CHAPTER 62: The Devil's Greatest Trick (Interlude)

Azkaban Prison

12:30 p.m.

It had taken longer than he'd expected to be freed from the confines of Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had always been a man very aware of the big picture. Every action, however kind or random, seemingly unnecessary or spontaneous, was always a step towards his endgame. It was in his nature, at the very core of who he had been long before he ever met Grindelwald. And though he had worked to rid himself of the mantra that had torn Europe apart, it would always be a part of him. A snake could shed its skin, but it could never change itself on more than a superficial level. And if a snake couldn't do that, what hope did a lion have?

His release had never been in doubt, but he'd misjudged just how much Dumbledore would allow himself to be biased by the dunderheads in the old Black manor. With the benefit of hindsight and through a purely logical view, it made sense. The truth was, he hadn't realised just how much uproar his actions would bring out of Moody and the rest. After all, they had allowed Black free rein as he beat the boy and only cast him aside because he had snapped his wand. If he had avoided that, merely roughing up the boy and locking him up, he didn't think they would have turned on him as much as they did.

It was harder accepting the ugly truth when it spilled on your shoes. They could try to claim ignorance, attempt to make themselves feel like they could sleep slightly more at ease by convincing themselves they acted when they realised the depths of the situation. But that would only serve themselves. No matter how hard they tried, it would never change anything for the so-called victim. It would only make them feel as if they cared.

They had screamed at him, cursed him out, tried to make him a pariah, just as they'd done with Black. The entire Order had told him to go to hell, and he'd had to suppress his smile as he did just that. Cold and wet, every shadow in the dark halls of Azkaban concealed the ghosts of the tortured souls that had housed their last breaths, strengthening the dementor's hold over the tower. The notorious overwhelming effect caused by centuries of dementors breeding and feeding off humans was greatly reduced as the mass of creatures had been sent to cause mayhem all over Britain.

Azkaban prison had been feared by every witch and wizard almost as much as the Unspeakables were. Mudblood or pure-blood, it didn't matter, anyone who knew anything about Azkaban could feel a cold shiver crawl down their spine at the mere mention of the name. He could still remember the effect it had on people back during his Hogwarts days. Even the likes of Mulciber and Avery, the worst of the worst in the Slytherin dungeons, were silenced whenever a known Death Eater had been sentenced to Azkaban.

More than a prison, it had become a symbol of what defeat would hold for any Death Eater that was caught. The very reason why every member accepted into the inner circle was forced to take up a codename and expressly forbidden from using anyone's real names while wearing the uniform. The torturous fate for anyone who chose this life and was caught served as the greatest deterrent against joining the ranks of the Dark Lord.

Toppled. Conquered. Their new base of operations. It hadn't even been two weeks since the siege, and the Dark Lord had wasted no time. The tower was now mostly vacant, with only a few people per floor, most of the prisoners who had accepted the Dark Lord's offer had long left the boundaries of the tower to fulfil whatever missions the inner circle had sent them on. The few that stayed were made guards, canon fodder, servants to the true servants the Dark Lord needed. They protected those whose minds were torn apart by the dementor's effects, and attended every need of those with coherent minds.

And if the message wasn't clear enough, the Dark Lord had fully settled himself on the top floor of the tower. The size of two floors, with the edges from what used to be the ceiling still visible, and the cells that used to keep prisoners within these two floors destroyed, it was clear that the place had been completely remodelled for the Dark Lord's needs. With a compact war room in the antechamber and the white throne transported from Malfoy Manor, it was clear his mind was made up.

A wholly different leader than Dumbledore was, the Dark Lord was vain and arrogant. Whether it was through the twenty-feet tall throne to make him look taller and more threatening, his displays of power whenever dissatisfied, or the two dementors on each side of the throne, staring deep at your soul hungrily, the Dark Lord never failed to show you just how superior he was to you. Most of his followers adored him, while a others simply accepted him and obeyed. Either way, the Dark Lord was indifferent to these approaches. They were doing his bidding, that was all that mattered.

