Disclaimer: Christmas it is ? Well, I still don't own Harry Potter. Skill issue, I know...
CaskettFan5: Well it's not like I totally forgot about her ! Kind of... In fact I thought about her after the timeskip, but I had no idea where to put her. With the Umbridge's fall arc, I found her a good place in the story. I love her, she's just a sweet cinamon roll hahaha. Anyway, about how Harry is behaving... well, I'll keep it for myself and leave you to read this chapter. As you said, let's hope that he won't grow up doing the same mistakes as his uncle. But, he is still young. Who knows what will happen ? ;)
Guest: Thank you for the support, I truly appreciate it !
SMB: The number of time you used "fuck" in your reviews and the number of insults really makes it annoying to read. In your first review, you mentionned "this moron is as dumb as canon Harry". Well, yes ? I mean, remove the part where Ginny and the kids die, and the part with Ron talking about the horcruxes (and everything that happened after that), and the story was simply following the canon. I never said anywhere that my goal was not to follow canon, I don't know why some act like they are surprised. To go on, I didn't understand your second review, so, yeah, let's say I agree with you to spare some time. Finally, what to say about your last review ? It's only composed of insult because... i don't know, maybe because Quirell was too strong for you. Honestly, I have no idea. That's why reviews like that are useless to us, fanfiction writers. Your remove the insults and complains, and there's nothing left to use to improve the story, or to debate on. I hope that with Christmas coming, you'll find some peace. And if you don't, well, I'm sorry for you.
Well, with all that being said, I wish a Merry Christmas to everyone reading this. I hope you all were good this year and deserved your presents. Take care of yourself and your families, that's what matters the most. With this chapter, we are entering the final fight arc. I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for reading up until here, and again, Merry Christmas !
11/24/1995, 21H42, Hogwarts, Scotland:
Dolores Umbridge had always been known for being a ruthless woman, unwavering in her convictions. At least, that was the image she had convinced herself she embodied.
However, the past few weeks had marked an unexpected turning point in her life. For years, leveraging her influence over the Minister of Magic, she had successfully propagated her ideals and built a solid network to combat what she saw as the ultimate evil: Mudbloods. This segment of the population, she believed, posed a grave threat to the entirety of the magical world if allowed to grow unchecked.
To her, the superiority of wizards—particularly pure-bloods—over non-magical people was an irrefutable truth. Even the weakest wizard, as long as they wielded a wand, could overpower a Muggle without breaking a sweat. Yet despite this intellectual and magical superiority, they continued to cower in the shadows, hiding like frightened creatures.
But why? Why, when they occupied the pinnacle of the natural hierarchy, did they choose to remain silent and hidden, while Muggles enjoyed complete and unrestrained freedom?
It made no sense, and to her, it seemed profoundly unjust.
To make matters worse, the increasingly frequent appearance of Muggle-borns and half-bloods was insidiously reshaping the Ministry's inner workings. Some pure-bloods were even being ousted from their positions, replaced by "more competent half-bloods."
Such an idea was grotesque to her. How could a group of people who had done nothing but steal magic from true wizards possibly claim to be more competent? It was an illusion, a scheme concocted by the majority to overthrow the established order. She was certain of it.
She couldn't allow such decadence to take root. And so, she had done everything in her power to support those who shared her beliefs. At one point, she had even considered aligning herself with the Dark Lord, hoping he would champion the cause of blood purity. But she was quickly disappointed. The man known to be so powerful not only accepted half-bloods into his ranks but also recruited impure creatures like vampires and werewolves.
This disappointment had led her to devise a new project: the Student Reform Initiative.
Its objective was clear. If she couldn't sway the current generation, she would leave her mark on the next. Using her influence over Cornelius Fudge, she secured a position at Hogwarts, where she inaugurated her dual role as professor and High Inquisitor.
From the moment she arrived, she got to work. She scrutinized every professor, observing their teaching methods with barely concealed disdain. As for the students, she handed out detentions for the slightest infraction, ensuring that each one understood these weren't mere warnings but real punishments.
Her methods, though considered unconventional, brought her immense personal satisfaction. Beyond the pleasure they gave her, they proved effective: students under her rule gradually bent to her discipline.
Everything was proceeding as planned until a scandalous article appeared in The Quibbler, that wretched little rag. It unfairly criticized her methods. As soon as she learned of the publication, her fury targeted one of the culprits: Luna Lovegood. She promptly assigned the girl detention, savoring every tear the young Ravenclaw shed as she mocked her about her late mother and her father's inability to keep a newspaper afloat that barely sold twenty copies.
But things escalated. Following the incident, the headmaster and certain professors began watching her more closely, even reclaiming students she had detained under the pretext of handling their discipline themselves.
She had to rein in her impulses, at least for a time, until yet another scandalous article emerged—this time targeting her personally. She was certain of the culprit: Harry Potter. That boy had eluded her all year, disappearing every time he left her classroom.
