**Conversation between the Head of the Department of Mysteries and Voldemort.**
Alison had imagined a meeting with the Dark Lord to be something like this: "Crucio! Crucio! Now kill this Mudblood to prove your loyalty to me!" Or something along those lines. For instance, distances in England might now be measured in You-Know-Who miles—a new unit of measurement exclusive to the most Dark Wizards. It would be calculated as distance multiplied by paranoia, fear, hatred, and bullying in various proportions. Due to the unpredictability of the result, it would be impossible to calculate travel time; the distance would change each time, subjecting health and sanity to endless tests.
However, things turned out very differently. Instead of the standard crocodile-man or owl-humanoid in a black robe borrowed from a Dementor, Voldemort appeared as a young man in bottle-green robes. There were no Cruciatus curses—only an offer to drink and discuss problems. But that meant nothing. If the Dark Wizard's madness wasn't obvious, it only indicated that it had taken some unusual forms. Grindelwald, for instance, had focused on the idea of a superstate instead of sinking to base instincts.
"Do not be afraid. I cast Cruciatus only when working for the public. I carefully monitor the level of ereghu," said the Dark Lord.
"And he knows about ereghu," thought Alison. "And necroenergy is just a joke? To mislead?"
"I admit, I do not fully understand what we are going to discuss..." It was hard to be sure without any Protective Charms. Even if they existed, they were unlikely to help.
"Very simple. Almost all of my principled opponents, capable of anything, have been physically destroyed. It is time to move on to a peaceful life. Now we need to merge the apparatus of state administration with the Death Eaters. I see you as one of my friends."
"How can a humble employee of the Department of Mysteries help you?"
"A humble employee of the Department of Mysteries is Augustus Rookwood, a particularly trusted Death Eater who oversees a dozen projects. If a simple employee of the Department of Mysteries could achieve this, then I am interested to see his boss."
"I'm afraid you overestimate my capabilities."
"Rather, I underestimate. You became the Head of the Department of Mysteries after the First Magical War, which means you've been digging into forbidden knowledge for over half a century, sitting in the center of the Ministry. You surely have certain connections, even if you don't advertise them. You ensured that during the Death Eaters' breakthrough into the Department of Mysteries, they did not take anything truly secret. After the Ministry's capitulation, we got our hands on the archives. I saw Moody's reports about you—and they are impressive. Furthermore, I know that Albus Dumbledore personally came to remove you when he suspected you of conspiring with me."
"Your knowledge is astounding."
"I believe that the man who wrote off the Minister of Magic has much in common with me. And after Dumbledore's defeat, you will be able to make the right choice."
"I already have. And what will my new job be? I warn you in advance—I do not tolerate pain well, so I should not be made to give away secrets. Besides, I would not like to spend the rest of my life tearing off the limbs of Muggles and Squibs—that is not what I studied for half my life."
"I will not make you give away any secrets—everyone will find out about it soon. And as for the murders—that is a thing of the past." The Dark Lord paused for a moment, as if deep in thought.
"The wizarding world has long since frozen in stagnation. I have found a way out of this impasse."
"Oh! He had heard that before. Once. Or twice. Or for his whole life."
"All power to the chosen! The unelect—expelled."
"You are right about that," the Dark Lord began. "The Muggles once had something similar: either conquer the entire world with the existing army—the phalanx of Alexander the Great or the legions of Caesar—or create an army that cannot lose. The latter was best done by Qin Shi Huangdi, the founder of the Qin Empire, a follower of the Fa Jia school. Don't you know? Fa Jia is a doctrine on what a state should become in order to conquer the entire world. For this, it is necessary to eliminate merchants, jesters, and scholars, leaving only peasants capable of growing grain to support the army and arms manufacturers. The main thing is the army itself."
"If there are ten parasites in the state," says the 'Book of the Governor of the Shang Region,' "music, virtue, respect for the old order, philanthropy, selflessness, eloquence, sharp mind... then the state will be dismembered. If the state gets rid of these ten parasites… then it will surely win." Qin Shi Huangdi got rid of the "ten parasites." Qin Shi Huangdi did not need brilliant commanders. He created a system that would generate an army capable of winning any battle. That is why the main commanders were those who could expend lives without a second thought, like firewood.
"Another copycat? Quite expected," thought Alison.
"Don't worry, I don't just waste my people. I gathered them together not to steal from them, but to steal from someone else with them," Voldemort "reassured" him.
"But let's return to ancient China," his opponent continued. "Such a system could not help but win the war, but it spent the Chinese people to the ground. Yes, the Muggle Qin Shi Huang went down in history as the ruler of the first centralized Chinese Muggle state. In the last years of his life, disappointed in gaining immortality, Qin Shi Huang traveled less and less around the borders of his state, fencing himself off from the world in his huge palace complex. Avoiding communication with mortals, the emperor expected that they would see him as a deity. Instead, the totalitarian rule of the first emperor produced a growing number of dissatisfied people each year. Having uncovered several conspiracies, the emperor had no reason to trust any of his confidants, and responded by burning books and burying Confucian scholars alive. The Qin dynasty he founded, which planned to rule China for 10,000 generations, was overthrown a few years after his death. China never conquered the world, forever pulsating along its borders. Grindelwald tried to combine the two paths— and lost."
"What do you propose?" he voiced his question. "So far, I see only admiration for Grindelwald."
"No, I am not like Grindelwald," as if hearing his thoughts (although what does "as if" mean), said Voldemort. "Let's stop at forming a new system of power and a 'social contract.' Otherwise… 'In the name of the common good.' I have already seen this implemented. If the history of the 'common good' testifies to anything, it is that evil does not pay. Not that evil is 'inhumane,' 'immoral,' and so on. Let's be simple: evil is strategically disadvantageous. The 'common good' burned countries to conquer the world. They did not conquer the world, and some countries, especially their own, were burned to the ground. The 'common good' is a virus. The virus integrates into a cell, switches all its resources to itself, and exhausts them completely, forcing other cells to produce itself instead of other cells. The virus doesn't care that the host dies; if during this time the virus multiplies sufficiently to infect other hosts, it is satisfied. This was also the strategy of the 'common good': switch all the country's resources to itself, drain its people dry, exterminate them, but in the process infect the world and gain new concentration camps and new peoples to reproduce.
But it didn't work. Thousands of wizards and millions of Muggles died in vain, when they could have done something worthwhile—at least billions of man-years of work, or left descendants. At least some.
"Alas, peace is also unacceptable," the Dark Lord continued his monologue. "The history of the Wizarding World presents an amazing illustration on the theme: 'How can you ruin everything'—and not even fight. Wizards, instead of using their powers to achieve comfort, occupy themselves with nonsense. We need to help them fix this."
"And I have a solution," the Dark Lord concluded. "First, we will increase the population of the wizarding world. Second, we will educate the population of the wizarding world. Third, we will increase the appropriations for the Department of Mysteries and begin to implement your developments in life. We will start by lifting the ban on enchanting Muggle things."
"Wait a second! Let's take this step by step. How do you plan to increase the population of the wizarding world?" he asked. For a moment, he imagined a scene: the Dark Lord seizing the children of his enemies for re-education. Or breeding purebloods, who might not want to breed, and then the Imperius curse would come into play. Or ordering someone to have sex and not war. Then the Dark Lord would throw out Albus, shouting that he had the wrong power of love: Dumbledore has been preaching about love for a century, but he has not had a single child! Who would come up with such a stupid idea?
