Bellatrix Lestrange. There was no question that she was the most devoted servant to ever serve under Lord Voldemort, infamous for her ruthlessness and the cruelty with which she carried out carnage in his name.

  She was also formidable in her own right. Young, a genius among geniuses, she achieved the rank of a great mage at a very young age, standing among the highest tiers of power in the wizarding world. With a résumé like that, one would expect her to be held in the highest regard by anyone seeking her allegiance, but unfortunately, she found herself under the command of a master who was both a lunatic and deeply paranoid.

  Out of all the fools who chose to follow the Dark Lord, she was perhaps the most miserable as well, the one who had it the hardest. The daughter of Cygnus Black was not always the madwoman people now remembered her as. Racist, absolutely. Arrogant, without a doubt. But she was not insane in the beginning, not a woman who could not even recognize her own kin.

  Before she fell into fanatical worship of Tom Riddle, it was her upbringing first and foremost, her family's pureblood ideology, that led her to follow the Dark Lord. Tom Riddle, like her, was young, an archmage at that, a so called visionary whose beliefs mirrored her own. Whether it was love, sincerity, or fanatic devotion, no one could truly say, but with all her heart she believed that following that man would bring nothing but glory.

  Meanwhile, Voldemort also recognized the young witch's brilliance at a glance, but being the paranoid maniac that he was, he refused to leave any variable unchecked. Who was to say that one day this brilliant witch might reach his level and decide to dethrone him? He, Lord Voldemort, would follow no one. Hence, he made certain she would bend to his absolute will no matter the cost, right from the very beginning.

  Torture followed. The most agonizing magic imaginable was inflicted upon her again and again from a young age, until at last Voldemort achieved what he desired. Her mind was broken, reshaped into a perfect puppet who would die for him without hesitation. In the process, she lost her sanity entirely.

  Like her cruel master, she developed an obsession with suffering. Over time, during Voldemort's frequent outbursts when he would torment her, that obsession twisted into something far darker. Pain, or more precisely, whenever her most beloved lord chose to torture her, became a warped form of euphoria. Cruelty turned into comfort.

  With all that, one would think no amount of agony could ever faze her.

  Yet in this very moment, Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming.

  Pure, unfiltered agony tore through her as if her very soul were being peeled away piece by piece from its anchor. Her wails echoed across the night sky like a tolling bell, raw and unbearable, carrying a terror she had never known before.

  There was physical pain, there was mental torture, and then there was torture inflicted upon one's very will. It took no more than a quarter of a minute for Maverick to break her completely. Simply put, he overwhelmed her spirit like a mountain crushing a stone, reducing it to nothing. By the time he was done, she was like a machine without an operating system, a hollow shell that only breathed.

  Her eyes had turned completely white, rolled all the way back, or maybe not, he did not know. Her jaw hung open, not from shock but because her muscles had forgotten the act entirely. Like a carcass, she hung limp while Maverick held her by the head.

  "What a miserable woman," he murmured under his breath.

  Her will had been so fragile that it took him barely ten seconds to burn through completely.

  Of course, if it had been physical pain alone, it would never have broken her so quickly, and might not have shaken her at all, of that he had no doubt. After all, this lunatic had been trained personally under the "gentle" care of her "benevolent" lord.

  But his ambush was never aimed at her physically. It targeted the very foundation of her existence. Why, or what, is the greatest reason people commit suicide? Because at some point, they simply lose the will to keep living.

  Will is the backbone of a person, like the hull of a ship. As long as it holds, even the wildest storm cannot sink it. Once it shatters, the rest of the structure cannot withstand the weight. The collapse is inevitable.

  Anyways, with the woman now out of the equation, he turned his head just in time to see Moody hurtling toward him, but Rosier was nowhere to be seen. Moments after Maverick had revealed himself, he had already noticed Rosier making a run for it, but he did not act, noting as Moody pursued her just as quickly.

  "The woman's slipperier than I thought and managed to escape." Moody came to a stop, grunting begrudgingly as he met the single inquiring eyebrow raised at him.

  "In other words, you let her apparate right under your nose…" Mavrick said without changing his expression, releasing the now out-cold Bellatrix and letting her hang limply in midair. He turned back to the grumpy man and added, "Bit embarrassing, isn't it, Mr. Greatest Auror in Britain's history…"

  "That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been taking your sweet time," Moody shot back with a scoff, clearly in no mood for any sarcasm. "Besides, she used a Portkey. Otherwise, I would have made sure she left behind at least a limb or two."

  Maverick didn't bother to argue, offering only a faint shrug. Regardless of whether Rosier had escaped or not, it didn't truly matter to him as she had long been marked with tracking magic.

  His gaze then drifted downward to the campsite below. It was quieter now, with only a few lingering fires sending smoke into the night sky, though even those were being dealt with by the Ministry Aurors.

  The scattered crowd had also been corralled, gathering under the Aurors' directions. In one particular spot, surrounded by a small group, Isabella had begun her work as well. She had been portaled down before he made his appearance, taking the initiative to report the night's chaos as breaking news to the wizarding world.

  ---

  "Is it over?"

  "What a terrifying feeling…"

  "No kidding... What in Merlin's name do you reckon that even was?"

  "I felt like I was going to pass out… it was so heavy, like a cow sitting on my head…"

  "Since when," huff, huff… "do you know what it feels like to have a fat cow sitting on your head, little Ronny?"

  "Is this... really the right time for you both to make jokes?" Hermione groaned, doing her best not to roll her eyes as she pushed herself back to her feet. Her face was also slick with sweat, pale and trembling, as if she had just surfaced from drowning and was finally allowed to breathe.

