Lord Voldemort SI

The spell latched onto my left arm and burned it painfully. I completely lost all sensation in it.

And the spells just kept raining down, one after another. I felt like a wall being bombarded by artillery.

It seemed like things couldn't get any worse. I was standing on the floor, struggling with someone's transfiguration of it. But things can always get worse, any bottom can be broken through. I realized this when I got hit by the Cruciatus Curse.

It hurt, terribly. As if every millimeter of my body was being pierced by scorching hot knives, as if molten metal was being poured inside.

All I could manage was not to lose consciousness and remain standing, focusing all my energy on maintaining my defenses.

It felt like being in a street fight, rolling on the ground with your head covered, hoping not to get stomped on immediately.

The last thing I felt was my body refusing to obey me and the sound of my ribs cracking. Then there was a flash of light. My wand would have flown out of my hand if I hadn't stuck it there earlier with a no-wand spell of Eternal Adhesion — I only got away with a dislocation and a double fracture in my right arm. I just hope I don't wake up in a courtroom...

When I woke up, I was at home in my own bed. This was the second time today I'd been hit with the Cruciatus and passed out — something has got to change in my life.

I lay there, the chandelier blinding me, while my house-elves, Tony and Gabi, fussed around me. I was covered in all sorts of metal trinkets, which I recognized as healing amulets. There was a drip stuck in my left arm. Outwardly, I probably looked like an illustration from a first-aid manual.

Funny. The house-elves had long been eager to help me. To get them off my back, I just gave them medical books and told them to study. I didn't think it would actually come in handy…

Nagaina was sitting on the windowsill. The number of protective artifacts — rings on her paws, neck, and the like — was about half of what it used to be.

"What happened?" I asked Nagaina in Parseltongue.

"I almost didn't make it in time, master," Nagaina told me. "I managed to teleport behind you and grab your arm with my claws at the last moment. Thanks to the items on me, I wasn't knocked out. We escaped."

"I need to attend the Death Eaters' meeting immediately," I said.

The house-elves shrieked:

"Master is unwell!" Gabi screamed.

"Master needs to rest!" Tobi yelled.

"Master drank Bone-Grower just half an hour ago!" they wailed in unison.

And they say only dogs can love. Lies. If no one loves you, get yourself a house-elf. I wonder, could a house-elf's brain fit inside a wizard's skull?

I cast diagnostic charms on myself. And what I saw, I didn't like.

Looking at the results of the diagnostic spell, I felt a vague unease, though I couldn't quite put my finger on why. I strained to understand what exactly in the results bothered me. I stared at the cluster of colored balls floating in the air — the spell's visualization. Something about these balls was off; this one and that one shouldn't be glowing like that…

I tried to recall what that glow signified, but my attempts were unsuccessful. Everything around me seemed so interesting at the moment. Something was wrong.

Suddenly, I got the feeling that I had lost my critical thinking skills along the way, as I couldn't concentrate on the anomalies that I instinctively knew were there. I realized I was caught up in the moment, unable to clearly see what seemed secondary to me.

I felt like a pilot flying a plane with a jammed control stick.

I began using my mental magic, directing it inward. It felt like a cold wind was blowing through my brain. When my head cleared a bit, I started casting more spells while lying in bed.

After casting two dozen diagnostic spells, I finally found the cause: external influence on my mind.

I cast Magic Dispersal on myself, followed by spells against mind control.

With each spell, something in my head seemed to click, like gears falling back into place.

"Tobi! Gabi! Quickly, bring the potion kit and the mind control remedies!" I ordered.

Snape is good, but I try to brew my own potions.

First, I drank a universal antidote. No effect.

Then I started downing "Mind Cleanser," "Enlightenment," and other remedies. My breath started to smell like a troll's.

But my head felt clearer.

It now felt like I had woken up under a cold shower.

After the fifth vial, a wave of guilt hit me. I felt ashamed. It would have been better if I had just gone to the Department of Mysteries naked, with a sign on my back saying, "I Love Albus." At least that could have been written off as a joke.

What was I doing? The closer I got to the end of the operation, the less useful I became!