"I did not express myself clearly. I am only interested in magical England. The population will grow both naturally, thanks to child subsidies, and due to the influx of wizards whom we deem necessary. We will have the best laws in the wizarding world."
"Where will you get the money?" he asked.
"Money is lying around under our feet, but for some reason, no one collects it. Muggles. Their billionaires spend their money on charity. Let them give us a little. Fair dealings under Imperius are also welcome."
"But the Statute..."
"I'm not going to break the Statute. I'll strengthen it in every way—after all, my business is based on it. Moreover, you apparently haven't read the Statute itself carefully. We can do whatever we want with Muggles. We can lie to Muggles in any way we want, just don't tell them about magic. I'm not trying to let this slide. It will be a state monopoly. Well, not exactly. The state will issue licenses to those who can operate in the magical and Muggle worlds, as well as trade with Muggles without losing their privacy, or Dark Magic without harming their sanity."
Alison tried to comprehend what had been said. "So if someone wants to rejuvenate themselves, they can do it legally by contacting your servants? And paying them money for it, which then goes to you? The same applies to taking money from Muggles? You just create new industries, lower the price, and then say to yourself: this part of the income is mine?"
"In fact, yes. But very simple Dark Magic, without human sacrifices, can be allowed for everyone. The only thing is, if you go crazy, it's your own fault. And you'll have to be isolated."
"And where will you get the material for Dark Magic? Dark Magic cannot be practiced by the whole society at once; it will simply... destroy society! After all, everyone will look at everyone else as prey!"
"Naturally, we will bring all the material from abroad, even Muggles. This can be done unnoticed if we focus on the most backward non-magical countries. In some African countries, infant mortality up to two months is not taken into account and is about 110 out of 1000 births. And no matter how much we take, it will not affect anything because the population there is determined not by the number of births, but by the volume of food."
Alison thought. A person has a natural desire to live and to live well; that is why people work. What you earn is yours. But now, Dark Magic would become their job. Some would refuse, and nothing would be done to them. Only their house would be smaller than their neighbors', their children would be sicker, their sexual partner would be scarier, and they themselves would die earlier. After all, Dark Magic can do a lot, even without resorting to human sacrifice. And often, much can be solved using just abortion material. At a late stage...
"How do you plan to resolve the fate of the prisoners?" he asked.
"Very simple. We will amnesty some as victims of the criminal regime of Albus Dumbledore. My servants and neutrals. As for my enemies... Azkaban is morally obsolete and physically destroyed. A new prison is already being built, where prisoners will be kept almost without Dementors."
"Almost without Dementors? How so?"
"The prison will house magicians in normal conditions under the supervision of other magicians. For our kindness, they will pay us with their magic—we will simply extract a part of their current supply of magic once a day, along with their blood. At the same time, they will not escape. But if they refuse to cooperate... we will have to put them in a punishment cell with Dementors. And if the criminal does not improve, then by the end of their term, they will not pose a danger. But the main thing is not to overdo it with the imprisonments."
"What do you mean?" he was surprised.
"Are you familiar with the Cobra Effect?" they asked him.
"I've never heard of it. Some rare spell?"
"Oh, come on... Once upon a time, Muggle English colonists were dying from poisonous snakes. To protect themselves, they paid the natives for the head of each snake. As a result, the natives began to breed snakes and sell them for a reward. When the colonists figured this out, they stopped paying the reward, and the natives simply released the snakes."
"So you don't need a state captured by secret services that constantly imprisons enemies. But how will you achieve this?"
"Very simple. There will be a budget, and my servants will think for themselves where to spend it. If they imprison everyone, they will be left without workers. If they imprison no one, their enemies will kill them. Run away with the money? They won't run away from me, and such criminals are not needed in other countries; let them build a better world for themselves here. Let them look for the guilty themselves and punish them according to the extent of their offense, in accordance with the laws they pass. The more effectively they spend the money, the more they will have left for themselves. Under totalitarianism, all officials are divided into two categories: some do nasty things with pleasure, others do so reluctantly. I do not need classical totalitarianism: servants can get carried away. Denunciation, persecution of the innocent, hunting for dissidents—this, like any disease, is exciting and, like any orgy, contagious. It does not last long, but at first, it is addictive. The only way power is maintained is that executioners get carried away. In fact, execution is a very strong temptation; it is difficult to stop. The next step is madness or suicide. Potential executioners, who are sitting in many, just give the go-ahead—then you will not stop. Especially in countries where there are few other entertainments."
"And how will you wean your servants off killing?" he asked.
"Brownies are not even third-rate. But no one is even thinking of killing my house-elves, are they? Since I won, every wizard and Muggle in this country is my property, even if they don't know it, and I don't interfere in their lives. If someone breaks something of mine, they must compensate for its cost. To me and to the Ministry. And when faced with the choice of either killing two Muggles or buying another house for themselves, jewelry for their mistress, and a racing broom for their son, even the most foolish will set themselves pragmatic goals. Complete maniacs can kill abroad."
Alison was amazed. Turn a prison for wizards into a business while getting rid of the most rebellious ones? Introduce fines for killing Muggles? Is this really a Dark Lord and not a merchant? And turn laws into a business? Although this had always been there, it was just called a lobby… Something long forgotten stirred in Alison. And then he realized what he wanted. He really wanted it. He wanted a share! And he was already a share! Like everyone who would help the Dark Lord to the best of their ability; the only thing is that everyone's share would be different...
The Dark Lord kept talking and talking. But what Alison liked most was not the expansion of the Department of Mysteries. Just imagine—introducing Muggle subjects into Hogwarts! And appointing Muggles as teachers! What? Muggles work voluntarily, receiving money and mental magic for it—they are sure that they work from home; they will even have the appropriate memories arranged for them. It is no less interesting to start training Squibs in the Hogwarts specialty of "Muggle Media Worker." True, he was confused by the new identity of the Hogwarts Director on paper—Zlatopust Lockhart—but the Dark Lord knows better. Although... what Dark Lord? If you need to kill, he will kill; if you need to treat, he will treat. He even took Muggles into his service while taking care to conceal the Statute! And he has one goal—to increase the income of magical England so that he himself can live on a percentage of this income. Forever.
And racism... He understood one thing perfectly. The problem is not in Muggle-borns, Squibs, and Muggles. The problem lies in us and in our lives. If a wizard lives normally, if problems do not press on him from all sides—who should he hate? But as soon as horror begins, we immediately look for the guilty, and everyone in a row is to blame for our problems, except ourselves. He still tried to talk his way out of the mark, but it did not work. Imagine his surprise when the Lord said that the mark is placed on the inner surface of the skull! The Auror Office has shamefully failed. They do not even know about it. But the Lord's words were not just dreams.
"To implement my plans, a mere trifle is needed: to fill the vacuum of power with the right Minister of Magic."
"I am not ready for such a responsible job."
"That is why it will not be you. However, you will help the person I have chosen take the post. He will handle the entire transition period."
"Someone from your circle?" he clarified. "Will I have to follow his orders?"
