Department of Mysteries.

I sat at the table at the Death Eaters' meeting, innocently twirling my wand in my hands to be ready to repel a possible attack. I kept the link to my familiar active to be ready to escape, listening to Voldemort's plan. Yes, that's right—I was impersonating Elena Ivanova, and Pandora, under the Imperius Curse, was Voldemort at the head of the table, giving final instructions under my mental dictation. Of course, Snape would have done better, but I don't trust strong Occlumens. So his participation was limited to the fact that he knew where the real Voldemort was and that his Lily was safe.

The risk of Pandora falling from the Imperius Curse was minimal—it was only possible with my death, and I did not notice any attempts at resistance from her. In addition, I had given her special potions to drink. Disguising her well had proven very difficult. Still, the Lovegoods under the Imperius are a good investment. In the wizarding world, there are tabloids, such as "Fifty Ways to Have Sex with Muggles." The Quibbler magazine has an even worse reputation than this one. I once leafed through the Quibbler: crinkle-horned snorklaks, brain-sniffers, spells to increase potency—not among the readers, but among the wrinkle-horned snorklaks!

Against this background, the news that Xenophilus Lovegood continued his publishing activities, after an unsuccessful search for wrinkle-horned snorklaks, heading to Atlantis using a three-dimensional map of the real Atlantis glued together from fragments of readers' letters, did not raise any doubts in anyone. If only the readers knew how his wife spent her time: ordering Death Eaters to rob the Ministry of Magic.

The plan to visit the Department of Mysteries was simple. It would be stupid to break in through the front entrance, and even more foolish to storm the Ministry or try to capture it. But where a battering ram won't work, a traitor will help by opening it from the inside. An employee of the Department of Mysteries, Death Eater Augustus Rookwood, would move us through a currently unused entrance for experimental chimeras. So we would immediately find ourselves in the Department of Mysteries, quietly taking everything that wasn't nailed down. The primary goal was Brains and Time Turners; secondary ones included artifacts like the "Polygon Edge" and other things.

It was a pity that we wouldn't be able to get into the closed part of the Department of Mysteries, but Rookwood didn't have access there, and he had a very vague idea of what they did. As far as I understood, those who worked in the Closed Part only went out of the Department of Mysteries to the Ministry of Magic. Of course, Rookwood was not the only one working in the Open Part of the Department of Mysteries. We hadn't chosen the most popular time, and we weren't going to break into the head of the Department's house. The Unspeakables were either busy with work in other rooms, or had received the Imperius, or Rookwood, using his position, had found urgent work for them in other parts of the Ministry.

There were also ideas about disabling possible observers of the Order of the Phoenix. This plan had its downsides. After this, the presence of a traitor in the Department of Mysteries would be obvious even to a post owl. That was why we would make this as obvious as possible, which would lead to Rookwood being exposed and put on the wanted list. It would look like he was our only agent, and we traded the queen for a handful of pieces. I wasn't going to dump Augustus, but he'd have to quit his job and do research in my new Science Department. I hoped the Ministry wouldn't be too good at looking for other traitors and would let a few of the newly recruited Department of Mysteries employees through. They should—I'd wiped their memories after each of their reports, so they didn't know they served me. Some of them were under the Imperius curse, meaning if they were caught, they'd be thought to have been under it.

What worried me most was that I would have to go on a job with practically no protective charms. The Department of Mysteries was equipped with magic detectors, as the magical background from a spell could affect the object of study. Rookwood could not provide us with a wide enough "blind spot," so if there was a fight, it would resemble a Western film—whoever hit first, won. But I still drank potions for reaction and speed.

I sat on the right hand of "Voldemort" after Edward, between Bellatrix and Rabastan (Bella refused to sit with Rodolphus). Now it was time for the final words. "Edward Lestrange will command the operation," said Pandora, who today looked like the Dark Lord. It would be more expedient to appoint Dolohov as commander in a combat operation, but a fight was not planned. If things got hot, Edward would cope or ask one of the fighters for advice.

"I will stay here as a reserve. Besides, Snape will warn me if Albus Dumbledore starts giving orders to the Order of the Phoenix," said Voldemort. The official reason was that I could handle it myself; it wasn't my job to work as a loader. But if there were problems, like Dumbledore, then I would come to save you. As soon as the Order members started moving, Snape would tell me about it; he was an Order member. There was no point in sending Snape to the operation, whether he was a master potion maker or a seventh-year student; qualifications were not critical for this operation. But Albus might have unnecessary questions for Severus. Lily was also of dubious use; in the event of a fight, questions would arise about her from both her own and others. It was better for her to keep a low profile, especially since her loyalty left much to be desired. I gave her instructions and orders; she would sit at home. The house-elves would provide supervision.

"Even though Edward Lestrange will be in command, I appoint my student, Elena Ivanova, as the observer of the mission with command priority," Voldemort pleased me. I stood up and bowed. "Your will be done, My Lord," I replied. It was very difficult to bow without losing eye contact. Frankly, the situation was delicate, although I had discussed it with the Lestranges in advance.

Elena had a terrible reputation among her own, even for a Death Eater. What pureblood wizard would ask for a crowd of werewolves as a reward—not money, not land, not positions? This was even worse than house-elves! Moreover, Elena actually stood outside the chain of command of the Death Eaters and calmly sent everyone except the Lord without explaining the reason. A sort of individual agent, busy with something top secret, studying potions with Snape at the Lestranges, in her free time cutting up prisoners and homunculi together with Sebastian Rosier, and at the same time managing to bring Lucius Malfoy to a nervous tic.

Now there was a problem. Edward would be in charge of the operation, so everyone had to obey him. But the Dark Lord had just said that Edward was not in charge! It was a tricky situation, especially considering that Elena and I had some bad relationships with some of the Death Eaters. Then we stood up, put on our masks, and set out on our mission.