Why did I go to look at the Death Arch? It's the most useless thing in the Ministry!

Why did I activate "Astral Vision" near the Death Arch? I know that using "Astral Vision" muddles your thoughts! Why do it in the presence of others and near an object capable of wiping out anything?

Why didn't I check myself for external influence after regaining consciousness?

Why did I go to the Hall of Prophecies? Why did I take that particular prophecy? Why did I think it should be ignored while simultaneously planning to kill Harry and Neville? What am I supposed to do with that damn prophecy? There's still a trace of the Comparison Spell on it; I need to send agents to clean it up!

So I couldn't grab the Death Arch. What would I even do with it? Dump Muggle nuclear waste into it? And what about the manticore-crab? The Ministry has been unable to make any use of it for centuries. Why risk taking it and jeopardizing the operation, not to mention my own safety?

Why volunteer to cover the transport of the Death Arch?

What did I do in the Ministry Atrium? The Avada Kedavras were definitely unnecessary. It would have been better to focus on self-defense and plan an escape. At the very least, I should have sent a Patronus or Anti-Patronus ahead to scout. Or I could have drunk Polyjuice with a "combat body" in advance, reducing the amount of damage.

Better yet, I should have tried to break through to another level via the elevator shaft; there'd have been a higher chance of survival than heroically charging through!

Any of these actions were foolish. But all of them together — how am I even alive?

I tried to massage my face. My left hand barely twitched a couple of centimeters. I almost poked my own eye out with my wand, which was still stuck to my right hand.

Carefully, I used localized numbing spells and peeled off the top layer of skin from my right palm with a Scalpel Charm. I treated the wound with star anise and then slowly dissolved the skin stuck to the wand. I approached the mirror.

It's time to figure myself out. After about twenty minutes, I had my answer.

When I infiltrated the Department of Mysteries with weakened defenses, someone took advantage of it and cast a very subtle spell on me. It didn't kill, didn't maim, didn't cripple. It drove me to reckless acts.

And I missed it! I need to be more careful! Moody is right — constant vigilance! And never leave yourself unprotected, except maybe when you're alone with Bellatrix.

This was clearly done by someone on the inside. Who?

I need to figure it out immediately. And to avoid fainting prematurely, I need to drink a "Delayed Recoil" potion.

I'd better not use the Time-Turner for now — everything is so tangled up that I could easily get caught in a time loop or miscalculate the potion's duration.

Soon, I took on the appearance of Elena, cast powerful concealing spells on myself, and headed to the Lestranges.

How do you sneak into a room unnoticed if the door is locked? Even someone invisible has to open the door. And I can't walk through walls. Self-transfiguration into gas or affecting the wall to make it transparent from one side would be noticeable to those present. Apparating in as a phoenix would blow my cover.

Soon, I had the answer. I signaled Pandora via the Dark Mark with a sequence of burns that meant "send Snape to Dumbledore."

Snape immediately left the meeting and headed for Dumbledore. He opened the door and walked out. I managed to slip inside while remaining incognito.

Pandora was saying something, stalling for time, listening to the list of trophies.

"Milord, shall we search for your student? She hasn't returned," Rabastan said.

"I want to hear the list of trophies first. I've already sent help to her. You, as a Lestrange, can guess what kind of help," said "Voldemort." It was a hint at the familiar-phoenix. "We'll discuss her fate later."

Everyone was present at the meeting, except for Rookwood — he was overseeing the distribution of loot and monitoring the minds — and Snape, who had just left.

Who's to blame?

Edward, deciding to get rid of the idiot? Unlikely. Though he doesn't love Elena, he values her — send her forward, then just collect the bodies. You can't forget that the world

is round, and things might come back to bite you from behind…

Bellatrix, out of jealousy for Voldemort? I don't believe it. She has direct orders not to harm Elena unless in clear self-defense. Ever since I began sleeping with Bellatrix and expressed a desire for a child, her thoughts about Elena shifted from "kill, torture, feed her to a Dementor" to something less violent.