"How trivial… No, this is not my man. Your task is to create a luxurious theater for him so that he acts as he should and does not notice the changes in the state and society. His orders will mean nothing. We will decide everything collectively; you are invited to the select club, but I have the right of veto."
Alison listened to the Dark Lord's plan. Probably, the Slytherin blood was telling— the plan was... specific. If problems don't press on him from all sides, who should he hate? And as soon as horror begins, we immediately look for the guilty, and everyone in a row is to blame for our problems, except ourselves. He still tried to talk his way out of the mark, but it didn't work. Imagine his surprise when the Lord said that the mark is placed on the inner surface of the skull! The Auror Office had failed miserably. They don't even know about it. But the Lord's words were not just dreams.
"To implement my plans, I need a mere trifle: to fill the power vacuum with the right Minister of Magic."
**Cornelius Fudge. Two hours later.**
Cornelius Fudge was a rather successful Ravenclaw graduate. He managed to take a high position in the Ministry—he was the deputy head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. In reality, he was in charge of the memory erasers and others who hid the magical world from Muggles. Because the formal head... he treated his work somewhat negligently. There was a lot of work, and with the beginning of the civil war— even more.
There was good news. The weight of his department in the structure of the Ministry was growing because their work was finally appreciated. They were not involved in combat operations, and even the Death Eaters did not shoot at them without reason. The increase in work led to an increase in salaries, and for this reason, the best personnel flowed to them. Along with this, Fudge's position grew. The battle at Azkaban ended in disaster for the Ministry. Everyone expected the beginning of bloody mayhem from the Death Eaters.
But the Ministry continued to work, solving the primary task—the election of the Minister of Magic. Usually, this is entertainment for at least a few months, but due to the growing panic, it was necessary to give people at least some kind of foothold, so the elections were organized in record time. The Minister was chosen by electors. The electors were divided into two categories—those with a hereditary position (pretty ancient pure-blood families who could make a large deposit) and those chosen by voters, theoretically representing their interests. He took part in this. No, he did not count on winning, but the very fact of participating in the election race was useful for self-esteem and career—authority is never superfluous. Imagine his surprise when he won! He was sitting in the office of the Minister of Magic and thinking about what to do. Suddenly, someone's magic wand was pressed against the base of his neck. It seemed that he was destined to become the shortest-lived Minister of Magic. This was confirmed by a voice he recognized: Wizarding England's #2 Most Wanted Criminal.
"The Ministry is completely defeated, and you have no chance against us. Do you realize that?" He recognized the voice of the Dark Lord's apprentice.
"Yes," he replied. He would say anything now, let alone the truth...
"However, the Dark Lord is merciful. He has a personal score to settle with Dumbledore, and he will die. But he is offering you a truce and a complete ceasefire. Oh, how tempting..."
"Conditions?" he clarified.
"No conditions. So he can now conclude a truce with the enemy without promising them anything at all? No territory, no population, no money?"
"What, you won't even kill Muggles?" he asked.
"What's the point?"
"I agree to the 'White Peace'!" he shouted.
"The Master also agrees. The White Peace for five years. You will be informed of the method of contacting me tomorrow." And Elena disappeared in a flash of a Phoenix.
He didn't get it. What had they been fighting for all those years? Didn't they understand that they could demand anything at all? However, his office was not a walk-through. He opened the files of the security forces. Almost everyone with normal qualifications was dead. Although no, one survived. Soon he was already giving him a briefing. Wizarding England needed new law enforcement officers. And new law enforcement agencies. His interlocutor agreed with him.
"Good luck, Mr. Jugson," he said, shaking his hand goodbye. The behavior of the Dark Lord's apprentice was very strange. His thoughts were interrupted by the golem secretary, who said that the Head of the Department of Mysteries was awaiting his audience. Incredible! Could he have imagined that one day the Head of the Department of Mysteries would be subordinate to him? And he had to meet with him. Of course, they have a secret ballot, but... he already knew thanks to whom he received many votes.
"Good day, Mr. Minister. You are just the man we need to pull magical England out of the abyss," his guest began.
"Perhaps," Fudge said, "Will you take off your mask?"
"Unfortunately, I can't: oaths. You understand, work. I came to bring you up to speed," and he began to take out documents. Soon Fudge understood everything. Dark Magic affects mental stability! And how it affects! Which means he has a chance. He just needs to wait until You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters go crazy and kill each other! How simple it is!
It's time to get down to business. Hogwarts has been dealt a blow; there are dead students, children have been sent home, and the castle itself is being repaired. This is what happens when everything is left to chance! But he will send his High Inspector to Hogwarts! He will make Hogwarts different! Safer! He has accepted a few more people, but it is the turn of the last visitor for the day. An ancient family that has invested huge amounts of money as gratuitous donations to St. Mungo's Hospital. And so this man came to discuss new donations for those who suffered from the mental attack of the Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. Lucius Malfoy greeted him with a charming smile. But soon, after discussing donations, the conversation turned to another topic.
"Among the English pure-blood wizards, there are opponents of the criminal policies of both the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore," Lucius began to speak quietly. "Of course, there are dark spots in Albus's biography, and he has been acting strangely lately, but comparing them is wrong and unfair," Fudge began.
"I have done some research... and I would like to provide you with evidence."
"Let's see," Fudge suggested. Further events turned his worldview upside down. The conclusion that Ariana Dumbledore was killed by Avada. The memories of Aberforth Dumbledore and Bathilda Bagshot, which did not show Albus Dumbledore in the best light. An analysis of Dumbledore's behavior, who took possession of the Elder Wand at the last moment. And most importantly, Barty Crouch Sr.'s memory of someone with Albus's wand standing on the ashes of Amelia Bones's house. But that's not what impressed him most—traces of Hellfire are visible at the site of the death of the Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets, and based on the description of the battle at Azkaban, Albus Dumbledore received Avada in his hand and could only survive in one way, which Lucius did not know, but he knew after a conversation with the Head of the Department of Mysteries: a Horcrux.
Is it possible? This explains all of Albus Dumbledore's eccentricities and his gradual loss of reason! The facts leave no doubt. Albus Dumbledore must be declared an outlaw. We must act quickly—while Albus has not recovered from the duel with the Dark Lord, send a squad for the headmaster of Hogwarts to detain him.
**Albus Dumbledore's POV.**
Albus woke up two days later in one of his secret hideouts—golems were nursing him back to health. It's not that he didn't trust people, but his golem certainly wouldn't covet the Elder Wand. His opponent managed to unpleasantly surprise him; he struck just as hard as the old Tom Riddle. Only this time, he had an improved body and high-level transfiguration. But all this paled in comparison to that strengthening ritual. The outcome was logical: he was sent on sick leave. Those two days were quite painful. No, he emerged from the vision quickly, but the vision itself... He had had enough of Grindelwald in life, and even more after death! Then there was a long recovery. Magical exhaustion, side effects from potions, numerous wounds from Dark Magic, fractures. But physical pain was the least of his problems. It was the worst failure of his life—not that he couldn't defeat Voldemort, but that he set people up. Wizarding England was left with a multitude of corpses, cripples, widows, and even children. He didn't even know what was worse—Voldemort's power or how he came to it.