  Not only Hermione, but nearly everyone in the group was either on one knee, both knees, or all fours, only now managing to rise like she did. The sensation had struck so suddenly, yet thankfully, it faded just as quickly, leaving them only shaken but unharmed.

  Everyone except Ali and Lupin had felt it, though no one thought to ask why, or perhaps they simply hadn't noticed. While the rest struggled to pull themselves together, Ali and Lupin's eyes never left the sky above, as if they could see and hear everything happening hundreds of meters overhead.

  When the oppressive pressure finally lifted, their eyes gleamed with understanding, as if they had received new instructions, and only then did they turn their attention back to the group around them.

  "We will return to the campsite," Ali said, or rather, announced.

  "To the campsite again? Why?" Arthur stepped forward, sweat beading on his face, his expression tight with concern. "Can't we just get out of here now?" These were his children, after all, and he wasn't willing to risk a thing.

  More voices rose from the small crowd as well, as they too failed to understand why they needed to go back. What if those dark wizards ambushed them again?

  Beside Ali, Lupin could only let out a helpless sigh. Indeed, his new comrade was the kind of person who never minced words, leaving him to step in, especially in situations like this.

  "Things are under control now, everyone," he explained as gently and convincingly as possible. "The Ministry has apprehended every single terrorist, and they are also gathering everyone who came to the camp to compile an overall casualty report. It is better if we go and show our faces as well—"

  BOOOM!

  And just as he finished speaking, everyone ducked again, startled by the thunderous boom from overhead. When they raised their heads a moment later, they saw the ominous green skull blasted apart from its center, dispersing into nothing as moonlight bathed the field once more.

  "See, the scary symbol has been removed as well," Lupin added amid the silence, though the corner of his eye could not help but twitch. Why did everything his new boss do have to be so flashy?

  Their group soon strolled back the way they had come, moving through the carnage of what had once been a brilliant campsite and was now little more than ruin.

  Above them, luminescent spheres of magic hovered in scattered clusters, casting enough light that navigating the wreckage was no longer difficult. Before long, they reached the area where Ministry personnel were already hard at work, organizing and taking what looked like a careful headcount.

  "What's that?"

  "Up there, look!" a few people exclaimed, pointing skyward.

  Heads tilted up one by one as the crowd followed their fingers, eyes squinting when they spotted two, no, three, figures descending from above.

  One rode a broom. The other descended as if it were the most casual thing in the world, his long coat fluttering in the breeze, hands tucked into his pockets, while beside him was...

  "Is that a witch?"

  "Who's that?"

  They saw that the third figure hung limply, arms and legs dangling as if completely unconscious.

  "I'm heading to the Minister's side," Moody said, tilting his broom slightly, but his eyes stayed fixed on the limp body and his concern goes without saying.

  "Right, take it…" Maverick waved his hand, and the body floated toward Moody, who caught control. "Stay with Jameson until the matters here are resolved. I'll be leaving…" he added, and before Moody could respond, he veered off, his eyes locking on Ali and Lupin in the distance.

  "Professor…"

  "Professor…"

  The children exclaimed the moment they recognized him and came running where he landed.

  "Good job," Maverick said, a faint smile curling his lips as he glanced at the four students. He was genuinely impressed by how they handled everything, even Ron, and little Jean too, who, despite being the youngest, didn't fall behind the trio.

  Meanwhile, Sirius walked up to him, a complicated expression etched across his face. It was clear what he wanted to know.

  "I didn't kill her, if that's what's bothering you," Maverick told him straightforwardly. Of course, not killing her and her brain being fried were two very different things, and Maverick had no intention of explaining all that to him.

  "I didn't…"

  "Right, of course. Anyways, she's in Alastor's custody and will be sent back to where she belongs. If you want to know more, you'll have to speak with him…"

  "What you reckon they're arguing about?"

  "Beats me… a woman. You don't think—"

  "Shut it…" Arthur interjected, yanking the collars of his two little troublemakers, who thought they were whispering but were actually speaking rather loudly, and leaned down to murmur sharply into their ears.

  Sirius, meanwhile, stepped back after hearing Maverick's remark. Knowing she was alive seemed to satisfy him. Even if a faint trace of familial affection remained, it did not mean he wished to spare her from what she deserved.

  "Whatever," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat. "Let her rot in that place for the rest of her life."

  Maverick didn't linger long, taking only Jean with him when he left. No doubt she would tell Xavier everything when she got back, and it was better the professor hear the explanation directly from him than some exaggerated tales from her.

  Regardless, tonight's chaos would dominate the headlines across the magical world tomorrow, and not just in the Daily Prophet. After all, the Quidditch World Cup was one of the largest, if not the single biggest, international magical events. His own name, too, Mavrick had no doubt, would be plastered across the headlines.

  ---

  Somewhere in Europe, the sun had yet to rise. In front of a nondescript two-story house, amid the still darkness, the air carried a muffled sound as a hooded figure materialized. She paused for a moment, then stepped forward and opened the house door.

  When the door closed behind her, she made a lazy wave of her hand, and her robes flew on their own, hanging neatly on the hanger, revealing a woman whose dress was half-tattered but whose face remained fair, although her expression was anything but pleasant.

  Without pausing, she walked forward, climbed the stairs, and entered the first dimly lit room that came into view, her footsteps echoing softly against the floor. She continued straight to the dressing table, where she finally stopped and stared at her reflection. Her eyes narrowed, lingering over her own image as if searching for something hidden, and then, suddenly, as if consumed by a burst of uncontrollable rage, she hammered her fist against the mirror, the sound shattering the silence.

  "Damn the crazy bitch. Damn the annoying Aurors. And damn the kid. Damn it!"