This time, however, he wouldn't escape. She assigned him multiple detentions, secretly hoping to break him. To her surprise, he offered no resistance, merely smiling at her with a maddeningly defiant air as he nodded.
She eagerly anticipated the moment he would sit down to use the magical quill, the quill that would carve into his skin and draw his blood. She relished the thought of his pain.
But everything suddenly went dark. Without explanation, her vision blurred, a flash blinded her, and she lost consciousness.
When she came to, she found herself tied to a chair in a dimly lit room where she could barely discern the walls. A voice she immediately recognized broke the silence.
"Finally awake, Dolores?"
"Potter!" she snarled, her voice dripping with rage. "I don't know what game you're playing, but you'd better release me immediately! I am the Undersecretar—"
"Blah, blah, blah…" he interrupted curtly, clearly already bored of her tirade. "We all know who you are, no need to remind us fifty times a day."
"What are you doing? Where am I?" she demanded, failing to hide the venom in her tone.
"I'm the one asking the questions today, and I'd advise you to stay quiet. Otherwise, I'll make sure you never speak again."
Umbridge stiffened, her face flushing with fury, and issued a threat she hoped would still carry weight: "I'll have you all imprisoned! As soon as I'm out of here, I'll send every last one of you to Azkaban!"
Harry merely shook his head, unbothered by her threats.
"You know, Dolores… If you still had your position at the Ministry, I might have been slightly—very slightly—concerned. But take a look at this," he said, pulling a newspaper from his pocket.
He unfolded it and held it in front of her, revealing the front page:
"Minister Fudge Arrested for Treason! Augusta Longbottom Named New Minister?"
Umbridge froze. Her eyes widened in horror.
"No… That's not possible! It's a lie!" she shouted, disbelief etched into her features.
"I assure you it's not," he replied with a cruel smile. "Look closely. It's The Daily Prophet. Not The Quibbler this time."
She realized she was trapped. Denying the news would mean discrediting the very paper she had staunchly defended. Accepting it meant acknowledging that everything she believed in was crumbling beneath her feet.
"It's not… possible," she repeated like a broken automaton, gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Seeing her despair, Harry produced a vial of Veritaserum from his pocket and waved it under her nose.
"You recognize this potion, don't you?" he asked, his tone almost amused. "We have a few questions for you… My friends and I are quite curious about the extent of the damage you've caused."
He forced her mouth open, letting three drops of the potion fall onto her tongue before stepping back to watch the serum take effect.
When her eyes turned glassy, he began the interrogation.
"Let's begin," he said coldly. "Is it true that you routinely use blood quills and Veritaserum during detentions?"
Umbridge shook her head slowly. "Not routinely," she replied, her voice now monotone under the potion's influence. "I only use the blood quill in most cases. But when certain students prove particularly defiant, I'm forced to resort to the Cruciatus Curse."
Harry took a step back, momentarily stunned by the revelation. "The Cruciatus Curse? On students?" His tone, though controlled, carried a sharp edge of emotion—a volatile mix of indignation and fury.
"Yes," Umbridge confirmed in a flat, matter-of-fact voice. "I've used it several times."
Harry clenched his fists, struggling to contain the anger that threatened to consume him. "How many students have you tortured?" he demanded, his voice trembling with the effort to maintain his composure.
"I've never kept an exact count," Umbridge replied without hesitation. "However, every student placed in detention under my supervision has been corrected."
To her, it was nothing more than "correction." The casual way she framed what amounted to the cruelest form of torture made Harry's blood boil. How could she be so detached from the suffering she inflicted? In her mind, she was merely "disciplining" unruly students. The truth was far worse than Harry had imagined—far more horrifying.
It was terrifying to realize that nearly a quarter, if not half, of the students at Hogwarts had likely fallen under Umbridge's tyrannical rule and endured her vile punishments. The sheer number of young lives scarred by her actions exceeded anything he had anticipated.
'It doesn't matter anymore,' Harry thought as he forced himself to calm down. 'Her reign is over.'
"One last question," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "What do you think of Voldemort?"
The very mention of the Dark Lord's name made Umbridge's expression falter for an instant under the influence of the serum. Yet her answer came without hesitation: "I despise him."
Harry froze, caught off guard by the unexpected response.
"He is weak," she continued coldly. "Rather than ridding our society of inferior beings like werewolves, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns, he wastes his energy attacking worthless Muggles. He couldn't even execute the attack on the Greengrass family properly."
Harry remained motionless, stunned by the turn the conversation had taken. He hadn't anticipated such an answer. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The betrayals, the targeted strikes… He suddenly understood the extent of Umbridge's involvement in some of the darkest events of recent years.
"You helped Voldemort locate the Greengrass manor and coordinated the attack to ensure my uncle wouldn't be there," Harry murmured, grasping the depth of her treachery.