And it was all in vain—years of work on an army of golems; a lot of time spent acquiring and producing artifacts, as well as establishing oaths for mercenaries. He is also forced to admit that Voldemort surpassed him not only in Dark Magic but also in ritualism: his complex of strengthening rituals, which he performed after defeating the Basilisk, was not even close to Voldemort's ritual. There is only one hope—his enemy will not be able to repeat this. There were no injuries to the magical energy system. His fractures had healed, his wounds had closed, although there were plenty of scars left. The prosthesis and the scars—he was starting to turn into Alastor Moody. Maybe he should get an artifact eye inserted in advance?
After he recovered a bit, he went to Hogwarts. The castle had taken a beating. The children had already been sent home—what else could they do if the Death Eaters had access to Hogwarts? The Hogwarts staff were under house arrest. Minerva had already asked him if she should agree to work at the werewolf school. She should. If they learned something other than murder, that would be good. But that wasn't what surprised him. One of his acquaintances had warned him in advance that a warrant had been issued for his arrest. Albus thought that the new Minister of Magic was under Imperius. He would soon find out everything: Cornelius Fudge arrived at the front entrance to Hogwarts with a dozen Aurors. Although no, there were two Aurors there. The rest were senior Aurors. He called on Hogwarts' wards. They were who they said they were. His office had been destroyed, so he was sitting in McGonagall's office. The guests had been led here by one of the Hogwarts house-elves. The poor thing—the house-elf's husband had been killed by a Basilisk. The Minister of Magic walked in with his escort.
What followed was like a theatre of the absurd. Fudge made some crazy demands. In short: to prison and give him the Elder Wand. Dumbledore looked at the escort. Both Aurors removed their Occlumency and offered to help Albus fight back. No, thank you, I can do it myself. Albus didn't even need to take out the Elder Wand. He simply hacked into the mental shields of each of those present in turn while the Minister read the verdict. Now what their senses were showing them had nothing to do with reality. Albus got up from his chair and went to the window. At this time, the Minister of Magic continued to think that Albus was sitting in his chair, listening to him and making excuses. He had always loved transfiguration. He waved his left hand—and a ball the size of a snitch appeared about five feet from the floor, only made of lithium.
How simple it was—three protons in the nucleus, so it was lithium. He waved his hand again. The ball became beryllium—four protons in the nucleus. Everything was simple, clear, and unambiguous. How he wished everything in life was like this! So that it was always clear what was what and what needed to be done. Once, in his second year at Hogwarts, he tried out for the Quidditch team and didn't make it. When he asked the captain how to fly around the pitch—clockwise or counterclockwise, he said: "Fly however you want." Sometimes everything is so simple—any decision is right.
Now he was sure—any decision is wrong. A peace treaty? There is no point in talking to Voldemort; he doesn't consider others to be subjects of relationships, only objects. How can I explain it more simply... It makes sense to sit down at the table with a cheater in three cases: you still hope to win; you hope to prove that he is a cheater; you have decided to catch him red-handed and hand him over to the Aurors, or cripple him for pedagogical purposes yourself. With regard to negotiations with Voldemort, it is absolutely obvious that: reaching an agreement is out of the question; he has been caught red-handed many times, and this no longer requires additional evidence; if you call him to account, he will hand you over to the "law enforcement" himself because they are his servants. They will cripple you—for their pedagogical purposes. Hence the rhetorical question: why should he negotiate with Voldemort? Surrender to Fudge? Simply die, giving the Elder Wand to Voldemort. Or manage to escape later, but it is easier not to get caught.
Fight? Single-handedly recapture the Ministry, covered in Flamel's potions? At best, an adventure. He would have gone for it if people were tortured there and deprived of their wands. But now the Minister's new initiative—every citizen of Magical England registers with the Ministry and receives a monthly allowance. Simply for existing! Not much money, but if you don't live in luxury, you can survive. How is the presence of this money explained? Trade with Muggles. And it's true, he got into the Minister's thoughts—trade with Muggles by legal means, food, building materials, Muggle things, to cover the financial deficit that arose after Dumbledore's thefts! Well, we're not going to raise taxes, are we? And all the papers are in order!
But he didn't steal anything! Are you against trading with Muggles? Write a statement and you yourself will be left without benefits. The majority is for it—and we have democracy, so let there be trade!
And he will have to kill people, ordinary employees of the Ministry, not even Death Eaters, because they give money to the population? Not to mention how the population will react to this! Moreover, if it is hardly possible to storm the Ministry almost single-handedly (even if you cast blast waves every other time, combining Light and Dark spells), then neutralize several hundred magicians at the place of power by non-lethal means (where to put them then? To prison? Guard them yourself?)... Or simultaneously hold several places of power alone... This is impossible even for him.
Hogwarts is the perfect place for a fight. He had to tweak the heating charms and a few other things, but he had created a real masterpiece: in the event of an attack on Hogwarts, a special spell would be activated that would collect unused magic because even he and the Elder Wand were not 100% efficient, let alone the others... And when this spell was charged, it would generously share its energy with the protective spells of those defending Hogwarts, making them practically unkillable. If the final battle had been here, and not in Azkaban, they would have won.
Albus looked out the window longingly. Where were the giants? Hordes of Dementors? Hordes of Death Eaters thirsting for his blood? Fire tornadoes? Voldemort, attacking with a cry of "Avada Kedavra"? He would know what to do with all of this! Instead, Cornelius Fudge, a good Memory Eraser and silencer of inconvenient events, and not even the Auror graduates, and the citizens of the wizarding world who were thirsty for benefits! What can he do now? Attack Fudge? That would start a civil war, where his former graduates would be thrown against him, and Voldemort would watch it in the Pensieve and laugh. Whoever won, only the Dark Lord would win.
After the new civil war, Voldemort would only have to give the winner a little push. If, of course, he managed to win this war before he died: he had very little time—it might not be enough. Let's say he defeated the Ministry. But how much would he have left for Voldemort? He looked at the finger on his left hand, through which he had received the curse. Then he looked at the prosthetic of his right hand. He only wanted to help them, and for this, they wanted to kill him. It was now that he fully understood the beauty of Flamel's path. Let people live as they know. If they want Voldemort, let them have Voldemort. He would go with Flamel to a new world. Towards adventures, and maybe there would be a way to lift the curse... It was just a pity that Flamel had developed a one-way, one-time method of travel...
Albus sighed wearily. It would seem—why fight Voldemort if he suited everyone? If he brings progress, increases the well-being of the population? If he integrates werewolves into the magical world? Big deal, a criminal. He is also a criminal now. The problem is that Voldemort deprived magical England of freedom. You must follow his path. That is, every citizen of magical England is now deprived of freedom, not as a punishment by a court decision, but simply by the fact of being born here. You either follow the path of the Dark Lord, or pretend to be innocent, or resist, and you are punished. And since the deprivation of freedom has already happened, the only punishment can be torture.
And unlike England a week ago, laws cannot be changed without the will of the Dark Lord. If before, human rights were at least theoretically valuable, now the highest value is the selfish interests of Voldemort, who has graciously merged his self-interest with the self-interest of the people, spending less time suppressing the dissatisfied. And so that he, Albus Dumbledore, would not have a legitimate target for attack. Again, a return to the Middle Ages, where some are more equal than others, only this is hidden by a luxurious facade. Voldemort offered people a choice—freedom from him or well-being with him, freedom with suffering without him or happiness without freedom with the Dark Lord. People have made their choice.