Lucius, nursing a grudge? Lucius is a coward. He'd be too scared to act, especially after the recent fiasco.

Rosier, tired of waiting for Moody's death? Of all the candidates, he seems the most likely. I should start my investigation with him.

While remaining invisible, I circled around the table and positioned myself to observe Rosier's eyes. Well then, let's begin. It's time to use wandless, non-verbal Legilimency.

The Death Eaters had already discussed most topics by the time I finished. The Dark Lord was congratulating them on a successful operation. It took me an hour and ten minutes to discreetly delve into the necessary memories.

A well-thought-out plan, Sebastian. You took advantage of Elena's weakened defenses, subjecting her to subtle mental manipulation. The spell distorted her perception and impaired her ability to assess priorities.

As soon as you learned about the raid on the Department of Mysteries, you started preparing. You spent several days crafting a very complex and undetectable spell, embedding it into an object. However, the spell wasn't designed for combat — it worked slowly and could easily be deflected by passive shields. How did you manage to sneak it in? By embedding it in a twenty-meter tapeworm, a non-magical intestinal parasite, and then implanting that in yourself.

You hoped Elena would die, or if she survived, she wouldn't connect her troubles to you. After all, her reckless behavior could be written off as typical of her. You even improvised to prevent her from Apparating back. You're confident you got rid of Elena.

Your motive, oddly enough, wasn't personal animosity. You believed Elena had too much influence over the Dark Lord and was overstepping her bounds. But what really enraged you was her dealings with werewolves — after all, werewolves aren't even human!

And you were smart enough not to shout your grievances but to wait for your chance.

What did you hope to gain with Elena gone? That after her death, the werewolves would be discarded, and no one would suspect you. Immediately after the meeting, you planned to perform several cunning rituals to erase the memories. After that, it would have been nearly impossible to catch you. And if Elena survived, her behavior would have seemed entirely in character, leaving it as just your word against hers.

You didn't even consider the possibility that, if captured, she might reveal something. You believed the Dark Lord would be able to keep his secrets, along with the failures of those who served him.

And what if the Dark Lord found out the truth? So what? You saw yourself as one of his most loyal and powerful servants. Your son died serving him. You thought that the Dark Lord wouldn't bother killing you — what's the point in avenging the dead? Cruciatus? Fine. But a living commander of a concentration camp is far more useful than a dead one. You believed that as long as you didn't leave a trail of dead wizards behind you, the Dark Lord would give you a pass. And in your mind, Elena had simply lacked the skill to get out of the situation she put herself in. After all, cemeteries are full of young and reckless fools…

I really didn't want to kill Rosier, but I'm not immortal. His next attempt might succeed. If not for me, then for Lily. And I need her for a loyal Snape, to pass misinformation to Dumbledore about the Horcruxes, where Dumbledore will heroically sacrifice himself for the greater good.

"Pandora, wrap up the meeting and send everyone home. Tell Bellatrix to immediately go and personally conduct a full audit of what we've recovered," I ordered Pandora through Legilimency.

What to do next? On one hand, it's important to protect your own. Even lunatics can be given tasks after victory — let him head the prisoner extraction corps in Africa. But we have to survive to see victory, and every fighter could tip the scales.

On the other hand, Rosier is a fanatic. He'll follow his beliefs, even if they're against his own interests. Convincing him to change won't work. Taking his wife hostage won't help either. He'd try to save her, but if push came to shove, he'd prioritize his mission. He might sacrifice a few followers for her, but then he'd move on. Erasing his memory completely would be risky; he could snap.

Unfortunately, I'll have to kill him. It needs to be done the right way. No public execution — they wouldn't understand.

But maybe it's for the best. Who are the ultra-radicals in the "Pureblood Supremacy" faction? Rosier, Mulciber, Avery, and Carrow. Though I'm not sure about Alecto Carrow — she might be content to live as a socialite, a Black regent under my guidance.

Sebastian, you were a good Death Eater. So good that if Moody saw your concentration camp, he would have killed you on sight, even if you tried to surrender.

