Harry sat on the hard floor of the Room of Requirement, diligently studying his wand. Tired but satisfied, he knew that the past few months of training in Dumbledore's Army had not been in vain. Today's lesson on casting a Patronus had been particularly productive, and Harry felt that they were making great strides in preparing for the battle.
His gaze wandered around the room, where about twenty people, including his best friends Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville, were showcasing their unique skills and talents. Wands were soaring through the air, conjuring white sparks that intertwined and took on beautiful Patronus forms.
Hermione smiled joyfully, enjoying the playfulness of her otter. Luna eagerly awaited her little rabbit to emerge from under the table, ready to start a new game. Ron watched his terrier with unabashed admiration. And Seamus admired his adorable fox, which darted from side to side.
Jeanne Alter's Patronus appeared before Harry in the form of a majestic phoenix. Its bright feathers seemed to be on fire, and its wings were so expansive that it seemed touching them would result in a burn. Harry couldn't take his eyes off this magnificent sight.
In the next instant, Mash Kyrielight's Patronus took center stage. It appeared before them in the form of a mighty lion, with a shimmering mane and a truly regal expression. The powerful defender lion—a true representation of Mash Kyrielight's Patronus. Harry couldn't believe his eyes as the lion, radiating immense energy, climbed the wall and symbolically embarked on a hunt against evil to protect their faithful comrades.
Finally, Dudley, Agatha, and Sam summoned their Patronuses. Agatha closed her eyes and focused her thoughts. She recalled the happiest moments of her life when she felt truly happy. Agatha remembered her nighttime walks under the stars, where she could marvel at the beauty of the night sky and dream about the future. She remembered her favorite astronomy books, which she read with such enthusiasm, and her early successes in Transfiguration when she realized that magic could be not only useful but also beautiful.
And then she felt a bright white glowing energy burst from her wand, taking the shape of a beautiful white swan. The swan glided around her, emanating tranquility and beauty. Agatha smiled, realizing that her Patronus reflected her love for beauty and her ability to find joy in even the smallest things.
As for Sam, he couldn't concentrate enough to summon his Patronus, while a shining owl already flew around Dudley. Sam struggled to find the strength and confidence within himself. He recalled the happiest moments of his life when he felt truly himself. But a bright white mist continued to emerge from his wand due to his anxiety about his brother. Somewhere out there, he was serving on the streets of London, eating army rations. Somewhere, at any given moment, Death Eaters could attack him from around the corner and snatch his life away with a single curse.
- What happened, Sam? - Harry worried. - Is it because of your brother?
Sam remained silent courageously.
- What's your brother's name?
- Ed... His name is Edward.
- Everything will be fine, Sam, - Harry reassured. - Nothing will happen to Edward because not only soldiers patrol London, but also the shadow fighters. They will protect Sam if something happens. And now, please, focus on the best thing that has happened in your life, on your happiest memory.
Sam swallowed his sadness loudly, and a moment later a wonderful white tiger sprang out of his wand, leaping through the air.
- Fantastic, Sam! - Harry praised him, and all the students from Dumbledore's Army clapped him on the shoulders approvingly, rejoicing with him.
Fujimaru also rejoiced with them. Looking at him, Ron suddenly remembered the promise they had made.
- Listen, Fujimaru. You promised to teach us how to handle Servants. Maybe now you can teach us how to become Masters?
- To be honest, I have also been thinking about it a lot lately, more often than I expected, - he replied. - So what's the plan? - Fred asked.
Fujimaru leaned forward.
- I am ready to teach you what I know myself, - he addressed the group. - But first, theory.
Everyone burst into applause, and only Hermione frowned. For the next few minutes, Fujimaru explained in detail the intricacies of summoning Servants and drew the Summoning Circle on the board, painstakingly writing down every symbol. As he drew them, he explained their meaning, albeit without much confidence in his voice.