The barricade is a dangerous place for a politician. A trap. Your vision deteriorates there, your pupils constrict, the surroundings lose their colors; the world becomes black and white, and you can no longer distinguish a person from there, but only see a dot—a target. He has been on the barricade all his life, and he has long wanted to leave there and just enjoy life. No, he has not become a prophet and still does not see the future and will never see it. But if he simply leaves, thousands of wizards will acquire one symbol on their hands. A skull with a snake. A symbol of rebirth, but not light. And he will be to blame for this, among other things—not for not being able to interfere, but for not even trying.
He will not run away. He will have to make good out of evil because there is nothing else to make good out of. His place is here. He needs to go underground, investigate, and knock out Voldemort's servants and his Horcruxes. The Dark Lord himself needs to be eliminated. Pinpoint operations that will lead to victory. Let's see what Voldemort can do without the already strengthening ritual. He believes that people will wake up from their sleep; if necessary, he will help them wake up. As non-wizards say? "The sleep of reason produces monsters."
The only thing that bothered him was the indescribable stupidity of the current Minister. More than fifty wizards went to arrest Grindelwald! And they lost! They sent… ten wizards against him… Let's keep quiet about the quality of these wizards and the average age of less than thirty, as well as the fact that two of them were ready to support him. They do not appreciate him at all. After all, is it not obvious—if he were a monster, he would apparate to the Ministry and transfigure an atomic bomb, hoping that Voldemort and Alison would be closer to the epicenter at that moment.
But it can all be done very simply and quickly: one Imperius on Fudge and the Minister will stop talking nonsense, concentrating on the war with Voldemort. Most people are on his side even now. And thanks to Alastor, he has an emergency switch to protect the Ministry and the Auror Academy. He won't defeat them all if they fight him at once, but if they start approaching in a strict queue... It will be possible to simply destroy the enemy in parts, in small detachments or even one at a time, and thanks to the Cloak of Invisibility—the first blow will be his, and the second will not be necessary.
He must think quickly—the key is now; sooner or later, the protection of the Ministry and the Auror will be remade. Only if he decides to do this—then he will truly become a criminal. If life has taught him anything, especially from Grindelwald, it is that you should never cling to your post with your teeth; otherwise, you will very quickly become a dictator. They want him to go? He will resign from all official positions and fight Voldemort as a private citizen.
"Voldemort is a master of sowing discord. You have simply become his puppet. He learned your thoughts and slipped you the data on the basis of which you will draw the conclusions he needs. Alison also serves him. I do not know whether voluntarily or not, but without her he would not have been able to carry out such a quick forgery and interfere in the elections. I do not have a Horcrux. Ereghu accumulates at a much slower rate and is excreted much faster. I used Hellfire on the Basilisk, but it was the only way to kill it—otherwise every child in Hogwarts would be in mortal danger. I did not kill Amelia Bones. There was no ulterior motive in removing Barty Crouch," Dumbledore's voice echoed in Cornelius's head.
"I can produce the memories and—"
"Detain him!" Fudge ordered. He watched with a sense of disappointment as Fudge's entourage cast Stunning Spells at McGonagall's empty chair. Albus simply waved the Elder Wand and Stunned them all. He stood over the unconscious Fudge, resisting the temptation to conjure a pumpkin head or indelibly write "Poisoned by Voldemort" all over his body. No, he shouldn't. But how could anyone be so incredibly stupid?
"Papers can't lie! The world would be in chaos if they did! I already have all the evidence!"
You can write anything on paper. Whether it will have any connection with reality is another question. Having restored the office and conjured a new chair for Minerva, he called Fawkes. Then he remembered that Fawkes was gone. And Minerva was working elsewhere now. What should he do? Attack the werewolf school? So that the werewolves would continue to be unable to do anything but kill? Or leave Minerva there, hoping that she would be able to at least humanize them a little?
It was good that Severus had been left at the school. Maybe, thanks to Snape, the new Hogwarts would do without the sadists' fatal victims. Although… Tom Riddle used cruelty as a means of achieving his goals, while the new Voldemort had a different weapon—intrigue. That's why he was sure that Dark Magic would be strictly prohibited, and students would be forced to study it themselves in order to be able to protect themselves from him. And the most stupid, talentless, and lazy Muggle-borns in the world would be appointed as teachers so that the children would beg the headmaster: "Finally hire at least half-bloods like before, so that we could prepare for the exams."
He walked out the door. "Dramsey, take care of these individuals. I am now in disgrace," he said and left. For a moment, Albus felt as if he were in a vacuum. A vacuum seemed to offer no resistance, but it could not provide support either. It was useless to beat a vacuum. And now you are completely alone and dying of suffocation...
He went to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, to talk to the survivors. All eleven of them. What a snake you are, Voldemort.
**End of Dumbledore's POV.**
**POV of the Head of the Department of Mysteries.**
Alison sat in his office and thought. The Dark Lord turned out to be completely different from what he had expected. He began to doubt the Dark Lord's inadequacy. Voldemort really was characterized by a completely excessive ease with which he went for murder instead of trying to save the life of his opponent. Some skeptics might see in this signs of madness, the concentration of which was clearly overestimated among Dark Wizards, but he thought otherwise.
Firstly, his new boss never committed murder in anger or rage; he did not kill with the purpose of enjoying the torment of the victim or their loved ones. It seemed that during the battle he often only feared for his life, and from the elimination of the enemy, he felt only relief that this time he remained alive. If the victim was going to surrender, he did not continue the fight with the aim of necessarily ensuring the death of the enemy. He was a clear example of this; he did not even receive the Cruciatus for his old attempt to play along with Dumbledore.
Secondly, man is a creature of habit. The Dark Lord moves in a specific society—what is the army of werewolves worth alone? Existing in such a cruel world, he is simply accustomed to fighting to the death with a merciless enemy, and therefore did not consider the possibility of an alternative at all. The Dark Lord is accustomed to the fact that giving the enemy a chance is an unaffordable luxury. No, he did not justify his crimes—he was personally absolutely sure that the Dark Lord would kill completely defenseless people if it was necessary for his interests.
What struck Alison most was that the Dark Lord did not seem to be fixated not only on Dark Magic but on magic in general. The Dark Lord seemed like an ordinary person and did not consider his enemies stupider or weaker than himself. He does not know whether he is immortal, but one thing is for sure: there are no immortals in politics. That is why the Dark Lord is nowhere on paper, and he does not hold any posts. Some would call You-Know-Who the organizer, but from the perspective of the laws of Magical England, one would have to try very hard to prove that the Dark Lord is the instigator.
As for the motivation of the Lord himself... he really didn't expect that: the man just wants to live, without a grand idea. Never before had anyone like Grindelwald had such a goal! Alison was also surprised by the multiple analogies in the Lord's statements with the Muggle world, and he communicated with his other servants without such analogies. Did he leave a hint for him on purpose? For what and why? No, he knew that he grew up in an orphanage, but when did orphanages for children under eleven start giving a normal Muggle education? He himself studied Muggle Studies and, unlike most wizards, received a correspondence degree in Muggle education, but he still was not sure about many issues related to Muggles.
The only explanation he could think of was that Voldemort had been living among the Muggles for a while, hiding from someone. But there were some thoughts that should be kept to oneself. The Lord had shown himself to be a man of no short temper, but he was not a good man—Alison had no doubt that if it was necessary for the cause, the Dark Lord would personally burn him.