After all, even if every Death Eater decided to oppose him, they wouldn't be able to beat him. And they all knew that.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, the voice almost seeming to come from deep within Severus' own mind in a way that never failed to be unsettling. Always reminding him he was constantly lurking deep inside his mind. His voice was cold and sharp, never showing pleasure or discontent. Reading the Dark Lord's feelings was often impossible, to the point where he wondered if he even had any. "You have returned."

Kneeling and looking straight at the ground, he answered. "I have, my Lord. At your service for whatever you require."

"Your anticipation of Dumbledore's reaction is most impressive, as was your handling of the situation. Were you given any further grief for your inaction before we moved to take Azkaban?"

"While prejudiced against our house and our values, Dumbledore is an intelligent man. The action in it of itself seemed self-serving to my survival from any retaliation you may have, but it doesn't change the extensive value I have within his Order. The others were allowed to whine and throw a tantrum over my release, but not much besides that."

"You still have their trust?" He could feel it in the words, the imminent threat held by the very ripple of the air around him. His value to the Death Eaters was mostly as a spy, as the one who could give useful insight from Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix to them. As a Potions Master, he was one of the best in Britain, but with more knowledgeable members such as Clotho, and those with a frankly insane mind for experimentation like Phobetor, he could no longer rely on his brilliance for the Potions craft to keep himself alive.

"For now," he answered.

The silence stretched, and Severus could feel the Dark Lord prodding around the edges of his mind. Never bursting through, though he very well could, he had at least earnt that respect, but enough to analyse him and his words. Witnessing the memories that strayed in the borders of his subconscious as he appraised the veracity with which he spoke. "Very well."

He felt as the Dark Lord stood up, his knees cracking loud enough to be heard from where Severus was kneeling. He began descending the stairs, his bare feet scarcely making a sound as they graced against the old, corroded bones that forged the malformed throne. Severus felt a hand on his chin as the Dark Lord gently pushed him upwards until he was standing. The bony figure towered over him, his blood-red eyes staring deep into his own. "You will resume your work on the potion." The command was calm, cold, to a naive man it would have almost seemed friendly. "Our old compatriots yearn for their salvation. Their minds may have rotted, and their bodies crumbled, but deep behind the horror imposed upon them by our foes, there's still use for them. They're still there… waiting, longing, hungering. You will release them from their final prison, prepare them for their vengeance."

"Yes, my Lord." He said, wishing for nothing more than to break the eye contact that had been struck.

"Do not fail me, Severus." The Dark Lord said, finally giving him his back as he turned towards his throne. "And do not get any fancy ideas. Remember who it is you belong to." The mark in his arm moved and in a second, it surged out and bit just below his wrist. Blood quickly began trickling down his hand, and Severus bit his cheek to keep himself from flinching. From showing any sight of pain from which the Dark Lord could press any advantage. He nodded and kept his head down, and by the time he was dismissed, his hand was coated with strands of dry blood.

It was a dangerous game he was playing, but he'd been doing it for decades now. What had once seemed terrifying was now nothing more than every day work hazards. At first, he'd seen it purely as a way to protect his best friend. The person who never failed to see the good in him, who made all those miserable years at Hogwarts worth it. But as time went on and his idealistic view of the Death Eaters and what they did slow crumbled and revealed the reality behind it. He realised it wasn't just an insurance policy for him and the ones he loved.

Nothing good would come out of the Dark Lord and his lust for power. Because to him, none of them would ever be on the same level. The goal he sold to his followers was one he didn't believe, the words he spewed nothing more than a way to increase his forces and manage his image like any aspiring Minister trying to build a legion of followers who would aid him in becoming the most powerful man in Britain. But instead of empty campaign promises and big smiles, he promised for true power. If the Dark Lord was a master of anything other than magic, it would be playing people. He identified what their deepest desires, drove them insane with the temptation to have, and gave it to them. After that, most wouldn't even think of going behind his back. After all, if the Dark Lord had given them what they wanted the most before even doing anything, there was no doubt in their mind they'd keep getting rewarded for their servitude.

And for those few who did turn their backs on them… he showed them why it was the people of Britain were so quick to call him the Dark Lord not even three decades after Grindelwald's reign.

