Chapter 121. Secret Sign
Through a dense veil of dreams, through the echo of recent shocks, through echoes of the past stretching from the dark depths of memory, Harry Potter made his way to awakening. The image of Okabe Rintaro, as if carved from granite, appeared before his inner gaze. A strange, eccentric, brilliant scientist, calling himself Hooin Kema, became for him not just an ally, but also a guide in the labyrinths of time and fate.
"Do you think I did the right thing by letting my parents die?" Okabe's question from the day before echoed in his mind.
And then, as if from the speakers of an old tape recorder, the answer came.
"I don't know, Harry. Be that as it may, I've had enough of previous experiments to change the past."
Okabe's voice, hoarse, with notes of fatigue and bitterness, was woven into the canvas of memories. Harry saw his gesticulations, nervous movements, as if Okabe was trying to throw off an invisible weight.
"What experiments?" Harry asked then, feeling that behind these words there was a story full of pain and despair.
Okabe sighed heavily, plunging into the abyss of memories.
"Let me think... Once I saved my friend's father from death and turned my friend into a girl. I saved Kurisu from death. Then it seemed to me that I was doing good, but in the end we made dangerous enemies for ourselves. I did a lot, but I couldn't save Mayuri from death, and then I found out that in order for Mayuri to survive, Kurisu must die. At the cost of incredible effort and pain, I still managed to find the world line of Stein's Gate, where both of them could stay alive. If you don't want to share the same grief and pain with me, don't even think about changing the past. Live in the present and create a better future with your own hands."
Harry seemed to feel the weight of these words, as if they were forged from lead. He understood that Okabe was not just sharing his experience, he was warning, begging not to step on the slippery path of manipulating time.
"So what kind of future will we create, Okabe?" he asked then, feeling that the answer to this question was hidden somewhere in the fog of uncertainty.
"Better than it was. Without any unexpected hostage situations or anything like that," Okabe said confidently. "You said there was a guy with you named Waver Velvet, and the Eaters mentioned other people as well. Those who could have died fighting them. Find other Masters. Find Waver. Invite them to unite, because only together can you win.Э
"It's a pity that we can't stop the rally at the Palace of Westminster," Harry said bitterly, recalling the horrific images of destruction and casualties.
"What do you mean we can't?" Okabe countered, his eyes flashing with determination. "There is still time, and everything is in our hands. Otherwise, I am not Hooin Kema, and you are not Harry Potter.Э
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was caught up in a crazy play where reality intertwined with fantasy, and the past, present, and future merged into a single kaleidoscope of events. Memories of the conversation with Okabe only intensified this feeling. He understood that he had to find allies, bring together the fragments of scattered forces in order to resist the approaching darkness.
And then, as if by magic, the door swung open and Ellen entered the room. Her scarlet robes fluttered like tongues of flame, and the gaze of her emerald eyes penetrated into her very soul.
"What's going on here?" her voice, ringing and authoritative, cut through the tense silence, like a blade cutting through the air. Ellen gracefully walked up to the table, on which stood glasses and a jug of water, and looked at everyone present with a piercing gaze.
Fudge, taken by surprise, froze like a rabbit in front of a boa constrictor. His little eyes began to dart, and his face was covered with perspiration.
"Minister, you allow yourself too much in the presence of the noble knights of Gryffindor," Ellen said coldly, her voice ringing like steel.
"Lady Ellen!" Fudge babbled, jumping up and down in his chair. "I... just asked them a couple of questions..."
Ellen just raised an eyebrow and gestured to Dumbledore's will lying on the table.
"Isn't it obvious?" she asked, her voice full of sarcasm. "Dumbledore tried to convey to them some important knowledge through these artifacts. He believed in them, just as they once believed in me..."
For a moment, her gaze became clouded, as if she were immersed in memories of the distant past, of times of glory and battle.
"By the way, Minister," Ellen woke up, her voice again became firm and decisive, "You now fully and completely recognize the revival of Voldemort? And you won't back down, even though he has been appointed... Prime Minister of Britain?"
Suspicion flashed in her emerald eyes, as if she was trying to look into the deepest corners of Fudge's soul. Fudge blushed and looked away. He shifted in his chair, as if trying to find words, but they were stuck in his throat.