Will the Dark Lord be able to implement his ideas? The real trouble for Albus is that there are professionals in England. They can become traitors, poison a traitor, cover up traces, make Albus and Gellert look like two gay men, and write a script for a beautiful fairy tale about the future of Muggles or the past of the Hogwarts director. It is not at all difficult to lie correctly. The new regime can only perish from extreme degradation, when it forgets how to lie, and it will be destroyed by amateurs. But this will not happen: there is no time to relax.
The results surprised him. What was the situation a week ago? There was the embodiment of evil—Lord Voldemort. The good Ministry of Magic was trying to stop him. Aurors were dying, doing their duty. They were helped in the fight by Albus Dumbledore and the Department of Mysteries. Now... there is practically peace with the Dark Lord. The main criminal is Albus Dumbledore, who is already being tried in absentia. The Head of the Department of Mysteries serves the Dark Lord, and the Minister of Magic is a simple puppet—a screen for the appearance of legality that will pass any test.
Ministry employees are busy playing a one-man show, creating an ideal world for the Minister of Magic and generously receiving money for this show. Albus Dumbledore, in the ICM a month ago, almost achieved the introduction of the International Peacekeeping Contingent to England. And everyone knew who to fight against. Now the situation is different. Voldemort is a state criminal in spirit and in fact, but with him—peace. On paper, he is a victim of Dumbledore, who is avenging the death of his kind—the Gaunts, whom Albus killed in search of the Resurrection Stone.
By the way, the third foreign detachment of curse liquidators has already died while trying to dig up the Source of the Gaunts, and Dumbledore's handwriting is clearly there. The Lord does not take any active actions, and most likely no one will be able to cope with him. Albus Dumbledore is not a criminal either in spirit or in fact. However, he is a criminal on paper; he is being tried in absentia, charged with the murder of his sister and brother. Alison has already read the book "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore." The book could have been called "He's Not a Nice Guy" without changing a single word.
It followed that Albus Dumbledore really wanted to possess the Deathly Hallows in order to become an immortal Lord of all. "Into the Dark" used Grindelwald to eliminate competitors, then took his Elder Wand. Then he began to harass the local English aristocracy: firstly, his enemies, taking their property for himself; secondly, his own, taking their property. But the main goal is not robbery, but the search for the two remaining Deathly Hallows. However, Albus overdid it a bit and, ineptly commanding, was left without his own by the decisive battle; thus, he was forced to use mercenaries with the stolen money.
A huge number of details about Albus's life are given. All the problems from the Lord? There was Albus—there was a war. Albus disappeared—no war. Instead of mass repressions—distribution of money to the population of the magical world. And it would be fine if it was money received from taxes. No, completely different money! Grindelwald is shown... specifically. He ran away from his friend to America, but there Albus exposed him through Newt Scamander. Then Grindelwald fled to France, where Dumbledore defeated him with someone else's hands, but instead of killing him or at least handing him over to the Aurors (and by then Grindelwald had saved up for the Dementor's Kiss), Albus simply let him go. Literally the next day, Grindelwald acquires the Elder Wand and begins his political ascent in Germany...
Alison knew—it was not so. It simply could not be, but he checked all the facts in the book. They are all true. It is not necessary to lie, as they say—the Niffler drowned in a puddle, which on average was knee-deep. Voldemort skillfully weaves his intrigues and very softly lays—not just lays, but softly closes that abyss, that Hellfire, which flares up under Magical England. He simply applauded the Dark Lord—to present the facts so that a false conclusion would be made on their basis. In America, there is a saying: "Better to lose a leg than a reputation."
Albus is rapidly losing his reputation, and the Lord is gaining it. Fundamental changes have occurred! Part of the population from the common people practically overnight stopped believing in the "Shining Image of Dumbledore." He turns into a person with not even zero, but a negative reputation. Soon, almost everyone will be sure that Albus never tells the truth, does not fulfill his promises and obligations when it is not beneficial to him, does not comply with international law and the international treaties he signed himself, and also, if he can, interferes in other people's affairs, threatens and blackmails.
But that's not all. A leader can be anything: often scary, occasionally merciful, sometimes even deserving of great sacrifices, at best cozy and unnoticeable, but never funny. Otherwise, he won't last long. Albus Dumbledore was now coming out as funny. Scary and talentless (he can't win even with the Elder Wand!), but above all funny. And that's a riddle! Just a week ago, anyone would have answered: Albus Dumbledore has a positive reputation—that is, an established positive opinion about a person, his actions, and motives. Albus worked for his reputation for years, earned it day after day, and protected it like the apple of his eye. Respect for Albus was achieved through his honesty, nobility, foresight, ability to effectively protect his own and others' interests, and act predictably based on generally accepted values and principles.
And all this instantly caught fire, like paper money! What is this, if not a miracle? No, everything is clear—traces of Dark Magic at the site of the Basilisk's liquidation, casualties among children at school, he showed up at the fight at the wrong time, laid down his own, called in dubious mercenary wizards, got a lot of money from somewhere, got the Elder Wand in a strange way, the mysterious death of his sister, Grindelwald's escape, a fight at the coffin, traces of Dumbledore's presence at the Gaunts' place of residence, and much more—but it was the Dark Lord who put all this together into a single system.
Now Albus's respect is built not on strength, but on blackmail. They can respect you for strength, but they only hate you for blackmail. And after all, formally—he, a contemporary of Dumbledore, who has access to the secret archives, fails to catch Voldemort in a lie! What can you expect from the rest? No, some know who is behind this. But they are either in on it or dead, like Alastor Moody. The rest... Any lie is arranged in such a way that it causes mistrust not because of its logical implausibility, but depending on the absence or presence of interest groups willing to support this lie.
And here there are plenty of those who benefit from believing exactly this.
The role of the "Minister of Magic" has also changed dramatically. You had to think of this—to get into the archives of the Department of Mysteries and increase the negative influence of Dark Magic on the mind by several thousand times in documents for the Minister of Magic! Simultaneously reducing the speed of the withdrawal of ereghu. Naturally, the Minister of Magic made a logical decision—to wait until the Dark Magicians kill each other. That is, Cornelius Fudge, being against Voldemort, fights him by non-interference, because this is the most effective way! He actively fights Dumbledore because he is more dangerous since he has a Horcrux, and at the same time, Albus is less mad due to the rare use of Dark Magic!
And how was this achieved? They changed only one paragraph in the text! And as a result, Cornelius Fudge is not a criminal in spirit, but in fact, he is a criminal. And he himself... Someone had to sign the capitulation. That is, in spirit, he is a criminal, but in fact—not. Result: there are no white pieces left in magical England, only black ones. In such conditions, it is impossible to start a "peacekeeping operation" from the outside. He understood who was behind this: the best cognac producer in the world. Can a cognac producer be evil?
The fact that Albus did not kill the interns sent against him from the Auror and did not storm the Ministry was expected. But what is left for him? To fight? Alone? With whom? With Fudge? What's the point? To fight with the Lord? And you find him! International intervention? So who will believe you that you are good? Recruit mercenaries? So mercenaries will not follow you anymore; more than a thousand of them have fallen. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with memories. He remembered his childhood. How he and his friends at Hogwarts came up with a coat of arms for the magical world. In the end, he settled on a shield divided into three parts, where three magical animals were depicted.