The weight of this revelation sent a fresh wave of rage coursing through him. His fists clenched, and his expression twisted as the fury within him threatened to take over. He was teetering on the edge, a heartbeat away from exacting vengeance on Umbridge for all the pain she had caused.
A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Hermione, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. Her calming presence and the compassion in her gaze helped Harry regain a measure of control.
'Daphne…' he thought, his heart clenching as he pictured his girlfriend, whose family had almost been destroyed because of Umbridge's actions. He stepped back slowly, wrapping his arms around Daphne to comfort her as she trembled with rage.
"I want to kill her," Daphne murmured in a raw, broken voice, her words barely audible as she leaned into Harry. "I want her to suffer for what she did to my family."
Harry tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing her ear in a soothing whisper. "She will suffer. I promise you."
Before he could say more, Umbridge, seemingly recovered from the serum's paralyzing effects, began shrieking from her chair.
"I'll make you pay! Once I'm out of here, I'll make sure every last one of you spends the rest of your miserable lives in Azkaban!"
Harry released Daphne and turned to face Umbridge slowly. His eyes were devoid of warmth, his voice low and menacing. "You won't say anything, Dolores."
She was still writhing in her chair, like a trapped animal spitting venom. But before she could respond, Harry continued, "When you leave this room, you'll remember nothing. Nothing except that the new Minister has recalled you for a special assignment. That's all."
With a snap of his fingers, dozens of shadows emerged from the darkness. Students of all ages and Houses stepped forward, their eyes burning with quiet but unmistakable fury. Umbridge realized with growing terror that she was surrounded by young witches and wizards who bore her nothing but hatred.
"I AM THE MINISTER'S UNDERSECRETARY!" she screamed, clinging desperately to her title as if it were a shield.
"YOU ARE NOTHING!" a seventh-year Gryffindor bellowed, his face twisted with hatred. "Because of what you did to me with the Cruciatus Curse, I couldn't use my wand for weeks. You deserve to suffer like we did!"
Harry stepped forward again, this time holding a blood quill—the same type she had used so many times on her students. He placed it in Umbridge's trembling hands, a cruel smile on his lips.
"I think you know exactly what this is," he said, his voice cutting. "To start, I believe one page of apologies for every student you tortured will suffice. What do you all think?"
A murmur of agreement rose from the group, quickly escalating into louder shouts: "Make her suffer!" "Let her bleed!"
Umbridge, panicked, felt her bonds loosen slightly. Harry leaned in close, his voice soft yet chilling. "You'll write: 'I am a liar. I am sorry for the torture I inflicted on…' followed by the full name of every student you detained."
A table appeared before her, accompanied by a blank scroll of parchment. Harry's piercing gaze bore into her as he added, "If you so much as drop that quill or stop writing, I'll let them do whatever they want to you."
She had no choice. Cornered and terrified, she nodded weakly, her hands shaking as she gripped the quill. She began to write the first words under the watchful, hate-filled eyes of the students.
"I am a liar. I am sorry for the torture I inflicted on…"
Satisfied, Harry stepped back to rejoin Daphne, pressing a light kiss to her lips. Behind him, Umbridge's cries of pain had already begun, but he ignored them.
"When she's finished," he murmured to Daphne, "she's all yours."
Daphne nodded silently, her eyes fixed on the scene with a cold, vengeful satisfaction.
No one would come. No one would discover what was happening in the Room of Requirement. It was a truly magical sanctuary, a haven for those in need. Harry silently blessed its existence as he conjured a chair and pulled a book from his pocket.
Casting a final glance at Neville, who stood nearby, he called out quietly, "When you're done with her, leave her here. I'll handle delivering her back to the Ministry."
'My mission is complete, Uncle Hadrian. Thanks to your actions, the next phase of my plan is unnecessary,' Harry thought as he turned another page of his book.
'Only you remain, Tom,' he mused, finally glimpsing the light at the end of the tunnel in this endless war against the forces of darkness.
12/09/1995, 15H01, Nurmengard, Austria:
Gellert Grindelwald had never been the most closely guarded prisoner in the world. Decades after his defeat at the hands of Albus Dumbledore, he was still alive, confined to his own creation: the fortress of Nurmengard.
Though the stone prison was guarded, it was by no means strong enough to hold a wizard of his caliber if he truly wished to escape. Yet, his defeat at Dumbledore's hands had forced him to reconsider his goals.
He had fallen, the Elder Wand in hand, in a decisive duel against the man who had once been his dearest lover. That total defeat had broken him. What remained for him to accomplish? His army was scattered, his last followers either dead or exiled and lost. As for Grindelwald himself, he no longer felt the fervor to wage another war.
And so, he resigned himself to failure and decay, endlessly replaying his past choices as the biting cold of the Austrian mountains seemed to slowly devour his soul. Prolonged solitude left him with little to do but think.
