Chapter 64. On the strings of fate

Ministry of Magic Under Attack

Last night, the Ministry of Magic was attacked. Leading the vanguard of the Death Eaters was none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, who led a treacherous assault on the Ministry. By his personal order, the Minister immediately mobilized all Ministry employees remaining in offices and called upon all dark wizards to aid in the defense. After intense battles, the Ministry of Magic was successfully defended. Many employees and dark wizards were injured during the fight for the Ministry and are currently being treated at St. Mungo's Hospital. Unprecedented security measures are in effect throughout the entire Ministry.

Today, we suffered significant losses in the battle against the forces of darkness, but the situation could have been much worse if His Majesty Arthur Pendragon had not personally arrived at the Ministry with assistance. No one can speculate the likely outcome of this battle had not the great king of all Britain come to our aid.

Harry's heart sank as his eyes skimmed over the bold letters, which seemed to contain a looming danger. Like a magical spell, the news article seized his mind, draining him of his last shreds of hope. A cloud of darkness enveloped his body, like a foreboding omen of doom.

He clutched the newspaper tightly in his tightly curled fingers, as if it was the only guide through the dark labyrinth of hopelessness. Harry's gaze raced relentlessly to each ink blot on the pages, as if they held a deadly secret.

The first and main headline of the latest issue heralded the onset of an apocalyptic era. Harry's mind teetered on the brink of destruction, as if his very being had just been stripped of its last refuge.

The hero's glassy eyes radiated both determination and fear, from the world of magic and wizardry. He knew that things would never be the same again. Dark times had mercilessly caught up with him, seeking to destroy everything that tied him to his familiar reality. They had descended upon his mind like the swift hammer of an unknown executioner of fate, shattering the last remnants of hope for a bright future.

The depth of his hungry eyes narrowed as Harry realized that the burden of saving all of humanity now rested on his shoulders. The blood of a hero coursed through his veins, recently pierced by sadness and despair, but with an indomitable determination to block the path of that deadly train, which had suddenly gained unprecedented speed and power. The war train, whose only destination was well known to everyone.

With each moment passing under the terrifying giant clockwork mechanism of time, Harry's heart beat more forcefully and fiercely, as if it had become the source of the energy needed to break down barriers in its path. He understood that those around him saw him not just as an ordinary young wizard, but as the key to defeating the enemy's schemes and as a person born to win, regardless of the price he would inevitably pay for that victory.

Now, in the midst of a tumultuous sea of fear and chaos, Harry was doomed to stand against the chains of fate, defying the very heralds of evil. Darkness wrapped around him like a thick curtain, but in his eyes, sparks of hope already flickered.

Time slipped through Harry's fingers as he experienced each word of the article, as if it were a curse on his own existence. And the image of his enemies burned like a movie projector screen deep inside his active mind, painting vivid pictures of cruel battles and destruction experienced by the employees of the Ministry that night.

In the deepest corner of his soul, Harry realized that from now on, his destiny was to fight to the last drop of blood. And even though the threads of inevitability tightened around his chest, not allowing him to even take a breath, he remained an unwavering eagle, yearning to soar towards the dark heavens of his purpose and be the knight who would not allow those around him to perish in his place.

With great apprehension, he glanced at The Guardian newspaper, which Hermione's owl had just delivered, and without saying a word, he ruthlessly snatched it from her hands. He read the headline.

Attack on the Prime Minister

Last night, a group calling themselves the Death Eaters carried out a daring attack on the residence of the British Prime Minister, where shortly before that...

Harry placed the newspapers next to him and compared the facts. He was still shaking from the unprecedented audacity of Voldemort and his followers, but his brain was desperately searching for answers. It seemed they had attacked the Prime Minister before the Ministry of Magic, and in both cases, Arthur Pendragon had arrived at the scene. In the case of the Ministry, he had clearly been delayed - either he found out about the attack too late or he was concerned about the safety of the Prime Minister. Harry took a deep breath and pondered. One thing doesn't interfere with another, right?

Hermione, Dudley, and Ron looked at the headlines of both newspapers with faces resembling the fresh snow on the winter slopes surrounding Hogwarts. Harry preferred not to think about how he looked at that time. He had more important things to worry about.

"Well, well..." Ron muttered, barely able to find his voice.

"Ron, you must write a letter to Percy immediately!" Hermione said, almost in a commanding tone. "He could have been at the Ministry!"

"I know," Ron replied, bewildered, his gaze scanning the text of the articles.

"Atrocious," Dudley finally squeezed out. "Has this Dark Lord of yours gone mad, attacking the Prime Minister and the Ministry on the same night?"

Jeanne immediately snatched the newspapers from Dudley's hands. She quickly glanced through the text of both articles.

"What do you say?" Harry asked her.

She looked deeply puzzled after reading them. Her face revealed that she hadn't expected such a turn of events. But a few seconds later, she smiled mysteriously again.

"Arthur is not their Servant," she said, feeling the gaze of her friends on her. "He was caught off guard."

"What do you mean?" Ron slowly asked.

"They first attacked the Prime Minister. He is less protected than the Ministry of Magic, and they were hoping for the element of surprise. The King knew about the planned attack on the Prime Minister, but he only found out about the Ministry afterward. In both cases, he acted on his own."

"So, it's not a play, then?" Masha wondered.

Jeanne looked at her, her eyes narrowing.

"If it was a play, Arthur would have reached the Ministry very quickly, and the victims would have been avoided, and the Prime Minister would have given some crazy order the next morning."

"The Imperius Curse..." Hermione remembered.

"Exactly," Jeanne replied.

"But... then who is the Servant of our Arthur Pendragon?" Ginny pondered.