- Alright... What if we summon a difficult Servant? - Hermione puzzled. - Can we just summon one that is easy to work with?
- Summoning Servants is the most difficult part, - Fujimaru calmly replied. - But there is always a risk of making a mistake, especially when you summon a specific Servant using a catalyst.
Neville leaned forward, interested.
- What will happen if we don't have a catalyst?
- The Grail will find Servants that will suit you, - answered Fujimaru with a slight smile. - They may not be the ones you wanted, but they will work best with you.
Harry showed interest, and Fujimaru began explaining the details of the Servant summoning process. Soon, order was restored in the room, and Hermione was forced to admit that Fujimaru was truly a genius in his field. He described himself as a failed and unwanted novice in the world of Masters, and once again recounted his story of meeting Olga-Marie Animusphere.
"And then, just when I thought all was lost, everything shook. Chaldea was in chaos. We parted ways with Doctor Roman and I descended downstairs. Everything was destroyed, the other forty-seven Masters were submerged in Rayshift capsules, and the director disappeared."
As Fujimaru spoke, his eyes scanned the surroundings as if searching for something. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important he wasn't telling them.
"You mentioned that you were very worried that the Servants wouldn't accept you," she said.
"Yes," Fujimaru agreed. "Servants will always watch you and evaluate your actions from the sidelines. Your Servant is your shield and sword, you must befriend them."
"What if I can't befriend my Servant, and they turn against me and... kill me?" Colin Creevey's voice was filled with fear.
Fujimaru shrugged.
"Don't worry. Even if you have an unruly Servant, you have means to control them," he answered. "Every Master has exactly three command spells."
He raised his hand, displaying the symbols for everyone to see. The Creevey brothers' eyes widened as they studied the intricate signs.
"Do we also get these symbols?" Hermione asked.
Fujimaru shook his head.
"You will, but the symbols may look different depending on the Servant you summon and other circumstances."
Neville's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"What kind of other circumstances?"
Fujimaru smiled mysteriously.
"That's a conversation for another day," he said.
"Alright, but what else can we use the command spells for?" Hermione asked.
"Each Servant has their own abilities," Fujimaru replied. "But with the command spells, the Servant can go beyond their limits. For example, they can teleport to you to protect you from enemy attacks."
The group exchanged impressed glances.
- But what will happen to the Servant if someone kills the Master? - Neville wondered.
Fujimaru pondered, rubbing his nose.
- That is a risk that every Master takes when they sign up for the Holy Grail War, - he said, lowering his gaze. - But don't worry! There are always ways to prevent that.
- Still, though?
Fujimaru sighed.
- In the case of a contract violation, the Servant disappears, but they can make a contract with another Master or even with another Servant if they have the chance, - he explained.
- But why do they disappear? - Fred was puzzled.
Fujimaru stepped forward.
- Since the summoning, the Master and Servant are connected by the power of the contract. In addition, the Master provides the Servant with magical energy.
Ron deeply contemplated.
- What if the Servant doesn't want to fight?
Fujimaru nodded.
- That can happen. Sometimes a Servant may refuse to follow the orders of their Master due to a moral dilemma.
George chimed in.
- And what if an enemy Servant eliminates their own Master? That would simplify things, right?
Fujimaru shook his head.
- A Servant will never kill their own Master, - he firmly stated. - But another Servant might, so you should always be aware of your surroundings, especially if you are in the presence of an enemy Servant.
Hermione spoke up.
- Is there a way to negotiate with an enemy Servant?
Fujimaru smiled.
- If an enemy Servant wants to befriend you, helps you, or even saves your life, that's a good sign. You'll be able to talk to them and find out if they will switch sides and make a new contract.
The students exchanged glances, each expression conveying astonishment.