The Dark Lord's ranks were filled with various men and women, each different from the other. There were the sadists, only interested in their twisted needs they were allowed to fulfil while obeying the Dark Lord's orders. The pure-blood zealots determined to rid their world of the Mudblood filth once and for all. Those hungry for power who have witnessed that the easiest way to reach it is through the Dark Lord's side. And finally… his fanatics. Those who would worship him like a God, the incarnation of Magic itself into human form. Devoting their entire lives, reshaping their identity, sacrificing their own families to the whims and wishes of the Dark Lord.

It had been a phase for many, and in his youth, he was ashamed to admit it had been one for him as well. But like most who suffered through this phase, he'd gradually outgrown it long before the Dark Lord's fall.

Ares wasn't one of them.

Standing on the stairs right outside the Dark Lord's floor, one leg pressed against the wall jauntily, he was waiting for him. There were many reasons why people feared Ares, though often referred to as the Dark Lord's most faithful, no one ever dared to mock him for it. He never took off his mask, was never seen out of the Death Eater garments. And while some revered him as the pristine example of what a Death Eater should be, to him Crouch Jr would be nothing more than a delusional brat who never matured from his juvenile needs.

"Circe," Ares said coldly, twirling his wand in his hand.

"Anything you need?" He drawled, but he didn't wait for an answer. Strolling past him and down the stairs.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Ares said right as he had reached the bottom of the stairs, and Severus reluctantly stopped. He turned, raising an impatient eyebrow at him as Ares began descending the stairs slowly. "Harry Potter."

"What about him?"

"I want to know where he is."

"And why is that?" Severus sneered, looking up at Ares as he hovered a couple of steps above him.

"You dare question the Dark Lord's orders?" His voice was more threatening than the wand in his hand, but Severus wasn't one to cower easily.

"Don't confuse your obsessions with the Dark Lord's will, Ares. They have already risked his exposure once, I doubt he'll forgive a second time."

"Do not talk to me about obsessions," he could feel Ares' glare through the mask. "Not after what you've done to the boy."

"At least I didn't kill his mother."

"No," he laughed cruelly. "You were only so pleased to offer your servitude to the Dark Lord in exchange for the honour of murdering the boy's father. And then you never even managed to accomplish that before Pettigrew, of all bloody people, beat you to it! At the very least, I strove to keep Dolos and the Lestranges in check while I attempted to find out what happened to the Dark Lord. Tell me, what were you doing when our Lord was fatally wounded?"

"Grieving," he intoned carefully, not taking his eyes off Ares' mask.

"Either way, the Dark Lord has given me full reigns on the boy. This discussion is meaningless. To defy me would be to defy the Dark Lord himself."

Snape clucked his tongue, walking around Ares and looking back up the stairs. "Truly poetic that the so-called most dangerous Death Eater would be nothing more than a whiny little telltale."

"The location, Circe." Ares said, his wand stopping with the sharpness of his words.

"The Longbottoms took custody of the boy before the winter break could begin."

"Except he isn't at their manor, now, is he? I know, I've checked. I'd advise you stop wasting my time and tell me where he is."

"And how am I supposed to know?"

"If he isn't at the Longbottoms, then the Order was involved. Where did they take him, Severus?" There it was; Severus. The annoyance boiling past his walls of self-restraint. Ever the Gryffindor, Junior's tolerance level was always incredibly low for a man of his calibre. He always prided himself with being able to effortlessly push his buttons, but while amusing, it would be unwise to allow it to fester to anything bigger than a petty squabble. Even if the last thing he wanted was for Junior to have the chance to claw his hooks back into Potter.

"If I was able to say, I would have already," he drawled.

Ares' silent spoke to his displeasure, even if the mask hid his expression. And though he wanted nothing more than to turn around and take his leave, he stood and waited until, finally, he spoke. "No matter, I'll reach out once he returns to Hogwarts." That would be a problem, but one he'd focus on another day, as his mind was already wandering to the potion the Dark Lord was expecting him to perfect. "Oh, and Severus…" Ares called out just as he had begun his leave. "If I even think I see your grimy head of hair anywhere near my ward again… I'll make you wish the Dark Lord were the one to dispose of you."