The beginning was incredibly boring. We were standing at one of our secret bases—if you could call it that; it was really just an empty artificial underground cave serving as a warehouse—and waiting for a signal from Rookwood. We deactivated our protective amulets, removed almost all of our defenses, and lowered the rest to the level of "if you try hard enough, you can break through with a single Reducto." Half an hour later, Rookwood gave the signal.

Using a Portkey, we moved to the Ministry, landing in another empty warehouse. This room had once been used to store living, or better yet, dead samples of experimental chimeras. But due to Newt Scamander's activities, the negative publicity surrounding Grindelwald, and the accompanying tightening of legislation, the room was no longer in use and had simply been mothballed. Naturally, you can't just get into the Ministry with a Portkey. Some rooms, like the Minister's office and the Department of Mysteries, are closed even to phoenix travel, and Rookwood wouldn't give us a pass.

However, a third-rate utility room, no use to anyone and unused for over half a century, only formally belonging to the Department of Mysteries, was accessible. Rookwood had accidentally found it while sorting through papers in search of secrets. The fact that it was protected from travel was not an issue; the protection could always be turned off. No one noticed this because they had simply forgotten to mothball the instructions for using the room and the codes for its protection systems. This ability to turn off the protection existed because, after all, how else were chimeras to be delivered to the Department of Mysteries?

Rookwood met us, and I cast my most reliable disguise to go reconnoiter as the most gifted wizard present, while the others waited. There were no Ministry personnel in the areas of the Department of Mysteries that interested us, except for a few imperified ones. However, there were three observers from the Order of the Phoenix.

What to do? Kill? What if the alarm goes off? Imperius? The Unforgivables might be detected. Transfigure or stun? If they were monitoring vital signs, they would notice. The Department of Mysteries is an interesting place; it is well shielded, and you can't get in here even with a phoenix, unlike most other levels of the Ministry. But for this very reason, these people couldn't be in constant contact with Dumbledore. Soon, the solution was ready. Isolated single targets were subjected to the Fourth Unforgivable, leaving three more madmen lying as if they had fallen, looking straight ahead.

Time to report to the authorities. Having broken Olympic records in running thanks to the potions, I was already reporting: "Three observers, probably from the Order of the Phoenix, have been found and eliminated. No more outsiders have been detected. We can begin." Soon we were in the hall of the Department of Mysteries. Everything here was black—even the floor and the ceiling. Identical black doors without handles and signs were located at regular intervals around the entire room, with candles in candelabra burning with a blue flame. Their cold flickering light reflected on the smooth marble floor, making it look like dark water underfoot.

A low rumbling sound was heard, and the candles on the walls moved to the side. The round room began to spin. The walls spun as quickly as the blades of a helicopter, and then, just as suddenly, the roar died down and everything froze in motionlessness again. Even with my perception accelerated by potions, it was difficult to keep track of which door we had entered. According to the recruitment brochure, the Department of Mysteries conducts research, observes magical phenomena, works to unravel the mysteries of magic, death, time, space, thoughts, and love, and records and stores every prophecy ever made. Rookwood had clearance for most of it, so it was time to begin the operation.

"The Mind Room," Rookwood said loudly as one of the doors swung open. I felt the potions I'd drunk work—both the dimness of the previous room and the bright light of the chandeliers in this one made visibility excellent and extremely clear; my eyes didn't need time to adjust. We found ourselves in a room lit by low-hanging chandeliers that looked golden. The room was almost empty; there had once been equipment here for obtaining Brains, but it was destroyed as Dark Magic.

About a hundred years later, most of the other equipment that had tried to convince brains to work was removed. The room was now practically empty, except for a few tables and a huge, full glass aquarium that occupied the center of the room. The aquarium was so big that everyone present could have drowned in it without the water level changing by a millimeter. Rookwood walked up to the aquarium and began to knock on the glass. Then he climbed the steps close to the aquarium to reach the top.

Pearly-white lumps began to float to the surface of the dark green liquid—Brains. Rookwood waved his wand, and the Fourth Unforgivable hit one of the Brains. It twitched a little and calmed down. The other Brains began to fuss and push, like fish in an aquarium before feeding. "I'm here, my dears," Rookwood said to them happily. "We're moving in. So this is what you are—Hagrid, graduated from Hogwarts..." Soon we drained some dark green liquid from the aquarium and began to transplant brains one by one into jars, loading them into containers with space expansion. One copy was immersed not in the original composition, but in the one synthesized by us—Rookwood got the formula. It seemed that the Brain did not feel any discomfort. Now the main thing was to get them to the base. Avery, under disguise, reached the warehouse with the brains and began to wait for permission to leave. Alas, we would all leave together. Rookwood, through the imperials, turned off the alarm; for the tracking system, everything that was happening now was repairs and rearrangement of furniture and samples. But if something disappeared from the Department of Mysteries, the alarm would be raised.

We found ourselves back in the hall. "The Time Room!" Rookwood ordered. The doors spun, and we entered through another open door. Inside, we were met by the imperious Broderick Bode, an employee of the Department of Mysteries. He stood in the corner, having conjured some kind of opaque sphere onto his head—an illustration of the theme: "I can't hear, I can't see, I can't speak." Light and glare were everywhere.

Clocks adorned all sides—big and small, in all shapes and sizes. Sound-filtering charms had reduced the noise from the ticking of the clocks to a tolerable level. Some clocks were stopped, some ticked slowly, while others moved like normal clocks. A few spun so fast that they were only held in place by being bolted to the floor. Shelves filled with Time Turners lined the side: normal ones like mine, tiny ones, and huge hourglasses the size of a man. These were very valuable, and we needed to take them.