He had spent years reflecting, revisiting every decision, and yet, even as he stared at the ruins of his ambitions, he felt little regret.
To be more precise, part of him admitted that the excessive violence had been a strategic mistake. With his gifts and charisma, he could have risen to the highest echelons of power legally, become Minister of Magic, and reshaped the wizarding world in his image, slowly and without bloodshed.
But deep inside, his goals had never changed: abolishing the divide between Muggles and wizards and subjugating the non-magical.
However, for him, it was too late. His battle had ended with his defeat. What he sought now was peace. And that peace, he had found. For decades, aside from mealtimes, he had had no human contact—or almost none. One person still visited his cell. One person whose footsteps he could recognize long before they appeared.
"Albus… back so soon?" he asked calmly, watching the old man approach the bars.
The headmaster regarded his former lover for a long moment before letting out a laugh tinged with sadness. "I'm not used to this. Usually, I'm the one surprising others by predicting their arrival," he replied, shaking his head.
"You're the only one foolish enough to keep visiting me. It's not hard to guess," Grindelwald grumbled, dragging a wooden chair closer to the bars.
"Let's not waste time, Albus. Why are you here this time?"
"And why must there always be a reason? Can I not simply inquire after your health?" Dumbledore countered with feigned lightness.
Grindelwald frowned, irritated. "Spare me the trivialities. I know you too well to believe you'd come just for a 'courtesy visit.'"
Albus sighed, a resigned sound, like a child caught in a lie. "Why rush, Gellert? Do you truly have something more pressing to do?"
Grindelwald shook his head slowly. "That's not the point, and you know it. I have no patience for meaningless chatter."
After a brief silence, Dumbledore drew a deep breath, as if preparing a retort, but instead sighed again. "Very well… Once again, I've come seeking your advice."
Grindelwald remained impassive, responding with weary detachment. "I suspected as much. And as I tell you every time, I still don't understand why you ask me. If my counsel were so wise, I wouldn't be behind these bars."
Dumbledore pulled out his wand and cast a silencing spell to ensure no one could overhear. "All I ask, Gellert, is that you listen. This is a story that began a few years ago. It starts with Harry Potter and his uncle, Hadrian..."
For hours, the headmaster recounted the events that had unfolded since Hadrian Potter's arrival, detailing every moment up to the stakes of the present. He explained what was being asked of him in the coming battle.
"I'm not sure I have the strength to fight anymore," he admitted at last, a note of unease in his voice. "I'm not the young man I once was."
This touch of humor brought a faint smile to Grindelwald's face, though he remained silent, pondering before replying.
"You seem to have a great deal of faith in this man. I must admit, coming from you, that surprises me."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, sighing once more. "He reminds me of you in many ways, Gellert. In his strength, his courage, and his sharp mind. Like you, he possesses extraordinary magical power… and a surprising mastery of time. At times, when he visits me, I see in him the man you once were."
A faint, amused smile played across Grindelwald's lips. "Now that piques my curiosity. You almost make me want to meet him. But surely you don't mean to suggest he's your type?" he teased.
Dumbledore laughed heartily. "Rest assured, I didn't mean it in that way! Though I concede my words may have been misleading."
Grindelwald nodded thoughtfully, resting a hand under his chin. "If he truly wields time, then he bears an immense burden. I pity him, truly. That gift is a cruel trap, as I've learned at my own expense."
The headmaster nodded, recalling the crises that had once afflicted Gellert. "As I told you, Hadrian asked me to stand with him in this final battle. I promised my support, and I will keep my word. However, this battle may be my last."
Albus pressed on, not allowing Gellert to interrupt. "I'm ready for the next great adventure. Arianna awaits me. I owe her an apology—for everything, and especially for my past mistakes."
Gellert, visibly irritated, cut him off. "You're still tormenting yourself over that? It was an accident, Albus. And for what it's worth, it might have been my spell that hit her. Stop torturing yourself with endless guilt."
"You're right," Dumbledore conceded, lowering his gaze. "I'm sorry."
After a moment of silence, he added, "If I should fall in this battle, no one will know where you are. That's why—"
"No," Grindelwald interrupted firmly. "Even if you die, I will not leave this prison."
The emotion flickering across his face at the thought of Albus's demise was hard to disguise. Abruptly, he stood, but his legs buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. A phantom clock appeared around him, and his right eye twitched as he was seized by a vision.
Albus, recognizing the episode immediately, knelt beside him, calm yet helpless. He knew there was nothing he could do to ease the pain.
For his part, Grindelwald endured the agony silently, biting his lips nearly to the point of bleeding to suppress any cries. After long minutes, the clock vanished, leaving the former dark wizard drained.
"I hadn't had a vision in years," he panted, grasping Dumbledore's outstretched arm for support. "This battle will be far greater than I expected."