Parkinson Palace

January 15th, 1996

8:25 p.m

It had been nearly two weeks since Yaxley's colossal blunder. Two weeks of searching across the North Sea for any sign of Rookwood or Carrow as Kieran and Yaxley scoured over every the entire island of Britain. What should have been a full month dedicated to searching for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes had been met with nothing but roadblocks and dead ends, as if Fate itself was looking to diverge their search and slow them down. It was how it operated, Fate would happen because it wanted to happen, regardless of how much free will they were given, Fate was inevitable, and that wasn't something that had changed with his use of the Threads of Fate.

Even within this new timeline in which he found himself in, there seemed to be a certain pattern. A series of crucial events that somehow happened once again. Regardless of how much they differed in details from the original events, they still happened. It had been a fact that alluded him, that challenged how he understood the impact of Fate upon his life and the futility of the mission for which he'd unwittingly sacrificed his mind and body to the Threads.

But the devil was in the details, and if he changed just enough of them in the right order, he should be able to see some real change. Even if it meant some events had to happen, regardless of how unfortunate they might be for him.

The Azkaban breakout had been something he expected, even anticipated for his plans as he used it to seek out various of the locations in and around Little Hangleton that had popped up during his research. And while his absence had led to the unfortunate need to force Pansy into the fold, that had turned out to be the least inconvenience of the night, given what happened only a few nights later as a direct result of Yaxley's incompetence. He dropped the very reminder of that on the table as everyone sat around him, avoiding his eyes.

Carrow was pale and cold, her face gaunt, with two large holes where her eyes used to be. They were all looking at her, and he let them sit in that silence as the consequence of their stupidity settled on them.

"Report on Rookwood." He eventually said, breaking the silence as his eyes switched from Kieran to Yaxley.

"No sign of him," Kieran said. "We think he went into hiding."

"What exactly was your phrasing once using the imperius curse on her?" Bedivere asked Yaxley.

"I don't know," the petulance in his voice was shut sharply with a single look. "It was something like a command for him to escape the moment his chains broke off, no matter who tried to stop him."

"And you didn't think about mentioning this to us before?" Pansy snapped. "Or to at least add a clause for him to meet up with us later."

"I was a bit pressed for time with the Dark Lord nearly up my arse. So, how about next time, you're the one who goes in and does the dirty work, little girl?"

"Making excuses will not correct your mistake, Yaxley," Bedivere spoke. "Rookwood is a valuable asset, not just for the Dark Lord, but for anyone else who finds him and decides to delve into his mind. The secrets of the Unspeakables are not ones to be taken likely, anything within the Department of Mysteries could very well alter the end of the war before it even begins. He cannot be allowed to remain in the wild for long."

"We'll find him, grandfather," Kieran said, though Bedivere very much doubted he would be the one to bring the deranged Unspeakable to him. It was Yaxley's folly that had brought them to this roadblock, and if Fate had its way, only Yaxley would be able to fix him.

"If whatever you Unspeakables are looking into is so crucial, how come we aren't using it in our favour?"

"Do you truly believe I wouldn't use our greatest weapon in the effort against the Dark Lord?" Bedivere said quietly, and Yaxley shifted in his chair. "It's the very reason why your incompetence has halted our entire operation. Why our priority is ensuring the Dark Lord doesn't get the chance to obtain any of the confidential knowledge an Unspeakable like Rookwood would have."

"Did the Dark Lord manage to get anything out of Rookwood?"

It was the very question that had been prodding at the edges of his mind, keeping him up at night since Yaxley had told him he'd failed to procure him during the siege. He couldn't think what would interest the Dark Lord more, which of the powerful artefacts or macabre experiments he would set his eyes on once he found out the truth about the Department of Mysteries. The darker, more twisted version this timeline had wrought, one which we had not even been able to fully decipher even after over half a year of researching it, looking into every secret project and hidden division inside the halls of the Unspeakables.

Unspeakables. He couldn't help but feel the name was very much fitting in this new world.

He wondered what Rookwood actually knew, what projects he had been a part of. His mind was trying to put out the fires that would arise before they had the chance. But even as the director of the Department of Mysteries, he still felt watched within the building. He got the feeling there were more factors at play than he had previously realised, and looking into Rookwood and what he was working on would surely set those wandering eyes on him.

