Dumbledore sat in his office, reflecting on the recent events that had caused his world to turn upside down and had shaken the entire wizarding world. At least his health seemed to be improving, the thought.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a jet-black owl soared through the open window of his office, dropping a small, cube shaped box onto his desk.
The box bore the symbol of the department of mysteries, Unspeakables rarely communicated with outside world in an official capacity so it must have been something important. Curiosity piqued, Dumbledore also retrieved the accompanying letter from the owl and opened it, revealing a brief message:
"The box is portkey. Phrase is "The truth is not what we remember."
Understanding the uniqueness of the situation, he quickly dispatched his patronus to both Severus and Minerva, notifying them of his imminent departure. Without delay, he took the small box in his hand and muttered the provided phrase.
In an instant, Dumbledore found himself in what appeared to be a laboratory of some kind. Intricate and unfamiliar equipment surrounded him, and a long table lay before him, upon the table rested the remains of what appeared to be a long-dead fetus. So, this might be a morgue, he thought. Standing before the table was a figure cloaked in hooded robe.
"It takes someone special to create a portkey that bypasses my castle's wards," Dumbledore addressed the cowled figure. "Why did you summon me, Unspeakable?"
The Unspeakable responded, his voice disguised by magical means. "Hogwarts wards may be impenetrable for many, but it's nothing compared to the magic in our possession, Mr. Dumbledore. And as for why I summoned you… Well, you see the remains on the table? At some point in its wretched existence, you might have recognized him as Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he liked to call himself after his descent to madness."
"Voldemort?" It was not often that he was at a loss for words. This was one of those times.
"Yesterday, these remains that you see in front of you materialized out of thin air in the Ministry atrium. In the middle of the day. "
Slowly, the world around Dumbledore began to crumble. The weight of the Unspeakable's casual declaration that his arch-nemesis was dead hit him with full force. He knew that the unspeakable wouldn't have been so confident unless there was irrefutable evidence.
"You said the body appeared during the day?" Dumbledore's voice trembled slightly as he sought to grasp the significance of the revelation.
"Yes, And I know what you're about to ask. I will provide the answer. Your network remained unaware due to our concealment. The media was kept in the dark as well. No one, except us... And now you as of today, are aware of these remains and demise of Voldemort."
Dumbledore wrestled with the getting over the fact that Voldemort had truly been defeated, a mix of relief and disbelief coursing through his veins.
"How did he die?" He inquired, closely examining the remains before him. He could only discern a lingering trace of dark magic
"To answer that question," the Unspeakable continued, "I had to delve into the means by which he managed to cling to life in such a sorry state. And, of course, how he survived the events of that fateful Halloween night."
He froze as another horrifying realization began to form within his mind. "And?" he pressed, his voice edged with a mix of urgency and fear.
"You already know the answer, Mr. Dumbledore. Your Voldemort has created multiple horcruxes in his attempt to prolong his life. I have located all of them, except the ones that you had already discovered, of course. They were destroyed, same as the ones you had found. Nothing remained. I was too late. "
"Too late for what?"
"Too late for a thorough investigation," The Unspeakable replied, a hint of frustration in his voice. "By the time I reached each Horcruxes location, they had already been destroyed. There were no traces of Voldemort's soul or even magic left. And that's when my concerns deepened. At first, I entertained the possibility that Voldemort might have pushed his luck one step too far and created one Horcrux too many, leading to his ultimate demise. But our experiments indicated otherwise. There are limits to our magic, points where the ritual fails no matter your determination. And there's something else, something I discovered upon examining these remains again."
He struggled to understand.
"What does that mean?"
"It means, Mr. Dumbledore, that at the moment of his death, Voldemort was not simply killed in the conventional sense, " the Unspeakable explained. "The forces that annihilated him is beyond our understanding, beyond anything recorded in our history. The thing that killed him... It obliterated him, leaving no traces of him. No magic, no soul, there is nothing left. Every person, whether wizard or a muggle, possesses magic within them. And small part of magical essence stays even after death. But in Voldemort's case, that essence was erased. It's a phenomenon that has never been observed before, it shouldn't be possible. Whoever or whatever has that kind of power… It's not of our world."
