From time to time, the thought strikes me that the Dark Lord's true driving passion was not dreams of world conquest, power, and immortality, but simply that the thought of magical settlements without intercontinental Portkeys, mana supply systems, and spatial expansion obelisks was unbearable to him. The Death Eaters may have thought they were fighting for the glory of the Dark Lord, but in reality, they were fighting for the noble cause of magi-technical progress for all.
— From the memoirs of Charles Nott. Edition of one thousand copies.
"Give a man a way out of a losing situation so that he doesn't look insincere, duplicitous, or dishonest, and he will take it," he remarked. "I don't want the vanquished to hold a grudge against me and be angry that they chose the losing side; I want them to come over to my side without losing anything," he said. "I suppose the rest of the Death Eaters will be arriving soon, so if you wish, we can talk later."
— Jacob Macmillan.
POV of the Creevey Family Father.
Recently, David Creevey's life had changed: strange people came to him and explained that both of his children were wizards. Dennis Creevey, seven years old, and Colin Creevey, six.
Naturally, he and his wife were skeptical, but the wizards showed them many wonders—like reading minds and turning furniture into animals and back again—and took them on a tour of the magical world: they saw the Ministry of Magic, the School of Magic, the Magical Hospital. And it was impressive.
Their magical education was supposed to start much later, but for now, they were given several books and a toy wand—all styled to look like some children's board game. Moreover, as far as he understood, only the wizards who had bonded the books to themselves could see the real content within. The only slightly disconcerting thing was that the initial bonding of the books was done with blood. Although… non-wizards get injections, and it's fine, right?
Once a month, an employee from the Ministry of Magic would visit them, they would talk and visit Diagon Alley—borrowing books from the library, buying various trifles, and going to the Magical Hospital once every six months. During their first visit to St. Mungo's, they were amazed for a long time that a non-wizard family had two wizard children, and they did a paternity test. But they confirmed that all the children were his. He had no doubt.
Today, a regular stroll down Diagon Alley to the wizarding bank awaited them.
Looking out the window, he saw a used car pull up to their house. A man of about twenty-five got out and knocked on their door.
"Children, go ahead and get changed and pack your things, while I talk with our escort," he requested.
The man who entered resembled an office clerk: patent leather shoes, a business suit.
"Hello. Are you ready?" he was asked.
"The children are getting ready. But I'd like to… talk to you alone."
His guest took a cigarette case from his pocket and touched it.
"Done. What would you like to discuss?"
"The children are thrilled with your magical world. But upon closer inspection, and after listening to them read the book 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts: A History of Albus Dumbledore' aloud to me, I've discovered a number of problems… For example. What is your political system in general? It seems to me you have a parade of incompatibilities. It seems like liberalism, and also like a dictatorship…"
"It all stems from the very nature of wizards, where each is their own weapon and assembly line. We have freedom of speech, religion, movement, the right to rallies and demonstrations, universal fair elections, regular turnover of power—this isn't liberalism, it's the norm. Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge was very popular but declined to run again and now works in a different position. But due to his immense popularity, the post of Minister for Magic was renamed to 'Fudge.' In the last election, between the right, represented by Mulciber, and the left, represented by Nott, the centrist Rabastan Lestrange won—the youngest Minister for Magic in history…"
"These names mean nothing to me. In short, please, tell me in more detail," Mr. Creevey asked.
"There is a strong government. The population is learning self-governance and independent adherence to the Statute of Secrecy. One must learn self-governance just as one learns to drive a car. Long and thoughtfully. And until then, it's better if there is a driver. My complaint against the previous leadership is that they had a weak, helpless, corrupt government. Now, a state based on the rule of law with an independent judiciary and the supremacy of law has been built, but the concept of immediately implementing absolute democracy throughout the country or the world is not supported. The population understands what actions are rewarded and which are punished. Trying to act contrary to the established laws is… at best, like walking up a down escalator. We have three options: either play games of absolute democracy and constant tug-of-war, or as it is now—federalism, a state of law, and diversity of systems, or an attempt at forced unification and a new round of authoritarianism, as in Grindelwald's time. My complaint against the former government is not its lack of democracy, but its rejection of the rule of law and its permanence. The state strongly supports small businesses. This is right: small and medium-sized businesses mean jobs, self-sufficiency, comfort, innovation. But practice has shown that even under these conditions, economic efficiency, labor productivity, and large-scale implementation of new technologies are the domain of big business. My complaint against the former government is not because of its bet on a free market, but for the preservation of 'oligarchic capitalism,' where big business merged with power in a corrupt ecstasy, and a new version of a state-monopolistic economy was formed on its basis. Now there is big business, but no monopolists. The problem is not big business or even state ownership as such, but monopolization, which once drove the magical world's economy into stagnation. I am for further urbanization—the creation of fully magical settlements. Fully magical settlements are not only the foundation of a modern economy, they are simply an incomparable convenience of life, the ability not to look over one's shoulder at the Statute of Secrecy, while still observing it. My complaint against the former government