Voldemort vaguely noticed how his loyal Death Eaters took their positions around the table. He sat at the table, where dark tablecloths were solemnly spread, and the red chandelier cast intricate shadows on large, delicate silver plates. He was surrounded by faithful Death Eaters, but his gaze was distant and detached. He seemed immersed in his thoughts, in his dark plans that could shake the world. His gaze seemed preoccupied with something internal, even though his sharp eyes never left the faces of the Death Eaters, reflecting everything happening in the room.
Before him lay the ominous hall, submissive to his power and his magic. Almost sixteen years ago, he possessed this authority, but to this day, he couldn't calm down and continue fighting for it. His passion for power and magic knew no bounds, and now he was seeking a way to multiply them.
His gaze was clouded, as if it was difficult for him to remember what or who was beside him. Everyone was already prepared for the feast, but he continued to ponder intently, with the acquisition of all the power of magic as his main goal. Bellatrix Lestrange sat next to him, but even she hesitated to interrupt his musings. The atmosphere in the hall was tense, as if something horrible could happen at any moment. In an instant, he snapped out of his profound thoughts, directing his intense gaze towards the Death Eaters, and his expression became typically grim and malicious.
Suddenly, he rose as if relieved from the oppressive weight of his thoughts. His gesture was majestic and provocative, and his eyes filled with a dreadful light.
Finally, Voldemort stood up from his seat, and everyone held their breath. He walked through the hall slowly and majestically, as if he were a king, pausing in front of each of his followers. No one knew what he had planned, but everyone sensed that it would be something terrible.
Voldemort stopped in front of a mysterious stranger dressed in light clothing, their face concealed by a mask. He looked at them for a long, attentive while, as if trying to read their thoughts. Finally, he nodded and moved on, leaving everyone in the hall in a state of deep unease.
On his right side sat Bellatrix Lestrange, the passionately loved and devoted wife of Rodolphus. Across from her sat the little Jack the Ripper, ready to obey any order no matter how cruel or bloody. But who was the mysterious person in light clothing, hiding their face behind a mask?
To Voldemort's left sat the Malfoys and a small man in all blue, wearing massive horn-rimmed glasses on his nose. He seemed slightly clumsy, but that did not prevent him from being a loyal servant of Voldemort.
Everything was ready for the feast. Ahead of them awaited festive delicacies, and Jack had already neatly sliced the rare meat, which looked moist and juicy. Even she did not dare to lift her head and look at her master.
Voldemort scanned the Death Eaters one by one, evaluating their readiness for battle. He knew he couldn't do it alone. And he would also need a Servant - a truly eerie and ruthless creature that would destroy anyone who tried to stand in his way.
His cold gaze turned to Bellatrix, and he began to speak.
Voldemort stood before the Death Eaters, like an ancient sage ready to impart his wisdom to mortals. He surveyed his followers, a few of whom were moved by his attention.
"My servants, my disciples, the path to our victory is not as distant as we once believed," Voldemort spoke, raising his wand. He wanted to smile, but his face expressed a cruel grimace, a cold and emotionless parody of a smile, as if a snake were smiling at its prey.
A variety of emotions reflected on the faces of the Death Eaters: some relaxed slightly, realizing that their efforts were not in vain; others tensed up. The faces of the latter revealed confusion mixed with horror. They knew that Voldemort was not joking, and that any mistake could cost them their lives. But both groups awaited the continuation of his speech. Everyone around was expecting him to reveal new plans.
"We have already achieved such success that even the muggles acknowledge our power," he continued, as a mentor ready to share his knowledge.
For a second, everyone present calmed down, sighing with relief. But Voldemort had no intention of stopping there.
"But not everyone is with us," Voldemort continued, his voice becoming stricter. "Unfortunately, I have had to note some failures. Among your ranks are those who could not fulfill their tasks. I am extremely disappointed."
He paused, and a horrific silence hung in the air, like the calm before a storm. The Death Eaters looked at each other in horror and directed their gazes towards Voldemort, ready to hear his every word.
"Who among you is to blame for this?"