He did a good job, with meaning: a dragon, a thestral, and a niffler. The dragon is the magical world's way of looking at enemies; the thestral at the past, and the niffler at friends. After Hogwarts, he visited his family in America. His father was a slightly enthusiastic magizoologist who managed to cross a wampus (an American magical cat of the XXXXX classification) and a Muggle cat. Very soon, the resulting animal replaced the old one on the family crest. That's when he had a falling out with his brother: following his advice, he petted the resulting hybrid, and then they managed to sew his arm back on. Almost without scars.
As he later realized, it was impossible to pet the resulting hybrid, and his brother was just joking. The humor is based on the fact that you can't pet it, even though you really want to: caressing can cost the caresser a whole finger, or even a hand. The resulting hybrid, the wampokneazzle, is a marvelous combination of "kindness," that is, the charming "fluffiness" of a cat, softness, plumpness to the point of fatness, and aggression, which is clearly evidenced by its fluffy, but unambiguously predatory snout. In the many photographs he has just pulled out of his desk, one can see the hypnotizing brown gaze of the wampokneazzle—always angry, even if it is fed almost to the point of immobility.
The wampokneazle is indistinguishable from an ordinary cat in appearance, a fat animal, especially in winter, when its metabolism slows down to the limit because it needs fat. This animal was bred artificially; almost no one knows that it even exists. It is almost impossible to count individuals in the wild, since they hide well; catching them is generally a great success. Although the wampokneazle looks exceptionally fluffy, the furriest among cats, the wampokneazle is in some ways a dangerous predator; the only thing is that people are of no interest to it, unless it is very hungry. Moreover, having the appearance of a cute domestic cat, the wampokneazle in principle cannot hiss or growl, but only purrs kindly—even during a mortal fight or while gnawing someone's throat.
He is not familiar with affection, he does not eat from hands, and in infancy, playing, for example, with a steel rod, he actually eliminates the steel rod in two or three approaches to such entertainment. The wampokneazle reminds him of someone—one of his new acquaintances, similar to the Dark Lord. Moreover, if the Dark Lord succeeds in his ideas, this will become a symbol of the entire magical world. The wampokneazle has a number of things in common with Voldemort. Firstly, the wampokneazle, like Voldemort, exists and can even be photographed, but only in soft and comfortable captivity. In natural conditions, it is not found. Although... people never live in a natural environment, always managing to drive themselves into one cage or another.
Secondly, the wampokneazle, like Voldemort, is certainly a predator. The predator is quite small in appearance, not very powerful, looks absolutely domestic, but if it is hungry, it will tear a hippogriff apart. If Grindelwald found magical Germany cramped, then Voldemort was satisfied with magical England, which is smaller in territory and population. As if mocking, the wampokneazle, like Voldemort, periodically addresses the whole world with a classic non-verbal request to pet. But those who have brains, like Albus Dumbledore, do not believe him. That is why the wampokneazle is extremely reluctant to hold out their hands and do not give slippers at all. Moreover, at the first opportunity, Voldemort is accused of stealing Muggles somewhere in Africa, while he has no idea.
His new boss resembles a wampokneazle, with all his appearance testifying to warmth and comfort, but no, he is a formidable imperialist. It is especially symbolic that the wampokneazle is extremely reluctant to function in captivity. But in the wild, it eats well and reproduces at full speed. In the eyes of the wampokneazle and Voldemort, there is one common, invisible message that is addressed to everyone. It is a mixture of the phrases "What are you staring at!", "I'll kill you now!", "I'm hungry!" and "How I am fed up with all of you here." This is despite the fact that there are usually very few people around the wampokneazle and Voldemort.
But this is not the main thing. The main message is "Pet me." Yes, pet me. I want affection, but I just can't... Some people buy it. He himself knows everything about him, but sometimes he can hardly restrain himself. Once he refused to help Grindelwald because he could not win. And it is not that he lacked strength. No. Grindelwald was obsessed with his own exceptionalism, confident in his superiority, in the fact that people will never unite, and even if they unite, they will not be able to pose a threat to him. Grindelwald looked down on people like a cat, and that is why he lost.
Albus Dumbledore believes in people. He looks at people with admiration, confident that they will solve all their problems themselves; you just have to not interfere with them, that people will definitely unite, and he just needs to stand aside and rejoice. Albus Dumbledore looks at people like a dog—from the bottom up, that's why he will lose. Voldemort looks at people on an equal footing. He knows perfectly well that people like to pull on themselves, and this "on themselves" is not only money, but anything that people consider necessary: resources, people, feelings... He invites everyone to work with him in his team, promising to fulfill a dream; in the most banal version of the dream is money. Voldemort looks at people like a pig at a pig—as equals. That is why he will win.
Alison leaned back in his chair. For a second, it seemed to him that every person in the world was Voldemort's Horcrux. And as long as at least one person is alive, Voldemort cannot lose. Alison pushed the past and its absurd associations out of his mind and concentrated on the present. Thoughts were good, but it was time to get to work.
**August Rookwood's POV.**
Previously, the Dark Lord's ideas looked like this—kill the Mudbloods, control the Muggles. They changed their minds about killing the Mudbloods. After all, it costs money now, and someone has to work at low-prestige and low-paying jobs. Low-prestige and low-paying for a hereditary wizard, but just right for half-Muggles. And it's stupid—kill the Mudbloods and leave the Muggles? The former are more useful than the latter! Of course, the Mudbloods are disgusting, but we tolerate house-elves, right? And no one forces us to kiss the Mudbloods.
It's time for the wizarding world to take the Muggles into its own hands. But how? Debates flared up among the Death Eaters. There are a lot of problems with the Muggles. How to explain the recent pile of Muggle corpses killed with particular cruelty in prosperous Britain? The Dark Lord ordered Mulciber to deal with this, and he had to strain himself. The version for the Muggle secret services now looked like this: Russian communists are hiring Arab oil sheikhs to contact Islamic terrorists who have access to the fighting groups of the Irish Republican Army, who are in contact with Basque nationalists in Spain, so that they, in turn, with the help of a secret society among Catholic priests, can contact the Italian mafiosi, who can organize here in Britain a network of Satanic sects, bringing terror and horror to ordinary people, destabilizing domestic politics, and therefore reducing Britain's influence in world politics, so that Britain will have to stop pressuring the USSR to withdraw Soviet troops from Afghanistan.
How messed up! He had problems with the first link—it was hard to believe that the Russians had the opportunity to buy oil sheikhs. But Mulciber, through the hair left by one of the MI7 officials in the barber's, slightly twisted his critical assessment of reality, and he was sure that the sheikhs' help was bought by selling Russian women to the harem. But now he was most concerned about his work. Together, they were developing a new way to control the Muggles.
At first, they wanted to do it like before—religion. The Pharaoh is a god, and the fact that the Pharaoh is actually a magician... fools don't need to know that. But alas, the Muggles have become too smart. Already in the Middle Ages, they had to pretend to be prophets or saints. And now even that won't work: the Muggles have their own vision of God or saints, which magicians don't fit. To pretend to be demons? Such a word is morally outdated, evokes persistent negative associations, and does not promote trust and fruitful cooperation.