"I won't ask what you saw," Dumbledore sighed. "But I hope my end won't be too painful. Tom's followers are known for their… ferocious loyalty."
Grindelwald, regaining his composure, returned to his seat in silence under Dumbledore's watchful gaze.
"Thank you for listening, Gellert. I don't know when we'll meet again, but if it's not in this prison, then I'll wait for you in the next great adventure!" the headmaster said with a glimmer of cheer, as though he wasn't speaking of his own death. He gave a slight bow before leaving the cell as swiftly as he had come, a faint smile lingering on his lips.
Grindelwald, now alone, let out a deep sigh. "You'll meet your end on that day, Albus," he murmured. "But the next great adventure…? I wouldn't bet on it."
12/14/1995, 02H17, ?, Romania:
"Are you sure you're okay, Sirius? Really sure?" Hadrian asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice tinged with deep concern. His sharp gaze lingered on his godfather, the last remnant of the Marauders, searching for cracks in the man's emotional armor.
Sirius Black had always been a fiery, rebellious spirit, but the war—and the recent loss of Remus—had left scars. This time, it wasn't his trademark impulsiveness driving him, but a cold, steely resolve. "I'm fine, Hadrian," Sirius replied, his voice harder than usual, his steely gaze fixed on the horizon. "All I want is to see those who've caused so much death pay. They've destroyed lives, and now it's their turn to bleed."
The lack of emotion in his voice was troubling, yet it revealed the depth of pain he carried. The faces of James, Lily, and everyone else he had lost played on a loop in his mind. It seemed that only the thought of vengeance—and the hope of offering Harry a life free of fear—kept him going.
Fortuna, attuned to the tension that hung heavy in the air, stepped in to try to ease Sirius's storm of emotions. "They'll fall, Sirius," she murmured softly but firmly. "You know that with Hadrian on their trail, they won't find a moment's rest. Their time is coming." She placed a comforting hand on Sirius' shoulder, hoping to temper the fire threatening to consume him.
Sirius closed his eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath to center himself. His anger was justified, but he knew he had to stay focused on the mission ahead. Vengeance would come, but not yet.
Hadrian studied the faces of his two companions before voicing the question that tied them all to the plan at hand. "Is everyone ready?" he asked firmly, his tone brooking no doubt. Both nodded silently, their determination unwavering as they braced for what lay ahead. Fortuna and Sirius, each lost in their own thoughts, knew this mission could be pivotal—perhaps even decisive.
"Good," Hadrian continued, pausing for a moment to organize his thoughts before laying out the next step. "Here's the plan. The DWT tracked this place down following the Sienas' trail. It's possible we'll find them here. However, if you encounter one of them—or any other hostile force—do not engage. Return to me immediately." His brows knitted as his eyes swept over the valley below, where their targets were likely hiding.
The trio stood atop a steep hill overlooking the Romanian countryside, which stretched out endlessly under a stormy sky. Below, an imposing manor—hidden from untrained eyes by a magical shroud—rose ominously. The place, dark and forbidding, teemed with life, surrounded by hundreds of guards: dark wizards, vampires, and fearsome creatures.
The DWT, Hadrian's elite task force, had uncovered the location and established an underground base to monitor all movement around the fortress.
One day, during their surveillance, they had witnessed a chilling sight: Voldemort himself apparating at the fortress's entrance, flanked by two witches who were immediately recognizable.
That moment had transformed their mission into an exceptionally dangerous undertaking. They knew that if they were discovered now, their chances of survival would be nonexistent. The Dark Lord showed no mercy to those who opposed him.
However, this discovery gave them a critical advantage: they had identified one of Voldemort's secret strongholds. This meant they could plan an assault instead of waiting passively in the shadows as events spiraled out of control.
Hadrian had worked tirelessly to devise a plan to neutralize as many of Voldemort's forces as possible. His most trusted allies, Fortuna—his girlfriend—and Sirius, were equally committed to toppling their enemy.
But one major obstacle remained: the unknown. They had no way of knowing what traps lay scattered throughout the fortress. Every corner could conceal a deadly threat. Hadrian refused to take unnecessary risks or lose even one ally. That's why they had decided to conduct a reconnaissance mission before launching a frontal assault.
"We aren't in a position to do a direct attack on that army," Hadrian said gravely, gesturing for his companions to take in the staggering number of guards patrolling below. "Engaging them head-on would be suicide."
Fortuna, ever observant, studied the valley intently, her face betraying a trace of unease. "I'm surprised to see so many soldiers under Voldemort's command. Last I heard, his army was on the decline," she murmured, gripping her wand tightly as doubt crept into her mind. "I didn't expect such a massive mobilization."
Her voice wavered slightly, but she quickly steeled herself. Hadrian was counting on her, and she couldn't afford to show any sign of weakness. She had to remain strong, even with the looming threat weighing on them.