"I... Of course, I admit it, madam!" he finally stammered. "Facts are facts, after all. Even if You-Know-Who... temporarily leads the Muggles, it doesn't change..."
But Ellen no longer listened to him. Her eyebrows frowned and her gaze became distant, as if she was thinking about something else, much more important. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other in confusion. What is it like to live in a world where the one who is considered the most powerful dark wizard of all time suddenly becomes prime minister? And at the same time trust the Minister of Magic, whose words are as vague as the predictions of a fortune teller from Hogsmeade.
Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, Ellen with a sharp movement snatched her rapier from her belt and raised it, resting the tip in the hole between Fudge's collarbones.
"Doesn't change, you say?" she said through clenched teeth, her emerald eyes blazing with a menacing radiance. "Well, prove that you are not under the spell of Imperius now!"
Fudge gasped and pulled back as far as the chair would allow. The rapier blade trembled, almost piercing his skinny chest.
"What are you doing?!" he screamed, pouring out cold sweat. "Lower your weapon immediately!"
But Ellen only narrowed her eyes, not taking her burning gaze off him. Her hair flashed like a golden glow.
"The Minister of Magic or a simple idiot on Voldemort's errands?" she said with an undisguised threat in her voice. "The choice is yours!"
Hermione threw up her hands in horror, covering her mouth with her hand. Ron cowered in his chair, and Harry watched Ellen with delight and horror at the same time.
The rapier in Ellen's hand trembled slightly, casting reflections on her marble skin. The girl's chest heaved powerfully, as if she had just survived a fierce fight.
"Come on, Minister," she said through her teeth, without lowering her weapon. "Show me that you are not a weak-willed puppet waiting for strings from your puppeteer!"
At her words, Fudge seemed to shrink, as if a bucket of ice water had been splashed on him. His little eyes darted around in horror.
"I...I'm not...I'm not anyone's puppeteer!" he stammered, pressing himself into the back of the chair. "I am my own master, Lady Ellen! Please, put your weapon down!"
At that moment, the rapier blade trembled and made a thin scratch on Fudge's neck, from which a tiny pearl of blood immediately appeared.
"Convincing?" Ellen said venomously. Her emerald eyes sparkled. "Or shall we continue?"
Fudge gasped and raised his palms in a pleading gesture. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"Don't, I beg you!" he stammered. "I...I am loyal to the Ministry, and I'm ready to prove it even now!"
Ellen's gaze softened for a moment, after which she lowered the rapier with a smooth movement. The scarlet blade glistened, as if traces of blood were still visible on it.
"Okay, Minister," she nodded. "I will accept your oath of allegiance. But keep in mind - now there is a great game in which life is the smallest possible stake..."
Her words hung in oppressive silence. Ron wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, and Harry and Hermione looked at each other in horror - what else does the "great game" have in store for them?..
And then, as if by order, the front door swung open sharply, and the heavy figure of Alastor Moody appeared on the threshold. The former Auror froze in place, his magical eye bulging and looking around the scene in front of him with a stunned gaze.
Fudge was still huddled in his chair, his hands raised in supplication. Ellen stood with a gleaming rapier bald, her magnificent clothes and formidable appearance gave her a resemblance to a warlike Valkyrie. And the disheveled Ron, Harry, and Hermione simply sat in stupor.
"This is... um... I'll come by later," Moody rasped through his teeth after a long pause. His scarred face twisted into a crooked grin. "I won't bother you guys."
He backed away and slammed the door behind him, almost hitting his shoulder on the frame. His heavy footsteps were heard walking away from outside.
In the silence that followed, Ellen exhaled noisily and put the rapier back into her belt. Her cheeks turned slightly pink.
"You see, Minister," she turned to the dumbfounded Fudge. "You better not test my patience. Otherwise, next time we may not get away with just... an awkward incident."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other silently, still under the impression of the strange scene. What exactly happened here? They knew one thing for sure: this could no longer be called a simple courtesy visit.
It seemed that Ellen was about to release Fudge with stern instructions. But suddenly her face hardened, and her eyes widened, as if she saw some terrible news in the distant glow of a candle.
The hand itself reached for the hilt of the rapier, tightly gripping the scarlet blade. Ellen took a shaky breath, gathering her strength, and then raised her fiery gaze to Fudge, who was cowering in his chair.