Harry glanced towards the teacher's desk. The presumed Master Arthur Pendragon occupied the director's chair and leisurely drank pumpkin juice.

Fuujimaru held a completely different point of view. At the evening meeting of Dumbledore's Army, where Draco Malfoy now came without qualms, Fuujimaru wrote two words on the board in his calligraphic hand - King Arthur. Then, using his perfect strokes, he drew the face of Voldemort and, next to it, a portrait of Harry as a professional manga artist. Right beneath them and on the sides of these words.

"This is all we know about him," Fujimaru spoke. "That King Arthur is a Servant. We don't know for certain whose side he is on, but I have strong arguments that Voldemort himself could be his Master.

At these words, Draco lowered his head and gestured with his index finger.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Fujimaru addressed him. "I'm listening."

"Here, everyone knows who the Dark Lord is..." Draco drawled, stretching out his words. "But I doubt he would find it advantageous to exchange a dozen supporters for just one Servant when he could make them all Masters."

Upon hearing these words, Fujimaru involuntarily flinched, but maintained his composure and immediately clarified with Malfoy:

"Are you saying it would be more advantageous for him to make a dozen supporters into Masters?"

Malfoy nodded affirmatively. Fujimaru lowered his gaze thoughtfully.

"Do you know how he summons Servants?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"I only know that the Dark Lord has a certain devastating ally. He is elusive to all of us and keeps his identity deeply hidden. When it's time to summon a new Servant, he always has a package ready with mysterious contents. The Dark Lord personally selects those who will become Masters. The Death Eater comes to the place where a giant circle is drawn - about six feet in diameter - places the package next to it and recites the Summoning verse."

Fujimaru once again lowered his gaze thoughtfully and tremulously adjusted his hair on his head.

"How many Servants does he have?"

"More than ten," Draco answered.

"Thank you," Fujimaru replied. "I understand everything now. He will also deploy extra classes. It will be a very... challenging confrontation."

Now it was Malfoy's turn to be surprised.

"How do you know so much about Servants?" he asked. "Aren't you from the International Magical Association?"

Fujimaru squinted and looked thoughtfully at Malfoy. He decided not to engage in frank conversation with Draco and simply asked him a question:

"How much do you know about the International Magical Association?"

Behind Draco, a sudden bright light flashed. Hans emerged from the light.

"There he is - the Master!" Hans exclaimed, pointing at Fujimaru with a book.

Fujimaru maintained his composure. He rolled up his sleeve and showed the marks of command spells on his arm to everyone.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" Ritsuka asked Malfoy.

Malfoy silently nodded, looking like a fish thrown onto the shore, and sadly lowered his gaze.

- Yes. - his voice dropped to a quiet whisper. - Father had similar markings.

- So, his Servant is always with you.

- My Master commanded that I always accompany and protect Draco. - Hans replied.

- That's good. - Fujimaru nodded approvingly.

- So, what do you think about King Arthur? - Ritsuka asked Hans, patting Draco on the shoulder.

Fujimaru looked at him with the most serious expression.

- I'm sure, as a Servant, you can tell us...

Hans concentrated for a moment and answered:

- I suspect not. I was only allowed to interact with a few Servants, and they didn't mention their classes. We were sent to London and placed in such a way that we couldn't communicate. Among us was a giant, the most brilliant representative of his kind, but he couldn't communicate. In my opinion, he was an invincible Berserker.

- Thank you, Hans. - Fujimaru thanked the Servant.

Hans blushed in response, but bowed and quickly disappeared into the shining portal that appeared in the air next to him.

- So what are your assumptions about King Arthur? - Harry asked Fujimaru.

- Voldemort cannot be underestimated. - Fujimaru returned to the board. - If Arthur is on his side, he could stage a convincing performance, sacrificing some people. They don't matter to him, as he can replace them, and no fortress can withstand the attacks of his Servants. Azkaban will fall, and he will bring back his supporters. Then the government falls, and Hogwarts will be next. Arthur is only using the general trust to... Yes, Miss d'Arc?

He turned to Jeanne, who stood with her hand raised in the mesmerized crowd. She smiled mysteriously.

- What if... - she began with an even more smug grin than ever before. - You're looking at both situations from the wrong side?

Ritsuka scratched his head in confusion.

- Explain.

- You're right, Fujimaru-san, that Voldemort cannot be underestimated, but there's one small detail - fifteen years ago, he personally went to kill the baby he heard a prophecy about.

Fujimaru stared at Jeanne intently, his eyes reflecting complex and tangled thoughts that swirled in his mind. He didn't dare ask her more questions, didn't try to clarify the details. Instead, he delved deep into the recesses of his consciousness, where undisclosed riddles and mysteries hid, and where he struggled to find an answer. While his mind stirred and wavered, Jeanne approached the board and skillfully drew a huge question mark between the two portraits.

This symbol of mystery and unknown hung in the air like a dark cloud, ready to pour its thunderous downpour of knowledge. Fujimaru felt his heart beat faster, filling his chest with excitement and a sense of adventure. He realized that before him stood not only Voldemort and the war for the Holy Grail, but perhaps something else, hidden in the shadows and nurturing its own sinister plans.

With each step, they were getting closer to the solution, to opening the gates to a world where reality merged with nightmares and where stories intertwined with myths.

With a question mark on the board, they looked into the future, where dangers and adventures awaited them, but also the opportunity to uncover the depths of their own strength and wisdom. Their path was inseparably linked to riddles and secrets, and they were ready to face all trials to find the answers that could change their world and the world of others.

- Your opinion on Voldemort's thinking ability leaves much to be desired, but you clearly don't understand the essence of our current war for the Holy Grail. - Jeanne Alter said coldly. - Who knows, perhaps besides us and Voldemort, there is someone else playing their own game?