  Boom—boom—boom!

  With each expletive, her fist smashed deeper into the glass, shattering it completely, even cracking the wood and splintering the concrete of the wall.

  She exhaled sharply, muttering another "Damn it," but this time, she slammed her hand on the table, and in an instant, the wall and the innocent dressing table snapped back to their original form, as if time itself had been rewound.

  Letting out two long exhales, she straightened up, as if finished venting her fury. Slowly, she unstrapped the buttons of her tattered dress, letting it fall to the floor and leaving only her undergarments, never once taking her eyes off her reflection, her gaze still burning with anger. This woman was none other than Rosier, the same witch who had escaped Alastor Moody using a Portkey not long ago.

  Crackle! Thunder.

  Suddenly, a sharp crackle of thunder followed by a blinding flash of light tore through the window, and her eyes snapped toward it, puzzled—she was certain there hadn't been a single cloud in the sky when she arrived.

  Instinctively, she moved to investigate, her eyes flicking briefly to the mirror one last time before stepping forward, but the moment she did, they widened in shock. Her heartbeat spiked, and she spun around abruptly, wand already raised, aimed at the sofa against the wall.

  In the shadow, someone sat on the very same sofa. The face wasn't clear, but that wasn't the point. How could she, a dignified greatmage, have failed to notice someone in her own room?

  "Vinda, Rosier…" The voice was unnervingly calm, too calm for her comfort, sending a chill down her spine. "Since when…" She remained frozen in place as the voice continued, each syllable dripping with scorn, sinking deeper into her bones with every word. "…did the so-called champion of the greater good decide to sell their soul to a madman?"

  —————————

  "Vinda Rosier…"

  The voice made it unmistakably clear that the intruder knew exactly who she was, but what sent the true shiver down her spine was not that knowledge, nor even the fact that her magical senses had completely failed to detect someone sitting only a few footsteps away. No, it was the sudden and horrifying realization that she was now unceremoniously and utterly frozen in place, her body inexplicably locked tight under the intruder's mercy.

  Her pupils trembled as she stared into the corner, where moonlight leaking through the window brushed the lower half of the intruder's body while their upper form remained swallowed by shadow, one leg crossed over the other, their posture loose and infuriatingly at ease.

  "Since when did the champions of the greater good reach the point where even a madman seemed like an acceptable master?"

  As the words reached her ears, the candles scattered across the room, perched on side tables and mounted along the walls, flared to life, casting harsh light that finally revealed the figure's face. But that revelation hardly mattered, for her pupils contracted to pinpoints as recognition struck with sickening certainty—she had seen that face not long ago, earlier that very night, and it was the last person she ever wanted to see.

  But how? She had taken every detour possible before arriving here, and she was certain she hadn't told anyone about this random safe house.

  "Take a seat..." As her thoughts scrambled in every direction, she heard the kid speak again, and yes, to her, this, "intruder," was indeed just a child.

  "My apologies..." Mavrick waved his hand, releasing his hold on her, and at the same time, a chair materialized before him. He gestured again, calmly but firmly, for her to sit.

  But—Woosh!

  The moment he withdrew the magic that had held her in place, without a word or gesture, she vanished from the spot—out of the room, out of the house, clearly making a run for it.

  Maverick chuckled at her audacity, but he didn't move to give chase, only the corner of his lips curling in amusement. Am I being underestimated, or is she overestimating herself? he wondered, leaning back a little more comfortably.

  Indeed, Vinda Rosier believed she still had a chance. Maverick was young, after all, even if he was an archmage. She, on the other hand, was a veteran greatmagi, and even if her magic did not run as deep or as vast as his, her experience more than made up for it.

  Escaping, surviving, and vanishing without a trace were skills she had honed relentlessly during the world war half a century ago, experience carved through years of blood and fire, and in that regard at least, she was certain she stood leagues ahead of him.

  In the blink of an eye, she was already hundreds of miles away, soaring high through the sky, racing atop her broom in erratic paths as fast as she could push it.

  From time to time, she glanced behind her, and even when she saw nothing, she did not slow down, pressing onward with a resolute expression, shattering the sound barrier even and, when that wasn't enough, apparating between breaths as far as her magic would carry her.

  She didn't stop even once. Beyond the European borders she tore south, past the Middle East, and in a matter of seconds she was already over Africa.

  To her credit, if it had been anyone else, she might have truly escaped through sheer decisiveness, even if her pursuer had been another archmage. As the saying goes, victory belongs to those who strike before the speech, and she clearly understood that all too well.

  Passing the hot deserts of Africa, she soon found herself crossing the equatorial line, and only then did she finally slow down, hovering above a dense forest before vanishing once more as she dove between the trees below.

  Glancing once more over her shoulder and seeing nothing, she allowed herself a fleeting sense of relief, though she did not dare fully relax even then.

  Settling beneath the shade of a large tree, with her back pressed firmly against the rough bark, she first extended her magical senses and stretched them as far as they could reach to sweep the dense forest around her. After all, she was fleeing from an archmage, and she wasn't willing to leave anything to chance.

  Only when she was certain the area was clear did she allow her shoulders to slump, and at last, a long, shuddering exhale escaped her lips. She then leaned fully against the trunk, chest heaving and lungs burning from the brief but exhilarating ordeal of her escape.

  The forest was calm, and all she could hear was the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional distant chirp of birds. She took a moment to steady herself, then glanced down—and only then realized she was still clad in nothing but her undergarments. But she was no child to concern herself with something so insignificant, and didn't flush even once at the thought that someone had seen her in such an embarrassing state.