He was trying to comprehend the magnitude of what he was hearing. The implications were staggering, and he struggled to find words to express his thoughts. "So, you're saying that whatever killed him, it was not of this world? Something beyond our understanding? "
The Unspeakable nodded gravely. "Exactly, Mr. Dumbledore. This goes beyond our realm of knowledge. The force that extinguished Voldemort's whole existence defies facts within our magical understanding. Mysteries are a reason for our existence, it's our purpose, but I am afraid this is a mystery that nobody will solve"
"Why did you summon me here, unspeakable?"
The Unspeakable's gaze remained fixed on Dumbledore, and after a moment of contemplative silence, he finally spoke, his voice carrying a weight of urgency and desperation
"Mr. Dumbledore, our world is facing unprecedent threat. We have exhausted our resources trying to comprehend the force behind this, and still. We are not one step closer. I have summoned you here because I felt that you deserve to be warned of looming danger."
His heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. If even the most knowledgeable wizards were powerless to counter this entity, what hope was for there for them all? He looked at the Unspeakable, his eyes searching for an answer that even they could not provide.
"Thank you. And I am sorry that I'm unable to help you. My personal investigations have led me nowhere too. It seems like both of us has reached a point where even our knowledge is not enough." He admitted, his words feeling like a declaration of surrender.
"I am sorry too, Mr. Dumbledore. All we can hope for is that this entity is a force of good"
Exhausted, Dumbledore returned to his office in the evening, finding his friend Severus already waiting for him with a glass of whiskey in hand. As he sank into his chair, his weariness was palpable.
"You look like you've stared into death itself, my friend," Severus remarked, finishing his glass in a single gulp.
"I did. Voldemort is dead," he replied, his voice heavy with fatigue, and then closes his eyes. He was utterly exhausted, felt like his sickness is coming back.
"Why aren't we celebrating then? I have another bottle in my office," Severus said in forced cheerful tone, trying to conceal the unease he was feeling. "
"Because whatever that thing is... The one responsible for the death of Voldemort. I believe it's responsible for all the events that happened in the past month. I believe it's coming for all of us. And there is nothing we can do to stop it," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with worry and resignation.
The Stranger stared at the Unspeakable in front of him.
"From all the options available, you selected him? Why?"
"You… I remember now."
"Tell me, do you truly have faith in him? Do you believe he can put an end to this?"
The Unspeakable sighed. "No. But I have to hold onto that hope. I have to believe that someone can put an end to all of this. Belief is all I have left."
"Do you think I will allow him to stop this?"
As the Unspeakable closed his eyes, he felt his own magic slowly consuming him from within. "No, I suppose not"
"Hermione, could you help me with my Potions homework? I'm literally dying here," Ron pleaded.
"You're not literally dying, Ron," Hermione replied with exasperation.
"Well, if I go to potions without my essay being done, I might be," Ron replied, struggling to finish his lengthy essay.
"You should have considered this before deciding to play Quidditch yesterday," Hermione remarked.
"You're not going to let me die just because of my poor decisions, right? This is bloody hard" Ron said, prompting Hermione to shake her head and smile despite herself.
"Fine, come over here and let me take a look," Hermione said.
Ron grinned and handed the essay to her. "I don't know what I would do without you, Hermione," Ron said.
"Literally die, as you mentioned," she retorted with a smile and delved into his poorly written essay.
"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, causing her to lift her eyes from the essay and look towards the entrance of the common room from where Harry had just come in inside.
"Harry, where were you? And what happened to your robes?" She asked, her concern evident as she took in the dishevelled state of his attire.
"What do you mean?" He asked, then glanced down at his robes, his expression turning sheepish as he quickly cast a spell to straighten them. "Oh, that? I was practicing," he explained with a smile.
"Practising what?" Hermione asked, while Ron inquired at the same time, "With whom?"
"Duelling," he replied, ignoring Ron's question as he took a seat beside them. "What are you guys up to?"
"Oh, she's helping me with my Potions homework," Ron replied.
"Potions homework? Oh... Crap," Harry responded, hoping to divert Hermione's attention from further inquiries about his activities with Fleur. It seemed to work just fine.
"Harry James Potter…"
In Hogsmeade, a shopkeeper received his shop supplies from Diagon Alley, including magical items that had come into contact with an infected witch from the Ministry.
The civilization was gradually inching towards an impending doom, of which they remained oblivious.
Fleur stared at her reflection in the mirror, an empty vial lying on the floor. With every finished vial, she found hating herself more and more.