is not that we often lived next to non-wizards or brought children from the non-wizarding world into the magical world much later, but that due to the government's helplessness and desire to protect the centers of power, urbanization was skewed: infrastructure did not develop at all. Magical Britain needs ten to twelve large magical settlements for an economic leap, not one over-inflated Ministry of Magic. I am for a strong army. We do not live in an ideal world. But a strong army is not a threat of Armageddon, but a force capable of protecting the country's interests. My complaint against the previous government is its absolute helplessness in the sphere of Dark Magic in particular, conditioned by moralism where it has no place. I am a supporter of creating a favorable environment along the borders of Magical Britain. Good-neighborly relations, alliances, common interests. Competition, economic penetration and dominance in foreign markets, I'm not afraid of this word, state protectionism within reasonable limits—this is normal and right if it benefits the country, and not a circle of friends. What did Dumbledore do? He destroyed the prospect of reforms with his own hands. He neither carried them out himself nor let others do so. And in return? The transformation of his country into a hot spot, thousands killed—and our population is not like that of non-wizards—and many not-so-superfluous Galleons thrown to the wind. Who benefited from that? Now, the England of my dreams is being built, and not sometime in the future, but better day by day—a country with a system of public Portkeys, a system for collecting and purchasing mana, a country of wonderful infrastructure and magical settlements, a country of universities and advanced magic, a country where the autonomy of regions is balanced by a strong government, accountable to an analogue of a non-magical parliament, where electors represent mainly the interests not of parties, but of regions. Regions possessing political subjectivity due to the personnel and economic potential of the population. Today, Magical Britain is a state of law, a country moving towards power to the people and a highly developed society, a country not afraid of integration and globalization thanks to modern infrastructure, competitive education, quality of life, and the security of every individual."
"Somehow, it's too good. As I understand it, you recently had a civil war?" Mr. Creevey asked.
"Yes. But don't worry—all the negative consequences have already been overcome. Most of those who emigrated from Magical Britain during the war years have returned home."
"And what were the causes of the conflict?"
"Albus Dumbledore, using ancient powerful artifacts, decided to seize absolute power, becoming immortal in the process. But don't worry, it won't happen again: You-Know-Who broke and burned the self-casting Wand."
"Here, I don't understand anything. It feels like that Dumbledore went mad at the end of his life."
"That's exactly what happened."
"And how can a wand be self-casting?"
"According to legend, it's a Gift of Death. Have your children read you 'The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore' and also 'The Black Phoenix.' It's about his familiar. We can buy them in Diagon Alley today."
"Alright. Then answer the main question—who is this You-Know-Who? And what does he do?"
At this, his interlocutor lost his composure and glanced around furtively.
"You see… You-Know-Who's name shouldn't be spoken—it's equivalent to summoning the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And a false summons… That's about half my annual salary. What he does… He performs the same role for Magical Britain as nuclear weapons do for a nuclear power. It can't be explained… There was a war once, and everything seemed clear… And then You-Know-Who won. I'm a rather weak wizard, and Hogwarts wasn't in the cards for me, but under the new rules, I studied there. And I have more money, and I got a job at the Ministry. The new path, it's objectively better…"
"Dad, we're ready!" the children shouted.
They were dressed in blue robes and carried suitcases as big as themselves.
Their escort touched the cigarette case again.
"Excellent. One minute," he began. "Maybe we should take my wife with us too?"
"I'm sorry, no. We'll be traveling by Apparition, which means I'll have to carry three people on my own. And I have many others to escort into the magical world."
"Understood. And one last question? Do they have to study at Hogwarts?"
"From a formal point of view—no. You can study abroad, but then you pay for the tuition yourself…"
"I can find the money for my children's education," he said.
"There is no free circulation of non-wizarding money in the magical world. And the allowance," the escort pointed to the children, "is not paid if the citizen is constantly outside the country during that time. You could start with private tutors… But that's even more expensive, and it's unlikely you'll find anything above an average level. Don't worry. Hogwarts is the best school in the world. It's even been recognized internationally. There are three times as many subjects there as when I studied."
"I dreamed that my children, like me, would study at Eton…"
"That can be arranged," he was told.
"How? They're wizards! They need to learn to control their gift, otherwise, they'll become dangerous to others and themselves!"
"They'll study at Eton. During the day. And at Hogwarts at night."
"Um… and they won't suspect anything there?"
"No. We have our people there."
"And will they be able to study both day and night?" he asked.
"Of course. It won't be easy, but magic and potions will help them. We've had such precedents before."
"Dad! Come on, let's go! We're going to be wizards! We'll be yours and Mom's protectors and personal doctors!" the children started squealing.
"Alright. We'll talk later."
He took the escort's arm. His children took his other hand.
And then… It felt as if he had shrunk many times over, losing his human form. Then he was pulled through some kind of hoses, and then he was himself again. There was no pain, but the feeling, as if he had been thoroughly taken for a ride on all the attractions in an amusement park, remained.
They were standing in Diagon Alley. Or rather, the adults were standing, and the children were now being helped up.
"Let me carry the suitcases," he said.
"If you don't want to buy books, we can go to the library," he was offered.