  A sharp huff escaped her nose, and with a decisive flick of her wand, she conjured a robe over herself, finally giving serious thought to the question that burned in her mind: how had she been discovered? She was certain no one knew about this hidden refuge, a place she visited from time to time to rest, and before arriving, she had made sure not a single trail remained behind her.

  Rustle...

  "That was extremely rude of you, lady—"

  Her skin prickled when that sound suddenly reached her ears, and she didn't even need to guess—she already knew the voice. Instinctively, she snapped her head toward it, and there he was. Not behind her, not above her, but standing directly in front of her, only a few steps away, as casual as ever, regarding her as if she were nothing more than a clown.

  "Avada Kedavra!"

  Without thinking, she unleashed the Killing Curse at point-blank range. Maybe, just maybe… but her hope was extinguished almost immediately. To her astonishment and terror, the kid simply swatted the spell aside as effortlessly as one would flick a fly.

  Impossible! she screamed inwardly. Even if he were an archmage, the Killing Curse was still the Killing Curse. And while that thought screamed inside her mind, her actions did not falter for even a moment.

  Boom—boom—boom—boom!

  Spell after spell—red, green, orange, blue—erupted from her wand like a relentless gatling, yet each one was deflected just as easily as the first, mere inches from the kid, as if her magic were weightless, insignificant, utterly powerless against him.

  But the aftermath proved otherwise, for the quiet forest suddenly erupted into chaos as the very spells she had unleashed, though deflected with apparent ease, tore through trees, sent splintered debris and clouds of dust billowing all around her.

  "That is quite enough…"

  Boom—boom—boom—boom!

  Amid her relentless barrage of spells, his voice cut through the chaos, ringing sharply in her ears, and before she could react, an unseen force slammed into her chest with brutal precision.

  She didn't even know which direction the spell had come from, only that her wand had been ripped from her grasp and that it had to be the disarming hex, before she was hurled backward, crashing against the tree behind her with a breath-crushing impact that left her gasping and reeling.

  Pain, a heart-wrenching pain detonated through her ribs, and she spluttered a mouthful of blood and saliva, her body trembling from the force of the impact.

  Cough. Cough.

  She slid down the trunk, her bare feet scraping futilely against the dirt as a low groan escaped her lips, her chest burning while she struggled to draw breath back into her lungs.

  When she forced her head up, vision swimming, she saw him standing a few steps away, casually twirling her wand between his fingers as though it were nothing more than a toy.

  "Now, lady," he said mildly, "are you ready to talk?"

  Was this it for her? Her pupils trembled, unwilling, as thoughts of resignation scrambled through her mind. Was her master's fate truly to be forever locked in that accursed prison?

  All her experience, all the years she had lived, survived, and learned—the decades that dwarfed his age—did it really mean nothing in the face of such absolute power? Was there truly nothing she could do?

  Magic—yes, she was defeated, completely and utterly outmatched by his power. But…

  "What…" she coughed again, tasting copper, "…do you want, boy?"

  Her eyes gleamed as she pushed herself up slowly, every movement deliberate, her posture slackening just enough to look resigned, as though she had accepted the inevitable.

  She watched him observe the change, and indeed, seeing no resistance from her, she noticed him relax as well, even going so far as to feign a careless shrug.

  "I am simply curious," she heard him say, "why would you, of all people, choose to follow Tom Riddle? Weren't you once the most devoted of Grindelwald's followers—"

  Now—BANG!

  The air exploded in a deafening echo.

  This time, magic was not the cause. It was a true detonation, igniting directly in front of his face. She had timed it perfectly. The instant she sensed his guard ease, her storage ring flashed, and a KS?23 metal?punching shotgun materialized in her hands, and in the same breath she pulled the trigger without a shred of hesitation, instinct and intent aligning in a single, violent moment.

  Of course, she never expected the blast to strike him directly, and just as she anticipated, a shield flared into existence in front of him a single breath before impact, yet the sheer force behind the shot was overwhelming, powerful enough to hurl him backward and slam him violently into the trees behind. But that alone was more than enough for what she needed.

  Without pausing, she surged forward, dropping the shotgun as it vanished and instantly replacing it with a semi automatic that barked fire and metal in brutal succession.

  Boom boom boom boom boom boom.

  Bark and splintered wood exploded outward with every impact, and she did not grant him even a heartbeat to regain his bearings, pouring the relentless barrage into him before he could so much as draw breath.

  Boom boom boom boom boom boom.

  She emptied round after round into him, relentless and merciless, until at last what she had been waiting and anticipating for unfolded before her eyes—the defensive spell began to buckle and then shattered completely.

  The first bullet tore through just beneath his chest, and she clearly heard a raw, guttural groan escape from his throat. Her eyes immediately lit up with a mixture of exhilaration and triumph.

  Boom boom boom boom boom boom.

  Another round pierced his gut, followed quickly by another, and then another. Bullets ripped through arms, legs, and chest, turning him into a bloody, brutal mess.

  "Haaaaaah!" she screamed, exhilaration flooding her veins as she fired until at last the weapon clicked uselessly in her hands, the magazine emptied completely.

  Click. Click.

  She stood there, breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently as adrenaline roared through her system. A wicked, involuntary smile spread across her face as she stepped closer, savoring the sight before her.

  Cough... Splatter.

  The tables had turned, and this time the sound did not come from her. Blood gushed from his mouth as he sagged, riddled with wounds, his throat torn open in three places, crimson flowing freely down his chest.

  "You, boy," she said softly, taking another step closer, her voice rich with relish. "It seems you are not as clever as people claimed you were."

  She drew another magazine from her ring, snapped it into place with a sharp click, and raised the weapon again, aiming carefully.