Neville stared at the picture of his parents, captured in their moment of happiness. He was filled with regret, but the nature of that regret had become blurred in the recent weeks. We he mourning the loss of his parents, or was it the regret of not being able to exact justice for their deaths? They were gone, all of them, and the feeling of injustice gnawed at him. They hadn't faced the consequences they should have faced. There was one person still left, he realized.
Fueled by his newfound determination, Neville sought out Harry. He decided to have a conversation with him during potion lesson.
"Can we talk after this?" Neville inquired. Harry looked at him with mixture of concern and curiosity. His expression must have betrayed his dark thoughts somehow, the ones he was having in recent days. "You said that when I'm ready, you'll be there to listen. Well, I'm taking you up on that offer."
"Sure, Nev. Yeah, we can talk. Do you want to do it now though?" Harry replied.
"No. I want to do this in private, after the lesson," he said, glancing at Snape who was sitting at his desk, usual frown on his face.
"I know a classroom that nobody uses. We can use that." he suggested.
Neville nodded and continued to work on his potion.
"Lead the way," he told Harry after the lesson was finished, his thoughts in disarray as he tried to determine the best approach for their conversation. As they entered the classroom, Harry looked at him patiently, ready to listen.
Taking a deep breath, he decided that being direct was the best approach. "Is You-Know-Who really dead?" He watched Harry closely for the reaction, and was satisfied to get the answer from facial expression alone.
Harry admitted quietly, "No, Neville. He's not dead."
He locked his gaze directly onto Harry's, his resolve unwavering. "Bellatrix is dead, Harry. Rodolophus is dead. Rabastan is dead. Bartemius Jr. is dead. They were all held accountable for my parents suffering... But we both know who's truly at fault, don't we?"
Harry's tone softened as he responded, "Neville..."
"He's alive, Harry. The man responsible for making both of us orphans. We share that bond together, Harry. My parents may be physically alive, but they're dead. I know that, everybody else knows it. My grandmother just likes to pretend there's some kind of fucked up false hope. There is no hope, Harry. And the man responsible for it is out there, Harry."
Harry's eyes searched his, he never felt so vulnerable "Why did you want to talk, Neville? What do you want me to say?"
He couldn't save his parents, he couldn't bring Harry's back, but he could help him bring justice to the person who deserved it. That was his purpose now, and to do it, he needed to become stronger. "I overheard you talking about your dueling practice today. I want to join. Let me join, Harry. I want to help you."
"What do you think I need help with?" Harry asked calmly.
He felt frustrated by Harry's seemingly calm demeanor. How could he not get it? Voldemort was out there, a lurking threat for all, and he was offering his assistance in bringing him down. he couldn't change what happened, but he could play his part in destroying the evil that had caused so much pain. "I want to help you in fighting Voldemort, Harry. I want to be part of defeating him, no matter the cost"
Harry found the Fleur soon after he finished his conversation with Neville.
"Somebody else wants to join us," he announced, earning a raised eyebrow from Fleur.
"Oh? Are you keen on making our thing a threesome then?" she asked playfully, causing slight blush to creep onto his cheeks. However, he wasn't in the mood for jokes.
"I thought we didn't have a 'thing'? I recall you warning me to stay away because you would bring me nothing but pain." He replied
"Touché, Harry. So, tell me, who wants to join our little sessions?
"Neville Longbottom."
"Interesting," she said. "Why?"
"I think it would be better if he answers that question himself, " he replied.
"Okay, Harry. I will talk with him and then make a decision. Now then, since you are here, we might as well make use of this time and go to our usual spot for a duel, non?"
"Lead the way, Fleur."
"I have a feeling there might be a hidden agenda behind you always wanting me to go first," she teased.
"So, you are Neville," she stated. After finishing her duel with Harry, she had resolved to seek out the person who expressed such a curious interest in joining their sessions. She looked at the boy in front of her, he didn't appear particularly remarkable, but then again, neither did Harry at first glance. And she knew better than to judge person solely by their appearance.
"I am," Neville replied, admiring her looks. She let out a sigh, inwardly questioning why she had allowed Harry to persuade her so easily. The boy standing before her was overwhelmed by her mere presence.
"Harry told me that you want to join us," she stated, observing the change in his demeanor as he processed her words. The timid boy seemed to transform in an instant.
"You're the one he's been training with? I didn't realize you were from another country," he replied.