As the Death Eaters began loading everything into shielding containers—by hand or by magic—I stood back and watched. Edward apparently decided that the main thing was for me not to interfere. Rookwood was conjuring something with a transparent vessel as tall as he was, filled with sparkling, raging light. I cast a spell on myself that increased my visual acuity. The detail sharpened, but my field of vision decreased, as if I were looking through a microscope.

What I initially took for light was actually tiny grains of sand accelerated to incredible speed. Strange; they should produce the effect of fine shot on the contents, but they simply passed through a dense-looking object. I returned my vision to its previous mode and noticed an egg shimmering in the stream of tiny grains of sand. Soon a bird emerged from the egg, which, if not for my magical vision, could have been mistaken for a hummingbird. The bird then transformed back into an egg and then into a bird again.

"An odd idea, to create a phoenix using the Sands of Time. So far, they've had no success," Rookwood told me as two Death Eaters loaded the vessel with the bird into a shipping container. "But I must say that when I first started working here, this bird looked distinctly different in magical vision." Soon this room was empty too. Yaxley carried the contents to Avery. The minimum program was complete—Time and Reason.

We wouldn't get into the locked room; I didn't know how to access it without raising the alarm, and I doubted we'd be able to take the love with us. Although the idea was interesting: "Albus, my pockets are full of love now!" The Room of Planets interested me, too. No, I didn't have time for interplanetary portals yet; I wasn't that afraid of Dumbledore. But we still went into the Room of Planets.

If it weren't for the spells we cast on ourselves in advance, we would have ended up in zero gravity. The idea was simple—we would take a model of the planet Earth with us. Not to sabotage the work of the Unspeakables or amuse our egos by shouting, "I am the master of the Earth" under Veritaserum. It turned out that this model, a kind of three-dimensional drawing, could be used to search for minerals. This way, we could buy a plot of land from Muggles for next to nothing and then find minerals there.

Next, we entered the Room of Artifacts. I thought our research was chaotic, but here... I had heard about it from agents in the Department of Mysteries and Rookwood's memories, but reality exceeded all expectations. I looked out over the Artefactorics lab from a balcony about a hundred feet above the floor. The scene before me was like something out of a low-budget horror movie about a mad scientist with a lot of money.

The room was huge, larger than a football stadium, filled with lab cabinets that hissed and sparked, producing flames of every size and color. Above the burners were retorts that looked like the work of a glassblower with hiccups, sporting nozzles that varied from zero to infinity. The retorts bubbled, spat, and evaporated multicolored liquids. Everywhere were what could be called antiques or junk, alongside high-tech contraptions that looked like alien technology.

Thin glass tubes and walkways connected the various elements of this chaos into what was supposed to be a single structure, intertwining in three dimensions like brain-scramblers in Astral Vision. It was impossible to explain; it could only be experienced. We achieved a similar effect once when, trying to make several acromantulas more controllable, we fed them Muggle and magical drugs, resulting in them weaving webs.

The chaotic scene was further complemented by one hundred and fifty golem workers, overseen by our agent and three imperished ones, who seemed to rush randomly between the cabinets and passages that allowed movement only sideways. They monitored the levels of liquid in the retorts and the readings of various devices—of which I recognized only thermometers and manometers.

Edward was giving orders, while I watched the chaos below with a stoic expression. Even compared to the memories of Molly Weasley, a mother of seven on a tight budget, this part of the Department of Mysteries seemed like pure madness. I bit into a new ampoule of Reverse and descended to have a closer look, watching as the Death Eaters went to work, pulling out everything they could reach and take. This way, we secured various artifacts, the most valuable of which to me was the Obscurus Finder.

I really wanted to take everything out, but it wouldn't work. They couldn't remove the alarms in some places, and some things didn't fit into the folded space. Sometimes the objects were too big, too small, or too explosive. Or all of these at once. Like a tourist seeing the Parthenon, I hugged a vertical steel column. "No. This definitely won't fit," Edward told me. "And you can't saw it. Too bad." The thing looked like dozens of power lines, each about sixty meters high, welded together at odd angles. As far as I knew, it was an artifact called the "Bloodkiller." You pour magical energy into it (it's better if there are several hundred of you magicians), and after a while, it strikes the area with lightning. As far as I know, such things are prohibited because they damage the planet's ozone layer. Hypothetically, this thing would kill Dumbledore if he stood in the line of fire. Okay, let it stand here for now. But if I decide to storm Hogwarts, I know what I need and where to look for it.

Now I was looking at an ordinary flying magic carpet. "A sports carpet allegedly made by the Dust Storm company," one of the imperiled explained to me. "Although it's just an English knockoff of a well-known Persian company." "Presumably cursed." "What, has it stopped flying? Or is it exploding?" I asked. "Not exactly," the imperiled one answered evasively. "We don't yet know exactly what the reason is, but now the flying properties of the carpet tend to suddenly change to lethal ones. This happens as soon as the speed reaches one hundred and eight miles per hour, provided that the altitude is more than forty meters. Simply put, at a wild speed and at a significant altitude, the carpet's passenger suddenly discovers that he is in free fall, and his limbs are tightly wrapped in strong fabric that restricts movement, but does not soften the blow at all."

The imperiled one hesitated. "Frankly, if it weren't for the preliminary wind tunnel testing, we would already have a shortage of test golems. In my opinion, a manned aircraft that suddenly turns into a brick by itself cannot claim to be 'flying.'" "We continue to work on this interesting incident," added another imperiled one. "We were especially interested in the fact that this effect manifests itself at a speed measured in miles per hour, but at an altitude in metric. Although the built-in altimeter spell is graduated in feet, and all built-in systems actually transmit feet, we have not found anything resembling a calculator. How does it do this, we would like to know!"

Recently, some of the Muggle devices we bewitched ended up in the hands of the Ministry. They even organized a study of them. This had a double meaning—to recruit interested Unspeakables and in the future to look at the results of the Department of Mysteries' activities. For example, these rifles, mines, and grenade launchers with which the imperious tried to kill Alastor Moody. Now we were copying the Ministry's reports on the research of our samples and taking back everything transportable. We were not able to research everything at once, so we let some of it leak out in order to take the results back from the Ministry later.