Killing you right here would be foolish politically, not to mention the practical risks — someone could cast a retaliatory spell, even one of my own. It would also hurt the organization's morale. So let's not go for theatrics.

The Death Eaters began to disperse.

I hope Pandora doesn't screw this up.

It's not easy to infiltrate a wizard's home unnoticed. But if you're Voldemort, and this wizard put you on the exclusion list for their home's defenses, and you have a phoenix, things become much simpler.

I waited for Rosier near the Apparition point in his home, invisible. But he Apparated to a different location.

I caught up with him at home. I approached from behind, just half a meter away. In my right hand, I held my wand, while Nagaina perched on my left shoulder, ready in case we needed to escape.

I was tempted to use the Imperius Curse, but that would be a very bad idea, especially given how he handled it during our duel.

"Avada Kedavra," I whispered quietly, standing half a meter from him. Though it wasn't really necessary — the sound of Unforgivables wouldn't escape my protection charms. Just to be safe, I also cast a spell to block transfiguration.

A green light touched his back. Sebastian Rosier died instantly, despite walking through his own home with active defenses. This is why people hate Avada Kedavra.

The house's defenses activated, but I simply Apparated, phoenix-style, to the second signal in the house, which belonged to a person. Rosier's wife received the Imperius Curse and was ordered to deactivate the house's defenses.

The Imperius worked flawlessly on the woman, and soon I was deciding what to command her to do. Perhaps the widow Rosier would be sent far away on a mission for the Dark Lord. As for Sebastian, he would be declared a victim of treacherous Dark Wizards from the Order of the Phoenix. What a tragedy! Now, I need to figure out what to do with the body and the house-elves.

Two hours later, after giving Rosier's widow her orders, I returned home. I'll need to appoint a new head for the concentration camp.

As I reviewed my potion cabinet, I reflected on the results of my rule.

Losses: Goyle and Rosier.

Goyle wasn't much of a loss. In a year, Lily could easily replace him, especially if I manage to connect her to the Prince bloodline to create a necromantic symbiont for Dark Magic.

The situation with Rosier is worse. But maybe with a new concentration camp director, there won't be as much waste of prisoners.

Who to replace him with? Abidemi? Don't make me laugh. Abidemi is a "seer" and "spirit speaker." He has no political weight or influence, he's not in the Inner Circle, and he's just a consultant on a few technical matters. He's useful, though sometimes he gets carried away: "My lord, the spirits say you need to kill less." Yes, I know, but it's not that easy… If I fight without Dark Magic, I won't have a chance of winning, and the Death Eaters, not to mention Bellatrix, will have too many questions for me. I'll get rid of Dumbledore first, tap into Hogwarts' source of power, grow a beard… I already have a phoenix. And no more sweets! Just roasted meat and cognac. Honestly, wizards can be incredibly stupid sometimes. They have Time Magic, aging potions, but no one has thought to age cognac! But I did…

Pulling myself out of thoughts about the future, I focused on the present.

I drank a lot of potions before the operation in the Department of Mysteries. I approached the Death Arch. Got hit by friendly fire and a couple of Cruciatus Curses. Then I fought. According to Nagaina, I lasted a whole second and three-tenths under attack by Dumbledore and almost the entire Auror department and the Order of the Phoenix. I sustained several fractures, internal bleeding, blood loss from spells, and damaged magical channels in my left hand — thanks to some filth from Albus. My arm ached; trying to cast with it resulted in magic, but

it caused intense pain. Fortunately, there was no permanent channel burnout—my hand would be back to normal in about a month.

The house-elves were smart enough to pour healing potions into me, give me blood-replenishing potions, set up an IV drip, transfuse donor blood, and cover me in healing artifacts like a mannequin.

Instead of resting, I immediately started working on clearing my mind—though, if I'd done that earlier when I first Apparated back from the Ministry, I could've avoided all these problems. In my defense, it's hard to think clearly when you're under mental influence. Without the house-elves, I'd have gone off to attempt more "heroic" feats.

After resolving the mental interference and conducting an investigation, I found the culprit, held a trial, and carried out the sentence. Again, I had to use magic, and I just hope his wife doesn't break free of the Imperius Curse.