"That's a fair observation," Hadrian acknowledged, his mind racing. "It means Voldemort is concentrating his forces here. If he loses this battle, the war could end. But it also means we'll have to defeat every last one of them." His gaze shifted slowly to the sinister manor, hardening as he took in its ominous presence. "And that's a different matter altogether."
Sirius, stoic as ever, nodded, his face set with implacable determination. "If we beat them here," he began, stepping closer to the edge of the hill, letting his words hang in the air.
"If we beat them, then peace will finally be within reach," Hadrian finished grimly. "The Ministry has been purged, the dark forces are weakened, and the wizarding world will have a chance to rebuild itself. That peace—beautiful as it might be—won't last forever. There will be more battles, more enemies. But our fight, our war, will finally be over." His voice carried a weight of resignation, the voice of someone who had seen too much and endured too long.
After a moment of silence, Hadrian straightened and prepared for the descent. "Remember," he instructed sharply, "your only objective is to locate one of Voldemort's inner circle members and bring them under the Imperius Curse. Leave the rest to me." His tone was sharp, every word deliberate.
Fortuna nodded but lingered, her eyes on Hadrian, her expression betraying a hidden tenderness beneath her mask of focus. She knew him better than anyone. She understood that he would never show weakness, not now, when so much rested on his shoulders. But behind the armor of leadership, she saw the man she loved.
As Sirius began descending the hill, Fortuna moved closer to Hadrian. The oppressive silence between them was heavy, almost tangible. But within that weight, she found the strength to break the invisible wall between them. Gently, she placed her hand on his arm—a soft, almost imperceptible touch, yet enough to catch his attention.
Hadrian turned his head slowly to look at her, his weary eyes meeting hers, which were softer but no less resolute. "Hadrian," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "You're not alone in this, you know that, don't you?"
A fleeting but genuine smile crossed Hadrian's lips. "I know," he replied simply, his fingers brushing hers briefly, their hands intertwining for just a moment.
The wind whispered softly around them, carrying with it faint echoes of doubt and fear. For a brief moment, the outside world ceased to exist. There was only the silent exchange between two souls bound by trials far greater than themselves.
"I promise you that after all this..." Hadrian began, but Fortuna gently interrupted him, pressing a finger to his lips.
"Shh," she murmured, her eyes glistening with emotion. "Don't make promises. Let's just live each moment as it comes. The rest… we'll figure it out together."
Rising on her toes, she placed a tender kiss on his cheek, her warm breath brushing against his skin. Hadrian closed his eyes briefly, savoring the fleeting gentleness—a rare reprieve amid the chaos. He had a reason to survive this, a beacon of light in the darkness. Even if he doubted his chances of making it through the coming battle, he owed it to her to try.
Without another word, he turned and began his descent down the steep slope, skirting the hillside to avoid detection. Approaching the main entrance or attempting to break the magical barrier head-on would only reveal their position, a mistake that would cost them everything.
Fortuna, equally focused, made her way down the opposite side of the hill, where Sirius was waiting at the bottom. Their mission was clear. According to the squad's intel, a rear entrance would allow them to infiltrate the manor without arousing suspicion.
In a flash of light, Sirius transformed into his Animagus form, his canine nose sniffing out the countless scents left by the dark wizards who had traveled this path before. Guiding Fortuna through the tall grass and shadows, he remained alert to every sound and movement.
"According to Masayuki's intel, the meeting room is on the first floor," Fortuna whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's where we'll have the best chance of finding someone from Voldemort's inner circle."
Sirius nodded and quickened his pace. They were fully committed now; there was no turning back.
If the mission succeeded, Hadrian would gain a vital spy—someone who could provide critical information on Voldemort's plans and movements. This would allow them to stay one step ahead of the Dark Lord, striking before he could.
Since the fall of Minister Fudge and the capture of Dolores Umbridge, Hadrian had been methodically crossing names off his list. Yet, two monumental tasks remained before he could truly end this war.
- Let Voldy reform his body, then kill him.
- Hunt down Siena, Alexei, Sethom, and all the future Dark Lords
Bringing down Siena—and her younger counterpart—was critical, while Harry focused on defeating Voldemort. That was all. Once those tasks were complete, Hadrian's role as a "soldier" would finally be over.
For Voldemort, the key lay in destroying his final Horcrux: Nagini. Once the snake was gone, Voldemort would be mortal again, and Harry could face him on more equal terms.
Siena, however, posed a more complex challenge.
To Hadrian, the younger Siena wasn't an overwhelming threat. While talented, she didn't yet possess the raw power of her elder self. The true danger was Nemesis—her older counterpart. Strong, intelligent, and deeply prepared, Nemesis had been waiting for this confrontation for years, making it inevitable.
For now, Hadrian moved forward unhindered. Reaching the magical barrier, he drew his wand and brushed it against the shimmering veil, whispering incantations in an ancient language. Slowly, carefully, the barrier weakened, revealing a narrow passage.