The third imperious started saying something about their trophies: "Knowledge of the existence of some technology of casting spells without the ability to use it is no different from ignorance," but I was no longer listening. Imperius is a very useful spell. Wizards do not get distracted from their work; they think that we are an inspection committee and have the right to everything. Three hours later, the loading was complete. It was time to leave. But I had at least one more idea. So I and the Death Eaters, except for those who guarded the cargo and stood guard, received a direct order and went to the Death Room.

The new room, rectangular and dimly lit, was the size of the Time Room but was almost empty. The floor of the pit sloped down in steps, leaving a vast stone pit some twenty feet deep. We were standing on the topmost of these steep stone steps, or benches, which ran round the room like an amphitheater and reminded me of the courtroom of the Wizengamot. But instead of a chair and chains, there was a raised stone platform at the bottom of the pit, and on it a stone arch, cracked and so ancient and decrepit in appearance that it was a wonder it had not crumbled to dust. The arch, standing on a platform without any support, was covered by a tattered black curtain, which, despite the utter stillness of the cold air around it, moved slightly, as if it had just been touched. But to my magical vision, it did not look like fabric at all. And yet I could hear music and whispers.

"Does anyone else hear music or whispers?" I asked. I felt my colleagues' gazes on me. Then a weak "no." The Death Arch is a very interesting thing. Unfortunately, this is not my office or the Lestranges' house—it is dangerous to drag Pandora here, and it is stupid to take Abidemi—he is not a fighter and he can recognize me in this form. "Edward, I will check something. Cover me," I ordered. Instantly, I activated "astral vision." The world was transformed. The Death Eaters did not change, but the arch... The voices sounded clearer; it seemed that they could be understood and heard. The main thing was to come closer. The curtain of the arch swayed as if from an invisible wind, offering a gentle embrace.

The arch, despite its dilapidation, immediately acquired its own special charm. I had a strong desire to go through this opening, and I felt that this was the right and only right decision. I began to go down and walked, not paying attention to the echo of my steps. It seemed that you had to come closer and hear everything. But it was better to at least stick your ear under the curtain, or better yet, go in completely... And then there was blackness and pain. Terrible pain. I woke up in a small pool of blood, lying on the stone floor and looking at the ceiling with my normal vision.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked me. "I've already healed the wound." "What happened?" I asked.

With a goofy smile, you went to the Arch of Death. We called out to you, but you didn't react. When you were already close to the Arch, you ran into a barrier transfigured by Rabastan on both sides of the Arch of Death. We decided to save you, throwing spells at you. Your whole body ached.

— What kind? — I asked.

— All sorts. Repulsive, stunning, Defense Breakdown. We tried to drag you away with the help of Carpe Retractum and the Lasso spell. If Rabastan hadn't conjured a transfigured steel sheet out of thin air to cover both entrances to the Arch of Death, you would have already been there. But as it was, you flew back and hit your head on the floor, — Edward explained to me.

— There is no alarm, — Rookwood reported. — As soon as you said to cover you, I temporarily deactivated the alarm, looping the readings to the duty officer on the control panel.

— Has anyone taken samples of my blood? Have I been scanned? — I said, standing up awkwardly, cleaning up the blood and restoring the most basic protection.

— No, — they answered me.

— How long was I unconscious? — I asked.

— A couple of seconds, no more, — Edward answered. According to Legilimency, he was telling the truth.

— And why does my body hurt so much? — I asked.

— Your protection held the Stunning Charm. The Imperius did not work. To stop you from trying to get into the Arch of Death, several Cruciatus were thrown at you, — Edward said. — The Imperius and Confundus did not work. Death Eaters: Cruciatus for salvation. For your own good. And it worked! I must remember.

— Can I ask, what was that anyway? — Edward asked.

I have no idea, but death was very close.

— The Arch of Death is exactly what the Lord needs for his experiments. I just checked. Let's take it.

The question of whether to take the Arch of Death or not was open. But if it combines with Astral Sight in such a way, then all I have to do is arrange a fight with Albus near the Arch of Death and convince him to use Astral Sight. Everything is clear—I have to take it. The only thing is that the object is difficult to transport, but the Death Eaters will cope.

I must not forget to find out who exactly cast the Cruciatus and how accidental it was that I went to the Arch of Death. Out of a dozen and a half elite magicians, only one remembered about transfiguration! I have nothing to do here now—they will cope with tearing the arch from the stone pedestal without me. Moreover, now I am afraid to approach it.

— Edward, I will check something in another place, — I said.

— If anything, contact via standard protocol.

Edward looked at me as if I were mentally ill.

— It would be better for you to stay with us. The Lord assigned you to observe the operation. How will you observe if you are absent from the place of the operation? — Edward said.

Straining my Legilimency, I got to his thoughts—he was wondering if I had been hit on the head too hard, or if I was abnormal in life. He was also very worried about what would happen if I killed myself and how the Lord would react to it. And who would they blame the werewolves on then...

— I have to insist, — I said.

— This is a stupid decision. You shouldn't do this. You should observe the operation, not hang around God knows where. Moreover, the Death Arch could have somehow influenced you, and you may well start making noise, attracting unnecessary attention and putting the operation at risk, — Edward told me.

At the same time, Edward was thinking. Should I forbid you to leave? The Lord told me to obey my orders. Make a scandal that turns into a fight during a covert operation? Or maybe just say that Elena is a little out of her mind and order her to be slightly stunned?

— This is the Lord's business, — I went with my trump cards.

— I will send Rabastan with you, — Edward immediately suggested.

— No, the matter is top secret.

Edward regretted that he brought me to consciousness.