A second option was developed: we are aliens from outer space. But what will happen then? Buy a nuclear missile! Or aluminum ore! Do you have any? Then sell it! Lend it! Why such a high percentage? Let's trade! And the technology is cool; can we copy it? Can't you teach us how to live properly? Or... Get out of here, damned occupiers! Wrong again.
Then the Dark Lord suggested an interesting idea. Now they were standing in the Muggle Minister's office, erasing her memory. The Dark Lord was standing next to them, invisible. It's time to start your acquaintance with the magical world anew, Muggle.
"Hey, who are you?" asked the woman, who had come to her senses.
"I am a representative of a supercivilization from the Andromeda Nebula. We have chosen you..." he began.
"Oblivate!" the Lord's spell fell on the target.
"Rookwood, stop joking. Time is of the essence. One more joke like that and you will receive the Cruciatus."
"As you command, Lord."
The woman came to her senses again. "Hey, who are you? Security!" But there was no security. A man in a Muggle business suit was sitting in front of the Muggle Minister.
"We are about to have a very difficult conversation," Rookwood began.
"I have no desire to talk to you."
Instead, Rookwood pointed something like a gun at a stack of papers and pressed a button. The Minister's speech turned into... steel sheets. The volume did not change; the paper simply transfigured into steel.
"What's that?" she asked.
Rookwood sighed to himself. The Dark Lord, who was now casting a spell and transmitting the Muggle's thoughts to Rookwood via the link, knew a thing or two about moral abuse. After all, if Muggles do not need to be tortured or maimed, no one forbids humiliating them morally? And if they do not understand how they have been humiliated... The effect is even sweeter: the victim herself thanks you and helps.
"A universal matter transmuter. Think of any number," Rookwood said.
"Absolutely any and more difficult. I can guess." She wanted to run away, but she was mowed down by a beam from Rookwood's second pistol—she collapsed into her chair, paralyzed. The pistols... Just a glowing decoy to allow the master to cast Petrificus Totalus on the Muggle or transfigure papers. Rookwood listened to the Lord's words via the link, knowing that no one forbids humiliating them morally. And if they do not understand how they were humiliated... The effect is even sweeter: the victim herself thanks you and helps.
"So you thought of the number minus seventeen twenty-second times pi roots of the exponent. Am I right?" he said.
"I see you're surprised. If you like, you can go straight from here to any intelligence service. We've already been checked and given a full absolution. They'll tell you that we do indeed conduct financial transactions and engage in technological research in all countries of the world. But there's another aspect of our work, which we'll tell you about now."
He spent the next ten minutes telling the Muggle information that no one but her could have known until she was ready to talk. "You see, Madam Minister…" Rookwood pulled out of his pocket something that resembled an iridescent police badge with a picture of an hourglass. "I'm from the future. More precisely, from 18179 by your reckoning. As an employee of the Time Patrol, it's my responsibility to bring you up to speed."
He continued. The Time Patrol is a police force that protects the existing history and does not allow anyone to change it. But sometimes... there are fanatics who want to make the world a better place. Or criminals who want to steal something from the past or kill someone. And we catch such people. Lately, there has been an influx of criminals, and they are the ones responsible for some deaths and strange events in England. You will help us and the Patrol agents hide this from the townsfolk, right?
To the Muggle's credit, she did not believe it. But Rookwood showed her high-tech devices—a mind reader, an instant teleporter, a matter transmuter. He showed her the high-tech base of the Time Patrol in London and even... took her on a trip into the past. She saw herself from the outside! True, she was not allowed to move into the future—not the right level of clearance. But he understands her: from the outside, some magic looks like highly developed technology.
"So… you want to say that all these crimes… accidents… strange phenomena…"
"The work of fanatics and criminals from the future. That's nothing; just look at the attempt to drop a nuclear bomb on ancient Rome…"
"And what is this future like?"
"I'm not authorized to talk about anything; it's part of my job. We must reduce the number of problems, not increase them. I physically can't tell you anything—every patrol officer has an unbreakable hypnoblock. For everything to go as usual, I need your help."
"But the future will change from any intervention, won't it?" she asked.
"Not quite. The future is a solid thing. And most of the events in your world are extremely insignificant things. Your world… No, in the future, there are narrow specialists who know that some savages once split the atom for the first time… or invented the first technology for interstellar travel… But this information is about as important as it is for you that someone once mastered fire for the first time. A month earlier, a month later... I assure you—it is very difficult to really change something, and if suddenly someone changes something, we will neutralize this impact. And for this, I repeat, I need your help. Because if someone does change the past, all the people above the change point will simply… disappear. Trillions of them. More precisely, they will be replaced by another humanity. Although most likely, by a nuclear wasteland. Can you imagine what would happen if every person had a device capable of dispensing weapons, ammunition, chemical weapons, or radioactive isotopes in large quantities? It would be about the same as handing out firearms to Stone Age hunters," Rookwood said, shaking the "universal transformer" of matter.
"Of course. But I want to know the answer—how much truth is in what you told me?"
Rookwood smiled. "A lot, Miss Margaret Thatcher. I told you the truth at the level that you are capable of perceiving. The ones we have a hard time with are the guys from pre-industrial eras. We have to stuff them with tales of battles of the gods. Or about magic."
**End of Rookwood's POV.**
**Lucius Malfoy's POV.**
After the Battle of Azkaban and the de facto capture of magical England, the Dark Lord's authority among his own people had soared to unprecedented heights. Lucius Malfoy was now finishing his report to the Master. For some reason, the Master was especially interested in the research of those who had received the Fourth Unforgivable or who had suffered from the actions of Salazar's Basilisk. He was probably developing some kind of mental weapon...
"Excellent, Lucius. I think you should be given more official positions in the Ministry."
"Master, this is a great honor... and an honor... But given the transition period... wouldn't that make my service to you obvious to certain people?"
"It will, Lucius. Therefore, strengthen the defense of the house as much as possible. Hire mercenaries. Buy golems. It's better not to live there and take your family abroad. Lucius, do you have a safe?"
"Yes. Eight safes," Lucius answered.
"Remember, you once didn't do very well? You set me up and lost one of the most ancient and noble pure-blooded wizards? I have a special task for you. Buy another safe, more secure. Hide one thing there. I will help you make protective charms."
"Perhaps it would be better to hide the item in Gringotts?" Lucius clarified.
"I trust you more," the gentleman answered and handed him an insulating container. "This is a very valuable and dangerous thing. Do not lose it or break it. Be prepared for the fact that Dumbledore may come for it."
"I wonder what is inside?" Something like a mana accumulator stone the size of a dragon came to mind.
"This is a diary by T. M. Riddle," they answered his unasked question. "You don't need to explain who it is, do you? I made this thing in my sixth year at Hogwarts, and it was with its help that Elena released Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets."
"Master... I will definitely justify your trust... But if suddenly... the measures that I take are not enough to ensure the safety of this thing... what punishment will await me?" Lucius asked, a trace of anxiety creeping into his voice.
For a second, he thought he saw amusement in the corners of the Dark Lord's eyes, reminiscent of his son Draco's expression when planning some kind of prank. "Write an explanatory note listing all the security measures you took. And if I find out that the destruction of the item was the result of force majeure, and not negligence... I will forgive you."