"Do you have a problem with me being a foreigner, or a quarter-veela?" She asked sharply, unwilling to tolerate any prejudice.
"What? No, I don't, I mean. Neither," he quickly replied, and she felt herself relax. "And you're also participating in the tournament, which is great," he finished, leaving her feeling slightly embarrassed for jumping to conclusions so quickly. Yet, the confusion also lingered inside of her as to why her emotions had flared when nothing mattered anymore.
"Good? Why?" she asked, curious.
"You're participating in the tournament means you're skilled, hopefully that also includes fighting. I want you to teach me, like you're teaching Harry. His friends might not have noticed, but he's changed significantly this year. He has improved in every subject; his demeanor has shifted. He appears to act more grown up, and the only new factor in his life is you, " he explained.
And Sirius, she almost blurted out, but managed to stop herself just in time. Not only was she not supposed to know about him, but Neville obviously didn't know about him either. She hadn't quite realized before that she had such an effect on Harry, and she smiled despite herself. While she could have guessed why Harry decided to take things more seriously in his life, she didn't think Neville would want to hear that in order for her to change him, he would need to fall in love with her and have his heart broken.
"Why do you want me to train you? What's so pressing that you can't wait until you're older and receive training after school?" she asked him.
Was it because of a girl, Neville? Or was it because he felt weaker than everyone else in his year? Jealousy, perhaps? She thought as she observed him more closely. No. Nothing so bland. There was a better reason behind his request for training.
"Okay... I'll tell you the truth, and don't you dare to laugh. I want your help because I want to help Harry. I want to assist him in killing Voldemort, even if it means my own death," he admitted honestly.
She recognized the resolve in his words, and knew he was sincere. It was a loyalty that Harry seemed to inspire even in those he didn't spend much time with mixed with something darker. She saw potential in Neville, which made it even more difficult for her to deny him.
"No."
"What? Why the hell not?" He asked, his confusion evident.
He was angry, and she understood where his frustration was coming from. However, she couldn't reveal the true reason to him. Instead, she resolved to try and change his mind.
"Why are you so determined to help Harry? Where is this resolve to kill Voldemort is coming from, Neville?"
"He murdered my parents. He murdered Harry's parents. He killed many more. He deserves to die for all of the sins he committed. My chance for my revenge was taken away, but I would do anything, even sacrifice myself, to help Harry get his chance," Neville replied with unwavering determination.
She sighed, recognizing the depth of his conviction. He had committed himself fully to the cause and there was no turning back for him.
"Revenge won't bring anyone back, Neville. For the sake of you and for others around you, try to live your next months and make positive impact in other ways. Killing somebody won't truly bring closure," she would know.
"Maybe, maybe not. But it will feel good at that moment."
"Neville..." It will not feel good, she wanted to say. She knew that it wouldn't make him feel better; it would only drag him deeper into despair. She wanted to tell him that, but she couldn't.
"All I want from you... All I want is for you to train me. You don't even know me; why would you care about how I spend my next months?"
She didn't care about him; It was about caring for herself. She didn't want to spend her final months entangling herself in another web of deception. The one she was already navigating was complex enough.
"I am sorry, Neville. Truly, I am. But I can't do this. This was a mistake," she said, turning to leave, feeling his gaze on her back, filled with frustration and anger.
She anticipated Harry's questions about this, questions she couldn't provide answers to. She could only hope that her decision wouldn't strain their relationship.
Back in her room, she collapsed onto her bed and stared at the diary lying on the floor. She picked it up, and swiftly located the page she sought: The answer to Neville's question.
She didn't want his remaining months to be squandered seeking revenge against a monster that was already dead.
The following evening, Harry and Fleur met again, but this time they didn't engage in a duel.
"Neville mentioned that you turned down his request, " Harry stated.
"How is he?" she asked.
"Angry," he replied.
"Makes sense," she said, and after a moment of silence, she continued, "Do you want to know why I refused him?"
"Do you want to tell me why?" He asked, looking into her eyes with understanding rather than judgement. She felt relieved; She knew he would accept whatever answer she gave, and she was grateful.
"No," she said simply.
"Then I don't want to know why," he smiled, and she smiled back.
"I hear there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up," she decided to shift the conversation to a more pleasant topic.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Would you like to visit Hogsmeade with me?"
"Are you asking me out, Fleur?"
"I might be," she replied with a mischievous grin.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Why won't it work? Neville looked at the still standing table in the room. How much more hatred does someone need to feel for it to work?