Diagon Alley looked, in his opinion, slightly strange. Part of it had low-rise buildings, but sometimes there were taller houses. Carriages without draft animals and flying cars, and some kind of discs, drove along the streets! But the strangest thing was that all over the space, about two hundred meters from each other, stood black obelisks. As the escort had once explained to him, this was a mana collection system. Only this mana collection, in his opinion, looked wild: he had seen a couple of times how people approached the obelisks, cut their palms, and pressed them to the stone. As it was explained to him, they buy magical energy from people this way, and the blood serves as both an energy carrier and a personal identifier.
It seemed that the entire magical world consisted of shops: cauldrons were sold, brooms were sold, and seemingly non-magical things were sold. During his first visit, he was most struck by the fact that the same shop had "Light Magic" and "Dark Magic" departments. And this was right on the main streets! He was, however, immediately explained that there was some murky distinction based on the type of energies passing through the magical energy system… He never fully understood it, but apparently, magic is not a Firestorm or summoning demons, it's the ability to change the world through internal energy, if a person has it, like his children.
They found themselves a stone's throw from the library. There, the children, like pirates, began to stuff their bags with magical comics and entertainment books. To him, they were just ordinary books, like "The Wizard of Oz," but the children claimed that for the one who borrowed them from the library, they were "real books of the magical world."
"Look, Dad, what I found!" said Colin, waving books in front of him with Pinocchio written on them. "These are the new books by Lockhart himself! 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Philosopher's Source of Power', 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Secret Chamber of Mordred', 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Daemonhost of Azkaban', 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Balefire', 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Order of Death', 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Half-Demon Prince', 'Gilderoy Lockhart and the Risen from the Dead Mordred'."
"This Lockhart is your school's headmaster, isn't he?" he clarified.
"Yes. He is a very… peculiar person. And he has a hobby of writing entertainment books."
"Mr. Morrow!" Denis yelled, addressing the escort, flipping through some book. "Lockhart writes that vampires sparkle in the sun. Is that true?"
"No. That's… a poetic exaggeration."
Leaving the library, they walked on. It wasn't far, but they walked slowly. First, the children got stuck to the window of a shop selling magical animals, looking at which, he hoped the glass was strong enough. These wizards know what they're doing, right?..
Then their group got stuck to the windows where ordinary televisions stood, only they were showing a channel that didn't exist. He looked more closely.
Two guys lay fully clothed on a bed.
"What are we going to do tonight, Gellert?" the dark-haired one asked.
"The same thing we do every night," the other replied, jumping off the bed and grabbing a dagger, "try to take over the world!"
Then the intro started. "A sinister, evil plan they have made—to conquer the earth and enslave all. Here's Albus, here's Gellert…"
"How are copyright laws in your magical world?"
"Flawless. However, any Muggle invention or work of art is not protected by copyright in the magical world."
"And the other way around?"
"If the creator doesn't figure out how to use their intellectual property in the Muggle world within four years, then anyone can. Without revealing the magical world and without causing it harm."
'I see,' he thought to himself.
They had already reached the final part of their route—the Gringotts bank, where they were to confirm their consent for an investment. He had no magical money, but the children had already accrued an allowance, one for seven years, the other for six. He still didn't understand why he had to be there, since no one was asking for his opinion anyway…
However, in front of the bank, there was some kind of rally. Two dozen absurdly dressed people, even by the standards of the magical world, stood there, shouting something and holding posters with some bearded old man. The old man was moving on the poster.
'Is this a gay pride parade in the magical world?' he thought.
"Old Believers," the wizard answered his unasked, but obvious question.
"Are those the ones who want to live like before?" Daniel asked.
"Yes," their escort answered him.
"And is someone stopping them from living like before?" David asked.
"No," the Escort answered.
"Then are they being prevented from agitating and showing their views?" Creevey clarified.
"No," the Escort answered again.
"So what are they unhappy about?" David Creevey asked.
"I don't know," he was told.
He read their slogans.
"Down with the enchanting of Muggle things!", "No to the mana collection system! Blood Magic is Evil!", "No to the oppression of Muggles!"
"And who are Muggles? Are they really oppressed?" he asked Mr. Morrow.
"Muggles was what they used to call non-wizards. And they are not oppressed. For example, your children can now run a joint business with you. Sell food to the magical world. Or heal you, using their knowledge and magic. All of this was forbidden before."
"And where are the police, if they are protesting in defense of a terrorist?" he asked.
"Why? We have freedom. We are tolerant even of intolerance. As long as they don't break the criminal code, they can do whatever they want."
Their group was walking around the protesters when it happened.
A young and beautiful red-haired woman with a dark-haired boy, who didn't look like her, appeared on the square in front of the bank.
Instantly, it was as if the sound was turned off. Some started to run away, some Apparated. Both protesters and random passersby.
"Quick, take my hands," Morrow ordered.
While they were gathering the children—one was interested in a magical 'trash can' that said thank you when you threw trash in it, and the other was mesmerized by a candy shop window—he didn't see, but heard what happened.
"Where is my son?" one of the protesters yelled.
David turned around.
One of the ridiculously dressed men was pointing a wand at the woman.
"I don't understand what you're talking about," she answered him.
"Avada Ke—" the man began to say, but he didn't manage to finish whatever he wanted to say.