Jack was so tense that she felt like she could collapse from her chair at any moment. Her gaze was fixed on her plate, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from it, as if her life depended on how perfectly the cutlery was arranged and how neatly the meat was sliced on her plate. When her gaze met Voldemort's, she dared not look away. Her face revealed complete astonishment and helplessness before him.
"What do you mean, my lord?" she asked, smiling awkwardly.
"You know what I mean," Voldemort stared at Jack. "Where are the results? We have been waiting for them for a long time."
"I did everything that was required of me," Jack replied in a low tone, like a defendant ready to defend herself before a court. "I was almost finished, but..." Jack began, but Voldemort interrupted her.
"But what?" His voice became even stricter.
"I had some problems, I was interrupted," Jack said, hiding her gaze.
Voldemort raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if mentally addressing someone above his head.
- Who dared to interfere with my subordinate? - Voldemort's voice thundered, and his gaze was fixed on Jack, like that of a hunter who had tracked his prey.
For a moment, the room fell silent, and no one dared to even move.
- I do not know who it was. - Jack replied with disdain and annoyance. - It was some servant, she hindered me from killing Harry Potter. She did not reveal her name or class, but she knew perfectly well who I am.
- Can you describe her? - Voldemort inquired, raising an eyebrow.
- I can. She was tall, dressed in black armor. White hair, yellow eyes, and a scornful look. - Jack replied. - She fought with a single sword, maybe her class is Saber.
This description made Voldemort smile.
- Excellent. - he said, placing his hand on Jack's shoulder. - You are doing everything you can, and I appreciate your efforts. But we don't have enough servants to cover all our tasks.
At that moment, a man in a blue suit with gold buttons interjected.
- You are right, my lord. - the man in blue agreed. - We do not have enough servants to control everything. But I suggest we focus on the War for the Grail.
Voldemort pondered.
- That may not be a bad idea. - he said. - But first, we need to find Potter. How do we do that?
The man in the blue suit frowned, not knowing how to answer, and quickly muttered:
- Start the War for the Grail - he will appear himself. Isn't he one who accepts even the most difficult challenges?
From Voldemort's eyes, it was clear that he was interested in the topic of Harry Potter and wanted to learn more about the situation. Jack did not notice this and interrupted the conversation.
- Are you suggesting we start the War for the Grail because of one Potter? - she objected, still regretting her missed opportunity to kill Harry.
- War for the Grail? - Voldemort repeated thoughtfully. - That is an interesting proposition. I must think about it.
Voldemort rubbed his hands thoughtfully, then turned to the masked man sitting beside him, but Harry no longer heard this question.
Opening his eyes, he felt himself lying in his bed in the boys' dormitory, with icy sweat streaming down his face. At the same moment, a pain shot through him as if his skull had been split open. He didn't understand where he was, whether he was standing or lying down, and he couldn't even remember his own name.
In his ears, he heard maniacal laughter... it had been so long since he had felt this happy... he was triumphant, he was ecstatic... something miraculous had happened, miraculous...
"Harry? HARRY!"
Someone slapped him across the face. A cry of pain broke through the hysterical laughter. The joy left him, but the laughter continued. He opened his eyes and realized that this wild laughter was coming from his own mouth. And as soon as he realized it, the laughter stopped. Harry still lay on the bed, breathing heavily, and stared at the ceiling, the scar on his forehead burning unbearably. Ron leaned over him, looking scared.
"What happened?"
"Don't know," Harry exhaled and sat up. "He's happy... just happy..."
"The-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Something good happened," Harry mumbled.
He shook as if after seeing a snake and Mr. Weasley, and he felt horribly nauseous.
"What was he hoping for?"
Just like that night, these words escaped him against his will, as if they were spoken by someone else through his lips, but he knew it was the truth. He took deep breaths to keep himself from vomiting on Ron. Ron looked at him with an expression full of worry. He still hadn't told his friend about the attack that night.