He tried again, and again. Failure after failure.
He was a failure.
But he will get better. For his sake. For Harry. For now, he only needed to practice to inflict pain. He looked at his old pet with sadness. But it was a necessary sacrifice to stop evil.
"Crucio!"
The spell worked. He felt power and disgust simultaneously. His parents wouldn't have understood; they were too kind. But they hadn't lost everyone who mattered to them.
Dumbledore cast his gaze upon each and every one of his old and new friends who had assembled around the table after his invite. He was feeling weaker than ever before, but he had a job to do. To save everybody or at least attempt to.
"Thank you, Sirius, for letting us convene in your home for this meeting," Dumbledore began, his eyes turning towards the man standing in the corner.
"Believe me, Albus, I welcome the company," Sirius nodded at him.
"I've called this meeting today because I have important new concerning Voldemort," he continued, capturing the full attention of everyone present, except for Severus who was already aware of the truth. "Voldemort is dead."
"Dead? Again? Or is it for real this time?" Sirius asked, he looked hopeful.
"He's vanquished forever," he answered, allowing them a moment of celebration. He knew it would be short-lived, but they deserve this much. "However," he trailed off, his tone growing more somber
"There's always a 'but', people. You'd think you'd have learned that by now," Severus muttered, taking a sip of whiskey from his glass. "Go on, Albas. Apologies for interrupting your healthy bomb of pessimism"
"However, I fear we might be on the brink of something far worse than Voldemort," he continued after small interruption.
"What do you mean by 'far worse'?" Elphias Doge inquired. "What could possibly be worse than You-Know-Who?"
"If you would let the man finish, he would tell you." Snape said.
"I don't know, Elphias," he answered honestly. "And that's precisely why this threat is potentially far worse. We're facing something we can't comprehend. I've had a meeting with one of the Unspeakables, the one who informed me of Voldemort's demise. All he gave me was a warning, though he didn't believe it would change much. The looming entity he mentioned, it's not of this world."
"A god, perhaps. One that's descending to pass judgment on us all," Severus remarked wryly. "And from the looks of it, it's not inclined to differentiate between the good and bad folk."
"This is madness, Albus," Doge exclaimed.
"The Unspeakables are the foremost experts on magical matters, Elphias. When they raise concern, especially of this magnitude, it is wise for us to take it seriously," Kingsley interjected, effectively putting an end to any arguments. Everybody knew who Unspeakables were.
"I have a task for each of you, and every task is of the utmost important. I trust in your abilities, and I know each one of you well enough to believe that you won't rest until your mission is complete. However, before we proceed, I feel compelled to provide a warning. We are venturing into treacherous territory, and I want you all to understand the gravity of the situation. Voldemort was nothing compared to this new threat, and the path ahead is anything but certain. I ask for your unwavering commitment, but I also extend the opportunity for any of you to step back. You signed up to beat Voldemort and we did that. I will not judge anyone who chooses to leave the order. This is a decision that everybody must make for themselves, but you need to do it now."
"I will stand with you, Albus, even though our pact is no longer binding," Severus stated with determination. He nodded appreciatively, understanding the depth of Severus's commitment.
"This is madness, all of it. But I won't abandon you, Albus. We knew each other too long for me to turn away now," Elphias responded firmly
"Everything about this is telling me to run away, but I know that you will need me, Albus. You can count me in, " Kingsley pledged.
"Well, if everyone else is on board, I suppose I am too," Mundungus grumbled.
"You know me, Albus. I will do whatever it takes to keep Harry safe. And this thing doesn't scare me. I'm in." Sirius declared firmly
Everyone else also joined without hesitation. Voldemort's death didn't mark the end of the Order of the Phoenix; it symbolized a new beginning. Their dedication to safeguarding the innocent from any danger grew stronger.
"Thank you, everyone, for your commitment," he expressed with gratitude, though a sense of deceit ate at him. He knew he was leading them into a battle that might be unwinnable, but giving up was never an option. They all knew the potential cost and accepted it. This was another war, and he was prepared to lead them all, no matter the final result. ""Sirius, you possess the most experience in dealing with Muggles. I want you to work closely with Arthur. Explore the Muggle world, and keep an eye out for anything unusual. My intuition tells me that this entity isn't confined to the magical realm alone. If necessary, you can involve , but she doesn't need to know the truth of what you're doing. Do you understand?"