— Go wherever you want. If you expose the operation, you yourself will answer to the Lord, — they told me.

I left the Death Room. Perhaps I hit my head too hard, but I had a plan that needed to be implemented. When else would I end up in the Department of Mysteries? Soon I found myself in the Department of Prophecy. Following Rookwood's memories, I found it. The 97th Regiment. S.P.T. - A.P.V.B.D. The Dark Lord and (?). Yes, that damned prophecy.

I stood in front of it and waved my wand, checking the prophecy for authenticity and various magical and Muggle surprises. It seemed to be just an ordinary prophecy, without any spells and without plutonium inside.

Now pay attention—do I need it? On the one hand, no. On the other hand, what if it says something important? For example, the Dark Lord has a rare magical defect, and on March 17th of each year, all his defenses are powerless against the "Reducto" of a wizard born on July 19th?

All I need to do is take the prophecy, listen to it, and put it back on the shelf, and no one will know that I was here, that the prophecy was touched. What if I'm not the Dark Lord and touching the prophecy will drive me crazy?

I used the comparison spell Rookwood showed me. No, I'm suitable; it's safe for me to touch it. But should I take it? I haven't been so nervous for a long time; my brain frantically went over the pros and cons. I felt like a virgin girl deciding whether to give it to her boyfriend or not... On the one hand, I want to try; on the other hand, all sorts of problems are possible...

I didn't want to take the prophecy, I really didn't. But I felt like a bribe-taker—I didn't take the prophecy with my right hand, but I did with my left.

Trelawney's figure appeared in the crystal ball from clouds of smoke. Concentrating, I heard the words of the prophecy:

"There comes one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord... born of those who have thrice defied him, born at the waning of the seventh month... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but will not know his full power... And one of them must die by the hand of the other, for neither can live in peace while the other lives... one who is powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord will be born at the end of the seventh month..."

Immediately after she finished speaking, I was disappointed. Even if you take this seriously... What nonsense! Bane was clearly more specific and did a better job. A bad prophecy; nothing is clear. "The one who has enough power to defeat the Dark Lord is coming..." That is, it is not a fact that he will be my enemy. Maybe he will have enough power to defeat the Dark Lord, but he will be my most devoted servant?

But power is not enough; you also need the ability to use it—power is nothing without a point of application. You also need a motive to fight. "Born by those who challenged him thrice..." What is meant by a challenge? No one has challenged me to a duel three times! But you can also challenge in your mind. Or, while drunk, talk to a mirror and challenge the Dark Lord at least three times, at least a thousand! The seventh month. Okay, let's say July, although the starting point is not specified, and any year will do. But the year is not specified either! Could my opponent be born in a hundred years? A thousand?

Moreover, it could very well be my own child with Bellatrix. I challenge myself; she challenges Elena, who is really me. The child has good heredity, so it is strong, and any month of birth will do because the starting point is not specified! And the rest was no less depressing. "Mark as his equal." What nonsense? How can a child and the Dark Lord be equal? Do I have to adopt someone and give them my surname?

"He will have a power that the Dark Lord does not know about." What power? Two Elder Wands? The Deathly Hallows—there are three of them! He will gather the Deathly Hallows in a pile, start rubbing them, and a genie will crawl out and rid the world of me? Or maybe this power is male? He will seduce my Bellatrix, and she will stab me in my sleep? Or will it be the power of beauty? A girl I fall in love with, and she kills me, for example, by smearing poison on her mouth? Almost anything would fit the "power the Dark Lord doesn't know about."

For example, an exotic familiar. Not to mention that my enemy isn't necessarily a wizard; it could be a Muggle. This someone will discover a new physical force, like antigravity, and use it to tear me apart. And how can a child defeat me? I admit that a child of two or ten years old is stronger than me at the same age, but not stronger than me at fifty! Moreover, how can you kill yourself against a baby?

I see three options: a broken oath, someone's protection (Dumbledore's) was on the child, or I suddenly decided to try an experimental spell and it didn't work correctly. That's it. The second option is the most realistic—when I was at the Potters' house, Lily could have died for Harry. When I was at the Longbottoms', a house elf wanted to die for Neville. It hardly qualifies as protection, but if you consider the night of Samhain and the fact that I have five Horcruxes...

As I learned from Horace Slughorn, Gorpy the Malicious made the very first Horcrux on the night of Samhain. Maybe this is not without reason. After all, magic is not physics; it is important not only what is done, but also how, when, and by whom. Merlin knows what could have happened to me, or rather to Tom. It's quite possible that waving a machine gun under a power line during a thunderstorm next to a transformer could end badly...

Although the transmigration of souls is clearly too much. Tom thought the prophecy was either about Harry or Neville. Let's consider this as a hypothesis, taking into account the current situation. Neville has a better chance of killing me: I sleep with his adoptive mother. I can easily have sex with Bellatrix without protection while he sleeps in the next room. Hypothetically, Neville could get scared by the thunderstorm, run to his mother, think that she is in pain, and hit me with a natural disaster. Only it is not lethal; otherwise, wizards would have died out long ago!

And I will attach my eyebrows back to my place, even if I do not have time to cover myself with wandless magic. If you believe the tale of the Deathly Hallows, Harry's ancestors owned an invisibility cloak, and mine a resurrection stone. While I'm teaching Lily Occlumency, Harry will put on the Invisibility Cloak, come up from behind, and stab me with a knife. And about the unknown power—we both go back to the Peverell brothers. The Peverells probably ruined their source, like the Gaunts and Slytherins. I need to check how much necroenergy the boy has; otherwise, suddenly Harry's Corporal Antipatronus will tear me apart with one blow.

I need to look at the Potters' place of power and search for where the Peverells lived. What epic plans are you coming up with? Closer to reality—we analyze the text of the prophecy further. The end of the text: "And one of them must die by the hand of the other." If he must, it does not mean that he will fulfill his duty. I should already be sitting in Azkaban without finishing school, but this is not the case!