"Minister... I see the path that winds before you, winding and treacherous," she whispered in a choked voice. "And I clearly discern... death at its end. Close, as if around the corner."
Her words hung in deathly silence. Ron swallowed, Hermione's face went white as a sheet. Fudge shifted in his chair, trying to look away.
"What?.. What are you talking about?.." he finally squeezed out, pouring out cold sweat.
Ellen tilted her head to the side, like a proud empress looking at a prostrate slave.
"Your loyalty to the Ministry, your oaths... All this will crumble into smoke and dust at the crossroads. And at night you will be surrounded by pitch darkness... which you cannot cope with. "Her fingers clenched on the hilt of the rapier so that her knuckles turned white. "But the choice is yours, Minister Fudge. Light or darkness... I don't see it."
Holding their breath, the trio of heroes looked at Ellen in awe. An unearthly grandeur suddenly appeared in her appearance and speech, as if the goddess of war herself had appeared before them. And the secret of her true identity took on more and more sinister contours.
Harry watched as Fudge walked away and was overcome with a feeling of déjà vu. This whole scene, every word, every gesture - he had already seen all this, as if he was living this day all over again.
"That was… strange," Ron broke the silence, rubbing the back of his head. "Did she predict his death?"
"Looks like it," Hermione replied thoughtfully, her eyes full of worry. "But why? And what did she mean by the great game?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted, feeling the cold hand of fear grip his heart. "But I have a feeling that this is just the beginning."
He remembered his conversation with Okabe about the need to find allies, that there was still time, and that everything was in their hands.
"We need to talk," he said, turning to Ron and Hermione. "And Ellen too."
Later, as dusk enveloped the Burrow in its blue blanket, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ellen gathered in the living room.
"I have something to tell you," Harry began, his voice shaking with emotion. "Today's visit from Fudge... I've seen it all before. In a different version of events."
He told them about his journey into the past, about how he witnessed the terrible massacre at the Palace of Westminster, about the death of his friends, about the betrayal of Arthur Alter.
"We have to do something," he finished his story, looking at Ellen. "We cannot allow this to happen again."
Ellen listened to him attentively, her emerald eyes glowing with readiness to do something.
"You're right, Harry," she said when he finished. "We cannot sit idly by while innocent people die. I will take control of this matter."
She stood up and walked to the door.
"Nikola Mordred Robin Jeanne!" she called, knocking on the door frame.
A few moments later, Nikola Tesla, Mordred, Robin Hood, and Jeanne Alter appeared in the room.
"We have a task," Ellen said, her voice full of determination. "We must prevent the massacre at the Palace of Westminster."
And as the Servants bent over the parchment, writing out the words of the letter addressed to the Emergency Committee, Harry felt hope arise in his soul. Perhaps this time everything will be different.
"Don't worry, Harry," said Ellen, noticing his anxiety. "This time everything will be completely different."
Her words sounded like a promise, like an oath given to fate itself. Harry believed her. He believed in her strength, in her determination, in her ability to change the course of events. But deep inside he was gnawed by anxiety. He knew that in an alternate version of time, it was at Bill and Fleur's wedding that everything went wrong. He remembered the attack of the Death Eaters, the death of Mordred, Ron's despair.
"Ellen," he turned to her, his voice sounding uncertain, "I don't know what exactly happened at the wedding last time. I only remember the attack and... and the death of Mordred."
Ellen put her hand on his shoulder, her touch warm and soothing.
"Don't worry, Harry," she said softly. "This time everything will be different. I promise."
Her gaze was full of determination, but Harry noticed something else in it - some hidden anxiety that she was trying to hide.
Ellen spent the rest of the night in the living room, discussing plans of action with Nikola Tesla, Mordred, and Jeanne Alter. Her voice sounded sometimes quiet, sometimes authoritative, sometimes persuasive, sometimes demanding. She outlined to them some complex strategies, drew diagrams on parchment, and explained the subtleties of tactics.
Harry, watching them from his room, couldn't shake the feeling that Ellen was hiding something. She paid special attention to Mordred, constantly repeating that she should be careful, that she should not risk herself.
Mordred listened to her with growing irritation.
"I'm not a child," she snapped at one point. "I can take care of myself."
"I know, Mordred," Ellen answered calmly. "But I don't want you to get hurt. You are... dear to me."