"Understood, Albus," Sirius nodded.
"Good. Now, as for everyone else..."
The chessboard was set, and Dumbledore had made his move. The Stranger was staring at the man who remained seated in the chair. Everyone else had already departed to do their tasks.
"Hello, old man," The Stranger greeted with a chilling smile.
"You!" he shouted, attempting to raise his wand, but once again finding himself immobilized.
"I just don't understand what they see in you... Why do they choose to follow you?" the Stranger inquired. "Your efforts are commendable, but ultimately futile. Why persist in manipulating others for the sake of your war? Haven't you already lost too many soldiers?"
"To stop you. We will put an end to you."
"At what cost? How do you decide on how many of your friends you're willing to sacrifice to achieve victory?"
"No cost is too high if it means saving the world from you."
"For the greater good" The Stranger repeated his past words with cold smile, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore.
"It's different this time," Dumbledore answered, his tone firm.
"Too many people use that defense to justify their actions," The Stranger countered with a sigh. "I tire of this conversation, old man. It's time for you to make your choice"
"Make my choice?" He asked confused.
"No cost too high..." Stranger repeated, his expression grim. "It's time for you to make a choice, to decide who you're willing to sacrifice first. Whose loss matters the least to you?"
"You don't have to do this," Dumbledore pleaded, desperation in his voice.
"But I want to. Give me a name now, or every member of your little army will die before the virus even gets its chance," The Stranger replied coldly.
"Mundungus Fletcher," Dumbledore sighed, hating himself for yielding so easily.
"A pleasure, old man. Until we meet again," The Stranger remarked.
Bloody Dumbledore, Mundungus thought as he walked through the depths of Knockturn Alley. Of all the jobs he could have assigned to him, he had to choose investigating the bloody vampires.
Why couldn't the old man order me to steal something? Mundungus mused as he navigated the shadows of Knockturn Alley. He didn't even know why he had agreed to this. For some bloody reason, some parts of him felt a strange sense of loyalty to Dumbledore. The old wizard had given him a chance when everyone else had turned away after all.
He stopped abruptly as he thought he heard something, and suddenly, everything went still. He realized he couldn't move.
"Hello," a voice spoke out, "I just thought you deserve to know that Albus Dumbledore has betrayed you, and the vampires are aware of your presence and your task. You better run."
As his muscles regained their function, he sensed a pair of eyes on him. He glanced around, but saw nothing, the whole area was empty. Turning around, he swiftly began to make his way back towards the exist. However, he was stopped by a tall figure in his way, their face concealed by a hood. As the figure drew nearer, Mundungus could discern a sinister grin across their lips, and then, he noticed the unmistakable glint of fangs.
His fear intensified, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin, and warm piss coming down his pants. He closed his eyes as he tried to active his portkeys, only to find all of them unresponsive. The Stranger's words echoed hauntingly in his mind - betrayal.
He died without suffering.
The chessboard was set, but the Stranger had no interest in playing the game. He had already removed one of the old man's pawns without making a single move on the board.
He watched as Elphias Doge entered the Delacour house and allowed a small smile to grace his features.
"Madame Delacour, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting," Elphias Doge said with a warm smile, leaning down to gently kiss her hand.
"Mr. Doge, what brings you here?" She smiled gracefully, her demeanor poised and welcoming.
"Albus Dumbledore sent me, Madame," Elphias Doge stated respectfully.
"Sent by Albus Dumbledore himself? it must be something quite important. Please join me in the salon, a place more suitable for our conversation," she stated, leading the way to the salon with him following closely behind. "May I offer you something to drink? A cup of tea, perhaps? I have something special prepared if you're interested."
"I wouldn't mind a drink, thank you, " he replied and found himself momentarily captivated by the Madame's beauty. An elf swiftly appeared with a cup of tea, and he accepted it, taking a sip before he continued. "We've heard about the Veelas terrible situation, Madame. Albus is sending his apologies for not being able to offer assistance in resolving the matter."
"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Doge, but there's no need. My husband has already invested a significant amount of resources to assist our small community and has resolved the issue. Nevertheless, I am quite curious as to why Albus sent you here, " she inquired politely.