  "A pity," she continued. "The magical world will be losing such a young prodigy. But then again, who asked you to poke your nose into places where you did not belong."

  Coughing and groaning, she watched him struggle, summoning every ounce of strength to raise a hand toward her as if it were a final plea. Even his fingers trembled, two of them weakly stretching in her direction.

  She felt no fear of any final desperate action he might take, for her magical senses had already assured her that he was barely clinging to life.

  Still, for some inexplicable reason, she decided to humor him.

  His hand was outstretched toward her, yet the two extended fingers were aimed precisely to her right.

  Annoyed but curious, she snorted and turned her head, fully expecting some desperate trick.

  Impossible!

  Her pupils dilated, and before she could even register what was happening, she was back on her feet, the gun slipping from her fingers and clattering uselessly to the ground.

  What she saw was not a jungle, nor shattered trees, nor even the scattered debris of earth and wood that should have marked the aftermath of their earlier clash.

  It was... her room.

  Her room was exactly as it had been before she fled—dimly lit, bathed in the same nighttime shadows. The same walls. The same furnishings. Even that same… sofa.

  And sitting there, so relaxed and untouched, was that boy. One arm draped over the armrest, his head supported lazily by his knuckles, he regarded her with a raised brow, his expression calm, amused, and unmistakably patronizing, as if she were truly nothing more than a clown.

  Her heart slammed violently in her chest, and she whipped her head back toward where the broken body—the body she had so violently decorated just moments ago—should have been. But there was nothing.

  Even more alarming was... the forest had vanished as well. Or rather, she was no longer where she thought she was, and she had not the faintest idea when or how she had returned.

  Her room surrounded her completely.

  She staggered backward, her legs giving way, and her body slammed into the dressing table behind her. Slowly, she looked down, and even more horror crept up her spine as she realized she was once again clad in nothing but her undergarments, her skin completely bare and exposed.

  Her mind couldn't catch up, couldn't process whatever the hell was happening.

  "What did…" she whispered, voice shaking uncontrollably. "What did you do to me…"

  Her heart raced wildly as her entire body trembled, despair crashing down on her in full as the truth finally began to dawn. Had she been… completely deceived?

  "Take a seat…" As her thoughts scattered in every direction, she heard the kid speak again... no, she realized she was hearing that line for the second time now.

  And just like before, she saw a chair materialize out of nowhere, then the boy beckoning her to sit.

  —————————

  "I suggest you abandon that idea entirely, lady. There is nowhere on this planet you could flee that I cannot find you."

  Vinda Rosier, after hearing those despair laced words, finally let go of the inner voices screaming inside her head to flee again, although she wasn't even certain that her first attempt could truly be called an attempt at all.

  In any case, the facts sat stark and undeniable right in front of her, and she wasn't an ignorant fool. Just now, she had been profoundly enlightened to a single, brutal truth, that decisiveness alone meant nothing when faced with absolute power. And with that understanding, she took a hesitant step forward and slowly settled into the chair opposite him, her, "enlightener."

  Even now, her hands were trembling uncontrollably as she struggled to comprehend what she had just experienced. Whether it had been real or some form of magic, she hadn't the faintest clue.

  All she knew was that her Occlumency was not something just anyone could infiltrate or meddle with, and even if it had been a mage an entire rank above her, she was confident she would at least sense the intrusion. At least, until today, she had firmly believed that. How this young man had done it, if he had done it at all, or when, terrified her enough that she did not even dare to ask.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  She forced herself to steady, drawing a few measured breaths, and at last, for the first time, she truly took in his face. Still indifferent, his eyes half-lidded as he observed her, she felt completely laid bare under his gaze.

  And speaking of being exposed, "My lord… would it be acceptable if I conjure something to cover myself first?" She asked, doing her best to sound as calm as possible.

  "I have not confiscated your wand, have I?"

  She exhaled in relief at those words. Thank Merlin, she thought, this unfathomable boy was not a lecher. Her current situation was already dire enough, and if he had been, Azkaban would have been the least of her worries.

  Slowly, she glanced down and saw that her hands were still trembling, but regardless, she made a tentative motion with her wand and managed to conjure a simple robe, finally covering herself.

  Watching her struggle with a basic transfiguration, Maverick couldn't help but wonder if he had gone too far. She was a greatmagi, after all, and even if her mind was frayed from shock, executing something this simple should have been effortless for someone of her rank. Or was she putting on an act? And if so… what could she possibly hope to gain?

  "Thank you, lord, for letting me—" she said between ragged breaths, but Maverick cut her off. Who was she trying to fool?

  "I will ask again… what reason do you have for following that lunatic?" His voice was still as calm as ever, and this time she knew she had no choice but to answer.

  "I…"

  Her expression betrayed a mind tangled with conflicting thoughts, but just as Maverick suspected, she was not being entirely sincere. True, she was still shaken by the earlier inexplicable episode, yet not to the point where she could not speak coherently.

  In reality, she knew that Azkaban—or some other magical prison—might well be waiting for her next. Yet deep down, she had not lost all hope.

  In her mind, there was still a chance—a slim chance—that she could turn things around, and that chance depended entirely on making a deal with him. The leverage she could use was still unclear, but it had to be something, likely some piece of information.

  After all, if Maverick intended to hand her over, why had he bothered to dialog with her first?

  "My lord… I made a deal with him," she said finally, forcing herself to be honest after weighing the few options left to her. "I am not… not his devoted follower. He gets my help with his plan to… resurrect, and in return, once he recovers his magic, he will help me free my master from his prison."

  "Hmm."

  She saw only a mild change in his expression, a single brow arching slightly.

  "My lord, I..."