About "die by hand"... What if I want to kill him with a spell? With a crossbow? Or order another to kill? I would be quite happy with him dying of old age! Or eternal imprisonment. Or that he never existed (Time Turner. Although dangerous). Especially since I have a phoenix! Nowhere does it say that death has to be final. He will kill me, I will kill him, then we will rise again and go watch Quidditch together.

At the word "Quidditch," Tom's attitude toward this game fell on me... In general, watching Quidditch is stupid. The only thing worse is playing it: the possibility of falling from a stick suspended in the air at the height of the cathedral onto the frozen ground, being without protective spells, getting hit by a Bludger that is trying to sink its teeth into the ribs, and the possibility of getting to know better the kind, sweet opponent's Beaters, who are eager and have the opportunity to break your bones.

And then there's the piercing wind that makes your teeth chatter, the rain that cuts right through your robe, the snow that blinds your eyes so much that you can only recognize the stadium wall by running into it. And then there are the judges, whose photos should be included in the encyclopedia as an illustration to the article "Bought with giblets." But we must not stray from the topic.

"For no one can live in peace while the other lives." Will I have nightmares? Or will I have migraine attacks? To live peacefully—is that in Azkaban? Or in the Mental Health Department at St. Mungo's? But the prophecy can be undermined much more. It is not said that a person fits the prophecy. Maybe a goblin? Or a dragon? And the planet is not specified...

This line of reasoning can be continued indefinitely, especially if you include the many galaxies and the fact that the universe is possibly not one... It would be better if I did not touch this prophecy—it is too vague. Okay, I need to put it back. I did not take it with magic; I am myself in the form of Death Eaters. I work in gloves; it is unlikely that anyone will understand that I took the prophecy.

I carefully put the prophecy back in place, although I really wanted to smash it. Preferably on Trelawney's head. Maybe I should order Snape to kill her? No, it is better to ignore this prophecy completely. Just in case—I will need to scan Harry and Neville again. There is no power in them; they are just children, even if they are magicians! But if you suddenly want to kill them, kill them only with someone else's hands, so as not to mark them in any way.

Having put the prophecy back, I went to the Death Room. When I was almost there, I received a signal from Edward. Fortunately, not via emergency communication.

"There's a problem," Edward said when I entered the Death Room. "Rookwood says it will be very difficult to move it magically. We need mages on both sides of the transport channel."

"You take out everything we've collected and leave yourself. Then we'll begin moving the Death Arch. I'll ensure the channel's stability on this side."

"You may have trouble leaving," Edward told me.

They may. But in an emergency, I have the Phoenix. All I have to do is get out of the Department of Mysteries and then leave as the Phoenix.

"I can handle it."

Soon I observed a unique scene: a dozen purebred mages rolling the Death Arch with a piece of a stone pedestal along the corridor on rollers. It most resembled a picture of "ancient people building a menhir." Rookwood said that it was dangerous to bewitch golems in the corridors – the alarm could go off. And magic had little effect on the Arch of Death itself – you couldn't move it with levitation.

Well, the muscle enhancement charm will help you...

"Quickly," said Rookwood. "We have half an hour at most."

Soon we reached our destination. The Death Eaters activated the portals and instantly disappeared with all their cargo. At that very moment, sirens began to blare in the Department of Mysteries. Only me and the Arch of Death remained in the hangar. Now it was my turn, before they had time to deploy the protection in this room to the maximum.

I concentrated and began to create something like apparition, only not climbing into the puncture of space myself, but as if creating a giant tunnel, on one side of which were the Death Eaters helping me, on the other – me and the Arch of Death. I felt a chill, still remaining in a state of maximum concentration and trying to stabilize the spatial tunnel with bundles of magical energy. It was difficult; it felt like I was pushing Nessie, not the Arch of Death. Luckily, I knew for sure that it was possible — the Arch of Death had been transported exactly like that a couple of times.

The reserve was rapidly decreasing, although the main burden of the transition was on the mages on the other side. There was a strong feeling that just a little more, and the Arch of Death would cross. Finally, I succeeded — the spatial tunnel formed. A pair of stone golems transfigured from thin air pushed the Arch of Death into the tunnel and immediately crumbled — there was no point in wasting energy on transporting these objects.

I tried to enter the tunnel of the spatial transition myself, but I couldn't. It was as if some force didn't allow me to enter it. And then the protection of the Department of Mysteries worked at maximum, cutting off the hangar from all types of movement. The tunnel of the spatial transition fell apart, the connection was disconnected. An attempt to activate the portkey or apparate ended in nothing. I called for house elves and a phoenix — they didn't show up. Although Nagaina remained in contact with the familiar and offered to fly with wings.

No, better wait until I get out of the zone where phoenix movement is blocked. I realized that if I wanted to leave as a phoenix, I had to get out of the Department of Mysteries first. But something else was worrying me. I would have managed to leave right after the Death Arch! It wasn't the Ministry's defense that prevented me from escaping, but one of my own. Who? Legilimency is useful if someone is hatching cunning plans, but if someone made a spontaneous decision, I could have missed it.

Okay, I'll deal with the potential traitor later. I set records in waving my wand and setting up protection and camouflage on myself. I activated the amulets. In addition to the charms, I drank a Polyjuice potion with Rookwood's hair – he works here, so maybe I'll be able to leave quietly. Almost completely ready for battle, having cast invisibility on myself, I left the hangar about thirty seconds later.

The deserted corridors of the Department of Mysteries were full of various simple security golems. If you managed to hide in the corridors, then they checked well at the exits and there were Aurors. Having removed Invisibility and other disguises, I approached one of the service exits from the Department of Mysteries. Two Aurors stood at the entrance, taking aim at me.

