children to orphanages.

Yet, how did they conceive of it? Through overreaching ambition? Perseus Black surely would not have had sufficient time even with a century and five wives. Were there convoluted calculations involved? Or did someone offer guidance?

What led Regulus to make such an egregious error, issuing the house elf an impossible command to destroy the Horcrux without informing anyone in the family? The only plausible explanation is that he failed to read to the conclusion.

Most likely, under Walpurga's guidance, he familiarized himself with "The True History of the Black Family" but did not progress to the latter sections of "Secrets of the Darkest of Arts," thereby missing the instructions on Horcrux destruction.

This oversight resulted in my giving the house elf an unfeasible directive. I turned my thoughts to my memory, particularly interested in the healing of Diana Crouch observed in Pandora Lovegood's vision. What if Pandora was correct? What if I had prematurely dismissed the notion of the blackish mass possessing intelligence?

The only thing I required for complete satisfaction was intelligent spells! Thoughts swirled in my mind. On one hand, everything had unfolded favorably. I had acquired the "horcrux," Walpurga would remain silent, the house elf was mentally incapacitated and dead, and I had obtained an intriguing book.

Was it worth delving into this branch of magic? I had two superfluous pureblood Blacks—Sirius and Andromeda. Two targets for attack—Moody and Dumbledore. Dumbledore against Grim... I possessed no knowledge of Grim's capabilities, but I suspected he wouldn't stand a chance against Albus. Dumbledore wielded the Elder Wand, commanded Hogwarts, and possessed experiences from fighting Grindelwald, as well as an apprenticeship with Flamel.

In short, I lacked faith in demons. Yet, if I timed it correctly, numerous witnesses could assert that Albus was projecting Higher Dark Magic into the void... He must have lost his mind—overdosing on necroenergy, perhaps...

I sadly acknowledged that my plan to eliminate Albus had spiraled beyond my control. Initially, it had seemed so simple—Snape would gain his trust and eliminate him. However, having explored the Obscurus, Dark Rituals, and now contemplating fake Horcruxes, I found myself seriously considering demonology.

How could I avoid transforming the Sun into a nova...? Though the latter notion was, of course, utterly impossible. But Albus was not my only concern—he merely represented the most apparent of my challenges. Even if I resolved the issue with him, I would still need to navigate other problems that no demons could address, such as preventing anyone from shifting the "Peacekeeping Contingent" to England, reminiscent of Gellert's time.

Economically, I needed to strategize how to divide portfolios and treasures to satisfy the purebloods and avoid riots among the starving Muggle-borns. I also faced sociological challenges—Dark Magic is advantageous, as are werewolves. However, public administration loomed large—becoming the Minister of Magic myself seemed foolish.

Politics resembled a game of chess: everyone wishes to dominate one another. Who would be inclined to watch a sordid drama featuring only me as the leading character? Eventually, even with stellar performances, the audience would tire. Thus, I required capable puppets and a compelling opposition...

After dealing with Dumbledore, someone might attempt to consign me to obscurity, as a spent prop—the Dark Lord has fulfilled his role, and thus he must depart. Viewed against this backdrop, Tom Riddle's plan to pin all non-Death Eaters to the wall, eradicate the Mudbloods, and offer Muggle leaders a version of the Imperius appeared to have its own allure.

Perhaps madness truly offered an escape? I would devise a plan, but for now, I needed to determine how to manage Grim. However, Moody... He lacked the Elder Wand, his magical reserves were inferior to mine, and he was not acquainted with Flamel (who could have facilitated the search for a demonologist, now relegated to myth). Grim had to eliminate him.

By the way, if Grim could locate a target independently, would it be possible to trace him back to Flamel? But this was premature; I had no desire to provoke Flamel, especially if he turned out to be formidable.

In any case, there was no need to rush; I had to contemplate thoroughly, determining how to evade Grim or vanquish him if he found me intolerable. My mind would be engrossed, particularly analyzing the text "The Last Line of Defense of the Black Family."