"Avada Kedavra!" a green beam from somewhere to the side hit the man.
After that, he lost the thread of events. A flash. All the protesters were lying down, and the red-haired woman was clutching a wand in one hand, while blood dripped from the other.
The escort was holding their hands, but they couldn't Apparate. He whispered something about "anti-disapparition jinxes."
"Sorry for interfering, I know you have everything under control," another woman, completely ordinary, approached the redhead.
"And who are you?" the redhead asked her, pointing her wand at her.
"Elizabeth Allfridge. You conducted my wedding. My husband and I are the only two survivors from the first enhanced batch of werewolves," the woman reported, standing at attention.
At that moment they were interrupted. A dozen wizards in strange uniforms appeared around them.
"Surrender! We cast without warning!" a cold voice spoke, coming from everywhere.
But suddenly the voice was cut off.
"What people!" now the voice held incredible warmth.
One of the wizards stepped forward and removed his mask. Underneath was a very ordinary, slightly twisted face.
"Your orders?" he asked, addressing the redhead.
"They tried to kill me. But this woman saved me," the redhead pointed to Elizabeth.
"Then she must be promoted," the leader said. "I await your report," the wizard ordered the nondescript woman.
"What should we do with these?" someone pointed to the group of stunned protesters.
"I think they are innocent and ended up in this company out of their own foolishness. And that man… what son was he talking about?"
The unmasked wizard took out some kind of box and passed it over the body.
"His son died here nine years ago during a battle in Diagon Alley," he answered.
Suddenly, David Creevey felt the unmasked wizard's gaze on him. A somewhat bored look…
"Here are the witnesses to the crime. Do you mind if I take your memories?"
"Who are you, anyway?" David Creevey asked, hugging the children who were pressed against him.
"Official personnel."
He didn't even have time to react. It was as if magic had bound him. First, all four of them were touched in turn by a wand—near the temple, pulling out some silvery thread. Then each of them had some liquid poured into their mouths, and immediately it became somehow calm. Then they looked into his eyes for a bit, after which the guest expressed his admiration for the red-haired woman's work.
"Hi, are you a real non-wizard?" the dark-haired boy asked him.
But he couldn't answer—he was rooted to the spot.
"Our course of action? Do we wipe their memories?" the unmasked wizard asked, for some reason addressing the redhead.
"Let's ask him," she replied.
Immediately after her answer, he felt the ability to move.
"No need to wipe my memory," he answered.
"You heard him. Everyone's free to go," the woman ordered.
"Your will shall be done. But you are overacting, Elena," the unmasked wizard replied.
"Allow me to decide that for myself, Antonin."
At the same time, all the uniformed wizards disappeared along with the stunned people in colorful robes. There was no one on the square except him with his children, the escort, and the strange woman who was giving orders to official personnel.
"You are free to go too," she told the escort, and he immediately disappeared.
"Cool! We witnessed a murder! Just like on the wiz-o-vision!" the dark-haired boy cried out. "Let's be friends!" this time he was addressing his children. "Do you like Lockhart's books?"
The child was strange. It's one thing for his children—they had some potion poured into them, but this boy, does he not pay any attention to murders at all?
"And how do I get into Gringotts? And for the goblins to talk to me, do I have to present one adult wizard in addition to the children?" he said, for some reason aloud.
"I need to go to Gringotts too, I'll help you," the woman informed him.
On the one hand, going with a stranger was foolish. But in Gringotts, he would be safer. And the woman was strange—taking down a dozen people with one spell, and the wound on her hand was already gone…
"Let's go. And who are you, anyway?" he asked.
"Lily Prince."
"But that man called you Elena," he said as they entered Gringotts.
"That's my stage name. An old one," he was told.
The children were discussing something as they followed them. The goblins were discussing something with Lily-Elena, and he was trying to piece together the world, in a state of deep shock.
The goblin teller must have set speed records, and a few minutes later they were leaving Gringotts, and he himself was clutching something like a bank statement in his hands.
At the exit of the bank, they ran into another man. He was slightly gloomy and pale.
"Dad! We saw a real murder! Just like on the wizarding television!"
The boy rushed to hug the man, but ran into some invisible sphere a meter away from the wizard.
A cold gaze pinned him to the spot.
"You have a cheerful son. He looks like you. Only his eyes are his mother's."
"He is a child from a first marriage," the woman corrected him.
Oops… I should keep my mouth shut.
"Let's go to the cafe! My treat! And then we'll look at brooms!" the boy wouldn't let up.
"Maybe we should just go home?" the man suggested.
But the decision was made to go to the cafe. They walked through the streets that had suddenly become somewhat deserted.
He had been to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour before. But this time there were no queues. In fact, there was no one, except the owner of the cafe, who also looked like he would be glad to leave. And the greatest horror for the seller was not the man, not Lily-Elena, but the little dark-haired boy. What is wrong with this world? The boy is about nine years old, how can he be so frightening? He doesn't have claws, he's not drooling, he has the most ordinary human eyes, like his mother's…
The children were eating ice cream, and he gathered his courage.
"What is going on? I've been here dozens of times! Today everything has become so gloomy and deserted! And why is the owner of the cafe looking at that boy so strangely, while he himself looks like he has one foot in the grave!" he exclaimed.