I sent a house-elf to Bellatrix with the order not to disturb me tonight. Now, it was time to deal with something that's often left out of the tales of Dark Lords.

A peculiar potion—three tarantulas, hedgehog bile, a pinch of sheep brain, a spoonful of cow dung, and seven drops of fly agaric tincture. The recipe wasn't as bad as it sounded.

With a trembling hand, I grabbed a vial of emetic. I was probably going to vomit until there was nothing left but bile, maybe even blood... A long evening of hugging the toilet awaited me as I drank potions to purge my system of toxins...

POV Albus Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore sat in his chair, deep in thought. Now it was clear how the enemies had managed to deal with Fawkes. The opponent was even more dangerous than he had anticipated. How had Voldemort managed to command a phoenix? For someone like him, it should have been impossible! Or had Albus missed something? The only answer seemed to be that the phoenix was a Horcrux. And that was extremely bad—phoenixes were difficult to kill even without being Horcruxes... But if the phoenix was a Horcrux, why expose it? Especially to save someone other than himself?

How unfortunate that all he had from Horace Slughorn was a single, clipped memory (which had been sent to him in a letter a year and a half ago), where Tom Riddle asked about Horcruxes! No, Albus was absolutely certain—Tom would latch onto any method of avoiding death. But how many Horcruxes had Tom planned to make?

For now, though, he needed to focus on more immediate problems. He wasn't a Seer, but he could already see the headlines in the papers: "Robbery at the Department of Mysteries. Dark Wizards Escape Unpunished! And it all happened within the Ministry of Magic!"

Scrimgeour would be torn apart in the press. And Albus would face the backlash as well. Moody and the Auror department would also take a hit. The public would panic… And instability at the top was the last thing they needed right now! Honestly, there wasn't anyone better to replace Scrimgeour—at least he had some experience and was making an effort, though he could be overzealous at times.

Moody was still talking, and talking.

"Albus, are you listening to me?" growled Alastor, waving his hand in front of Dumbledore's face.

"I got lost in my thoughts and missed what you said," Albus admitted.

He looked at Moody and realized he had never seen him so happy.

"Albus, I understand—constant vigilance. Secrecy and all that. Two can keep a secret if one is dead. I've said it many times. But you could've told me. I'd never have shared it with anyone. I'm a vault, I swear. I'd have forgotten it immediately if you wanted. I would've taken any oath," Moody said, still smiling despite his disfigured face.

"Alastor, what are you talking about?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'll repeat. After the alarm went off, we stationed our forces in the Ministry's Atrium, blocking all exits and entrances. Only one Death Eater emerged from the Department of Mysteries. He was identified as Augustus Rookwood, already a wanted man. Based on his defensive charms and wand shape, it was the pupil of You-Know-Who. We attacked, intending to capture her alive for questioning—with our numbers, there was no way she could have won, even if the Aurors had been trainees and we didn't have golems." Moody smiled broadly. "Too bad You-Know-Who didn't show up to save her; we'd have captured them both."

"I don't understand why you're so cheerful," Dumbledore replied.

"Why? We've captured You-Know-Who's right hand alive! She must know a lot! And there's a chance we'll finally figure out what they're doing with the werewolves. Albus, I want to be there for the interrogation," Moody announced.

"What makes you think we captured her?" Albus asked.

"She was taken by a phoenix! Albus, it's brilliant! You faked Fawkes' death to mislead the enemy! And we all believed it! Such an act—your genuine grief, mourning over his grave, even I was convinced! And it was all part of a plan to capture a key prisoner!" Moody's grin widened with every word.

Albus recalled what had actually happened. The body, enduring cascading attacks under Cruciatus, was suddenly grabbed by a phoenix covered in protective artifacts (unfortunately, not all of them disintegrated in time), and they had vanished. Afterward, Moody had taken Dumbledore aside to discuss the operation's outcome.

"Alastor, Fawkes really is dead. That phoenix we saw today wasn't mine. It was a female, and I'm not even sure it was a phoenix. It felt… different. So, no, it wasn't Fawkes who rescued her. Our opponent escaped."