With these thoughts in mind, I gathered all the books into a shielding container and proceeded to the living room. I lamented the loss of the book detailing the "Highest Limit" ritual, which had vanished in the explosion alongside Walpurga's mind.

Alecto and Bellatrix awaited me in the living room, having spent merely five hours in my absence. "I procured a couple of intriguing books for our benefit. Bella, I will address Walpurga, though I doubt I can cure her."

As far as I understood, the only method to sever any bond with a soul was through a Dementor's kiss. If Walpurga had indeed lost her soul, she was beyond recovery. If she had merely succumbed to madness, perhaps she could be healed or might recover in time.

Yet, I would monitor her closely; even the slightest ailment would impede her recovery. It was tempting to eliminate her or utilize her in a new ritual, but I feared Bellatrix would not comprehend.

Moreover, feeding a soulless body might provoke Grim's ire, and I sought to avoid confrontation with the unknown, especially if such conflict could be easily circumvented. I had no inclination to take her life—Walpurga might have concealed a posthumous portrait or a will.

A will could prove problematic; if well-enchanted, it might only be readable posthumously. What she wrote or to whom remained unknown. There existed a significant possibility that a posthumous portrait created by someone who lost their sanity at the moment of death would yield nothing but nonsense, limited to a few words or phrases.

However, it would be one matter if she screamed "Mudbloods! Filthy Mudbloods!" and another entirely if she uttered "Horcrux! Voldemort possesses a Horcrux!" Thus, she would endure for an extended period, while I would scour the house for any will.

If only I had known how many copies she had written—perhaps none, or maybe ten... Soon, I began concealing my final Horcrux within a safe under the Fidelius charm. Excellent—now all five were secure.

Next, I needed to finalize the traps for Albus and prepare the bait. I lamented my dwindling imagination; I struggled to conceive a trap for hiding the fifth Horcrux. Well, I would devise something; if all else failed, I could always entrust it to Alison in the Department of Mysteries, leading to an epic confrontation at the Ministry—everyone against everyone. After that, capturing the Ministry would be unnecessary, as there would be nothing left.

However, I still needed to decipher the protective charms surrounding the Black house—intangible magic! And I had to determine whether to utilize Grim. With a habitual motion, I grasped the Time-Turner, and the Voldemorts resumed their activities.

There remained one final task. Who was I to deny a loyal servant? In the dead of night, Voldemort, having set it up in advance, arrived at Rodolphus Lestrange's summons. "Is she asleep?" I inquired.

"Yes. While she slept, I kissed her, applying a sleeping potion. But I implore you—regardless of the results, investigate her family as well. Who knows what I might uncover? If not from her, perhaps from her lineage?

After all, the descendants of the Dark Lord, who once nearly conquered half of Europe and parts of America, surely possess something intriguing or at the very least know where to seek it. Or perhaps I won't uncover anything—what would a fading family have of value? At the very least, I could stretch my legs."

"Of course, Rodolphus. Honestly, I don't anticipate finding anything of worth. Big deal, the girl has a specific upbringing. Most Slytherins are enamored with blood purity and the Dark Lord.

The entire art of seduction, minus affection, can be summarized in two directives: be strong, be wealthy. From a logical standpoint, supporting the Dark Lord is advantageous—significant wealth, numerous slaves, freedom to act as one wishes.

Moreover, it affords the ability to manipulate one's form at will. However, enthusiasts often overlook the multitude of enemies that accompany such positions; one must continually masquerade as someone else to secure support, and everyone possesses their own Brutus.

Not to mention the pitfalls of Dark Magic, where one must tread carefully to maintain their sanity and soul... The fact that she fears Legilimency is entirely logical and a reassuring indication of her mental capabilities.

Who knows what she might be concealing? What if she shared an intimate encounter with her sister? Or developed feelings for her brother Rodolphus, engaging in magic alongside him? Such secrets do not pique my interest.

But should I discover a problem, I am well-versed in a solution akin