"I talked Mom into taking a walk without changing my appearance! And he's nervous because he thinks I'm You-Know-Who's son! But that's not true, I'm James Potter's son! He was good, only Dumbledore Imperiused him!"
David tried to put it all together, but it was working out very poorly.
He seemed to remember being told in the Leaky Cauldron about some student of You-Know-Who, who, if anything went wrong, immediately killed everyone, and who had to get a new body after the battle with Dumbledore…
"It wasn't like that at all!" the woman said.
"Excuse me. And how are you reading my thoughts if I'm not looking you in the eye?" he clarified.
"A secret," he was told.
But this was his chance! A chance to question the participants of the civil war! They wouldn't kill him, would they? The woman had already stood up for him once.
"And how was it really?"
He hadn't even counted on such an option: the woman just burst. The man stood nearby and looked anywhere but at them. The children were discussing Quidditch.
At the end of a half-hour story, he did what he had long wanted to do—he asked for You-Know-Who's name.
I see. Voldemort.
True, at the sound of that name, a squad of wizards appeared again, but seeing who was sitting in the cafe, they apologized and left. Lily explained it by saying she was a war hero.
"And what is he like, your You-Know-Who?" he asked.
"He is… great," the woman told him. "When there was a war with Magical Argentina, he said that none of his servants would die that day, and he went into battle alone. And then… like nuclear explosions. And Magical Argentina surrendered, left without a Ministry of Magic. Voldemort,"—at the sound of his name, wizards appeared from somewhere out of invisibility and immediately went back under it—"he is like that—great, constantly changing forms and appearance, sometimes idealistic, but more often cruel, always honest with himself, but hypocritical with others. Stubborn in his views, narcissistic and at the same time unaware of it. Generous to others and principled. Curious and actively helping his own. Somehow furiously hardworking and at the same time Hollywood-cynical. You just have to understand that. And try not to become the same."
"Hollywood? You watch non-wizarding channels?"
"Yes. I'm from a Muggle family," she said.
"You're as much from a Muggle family as I am. But it was a good speech," said a man with long hair who had somehow appeared next to their table.
"Mr. Malfoy…" Lily-Elena greeted him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You took the order in which you were declared a Muggle-born too literally. You are a disgrace to the title of a pure-blood wizard!"
"Am I? And I thought that if anyone among us was a Muggle-lover, it was you…"
The man standing next to him turned purple.
"Have you already introduced Draco to all the relatives? And your wife is strange: the way she looks at me, wrinkles appear. Don't you have enough money for a cosmetologist?"
"Severus! Until this evening! I'm gone!"
The random guest turned and was gone.
"And what was that?" he asked.
"Pay no attention. He's a philanthropist from the magical world. Just don't introduce him to his wife: he has more than one hundred and fifty illegitimate children."
"What? How? And when did he have time to work?"
"Everyone is surprised. Anyway, I have to go. If there are any problems, write to me. A house-elf will bring you mail in the evening."
"But you don't know my address!" he clarified.
"I know it now," the woman replied, pointing to her eyes. "Dream! Send our acquaintances home!"
A house-elf, as he understood, appeared, and a moment later he and his family were at home.
The children were delighted and began to sort through books and some hats.
Should he tell them that the magical world has at least a double bottom? What's the point?
"I want to go to Slytherin, because You-Know-Who, the greatest wizard of all time, studied there!" Colin confessed.
"And I agreed with Harry! We're going to Gryffindor, because his mother studied there!" Dennis shouted.
End of David Creevey's POV.
POV of Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius was furious. Again this… this… that one!
And how well it all started—a request to remove the curse from him. And they did remove it, albeit in a nasty way! Now he and Narcissa had three children.
But he could never have imagined what Elena's sick brain would come up with next.
She still had his sperm. And children who were easily classified as half-blood Malfoys began to be born in Magical Britain. She was inseminating Muggles with his seed!
It was awful. Firstly, it did not conform to blood purity.
Secondly, Narcissa… got a little overwrought, and he received several Cruciatus Curses from his wife before he could explain to her that the children were his, but he hadn't screwed those women!
And thirdly, wizards pride themselves on having no Squibs in the family. But with the total insemination of just anyone… One hundred and eighty-six children, seventeen of them Squibs! Seventeen Squibs! A disgrace on his head! Black and Mulciber had stopped greeting him!
Elena's plan was perfect. Firstly, she was trampling on his name: he had become the joke of all England. Secondly, she was setting him against his wife. Thirdly, the Malfoy family is very rich. The reason is simple—two parents, one child. It means we get richer with each generation. But now… No, he managed to quietly liquidate nine of his non-children with others' hands, but then the Dark Lord summoned him and said that in England, you can't kill his subjects. And certainly not Mudbloods, but half-bloods from a good family.
And it would be one thing if it were just not killing! The Dark Lord ordered him to pay alimony for each child no lower than the median income in the country, and also to spend at least an hour a week with each child! At least after that conversation, he talked to Elena, and the extra children stopped appearing.