Without hesitation, Hadrian stepped through, his heart pounding as he braced for whatever lay on the other side.
The moment his foot touched the ground, a deep, resonant rumble shattered the silence. A powerful explosion rocked the air, followed by a piercing alarm that tore through the night. Instinctively, Hadrian dove to the ground, dodging a barrage of deadly spells that streaked toward him with unerring precision.
"What the hell is going on?!" he shouted, adrenaline surging through his veins. His sharp gaze flicked back to the magical barrier. This same veil, crossed dozens of times without incident by his team, had now reacted violently to his presence. The anomaly left little room for doubt, and his mind quickly pieced the situation together.
'The barrier… it's not meant to hide them', he realized. 'It's designed to alert them of my presence.'
His eyes flared with pure magic, glowing with untamed power. Rising with supernatural agility, he deflected two Stunning Spells with a sweeping motion of his hand while drawing his wand in one fluid movement.
The blaring alarm continued to wail, emanating from the core of the barrier. Hadrian felt his magic pulse in response, pulling from the depths of his core. "Enough!" he roared, channeling a colossal wave of raw energy. He gathered it into a crackling orb and hurled it with all his might at the screaming veil. With a deafening cry, the barrier shattered into countless fragments, silencing the alarm.
Stillness returned, heavy and oppressive. A silence that promised no respite.
*Clap* *Clap*
A slow, mocking applause broke the quiet. Emerging from the darkness before him were two silhouettes. Hadrian, his senses on high alert, quickly recognized them: Siena and Nemesis, her older and far more dangerous counterpart.
"Bravo, bravo! Such a dazzling performance," Nemesis drawled, her icy voice laced with disdain. "With acrobatics like that, you'd make an excellent act in a Muggle circus, don't you think?" Her wand flicked into her hand with casual elegance.
Siena, standing at her side, mimicked her older self but said nothing, her eyes avoiding Hadrian's. There was something almost tragic about the younger girl, Hadrian thought. She was barely older than Harry but already weighed down by the darkness surrounding her. While she stood beside Nemesis, there was a flicker of vulnerability—unlike her future self, who radiated implacable strength.
"I heard you joined Voldemort," Hadrian said evenly, stalling for time. "Though I can't imagine why. Neither of you seems like the type to share power."
A cold, mirthless laugh escaped Nemesis's lips. "Power? That's meaningless now, and you know it as well as I do. This isn't about power anymore, Potter. It's about revenge. Nothing more. The means don't matter to me."
With a nonchalant gesture, she pulled something from her pocket. Hadrian's body tensed as recognition dawned.
"That necklace…" he growled, his magic surging dangerously around him. "What have you done to those who wore it?!"
Nemesis twirled the necklace between her fingers before tossing it to the ground. "Relax, they're alive. Voldemort still has questions for them. For now, they're probably sleeping in the dungeons." She smiled, clearly amused by Hadrian's reaction. "Your little artifacts are fascinating to study. No one but me could have neutralized their effects, I imagine." She punctuated her words with a smug wink.
Hadrian's grip tightened on his wand as the tension thickened. The battle had begun, even if the first spell had yet to be cast.
Hadrian understood instantly. The DWT should have alerted him. They issued regular reports, yet no warning had been triggered. The shroud of mystery thickened, and his intuition screamed the truth at him. He had been too confident in his enchantments, failing to examine the collars in more detail.
But Nemesis was no ordinary foe. She had studied him for years, probing every facet of his magic. Even his temporal powers—once his most formidable weapon—were no longer a mystery to her. That she had found a way to bypass his defenses was, in hindsight, not surprising.
'She might not know Sirius and Fortuna are here with me', he realized suddenly. 'If they can free the captives during their search…' His eyes darted subtly across the area, seeking any opening, any weakness.
"Oh, don't bother looking for an escape," Nemesis interrupted, her smirk widening. "We've been waiting for you for quite some time." She gestured for Siena to step forward. The younger witch hesitated before steeling herself, Nemesis's piercing gaze forcing her into compliance.
"I doubt you saw this in your precious visions, did you?" Siena sneered. Her mocking tone betrayed a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. For a fleeting moment, Hadrian thought he detected a glimmer of panic before she reasserted her composure.
"We can play with time too, Potter. You're not the only one who's glimpsed fragments of the future!" Siena declared, her voice laced with defiance.
Hadrian sighed inwardly, piecing together her meaning. 'Of course. Once they gained partial control over time, they'd have access to visions just like me'. He cursed himself for overlooking the possibility. 'But the real question is: how much do they truly understand this magic?'
"We've seen the future that awaits us," Siena continued, raising her wand, her eyes filled with a cold determination. "And I refuse to accept it."