  "Cut the 'lord' nonsense, for Merlin's sake. I am no lord," Maverick interrupted again, irritation seeping into his tone. "So let me get this straight. You help him resurrect, and in return, he helps you break Grindelwald out of prison?" He tilted his head, genuinely perplexed.

  It was not that the plan was entirely implausible, just that the chance of her plan succeeding—even if Riddle were to regain his full power—was exceedingly slim. First of all, as far as he knew, the prison had been personally enchanted by Dumbledore himself, alongside Nicolas Flamel and several other archmagi.

  It was nothing like the original story, where the man had simply been locked in a tower that anyone could stroll into. Furthermore, from what he had read, coupled with his teacher's recollections of the world war half a century ago, Grindelwald certainly did not accept defeat or simply give up in the end.

  From what Maverick could recall of the original story, that old man Grindelwald had remained locked up willingly after losing to Dumbledore. Later, Voldemort had indeed visited Nurmengard to inquire about the Elder Wand, as if he were merely paying a casual visit through the front door.

  In contrast, the past in this reality was far more complex, and likewise, in the future, when Voldemort regained his prime power, infiltrating the prison in such a manner would be impossible.

  For starters, the layers of defensive enchantments alone would make such a feat utterly impossible. Most importantly, the prison itself was said to be protected by a Fidelius, and no one, at least on record, knew the identity of the Secret Keeper.

  This was not a secret, so why would a woman known for her cunning believe this plan could succeed?

  "You do realize that your plan, if it can even be called one, has more than a few problems."

  "I know who the Secret Keeper is," Vinda Rosier said firmly, lifting her gaze to meet his.

  "Oh? Is it not Dumbledore?" Maverick asked. While the records claimed the identity was unknown, he had always assumed it was Dumbledore. Who else could it be?

  "It is not that old monster," Rosier shook her head.

  "Go on..."

  "It is Anton Vogel."

  "The Marquis from Germany?" Maverick asked, a little taken aback. After a brief pause, he added thoughtfully, "Yes, he was the Minister of Magic of Germany back then. But as far as I recall, he was only a magus at the time, and already quite old to be entrusted with such a responsibility... the Secret Keeper of a man that dangerous." He paused, then asked, "Is he even still alive?"

  "More than just alive. First, it was precisely because he was only a magus that he was chosen, since no one would ever suspect a mere magus to be the Secret Keeper," Rosier said, nodding. "The original plan was to change it before he grew too old, but not long after the war, he broke into the marquis ranks, and that advancement was kept secret. And since the secret of the Secret Keeper himself remained secure, it was decided he would retain the role indefinitely."

  "Interesting…" Maverick's curiosity was genuine now. "Pray tell, then, how did you come by information so… closely guarded?" His fingers twitched slightly while asking.

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Rosier, the more she spoke, the more her nerves eased, to the point that she even leaned back a little more comfortably. A sarcastic smirk tugged at her lips as she spoke with open disdain, though Maverick neither knew nor cared whom it was directed at.

  "In fact, it has a great deal to do with you. My lor… I mean, Mr Speaker."

  "Me?"

  "Yes." She chuckled softly. "Since the war against those extraterrestrials six months ago, the one you ensured the entire wizarding world witnessed without exception, many people have had their perspectives forcibly widened. Especially those of us who lived through the war fifty years ago. Those who once heard my master speak of what was to come."

  Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Grindelwald warned us about this future. About technology. At the time, his words were mocked and dismissed. Today, you proved them true in real time. After witnessing that power firsthand, denial is no longer possible. If nothing changes, the magical world will face disaster because of technology. That outcome is... inevitable."

  Her expression grew increasingly fanatical as she leaned forward, locking eyes with Maverick.

  "And only he, Gellert Grindelwald, my great master, possesses the vision to stop what is coming. With his gift of foresight, he can guide us through the disaster ahead. You must understand, child. Only he can save us. Only he—"

  "Right, right. He is your messiah," Maverick interrupted flatly.

  Vinda Rosier let out a small scoff and crossed one leg over the other. "You know I am not wrong. How about this then. If you help me instead, I can take you directly to that moron's hideout and hand him over on a silver platter to you. I will even tell you his detailed plan—"

  "Stop..." Maverick raised a hand and cut her off mid rant.

  Had that subtle compulsion worked a little too well on her? In any case, most of what he needed to know had already been extracted. Now, there was just one last thing left.

  "You just said many among you have been enlightened... so tell me, are there others like you, working with Riddle on this scheme?"

  "I'm the only one in direct contact," she replied. Her expression then began changing ever so subtly, as if she were struggling to recall something, but she continued nonetheless. "Because only I, with my great-magi-level magic, have the capital to pursue that idiot and… and… compel him into an unbreakable vow… After… after he regains his power… he won't have any choice but... but to honor it… … … what… what did you do to me… again?"

  A sigh finally escaped Maverick as he straightened and rose to his feet.

  Meanwhile, Rosier's eyes went wide open, her pupils trembling as she stared down at her shaking hands, the realization finally slamming her like a train.

  All this time, every thought she had, her plan to bargain with him, even that faint hope of turning the situation in her favor, it had been influenced by him all along. She had been deceived. Again. But when had it happened? How had she not noticed it? Again?

  "I don't blame you... after all, Muggle psychology, or anything Muggle for that matter, isn't exactly something you lot would bother to guard against."

  No… how is he reading my mind? I can't even sense an intrusion!

  Her thoughts raced, colliding and spiraling, only to snap back to square one again. That decisive, act-first, talk-later witch. Panic surged, drowning out reason, and instinct took over. Then, with a sudden, sharp motion, she thrust her wand forward and cried out, "Avada—"

  Unfortunately for her, she didn't get to finish. She never had, not from the very beginning.