Money was one thing, but an hour for each child? There aren't that many hours in a week! Well, he managed to consolidate it—to meet not with each child, but with a group, like in a kindergarten. And watching a Muggle movie together in a Muggle cinema would do. Brr… Too many Muggles!
But that awaited him tomorrow. And this evening he would talk with Snape and Barty. Barty was proposing a million-dollar idea. We'll see.
He sat in a bar with a changed appearance and waited. There was no one in the bar except the bartender.
Soon Snape appeared. He also had a changed appearance, but he could be easily recognized by his wand. He sat down at his table and activated anti-eavesdropping charms.
"Severus! Your wife! She! She's driving me crazy!"
"What can I do?.." he began.
"No, thank you, of course, for the fact that since the wedding she hasn't appeared at meetings once. We guys, by the way, pay you for that, but still, thank you, I don't know how you did it. But why, why does she play the role of a Muggle-born so well?"
"The Dark Lord's order. You know… Of everyone in the Inner Circle, only Bellatrix and Elena can convincingly portray hatred for Dumbledore. Their reverence for the Dark Lord is so great that they have come to believe their own propaganda."
How? How can you believe your own propaganda? He had one explanation—the Dark Lord's sperm is toxic and causes mental disorders. By the way…
"And the boy? Harry? Does he speak Parseltongue?" he asked.
"As far as I know, no."
Apparently, she had disappointed the Dark Lord in that regard. As far as he knew, all of the Dark Lord's children with Bellatrix spoke Parseltongue.
"Anything else?" Snape inquired.
"I'll pay you if you kill your wife."
"You don't have that much money," Snape replied.
"Well then, screw her more often and harder," Malfoy suggested.
"Of course. For you, it's free."
"Severus… aren't you afraid of her? I think oral sex with a real manticore is safer."
"The will of the Dark Lord must be done," Snape replied.
"Are you aware that Dolohov is hitting on her?" Malfoy clarified.
"Yes. But the Dark Lord has forbidden poisoning him."
"I see…"
It's unknown what they would have agreed on, but then Barty arrived. He was also under a different appearance, but he was easy to recognize by the un-wiped lipstick on his face.
He sat down with them.
"Barty. You set the place and time yourself. You have a personal time-manager and a Time-Turner, how do you manage to be late?" Lucius asked.
"Sorry. Got caught up in work," Barty replied.
"Caught up in work? Are you out of your mind? We are the ones who work, and you are fooling around with women!"
There are rumors that Barty is the Dark Lord's illegitimate son. It all adds up: his job is not to Cruciate the bound, the Lord killed his 'father,' and placed his mother with his most faithful servants.
"Such is the will of the Dark Lord. It's advertising. We must show that Death Eaters are not snobs and also love Muggles. And anyway, it's not for you to judge me. Did you get my birthday present?"
Barty had sent him potions and amulets for contraception. He had been getting those a lot lately.
"I got it."
"And I have a business too," Barty said. "I'll soon be richer than you!"
"That's not a business! You don't have to do anything, people just bring you money!"
"Come on! For faithful service, the Dark Lord gave me a monopoly on building casinos, brothels, and light drug trafficking in one of the counties! Muggles have Las Vegas, now the magical world will have one too…"
"Alright. Let's move on. I've seen your business plan. Phenomenal profitability. What is it? Drugs? That's already taken."
"Better, Lucius!" said Barty. "It's porn! You and I will provide the memories, and Severus will process them! Then we'll sell it for Pensieves…"
"Uh… and why me?" Lucius clarified.
"What do you mean, why? I want to learn from your experience! You've had almost two hundred children in a year! That's how much you've worked on it! In short, we split the money equally three ways. A tenth, of course, to the Dark Lord…"
"I can't show you the memories. They don't exist," Lucius reported.
"What do you mean, they don't exist? Are you erasing your own memory? Like, so it's like the first time every time? The novelty effect? You know, there's something to that… But the motor skills should remain, right? Let's do this: I, along with my wife…"
"Along with your wife? The one who just turned twenty-one and already has five children from the late Rodolphus?"
"Yes. And you take Narcissa…"
"Narcissa will definitely be against it."
"What? You're cheating on a woman from the Black family with Muggles, and without her knowledge? You're a risk-taker!"
"And your wife, is she aware?" he asked.
"She's a woman of broad views."
It's unknown what they would have agreed on, as Rita Skeeter entered the bar. A parchment floated behind her, and she was dictating to a Quick-Quotes Quill.
"It's very difficult for gays in the magical world. There are only three in the gay bar! I hope they at least like each other…"
Lucius felt anger. Anger at Barty, because he chose this very place to meet. Anger at himself, because the Dark Lord forbade shortening Skeeter's tongue…
"But one of them is not hopeless, as soon as I entered, he perked up and…"
"Now I'll take something from them, but given their orientation—only an interview."
Skeeter approached them and ran into the protective dome. Snape removed the spell.
"One of them is clearly rich and under a different appearance," she dictated. "Yes, the robe is cheap and supposedly second-hand, but it fits too perfectly. Another has lipstick marks on his face. And the third seems to want to…"
"Rita! How much do you need to disappear from here and never appear here again?" he asked.
"Oh! Too expensive for you!"