Unlike her initial hesitation, this declaration cut through the air with chilling sincerity. Hadrian had no doubt about the truth of her words. 'But what could they have seen in that future to provoke such anger?' he wondered, unsettled by the brutality and despair in her statement.
"Now that you're here," Nemesis announced with a triumphant air, "we can trigger the final solution." Suddenly, deafening cracks reverberated through the sprawling manor, like thousands of simultaneous explosions in the thick air.
"Voldemort wants Potter and Dumbledore," Nemesis continued with a sadistic grin, "but us, we want you. And unlike him, we don't need an entire army to bring down one man." She raised her wand, making a circular motion in the air. A dense, nearly tangible veil materialized around them.
With his magically enhanced vision, Hadrian deciphered the intricate runes etched into the ether of the veil. An ancient network of powerful magic. A trap. 'Apparition is impossible', he concluded.
'Do they really plan to face me head-on, the two of them?' he thought, rapidly recalibrating his strategy. If so, what about the others…?
Then, his eyes widened as the true scope of the situation dawned on him.
"And yes, Potter," Nemesis continued, clearly relishing his dawning realization, "while we have our fun here, Voldemort and his little friends are marching on Hogwarts. Convincing them wasn't easy, you know… They all wanted a piece of you. But the snake-man managed to persuade them that you'd suffer far more knowing your nephew and his friends were slaughtered." A cruel laugh escaped her lips as she savored the hatred twisting Hadrian's expression.
"Oh, don't worry! Hogwarts' wards still hold. They'll have to walk for a while before reaching the castle," she added with disdain. "That gives us just enough time to kill you and present your head as a trophy to inspire the next generation. What do you say?" she finished, her tone gleeful and triumphant.
At that moment, Hadrian's fury erupted like a storm. A devastating aura flared around him, forcing Nemesis to step back slightly.
What she didn't realize was that her statement had actually reassured him. Why? Because it meant he still had time.
Seizing the chaos, Hadrian slid his hand discreetly into his pocket, his fingers finding a small enchanted object: a GalLeon. He injected magic into the coin, activating one of his most valuable mechanisms.
Just as Harry and his allies had enchanted coins for communication, so too did Hadrian. His version connected him directly to Dumbledore and Harry. Its sole purpose was to signal an imminent attack from Voldemort. With this quiet warning, Hogwarts would be prepared. If Harry hadn't already detected the threat, Albus would be immediately informed.
With the message sent, Hadrian straightened, his veins burning with pure hatred. Each word he spoke carried the weight of fury barely restrained.
"So let me get this straight," he said in an icy tone. "You lured me here so Voldemort could send his lackeys to massacre my nephew and his friends. Meanwhile, you trap me here to gloat about capturing my team and inform me of your plan to kill me. Is that about right?" His wand rose slowly as a chilling calm settled over the manor.
He carefully withheld his most crucial piece of information: Fortuna and Sirius were still inside the manor. The original mission, now rendered obsolete, had taken on an entirely new shape. With most of the Death Eaters gone, a new opportunity had emerged.
Hadrian focused his senses, feeling the lingering presence of Voldemort's dark magic permeating the space. It was impossible to hide it from him. He had spent his life studying, tracking, and fighting it. 'There's something left here,' he thought. 'Either Voldemort himself or Nagini'.
Nemesis's trap had flaws. Voldemort would never leave his army unsupervised. And he would undoubtedly want to take Harry's life personally.
If Hadrian's instincts were correct, there was still a piece of Voldemort within the manor—a Horcrux. It was an opportunity too rare to pass up.
Nemesis released her aura fully, and Hadrian felt its oppressive weight bearing down on him. 'She's grown significantly stronger since our last encounter!' he thought, a trace of worry creeping in. She's not the same enemy anymore.
"It's amazing what you can find in a Dark Lord's private collection," Nemesis mocked. "You stand no chance against us, Potter! Tonight, the wizarding world will finally collapse!"
With a brutal motion, she unleashed a wave of black fire, its infernal intensity rushing toward him.
"Atlas!" Hadrian roared, conjuring a magical shield that encased the fiery arc within its protective barrier. Twisting his wand, he redirected the flames, shattering them into a cascade of sparks.
'There's no time for this,' he thought bitterly. 'And if Harry loses control… no one will be able to stop him.'
He stood tall, his unwavering gaze locked on the two witches before him, ready to finish this once and for all.
The icy rain poured down in torrents, dissipating in the supernatural energy enveloping the three combatants. Despite her lesser power, young Siena held her ground, her fragile body somehow enduring the crushing pressure of their combined magic.
'Masayuki, Hery, Leo, Elena… Albus, Harry… Fortuna, Sirius…' he thought, mentally listing each ally. 'Please, hold on'.
His fingers tightened around his wand, and with ferocious resolve, Hadrian whispered to himself: I'll get you all out of here, even if it's the last thing I do on this Earth.