While his double sat at the head of the Death Eaters' meeting, Rowan Mercer's real body Apparated into Grimmauld Place, Number Twelve.
"Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm isn't stopping me," he murmured.
He closed his eyes for a moment, felt for the hidden seam in space, and stepped straight through it.
No spell was truly absolute. Even enchantments tied to the deepest rules of magic had limits. Against someone far beyond their intended scale, they simply failed to perform as designed. Rowan had already surpassed Dumbledore by a wide margin. Breaking a Fidelius Charm, even one cast by the old man himself, was trivial—especially since Rowan already knew its inner workings.
He had used the same principle elsewhere. On Tenrou Island, in another world, he had layered a massive version of the same concealment charm over the entire island. Even a creature like Acnologia flying overhead would never have found it.
Rowan moved quietly through the house and into the bedroom.
Harry Potter lay asleep, his breathing slow and even.
"Come out," Rowan said softly.
He reached toward the lightning-shaped scar. With a sharp, invisible tug, something tore loose from Harry's mind. A shrill, distorted wail echoed through the room as the final fragment of Voldemort's soul was ripped free and dragged into Rowan's hand.
"That's the last one."
He took out the main soul and the fragment he had already captured. Three pieces of Voldemort now writhed together in his grasp. Rowan compressed them into a single, dense mass of imprisoned spirit and swallowed it.
"Better than nothing," he muttered.
The gain was modest. The gap between them had simply been too large for Voldemort's soul to offer much nourishment.
Rowan Apparated back to the Burrow and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling while refining the final details of the next day's plan.
At nine o'clock the next morning, Rowan sat at the breakfast table with Hermione and the entire Weasley family.
It wasn't just Ron and Ginny this time. Bill and Charlie had taken leave to come home as well. Percy was absent, stuck at the Ministry with emergency duties.
On the day of the Quidditch World Cup, almost every wizarding institution in the world shut down. Ministries outside Britain were nearly empty. Shops closed. Employees took leave. Owners locked their doors and went themselves.
Only places like Gringotts, staffed mostly by non-human workers, continued operating as normal.
The World Cup wasn't just a sporting event. It was the closest thing the wizarding world had to a global holiday. Even the Muggle Olympics couldn't compete with its pull.
"Dad," Bill said, biting into his sandwich. "Weren't we supposed to leave at two in the morning to catch the Portkey?"
Arthur looked up from his tea. "That was the plan. But Rowan said he could take everyone by Apparition instead."
Bill froze. "All of us?"
Most wizards struggled to Apparate with even one passenger. Two was considered elite-level difficulty. More than that bordered on reckless insanity.
Rowan smiled. "I published a book recently—On the Theory and Practice of Group Apparition. It fixes most of the old limitations. You should read it when you get the chance."
He had spent the past few weeks not only consulting for the Ministry but also quietly publishing revised versions of several core spells. It was good publicity. A rising reputation would be useful when the time came to take political power.
Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "Don't underestimate him, Bill. Rowan's magical skill is far beyond mine. Half the Department asks him for help when they hit a wall. I've read his books—some of it's still above my level, but you and Charlie would benefit a lot."
At the Ministry, Rowan was known for solving problems no one else could. A cursed artifact from an ancient tomb had once killed a Muggle archaeologist. The curse had stumped every specialist in the building. Rowan dismantled it in under an hour.
Outside the Ministry, people talked about his Quidditch performances, about how he carried England through impossible matches. Only the people who worked beside him understood what kind of monster his magic really was.
Hermione and Ginny stared at Rowan with fresh admiration.
Rowan waved it off. "It's nothing special. Arthur exaggerates."
After breakfast and a long round of motherly warnings from Molly, they finally left.
"Just stand next to me," Rowan said. "No need to hold on."
He gathered Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Bill, and Charlie into the edge of his awareness. The world folded once.
They vanished.
An instant later, they stood at the edge of a misty marshland.
Bill blinked. Charlie let out a low whistle. "That was… comfortable. Nothing like Dad's Apparition."
Most Apparition felt like being squeezed through a narrow pipe. Being dragged along was even worse.
This time, there had been no pressure. No disorientation. No nausea.
Rowan chuckled. "The improved version doesn't cause splinching either. You should really read the book."
His version of Apparition fused multiple spatial theories from different magical systems. It removed the noise, the discomfort, and the lethal failure rates.
"Show-off," Bill muttered, grinning.
Rowan glanced toward the distant tents of the World Cup site.
Tomorrow, the world would change.