"Augustus Rookwood. An employee of the Department of Mysteries. Arrived for the purpose of evacuation because he heard an alarm."

"And since when do employees of the Department of Mysteries go to work under so many protective spells?" the Aurors said, speaking into what seemed like a radio.

"I cast it on myself when the alarm went off," I lied.

"Show me your magic wand," they ordered, "remove the protection. Pass the check for the reverse."

Bad. We need to master metamorphism faster so as not to get caught with the reverse. And carry another wand with unforbidden spells.

I have a dozen of these wands. But none of them have a spell in the last twenty that I can't be jailed for – I can cast small things without a wand. Smiling, I handed them the dummy of Dumbledore's elder wand, slowly folding the ward.

"Prior Incantato!" said the Auror, pointing the tip of his wand at mine.

Only this wand is not just a dummy, not just a piece of elder. It has a filling – thestral bile and some kind of liquid from a dementor. As soon as the Auror fed magic to this wand, there was an explosion. His ward would have coped, but the explosion was inside the ward – it was like an anti-personnel grenade exploding inside a tank. Its protective dome was splattered with entrails from the inside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the Auror's wards disappeared and a pile of flesh fell vertically downwards – he probably died later than the body parts reached the wards. The second Auror received a wandless, nonverbal Avada from me. He was standing close and did not have time to react.

Why do all my attempts at negotiation end in a fight? Robert, the centaurs, Albus, now these...

I opened the door with telekinesis. The door opened, but there was a wall behind it. Apparently, all the entrances and exits were already closed, except for the main one. Where phoenix movement is blocked. I realized that if I wanted to leave as a phoenix, I would first have to get out of the Department of Mysteries.

But something else was worrying me. I would have managed to leave right after the Death Arch! It wasn't the Ministry's defense that prevented me from escaping, but one of my own. Who? Legilimency is useful if someone is hatching cunning plans, but if someone made a spontaneous decision, I could have missed it.

Okay, I'll deal with the potential traitor later.

I set records in waving my wand and setting up protection and camouflage on myself. I activated the amulets. In addition to the charms, I drank a polyjuice potion with Rookwood's hair – he works here, maybe I'll be able to leave quietly.

Almost completely ready for battle, having cast invisibility on myself, I left the hangar about thirty seconds later. The deserted corridors of the Department of Mysteries were full of various simple security golems. If I managed to hide in the corridors, then the exits were checked well, and there were Aurors standing by.

Having removed Invisibility and other disguises, I approached one of the service exits from the Department of Mysteries. Two Aurors were standing by the entrance, taking aim at me.

"Augustus Rookwood. An employee of the Department of Mysteries. Arrived for the purpose of evacuation, as he heard an alarm."

"And since when do employees of the Department of Mysteries go to work under so many protective charms?" The Aurors said something into the analogue of a radio.

"I cast it on myself when the alarm went off," I lied.

"Show me your magic wand," they ordered me. "Remove the protection. Take a check for the Polyjuice."

Bad. I need to master Metamorphism faster, so as not to be caught with the Polyjuice. And carry another wand with unforbidden spells.

I have a dozen of these wands. But none of them have anything in their last twenty spell list that I can't be jailed for – I can cast small stuff without a wand. Smiling, I handed them the dummy of Dumbledore's elder wand, slowly folding up the wards.

"Prior Incantato!" the Auror said, pointing his wand at mine.

Only this wand is not just a dummy, not just a piece of elder. It has a filling – thestral bile and some kind of liquid from a dementor.

As soon as the Auror fed magic to this wand, there was an explosion. His wards would have coped, but the explosion was inside the wards—like an anti-personnel grenade exploding inside a tank. Its protective dome was splattered with entrails from the inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the Auror's wards disappeared, and a pile of flesh fell vertically downwards. He probably died later than the shreds of his body reached the wards.

The second Auror received a wandless, nonverbal Avada from me. He was standing close and did not have time to react. Why do all my attempts at negotiation end in a fight? Robert, the centaurs, Albus, now these… I opened the door with telekinesis. The door opened, but there was a wall behind it. Apparently, all the entrances and exits were already closed, except for the main one where phoenix movement is blocked.

I realized that if I wanted to leave as a phoenix, I would first have to get out of the Department of Mysteries. But something else was worrying me. I would have managed to leave right after the Death Arch! It wasn't the Ministry's defense that prevented me from escaping, but one of my own. Who? Legilimency is useful if someone is hatching cunning plans, but if someone made a spontaneous decision, I could have missed it. Okay, I'll deal with the potential traitor later.

I set records in waving a wand and setting up protection and camouflage on myself. I activated the amulets. In addition to the charms, I drank a polyjuice potion with Rookwood's hair—he works here, maybe I'll be able to leave quietly. Almost completely ready for battle, having cast invisibility on myself, I left the hangar about thirty seconds later.

The deserted corridors of the Department of Mysteries were full of various simple security golems. If I managed to hide in the corridors, then the exits were checked well, and there were Aurors standing by. Having removed invisibility and other disguises, I approached one of the service exits from the Department of Mysteries. Two Aurors were standing by the entrance, taking aim at me.

"Augustus Rookwood. An employee of the Department of Mysteries. Arrived for the purpose of evacuation, as he heard an alarm."

"And since when do employees of the Department of Mysteries go to work under so many protective charms?" The Aurors said something into the analogue of a radio.

"I cast it on myself when the alarm went off," I lied.

"Show me your magic wand," they ordered, "remove the protection. Take a check for the Polyjuice."

Bad. I need to master Metamorphism faster, so as not to be caught with the Polyjuice. And carry around another wand with unforbidden spells. I have a dozen of these wands, but none of them have anything in their last twenty spell list that I can't be jailed for—I can cast small stuff without a wand.

Smiling, I handed them the dummy of Dumbledore's elder wand, slowly folding up the wards.