She named a price.
Nonsense. And this fool had better get out, or he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.
He immediately reached into his pocket and handed her the required sum. Rita immediately checked the money for authenticity—whether it was leprechaun gold.
"Wow! I'm vanishing! Boys, keep in mind—for this kind of money, you can have me, all three of you."
"No," said Snape.
"Pass," replied Malfoy.
"Hey! Speak for yourselves! I'm very interested in Skeeter's offer!" Barty protested.
"But I was just kidding!" Rita replied.
"Well, think about it! I'll read you poems! Then we'll have a romantic date! And then…"
Barty got carried away.
"Are you Barty Crouch?" Rita Skeeter asked.
"No," Barty replied.
"If you are Barty Crouch after all, come to my house in your original form. We'll interview you. Everyone is very interested in the personality of your wife. She teaches History of Magic at Hogwarts, and the children say she tells it as if she was there herself. And she's twenty-one, and at the same time one of the best healers at St. Mungo's…"
"It's time for you to leave," Snape couldn't stand it anymore.
Rita left, and they restored the protective spell.
"How long have you had such plans?" Lucius asked.
"Seven years," Barty reported. "It's just that I was celebrating the victory in the war, and there was no time for it."
"You celebrated for seven years?" Lucius asked.
"Yes, so what? So, have you decided?"
"I pass," said Snape. "You know who I'm married to, right?"
"My condolences," Barty replied.
Lucius thought. He already had the reputation of an unfaithful husband and a bunch of illegitimate children. And it wasn't fair—he hadn't been unfaithful, but he got the Cruciatus.
"I agree, Barty."
"Excellent! Soon the magical world will know the power of love! And you will be a secret porn star! It's a pity Snape didn't agree, but my wife can handle the memory processing."
"There are no memories," Lucius corrected. "But I won't settle for less than half-blood women!"
"You'll have memories soon," Barty replied.
End of Lucius Malfoy's POV.
POV of Pomona Sprout.
Working at the School for Werewolves was very specific. To begin with, the classes were formed based on the current abilities of the students, so in the same class, for example, the first, there could be a man older than her and a girl of about ten.
And considering that during breaks you could quite possibly hear songs on the guitar like "There I'm a rapist, here I'm a hero," she was forced to admit—the death of only one teacher in almost eight years, namely Sinistra who taught astronomy, was a very good result.
She didn't blame Minerva for leaving, trying to organize a resistance, even if by means of a book.
It surprised her a little that Elena was now teaching Transfiguration and Potions here, although she simply tried not to see her.
You-Know-Who had won. He won not when he seized the Ministry, and not when Dumbledore died. You-Know-Who won when it became impossible to oppose him without stepping over everything human in oneself. And if you can do that—then why would you oppose You-Know-Who?
How could she make the students less aggressive if they didn't listen to her except on the subject? She knew a way: then they would at least listen to her, even if they condescendingly let all her words go in one ear and out the other.
That's why she decided to do what she did.
She was now talking to several werewolves.
"Your request has… surprised us a bit… It's completely unnecessary. I know, there are absurd rumors that you will be killed later, when you have prepared enough educated werewolves as school staff, but that's not true. The Dark Lord is against senseless killings…"
"I've made up my mind," she replied.
"There is an official procedure… And you should be given time to reconsider… but given the situation and the fact that this has been considered at the very top of the Ministry of Magic,"—the werewolf was shaking some paper—"then I see no reason to refuse you."
"Then let's do it," she ordered.
One of the men transformed into a huge wolf. She brought her hand to its muzzle. He lightly touched her with his teeth, and then transformed back.
The next day was a full moon, and in the morning, she was given the potion. Another werewolf who could control her curse.
The new body was impressive. She had to restrain herself from moving too quickly or accidentally breaking doors. But what struck her most was the richness of smells.
Although, no. What struck her most was the change in the students' attitude towards her: as if she had instantly become one of them. And now, addressing her, they tried to insert two polite words into one sentence, as if she were mortally ill and if she suddenly got upset, she would get worse.
She was walking towards the greenhouse with the Bouncing Bulbs. Somewhere far away, beyond the limits of her former human hearing, she heard a completely different song on the guitar:
"You'll open your eyes, you will see us.""You'll become like this in just an hour.""Evenly breathing the night air,""You're sure it has always been this way..."
End of Pomona Sprout's POV.
Hogwarts… How much that word means to Magical Britain.
I, Voldemort, or rather Professor Gaunt, was walking down the corridor.
Hogwarts was teeming with life—a huge number of children. There had never been so many here. I had just taught a lesson in Light Magic. I have many Dark Wizards, but the Light ones must be protected and multiplied.
Naturally, I'm not just doing this: it's hard to overestimate the influence Professor Gaunt has on young minds.
In all of Hogwarts, only three knew that I was me. Lockhart, but he's a good old boy. Bulstrode—the Head of Slytherin, a Death Eater from the new convocation, whom I managed to connect to the Hogwarts source (I didn't do it myself, fearing a surprise from Dumbledore, but it seems there isn't one). And my most controversial appointment—Isabella Crouch, who worked here and at St. Mungo's.