There was such tenderness in her voice that Mordred was taken aback. She looked at Ellen with suspicion, as if trying to unravel her secret.
"Why do you care so much about me?" she asked finally.
"Because... you deserve better," Ellen replied, looking away.
Her answer was evasive, and Mordred sensed it. Suspicions arose in her head, which she could not yet formulate.
The night dragged on slowly, like an endless thread. Harry couldn't sleep, he was tormented by premonitions. He felt that something important was coming, something that could change everything.
The morning of the fifth of August opened over the Burrow like a bright curtain, opening the stage for a grandiose event. The sun generously poured its golden rays, the air was saturated with the sweet aroma of flowers and a slight excitement in anticipation of the celebration. Bill and Fleur's wedding promised to be a real feast for the eyes and soul. The entire Burrow was transformed, drowning in a sea of flowers and ribbons, the tables were bursting with an abundance of treats, and guests arriving from all over the magical world filled the garden with cheerful hubbub and laughter.
Harry, immersed in pleasant chores, helped Mrs. Weasley decorate the wedding arch. His fingers deftly moved through the garlands of roses, weaving them into a graceful pattern. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain, as if thorns were digging into his skin. Looking down, he saw that his fingers were covered with small scratches, from which droplets of blood appeared.
"Careful, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said with motherly concern, noticing his confusion. "These roses are very prickly."
Harry nodded in agreement, but his mind was elsewhere. Memories of the past, like annoying flies, buzzed in his head. He remembered how, in an alternate version of events, on that fateful day, he too had injured himself while working on flowers. Was this just a coincidence, or an ominous sign of trouble?
Harry's gaze slid across the garden, snatching a familiar figure from the crowd of guests. Ellen stood to the side, watching the preparations. Her face was calm, almost serene, but Harry, who knew her well, noticed that her hands were clenched into fists, and her gaze was directed somewhere into the distance, as if she saw something that was hidden from others.
The wedding ceremony went flawlessly, like clockwork. Bill and Fleur, beaming with happiness, said their vows, exchanged rings and merged in a tender kiss to the approving exclamations of the guests. The magic of love was in the air, warming hearts and bringing smiles to faces.
The climactic moment came - throwing the bouquet. Fleur, gracefully spinning on the spot, threw the snow-white bouquet high into the air. He soared up like a white bird and froze for a moment, hovering above the crowd of guests. All the girls present at the wedding reached out to him with bated breath, dreaming of catching the cherished symbol of happiness and an imminent wedding.
And then something completely unexpected happened. The bouquet, as if obeying an invisible force, changed its trajectory and flew straight towards Mordred. She, taken by surprise, instinctively extended her arms and caught him. Her face showed surprise mixed with joy.
Mordred looked up and met Ellen's gaze. She smiled mysteriously, as if she knew something that was inaccessible to others.
"Congratulations, Mordred," she said, her voice soft, but with a hint of hidden secret. "Looks like you have a happy future ahead of you."
Mordred smiled shyly, not fully understanding what these words meant. But she felt that this was not just an accident, but some important sign, a step towards her true destiny.
The celebration was in full swing when a silvery Patronus appeared in the sky above the Burrow. It was Kingsley, his voice speaking from a cloud of light, bringing alarming news.
"Minister Fudge is dead. Scrimgeour is in a power struggle with the Death Eaters. They are already close."
Kingsley's words, like a bolt from the blue, tore through the festive atmosphere. Horror and confusion were reflected on the faces of the guests. And then, as if on command, the Death Eaters and their Servants attacked the Burrow.
Harry and his friends, without hesitation, entered the battle. Spells flashed in the air like lightning, screams and groans were heard. They fought bravely, but their forces were unequal.
"We must leave!" Sirius shouted, deflecting Bellatrix's spell. "To the house on Grimmauld Place!"
And at the last moment, when the ring of enemies closed around them, they transgressed, leaving the Burrow in the hands of the Death Eaters.
In the house at Grimmauld Place, shrouded in eerie silence, they awaited the arrival of their friends and Servants. Ron paced nervously around the room, his gaze every now and then falling on his hand, where the Command Spells flickered, linking him to Mordred. Suddenly he froze, as if struck by thunder. The treasured runes flickered and... went out.
"Mordred..." he whispered, his voice trembling with despair.
He understood that this could only mean one thing - Mordred died in battle.