"Prior Incantato!" the Auror said, pointing his wand at mine.

Only this wand was not just a dummy, not just a piece of elder. It had a filling—thestral bile and some kind of liquid from a dementor. As soon as the Auror fed magic to this wand, there was an explosion. His wards would have coped, but the explosion was inside the wards—like an anti-personnel grenade exploding inside a tank. Its protective dome was splattered with entrails from the inside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the Auror's wards disappeared, and a pile of flesh fell vertically downwards. He probably died later than the shreds of his body reached the wards. The second Auror received a wandless, nonverbal Avada from me. He was standing close and did not have time to react.

Why do all my attempts at negotiation end in a fight? Robert, the centaurs, Albus, now these…

I opened the door with telekinesis. The door opened, but there was a wall behind it. Apparently, all the entrances and exits were already closed, except for the main one. But I was worried about something else. I would have managed to leave right after the Death Arch! It wasn't the Ministry's defense that prevented me from escaping, but one of my own. Who? Legilimency is useful if someone is hatching cunning plans, but if someone made a spontaneous decision, I could have missed it. Okay, I'll deal with the potential traitor later.

I set records in waving a wand and installing protection and disguise on myself. I activated amulets. In addition to the charms, I drank a polyjuice potion with Rookwood's hair—he works here, maybe I'll manage to leave quietly. Almost completely ready for battle, having cast invisibility on myself, I left the hangar in about thirty seconds. The deserted corridors of the Department of Mysteries were full of various simple security golems. If I managed to hide in the corridors, then they checked well at the exits and Aurors were stationed.

Having removed invisibility and other disguises, I approached one of the service exits from the Department of Mysteries. Two Aurors stood at the entrance, taking aim at me.

"Augustus Rookwood. Employee of the Department of Mysteries. Arrived for the purpose of evacuation, as he heard an alarm."

"And since when do employees of the Department of Mysteries go to work under so many protective charms?" The Aurors said something into the analogue of the radio.

"Cast it on myself when the alarm went off," I lied.

"Show me your magic wand," they ordered me, "remove the protection. Take a check for the Polyjuice."

Bad. I need to master Metamorphism faster, so as not to be caught with the Polyjuice. And carry around another wand with unforbidden spells. I have a dozen of these wands, but none of them have anything in their last twenty spell list that I can't be jailed for—I can cast small stuff without a wand.

Smiling, I handed them the dummy of Dumbledore's elder wand, slowly folding up the wards.

"Prior Incantato!" the Auror said, pointing his wand at mine.

Only this wand was not just a dummy, not just a piece of elder. It had a filling—thestral bile and some kind of liquid from a dementor. As soon as the Auror fed magic to this wand, there was an explosion. His wards would have coped, but the explosion was inside the wards—like an anti-personnel grenade exploding inside a tank. Its protective dome was splattered with entrails from the inside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the Auror's wards disappeared, and a pile of flesh fell vertically downwards. He probably died later than the shreds of his body reached the wards. The second Auror received a wandless, nonverbal Avada from me. He was standing close and did not have time to react.

Why do all my attempts at negotiation end in a fight? Robert, the centaurs, Albus, now these...

I opened the door with telekinesis. The door opened, but there was a wall behind it. Apparently, all the entrances and exits were already closed, except for the main one. But I was worried about something else. I would have managed to leave right after the Death Arch! It wasn't the Ministry's defense that prevented me from escaping, but one of my own. Who?

Legilimency is useful if someone is hatching cunning plans, but if someone made a spontaneous decision, I could have missed it. Okay, I'll deal with the potential traitor later.

I set records in waving a wand and installing protection and disguise on myself. I activated amulets. In addition to the charms, I drank a polyjuice potion with Rookwood's hair—he works here, maybe I'll manage to leave quietly. Almost completely ready for battle, having cast invisibility on myself, I left the hangar in about thirty seconds.

The deserted corridors of the Department of Mysteries were full of various simple security golems. If I managed to hide in the corridors, then they checked well at the exits and Aurors were stationed.

Having removed invisibility and other disguises, I approached one of the service exits from the Department of Mysteries. Two Aurors stood at the entrance, taking aim at me.

"Augustus Rookwood. Employee of the Department of Mysteries. Arrived for the purpose of evacuation, as he heard an alarm."

"And since when do employees of the Department of Mysteries go to work under so many protective charms?" The Aurors said something into the analogue of the radio.

"I cast it on myself when the alarm went off," I lied.

"Show me your magic wand," they ordered me, "remove the protection. Take a check for the Polyjuice."

Bad. I need to master Metamorphism faster, so as not to be caught with the Polyjuice. And carry around another wand with unforbidden spells. I have a dozen of these wands.

But not one of them has in the list of the last twenty spells something for which I can't be imprisoned – I can cast small things without a wand. Smiling, I hand them the dummy of Dumbledore's elder wand, slowly folding the protection.

"Prior Incantato!" the Auror says, pointing the tip of his wand at mine. But this wand is not just a dummy, not just a piece of elderberry. It has a filling – thestral bile and some kind of liquid from a dementor. As soon as the Auror fed magic into this wand, there was an explosion. His defenses would have coped, but the explosion was inside the defenses – it was like an anti-personnel grenade exploding inside a tank.

His protective dome was splattered with entrails from the inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the Auror's defenses disappeared, and a pile of meat fell vertically downwards – he probably died later than the shreds of his body flew to the defenses. The second Auror received a wandless, nonverbal Avada from me. He was standing close and did not have time to react.

Why do all my attempts at negotiation end in a fight? Robert, the centaurs, Albus, now these... I opened the door with telekinesis. The door opened, but there was a wall behind it. Apparently, all the entrances and exits were already closed, except for the main one. If someone has some cunning plans, and if someone made a spontaneous decision, then I could have missed it. Okay, I'll deal with the potential traitor later.