It seemed the children hadn't changed. So what if there's an elective in Blood Magic and engineering courses. And a bunch of elective subjects. Muggle-haters? Are you out of your mind—Hogwarts has Muggles on the payroll and everyone is happy! You can even combine magic studies with Muggle sciences. Don't want to study here? We can send you to a very prestigious university in the Muggle world. If you do poorly there with memory potions… you'll have to return the scholarship for the years of study. Everyone is especially happy with the system of personal points, like at Durmstrang, and that these points can be spent on improving one's life at Hogwarts. Or cash them out when leaving Hogwarts after the seventh year. And senior students can even work part-time at St. Mungo's or in a potions lab…
The teachers are the happiest. As soon as I started teaching, I was horrified by the amount of pointless paperwork. So I canceled some of it, and ordered the house-elves to do the rest. Thus, Hogwarts became the best school in Magical Britain—because, on the one hand, there are no inspectors and no one interferes with work, and on the other hand, there is an inspector—me, and I'm always here.
Externally, Hogwarts had changed a lot. If the whole country was covered with black obelisks, then Hogwarts was studded with similar white ones. Obsidian is better than marble in every way except for aesthetic characteristics. For these pieces of marble to work properly, I had to water them profusely with my sweat and blood. Blood in the literal sense, and then in the figurative.
The obelisks were not sinister, although they were creations of Dark Magic. They were dazzlingly white, inscribed with all sorts of squiggles, glowing with a greenish light in magical vision. These obelisks are one of the many energy absorbers for the needs of Magical Britain. And mine too—golems don't charge themselves. And so… No, of course, a sacrifice would give much more energy, but if you milk a wizard for years, it will be much more profitable. Why did no one implement this before? Officially, the small amount of energy that wizards voluntarily and safely give to the stone will be used for heating, ventilation, lighting, charging artifacts, golems, and much more. The most important thing is that the population gets used to practicing magic, including Blood Magic.
But the result was pleasing to the eye: a queue of people at the vampire-obelisk, eager to give up their magic. For money, of course. An excellent idea—to turn every wizard into a battery, and they are even happy about it. At the same time, we'll improve their skill in Blood Magic. You don't want to? Go ahead, I'm not forcing anyone. True, we have an inter-house competition here—who will give the most magic in a school year. Hufflepuff always wins: firstly, there are more of them, and secondly, they are really diligent.
The life of a Dark Lord is full of events. In recent years, the next head of the ICW after Dumbledore successfully Avada'd me, but I'm immortal. Unlike him. I was also blown up by several Spheres of Tibelum in a deserted place. I had to reincarnate again.
The most dangerous case was in our Department of Mysteries: demons ate me, but fortunately, either they don't eat souls, or mine didn't appeal to them.
The culprit was found: a half-blood who committed suicide. I checked everyone, Snape four times, Alison-Fudge—eleven times. All clean: a lone conspirator.
After that, I made Rabastan the Minister for Magic, placing on him the oath that lay on his brother.
Alison now works in a different field. I shouldn't have delved into his head: he married a smart woman. And since he has his quirks with "lineage," he had a child, but used sperm from his old body.
The mother checked the child and came to the conclusion that Cornelius Fudge was not his father. But since she had not cheated on him, she thought she had been raped, although she decided to keep the child. And who is the expert on children in Magical Britain, who has 0.2% of the country's population as his own children? That's right. Lucius Malfoy. It was the trial of the century, even though it was closed…
Maybe I should have found another way to deal with Lucius? It's fine. More children—more trouble, less money. And political influence too, given his blood purity mania.
Sometimes I wanted to rest, but then my best training helped me: to imagine myself as a bird. What does a bird think about? Flap your wings, or you'll die!
So being Voldemort is about weaving intrigues for forty hours a day. The main thing is not to get stuck in a time loop, because I'm afraid to check if my anchors protect me from that…
Anchors… Children… The flowers of life…
It's hellish.
I understood why wizards reproduce poorly, especially powerful ones. A wizard is a mistake of evolution.
Firstly, Legilimency has a very bad effect on potency, and it usually goes hand in hand with a powerful wizard. Always hiding your thoughts from each other… Well, I'm lucky with Bella.
But Legilimency combines even worse with children. Firstly, their thoughts are easy to read. Secondly, children initially think in pictures. And children's thoughts just drive you crazy.
Here's a baby lying in bed. Bella turns on the light and comes in. And the baby comes to the conclusion that his mother has this property—to pass through light.
Or you tell a three-year-old child—you can't. He understands that it's physically impossible. He does it. And waits to be praised for pushing the boundaries of the impossible.
There are many such cases. It freezes the brain. And I, thanks to our mutual connection, sometimes catch emotions—and that really freezes it.
The connection… A full connection is only with Delphi—she has a lot of my essence. I'm in constant mental contact with her—she asks me questions, I answer. The child is progressing, in my opinion, she's already an adult. The connection with the others is much worse, and I can barely feel the last one. But even these games of being a god—when four subscribers call you at the same time and ask for advice, they sometimes confuse you. Although everything can be completely muted with Occlumency.
Children are strange in general. I can do almost anything. Transfigure toys by the wag"1">
THE END