But when the Dark Lord summoned him to his new quarters in Azkaban, he didn't have to wonder any longer. He'd immediately apparated into the prison, the dark mark allowing him through the extra wards the Dark Lord had set after his capture of the tower. And though inside, the worry was eating at him as this could very well be a most dangerous meeting, he kept himself cool and collected on the outside. Passing through the few Death Eaters that remained as he worked his way upwards before he finally reached the throne room.

He was surprised to find the Dark Lord not sitting atop the throne as he usually was, instead standing alone in his war room, staring at the pieces in the map of Britain. The Dark Lord welcomed him as genially as he ever had, with no outward signs of threat or displeasure, and as the Dark Lord queried about his work with Circe on the potion, as well as various of the other meaningless advances on the tasks the Dark Lord had assigned to him, he could easily tell this wasn't what the meeting was truly about.

Rookwood's presence hung around them within the room, as if he was sitting right there beside them. Watching attentively, waiting for his turn to be brought into the conversation. And the Dark Lord did just that.

"Tell me, Clotho, did you ever meet Hermes during his time at the Department of Mysteries."

"I can't say I did, my Lord." He answered curtly. "The secrecy vows the Unspeakables have to take are not just exclusively to protect the secrets from the outside. It is rare for an Unspeakable to know what the others outside your own division are working on, much less their true identity."

"Naturally," he said, putting his hand out to his side as the large snake that had been hovering around the table came around and let itself be caressed by its master. "Its secrets kept from the Minister himself, aren't they?"

"Indeed."

"Only you're not the director of your division anymore, are you? During my absence, you were promoted to direct the department itself."

"Indeed, and though I have access to most of the projects the Unspeakables work on, there are still areas in which I'm blinded."

The Dark Lord hummed, staring intensely at the spot in the map where a flag marking the Ministry was posted at.

"If I may, my Lord, what is it with this new interest in the Department of Mysteries."

"Do you remember how you earnt your place within my inner circle, Clotho?"

"Of course," it was a lie, but one he made sure sounded like the truth.

"Your information on the prophecy concerning me was of great value, as was your cunning way of subverting the many oaths an Unspeakable had to take. You spun my thread, and instead of allowing it to run its course and see to my end, you chose to preserve my life. So, when you informed me, you wouldn't be able to bring more information outside the division related to the study of Fate, I could not complain further. But things have changed now."

"You believe the prophecy came true?"

"No, I believe it can turn true if not taken the correct precautions. If I've learnt anything from my experiences with the Longbottom boy, it is that one can never be too cautious. If Fate chooses to take his side, I must be prepared."

"What is it you need of me?" It was better not to offer, to allow the Dark Lord to make his demands and for him to meet them, rather than be allowed to suggest and reveal too much information that should be kept hidden.

The snake gently climbed up the table, its large body scurrying through the map carelessly, and when it did the Dark Lord stood. "Before Hermes managed to escape his confines, I managed to look into his mind. It was broken, tattered by the dementor's effects on him, but I managed to glimpse at something. Something I believe he was working on during his tenure at the Department of Mysteries. Have you ever come across the Deathly Hallows in your research?"

"The Deathly Hallows," he repeated, making sure to keep himself collected. "I've heard tales of them, the old myth of mastering Death itself. Nothing more than that."

"Myths rarely stray from the truth in our world, Clotho. It's history that's muddled by non-believers, by those who would wish to hide such powerful reliques from those of us powerful enough to wield them."

"You believe in the Hallows? In something so powerful, it allows a mere human on becoming the Master of Death?"

"No." He said coldly. "There's no power on this earth to give any mere human true mastery over Death. No amount of magic to give someone so inconsequential such colossal power. No. That's not something that can be learnt. It can't be obtained or studied. Not a power that any weak willed man would be able to wield. But I am no mere human. If the Hallows do exist, I know of no one other than me who is powerful enough to wield them and conquer their reaper."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter we'll return to Grimmauld Place as Harry interacts with Andromeda, Moody, and Ginny as he furthers his schemes. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm NINE chapters ahead, have finished writing the first chapter of the following arc titled Irreconcilable Differences. In which the Winter Break is over and the return to Hogwarts brings a lot of tensions begin to boil over. If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)