Moody's expression shifted from joy to anger and disappointment in slow motion. Then he began pacing around the room, cursing and shouting about vigilance and covering their backs.

Within a minute, Moody was demanding that phoenix travel be blocked across all buildings in Magical Britain and for every Auror.

Unfortunately, that was impossible. Still, protections would need to be placed on his office and home, otherwise, Moody wouldn't leave him alone.

Albus mulled things over. Something about this wasn't sitting right with him. They had hastily set up a system of magical rune traps near the lift exit, but the target hadn't triggered any of them. As a Japanese acquaintance of his used to say, "If a water dragon gets caught in your net, you lose the net." And now Albus understood the accusations when Japan blamed him for the death of their curse-breaking team. It seemed Tom had impersonated him using a phoenix and a fake wand…

Then there was the fight in the Ministry. Whoever their opponent was, they were certainly reckless. You don't fight a crowd; you run from it. But this person tried to fight. And almost succeeded! Their Fiendfyre made it almost halfway to its target, as did several other Dark spells of high lethality. Yes, it didn't help in the end. But the parallel attacks of Avada Kedavras—without the golems, there would have been losses.

And the opponent had pulled all of this off while dodging fire from almost two hundred wizards!

No one should have been able to withstand such a barrage of spells, not even basic ones, for more than a second and a half. Well, almost no one. Himself, Gellert Grindelwald before Nurmengard, and Lord Voldemort. That's it. A handful of other wizards in the world could have defended themselves under such conditions, but not attacked.

Albus didn't believe he didn't know all the wizards with such abilities. Pity he hadn't managed to assemble such a team to take down Tom, but unfortunately, great wizards are rarely selfless, and money alone won't persuade them. Convincing them to work together? Like trying to herd cats.

During the battle, the opponent was hit by his "Rebellious Magic" spell. It should have killed any ordinary wizard. Even someone with Elena's level of magic would have been knocked out, no matter their defenses. This target, however, only ended up with a temporarily paralyzed arm. That meant they had more magic than they let on. Odd, most wizards tried to appear stronger than they were, like peacocks.

And how did this person know to disable the magical channels in the left arm? Was it luck? A lucky potion?

The target survived all the attacks, including his own, supercharged with magic. Their wounds came from their own defenses being pushed inward, damaging their body.

Even with open wounds, the target didn't lose blood. That implied a reflexive ability to control their own blood flow as long as they stayed conscious. Even under the Cruciatus Curse! That required years of practice in Blood Magic at an exceptionally fine level.

Was it Voldemort? Yet the strength of the Dark spells didn't match his usual power level, nor was there such a noticeable bias toward Dark Magic in their spell arsenal. But still…

The conclusion was clear—this had been Voldemort. The most frustrating part? He had the prison-painting trap ready, and it had been with him, but he hadn't used it because he had been convinced it wasn't Voldemort!

Albus had always preferred to learn from the mistakes

of others, but this time he'd been the one to make a critical error. Next time, he would be smarter. He would test the prison-painting not only on Voldemort but also on anyone even remotely suspicious, like Elena Ivanova or anyone wielding a snake-shaped wand like Frank Longbottom's. Better safe than sorry.

And he needed to have a long, thorough talk with Snape.

Moody interrupted his thoughts again.

"Albus, let's go to the Minister. I want him to sign this document," Moody said, shoving a paper in front of him.

Dumbledore read aloud the note that Moody had hastily scribbled and stamped with the Auror Department seal:

"Authorization for the immediate liquidation of Death Eater known as Elena Ivanova, by any means necessary, including the use of Dark Magic."

POV Head of the Department of Mysteries

The Head of the Department of Mysteries walked through the halls, inspecting the damage left behind by the Death Eaters.

Thankfully, there were no casualties among the staff. The corridors had sustained the most damage, which was a relief.

But Rookwood had disappeared. Was it Imperius? A traitor?

However, the most concerning issue wasn't the loss of a person.

The Hall of Thought was emptied. Everything had vanished.