  Before she even realized what had happened, her hand was empty, her wand was gone, already resting calmly in the other party's grasp.

  Thud.

  All strength left her body and she slumped back into the chair.

  "I do agree with you, lady," Maverick said as he stepped forward, vanishing her wand into his storage ring before sliding both hands into his coat pockets.

  He looked down at her with utter indifference. "If the world does not change, what your master envisions is indeed inevitable."

  At those words, she snapped her head back up again and met his gaze. All she saw were half-lidded, cold, and detached eyes, and even that last fragile spark of hope that had surfaced moments ago vanished instantly.

  "... this world, it does not need a second savior."

  He lifted one arm and lazily flicked his index and middle finger upward, and—

  Spark... Swish!

  Out of nowhere, thick orange strands, like molten metal, materialized from both sides and coiled tightly around her arms and legs. With a groan, she was yanked backward, her limbs bound and forced into a crouched position. Maverick showed not the slightest trace of mercy.

  To her credit, in that moment, her eyes never left him once. Was it pride, arrogance, or unwillingness, he didn't really care which. Down on her knees, hands and feet bound backward, only her head tilted upward, she watched him with burning red eyes.

  "And you," she heard him say, "are nothing more than a 'variable' that needs to be removed before that day arrives."

  —————————

  Back at the camp site, when Maverick arrived, the sky was already tinged with a faint golden hue, the pre-dawn light stretching across the horizon in soft gradients of amber and rose.

  It was quiet. The fires were out, and not even a trace of smoke lingered in the air. The tens of thousands who had once been here had been reduced to just a few thousand.

  Groups of people could be seen apparating away from the site where uniformed personnel were stationed, more than a dozen clusters scattered across the grounds. What was happening was presumably a controlled departure, after headcounts were completed and permission to leave had been given.

  Without stopping, Maverick quickly located Alastor Moody near a group of Aurors and sent him a brief mental message to separate himself for a moment. When he did, Maverick apparated near the man and, without a word, unceremoniously tossed the bound woman directly toward him.

  "How'd you get a bead on her?"

  "Trace..." Mavrick didn't elaborate on the details and made a few gestures with his hand, and her bindings were removed.

  Moody didn't waste any time either and promptly retrieved two pairs of cuffs, presumably enchanted to suppress her magic, securing them tightly around her hands and feet.

  It wouldn't still be enough to keep a great magus confined permanently, but heavily enchanted cells would provide additional security and more suppressive magic, and that was her next destination.

  In any case, even if she managed to escape, he would still be able to find her, though it shouldn't come to that. Unless a third party intervenes, she would likely spend the rest of her very long life locked up.

  "Did you find out why the two lunatics wanted to capture me?" Moody asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the dejected woman. She wasn't unconscious, but with her hollow eyes, empty of life or hope, she might as well have been.

  But at least hers were not completely white, rolled back like the other woman's, whose condition still left Moody uncertain if she was even truly alive. With this one, the Aurors could at least attempt some interrogation later.

  "No…" Maverick replied. "She's a tough nut to crack. I'm guessing they wanted to impersonate you. But for what exactly, I have no idea."

  Actually, before coming, he had thoroughly probed her mind, uncovering everything she knew of Voldemort's plans. It pretty much matched her earlier account and also confirmed some of his suspicions.

  Basically, as in the original story, Voldemort's plan involved Moody being impersonated and then applying to become the DADA professor at Hogwarts. Here, however, it would be Rosier stepping into his role instead of Crouch Jr.

  How Voldemort planned to make it seamless enough to fool everyone into believing it was truly Alastor, Maverick had no idea. From her memories, however, Voldemort had been supremely confident in his magic—so confident that he believed not even an archmagi could tell the difference.

  As for why Maverick didn't let it play out like in the original story, well… he had his own plans.

  "I'm not surprised that even your methods couldn't crack her. She is that man's second-in-command, after all." Moody gave a light nod, implying an ambiguous remark.

  "Don't talk nonsense. Who told you I tortured her? Don't slander people's innocence, old man."

  Moody gave only a knowing glance in return then shrugged. Although, he wasn't wrong to assume as such, after all, she did look like she had been thoroughly tested.

  On to another matter, "Where's Jameson?" Maverick inquired.

  "Back at the Ministry. The arsehole dumped all the hard work on me and went off to smile for the cameras," Moody scoffed. Then, with a touch more seriousness, he added, "This will leave a mark on his reputation. An international incident like this spiraling out of control right under his nose… how'd you plan to save your little puppet's face?"

  This bastard really didn't care who he was speaking to. But Maverick wasn't petty and didn't mind the rudeness; in fact, he liked the man for being straightforward.

  "Or," Maverick countered, "it could actually boost his reputation. No lives were lost, aside from the terrorists. Most were captured, including two great magi. I trust Jameson can spin this entire incident in his favor."

  Moody let out another scoff but offered no rebuttal.

  "I'll be leaving then. Don't forget to lock her up in maximum security..."

  "Wait!" he called, stopping Maverick before he apparated away.

  "Tell me honestly, Caesar," he said, locking his gaze onto Maverick. "Did you truly have no prior knowledge that something like this was going to happen?"

  Maverick also held his gaze for a moment, then a small smirk curved his lips. "Does it matter?" He shrugged slightly and added, "…it was only a coincidence that I came here with my fiancée to watch the game and all of this happened. Fortunately, especially for you…"

  "Right. Get out of here," the old Auror waved, cutting him off with a sigh. Whether he believed it or not… no, he very likely didn't buy a word of that, but Maverick didn't care. And with that, he didn't linger a moment longer and disappeared from the site.

