The Secret Behind Voldemort's Strength

"Humans, as a short-lived species, are not meant to live for thousands of years," said Viviane. "It's the same for us Greater Fairies; we are as ephemeral as humans, and it's the limited number of years at our disposal which grant our lives meaning. To live beyond one's allotted years is to invite madness."

Despite Greater Fairies possessing the miracle of the vertical space-time axis, granting them the knowledge of their past lives, each incarnation of the same Fairy was an individual in their own right. This was why Oleandra had instinctively never been worried of having her body stolen by a past incarnation.

Incidentally, Merlin possessed the miracle of the horizontal space-time axis, granting him knowledge about his other selves in all parallel realities. And since parallel realities contained all probable futures, he was effectively able to deduce anything, making him the most powerful Wizard of all time…

Viviane fell silent, leaving it to Oleandra to imagine what could have possibly happened to the nameless progenitor of the Greengrass family. Had she been assassinated? Had she simply given up on life after living for countless seasons? Or had she turned herself into a tree, tired of the eternal conflicts of humans?

Oleandra was now flying over the Black Lake, the castle growing larger in her field of vision; she had nearly reached her destination.

"But why would you bring this up now?" Oleandra said as she landed in the Quad Courtyard. "You said that Sirius and Harry had given you the idea?"

Viviane nodded.

"This Voldemort that the boy described; red eyes with slits for pupils, the ashen-white skin, the absence of a nose…" she said. "I once met a boy corresponding to this description on the battlefield, though his eyes had been yellow. His strength had been beyond measure, and it was only with the aid of an entire army that he was finally repelled. At the time, I hadn't known about these human experiments, but with the knowledge you've obtained…"

Viviane's voice trailed off, but Oleandra didn't need her to finish her sentence to understand. Voldemort had most likely found Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium when he'd attended Hogwarts. And if he looked just like the boy who had probably been Slytherin's ancestor, then that meant he must have brewed the Bloodline Atavism Potion as well…

"Hang on," Oleandra said in a panic. "But Basilisks live for thousands of years! Doesn't this mean that he'll become infinitely strong like Daphne if he regains his body and continues ageing?"

Even if Daphne had infinite potential, it wouldn't mean anything if she died; not to mention that Voldemort already had a head start on her! If he ever revived and recognized her for what she truly was, then he would stop at nothing to kill her before she became a threat!

"In my opinion, Daphne has much more potential than he does," Viviane said. "For one, Daphne took the potion at a much younger age than he did. She cleansed her bloodline when she was twelve, locking her at that age, at the height of her magical growth. If you ask me, I'd say that Voldemort partook of the potion after he'd come of age. Since an adult's body is much less malleable than a child's, I'd wager that he did not receive the full effects of the potion. He can't kill people just by locking eyes with them, can't he?"

"Maybe," said Oleandra doubtfully. "I suppose that explains his strength. Genius can only take you so far, if you don't have the magic to back up your skills. But this doesn't explain how he can survive without a body, though."

Oleandra and Viviane didn't know this, but when Voldemort had lost his powers in 1981, he'd been fifty-five. Despite being half Dumbledore's age at the time, he'd been his equal in magic power. He would have become truly unstoppable if his Killing Curse hadn't rebounded when he'd tried to kill Harry that fateful night…

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Days continued to leisurely trickle past, the inexorable force of time moving things ever forward. Despite not having to take exams, Oleandra still had to do her homework and go to her classes. Nothing much changed in Oleandra's life; she continued to train her skills under Viviane's tutelage. Sometimes, a shadow learned in the ways of Wizards would take Viviane's place to teach her on a particular subject. Despite being an excellent Witch, Viviane was not especially skilled at Charms, just like Oleandra.

In other news, it turned out that Daphne had set up her brewing station in the Chamber of Requirement, which was somewhat obvious in retrospect. Sometimes, when there was a class that she did not want to miss, she'd ask Oleandra to take over the incredibly complicated brewing process of the Ovid's Tincture, which was the main ingredient of the Bloodline Atavism Potion.

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"Wow!" said Tracey, eyeing the pile of letters that a dozen owls had just dropped in Oleandra's breakfast cereal bowl one fine morning. "That's a lot of fan mail."

It was the Monday after Oleandra's visit to the mountain where Sirius and Lupin were camping out, and she was expecting a letter back from them. She had sent them supplies through her pygmy owl, Pyg, after seeing their sad state of affairs. They were living off rats; this wasn't any way to live!

At least Sirius could stretch out his legs in his anonymous dog form, but poor Lupin was confined to the hole in the crag. He couldn't turn into a Werewolf on purpose to hide his identity, and even if he could, he'd soon be captured by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"It looks like hate mail to me," said Daphne, opening one of the envelopes. "Someone put a lot of effort in this one; see?"

"Don't touch my mail," Oleandra snapped, snatching the letter out of Daphne's hands. "Let me see that."

It was almost comical how much effort had been put into this threatening message, which had been composed by pasting individual letters cut out from newspaper clippings.

"You are a wicked temptress. It's the fault of women like you that my husband left me. You give Witches a bad name, you hussy," Oleandra read. "Wow, this one's blaming me for her failed marriage," she giggled.