The Time Room — gone. This was especially disastrous. The Ministry now had almost no Time-Turners left, apart from a few that had been issued or were under repair.

In the Planet Room, they had stolen Earth. They barely managed to catch the Moon before it crashed into the Sun! The gravitational balance was disrupted. They needed to make at least a temporary replacement for Earth, otherwise, the staff would be exhausted trying to maintain equilibrium.

The Veil of Death — why had they taken that? What could they possibly plan to do with it?

The Artifact Storage — they had cleared out at least a third of the items, though the exact number was still being calculated.

This was bad. Almost the entire open section of the Department of Mysteries had been looted. They'd have to give the employees an extra paid day off each week since there would be no work to do for a while. Some of the staff might even need to be reassigned to other jobs.

Of course, the rooms Rookwood didn't have access to remained untouched, but those research areas had long been partially frozen. And it wouldn't be safe to send unprepared staff there.

As for the closed-off section... They had already built an enclosure for the Tláloc-Putzi, which would become a very valuable exhibit. But they still had to capture the creature, and Alastor Moody had bluntly stated that no one would attempt to capture it — only to destroy it.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries was also intrigued by how the Death Eaters had managed to command a phoenix. And where had they found Tláloc-Putzi? Could it be that someone, like Godric Gryffindor, had enchanted their hat?

After surveying the damage, he returned to his office. There was so much to resolve…

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Broderick Bode.

"I have a message for the Head of the Department of Mysteries from the Dark Lord," he said, "I am under the Imperius Curse."

His first instinct was to summon security and Healers, but he decided to hear him out first.

With a mental effort, he activated the office's defenses and anti-eavesdropping systems. There were two meters between him and Bode, a safe enough distance. Worst-case scenario, he'd have enough time to escape. He also activated Privacy Charms and jamming wards.

And if anyone tried the Unforgivables on him? Well, his chair was exceptionally fast.

Bode began to relay the Dark Lord's words.

To summarize: The Death Eaters would lead them into a brighter future.

"Magical Britain must address crucial issues, find answers to the challenges of the modern world," Bode recited, as though reading from a script. "The Ministry is discussing tariffs on imported cauldrons. The rest of the magical world is focused on fashion. Meanwhile, another Wizarding War is looming, and it must be prevented. Albus Dumbledore is an old man, caught up in his Time-Turner games. Who will lead magical Britain forward after his death? Britain suffered little during the war with Grindelwald, and many of our neighbors consider that unfair. They would be glad to see Magical Britain turned to ashes in its decline.

When action is required, Ministry officials simply shift responsibility from one to another. In such a situation, it would be better to invite Voldemort to lead, if only to see the expressions on the faces of the International Confederation of Wizards. At least then we could be sure something would get done, rather than having them chase after vanished artifacts like Dumbledore."

The Head of the Department of Mysteries listened quietly as Bode continued.

"The Department of Mysteries will be granted freedom for research, relaxed regulations, more resources, and the ban on using Muggle inventions will be lifted. I know the Department stands above politics, but this restriction dates back to the 19th century, when the sitting Minister tried to close the Department. The Unspeakables simply ignored his decree. That Minister resigned soon after, citing 'exhaustion from overwork.'"

As a gesture of goodwill, Bode offered coordinates for two locations where a working flying saucer could be found with minimal use of magic, along with a ritual for measuring necro-energy without human sacrifice. Additionally, he provided several spells from the time of Salazar Slytherin that were believed to be lost.

"Necro-energy? What's that?" the Head of the Department asked.

"It's the energy accumulated through the use of Dark Magic and killing in magical practices, especially when combined. Excess accumulation can affect mental stability and lead to obsessive thoughts," Bode explained.

"Ah, ereghu," the Head thought to himself. Odd, he'd never heard the term "necro-energy" before. "We have a part of the Closed Section that deals with that."

So, the Dark Lord was self-taught? Inventing his own terminology? Interesting.

Years ago, Grindelwald had offered him much the same thing. He had refused. Later, he became the head of the Department of Mysteries. And he already knew what answer he would give now.