"Actually, the troubles in the Veela community are the reason Albus sent me here, Madame. He has a reason to believe that the deaths among your Veela population might be connected to the issue we are facing back home. He wanted me to inquire about the details of the illness that has affected your kind and the cause of these deaths, " Elphias explained
"Deaths? What do you mean?" she asked, a look of confusion on her face.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "I'm talking about the deaths of the French Veelas due to the illness," he clarified.
"But there haven't been any deaths, Mr. Doge," she corrected him.
"There haven't been any deaths?" he asked, his confusion evident. Albus had been so certain, and personally had heard about the sudden disease that had afflicted the Veelas in France, only for it to abruptly stop. Something was definitely amiss, and he could sense it.
"Your sources appear to be quite misinformed, I'm afraid," she replied with a polite smile, yet he felt an odd compulsion creeping into his thoughts.
"My source is Albus Dumbledore, Madame," he replied, his unease growing. The voice in his head whispered, "Do not resist."
"Even the greatest minds can make mistakes, " she replied, her smile retaining its politeness, but a subtle hint of impatience flickering across her expression.
"Uh, might... Might I have a word with your husband, Madame?" He struggled to force the words out, the grip of compulsion growing stronger. "Stop resisting," a voice in his head whispered again.
"I'm afraid my husband is currently out of the country,", she replied, her smile still polite, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, he noticed for the first time. He sensed the lie and shiver of apprehension crept over him. Another wave of compulsion attacked him, and he recognized it as Veela magic. How had he not realized it earlier? Panic surged through him as he realized he needed to leave immediately. He had to inform Dumbledore about the sinister situation unfolding in France and warn him about the Delacours.
"Thank… Thank you, for, uh your assistance, I mean. It appears that I wasted your time and mine by coming here," he said. He stood up abruptly, feeling dizzy. As he looked down at her, he couldn't help but notice the now open cleavage. Had it always been like this? His blood pressure seemed to spike in response, his heart beating faster.
"Leaving already? But I've enjoyed our time together so much," she whispered, her voice now carrying a playful undertone that didn't exist before. "It does get rather lonely without my husband around." He felt an involuntary response in his body, even as his mind screamed at him to leave. However, he found himself unable to move, captivated by her beauty.
"Resistance is futile, my dear. Embrace this," the voice in his head murmured persistently. He fought against it, trying to regain control over his thoughts and actions, but the Veela magic was overwhelming. His heart raced; his thoughts became muddled. He was losing control of himself rapidly. He heard her whisper again, this time with instructions. "Tell Dumbledore that there's no need for concern. Everything is well with Veelas. He was misinformed and my husband has resolved any issues that we had. There were no deaths."
He nodded, complying with her request. Her intense gaze held him captive, and he realized she had no intention of letting him go without further indulging in her amusement.
He nodded, complying with her request. Her intense gaze held him captive still, and he realized she had no intention of letting him without further indulging in her amusement.
"Do you like what you see, Elphias?" she whispered in a sultry tone, her words dripping with temptation. With deliberate slowness, she began to undress herself, revealing more of her naked skin.
He nodded, his eyes fixed on her form, desire evident in his eyes. His heart raced uncontrollably, the overwhelming excitement taking its toll on his body. It was too much for his body to handle, and he suddenly collapsed. The nature of Veela's compulsion magic suppressed his magical abilities, the previously contained Disease found an opening. His death was swift, the result of unfortunate timing.
She stared at the lifeless form of the wizard before her in shock. " Merde," she muttered under her breath.
"Really, Apolline? " The Stranger asked upon discovering her in the salon alongside the lifeless body.
"Enough of your remarks," she retorted sharply. "Fix this." she said, her gaze still fixed on the lifeless body.
"You're surprisingly less intimidating without your clothes, Apolline," he remarked dryly. "As for fixing this, you're aware that our relationship doesn't work that way. I will help, but I expect something in return."
She glared at him. "Fine, what do you want?"
"I want your ministry to be distracted. Distracted enough to ensure they don't interfere with Muggle world affairs. I don't want any disruptions of the process in the muggle world, no magical attention drawn to what's happening on the other side. The method is of little concern to me; you have the resources to handle it as you see fit," The Stranger said calmly.
"Merde..." she sighed in resignation. "Fine. Now, fix this. Please."
"I will take care of it. Nobody will remember that Elphias Doge ever existed in this world, except us. Dispose of the body properly, and you won't have to fear Dumbledore's wrath. I will make sure he is done with France," The Stranger reassured her.
"Thank you."