  The reason he was still keeping certain things from the man was simple: Moody wasn't part of the plan yet, not for what was to come in the next school year. At first, Maverick had intended to keep the man in the dark until the very end, but after getting to know him personally for a while, he changed his mind.

  Soon, therefore, he decided to bring him aboard as well, preferably in the presence of a few others to make the persuasion easier.

  Apart from the man's gruff and abrasive nature, he was, for lack of a better word, a solid unit. Especially when it came to drawing clear lines between black and white, then choosing which side would lead to the best possible outcome. The only problem was that, precisely because of his stubborn nature, getting him to fall in line would take a bit more effort. In any case, that was a worry for later.

  There was still a little over a month before school started, the summer holidays not even halfway over, but Maverick's schedule left him no time for sightseeing.

  ---

  The next day unfolded exactly as expected, with wizarding newspapers across the world plastering their front pages with headlines about the terrorist attack, many of them calling it the single largest international magical incident in recent history. As the host nation, Britain's magical administration found itself under a lot of scrutiny, accused by some of gross negligence for allowing such a disaster to occur in the first place.

  At the same time though, there was no shortage of praise either, especially for how swiftly the situation had been brought under control and for the fact that, against all odds, there had been no innocent casualties. That balance between condemnation and reluctant admiration dominated public discourse for days.

  As for the perpetrators, there was a noticeable lack of concrete information. No official names were released, and apart from the British Daily Prophet and a handful of European outlets tentatively pointing out the appearance of the Dark Mark associated with the recent Dark Lord, nothing was formally confirmed.

  Reports did mention that two great magi had been apprehended, but once again no identities were revealed, largely because the British magical administration had yet to issue a proper press statement.

  Minister Jameson Greengrass did appear before the cameras, but he did not name any names, only assuring the public that a thorough investigation was underway. He further added that a press conference would be held as soon as the preliminary findings reached a presentable stage.

  Meanwhile, Maverick went straight home after the World Cup episode. Busy as his schedule already was, and demanding as the coming months promised to be, he still wanted at least a day or two with his family, time enough to simply breathe and take in the quiet that came from being close to the people who mattered most to him.

  His father took a few days off as well, and together with Sarah they decided on a short family vacation, escaping to the lush greens and endless blue skies of Bali, where the weight of their individual responsibilities slowly loosened its grip on all of them.

  And speaking of his sister, once they returned from Bali feeling mentally refreshed, Maverick finally took her to America to meet the X Men. Michael and Ariel came along as well, since it was an important moment for Sarah, adopted or not, she was their daughter, and they wanted to be there together as a family for her.

  Xavier welcomed the Caesars with impeccable courtesy, and while Maverick's presence alone would have warranted respect, his father was no ordinary man either, so a proper and formal welcome was extended without hesitation.

  Jean could barely contain her excitement when she discovered that Maverick's sister was a mutant like her, but more than that, she was practically flustered that they were the same age and the same gender. They connected almost instantly, in a way that felt completely natural and effortless from the very start.

  Meanwhile, Professor Xavier personally gave Mother and Father Caesar a tour of the mansion, or rather, the school, starting with why he had founded such an institution, how he educated the children there, and the key differences and similarities between his school and regular ones.

  To put it simply, the Xavier Mansion was more of a safe sanctuary for mutantkind that Xavier had established than a conventional school, and to call it a proper school would be a stretch.

  Of course, Xavier didn't hide that fact and explained everything to them plainly, including details that Maverick himself was hearing for the first time, such as the fact that, despite living at the mansion, not all mutant children completed their entire education within its walls.

  Many, apparently, still attended regular schools alongside normal children, and only those whose mutations drastically altered their physical appearance or whose abilities were difficult to control found the mansion fully serving as a full-time place of learning and sanctuary.

  Xavier expressed a genuine desire for Sarah to attend at least some classes at the mansion, believing she would benefit from the environment. Maverick and his family, however, were firm in their decision that she would complete her education at a regular school.

  After all, she had no trouble controlling her powers, so there was no real reason to remove her from a regular setting, at least not yet. That said, the point Professor Xavier made was not wrong either, and Sarah would undoubtedly benefit from learning alongside other mutant children.

  Therefore, after weighing both perspectives, it was decided that during the holidays, Sarah would visit the mansion, spend time with other mutant children like her, and participate in some of the training sessions they held. As for being continents away, that was hardly a problem with an overpowered wizard-slash-alchemist-slash-sorcerer brother behind her.

  The Caesars spent two days at the Xavier Mansion before returning to London, though only Maverick and his parents came back, while Sarah stayed behind to be picked up once the summer holidays ended and school resumed. In any case, it would be a healthy experience for her, allowing her to enjoy the freedom of using her abilities among others like her.

  After that brief but much-needed time with his family, Maverick turned his attention back to business once again, and for the first task on his list, he headed to the Mars Project control center to check on its progress.

  The facility was quieter than before, with only a handful of personnel stationed there, since most of the scientists now preferred working directly on Mars. Here on Earth, the work was largely limited to constructing sections of the base before they were transferred to Mars for assembly, so only engineers remained planetside, while the researchers chose to work on the red planet itself.

  Still, Maverick took some time to get a general understanding of what was happening here, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with the managers, he opened a portal and stepped straight onto the red planet as well.

  The preliminary base had expanded considerably, even though only a few months had passed. A dome structure housing simulated living quarters and a breathable atmosphere was already complete, and several laboratories dedicated to different research fields were already semi operational, with many more still under construction.

  At a glance, it felt like a colossal enterprise in full motion, hundreds of heavy duty vehicles crawling across the terrain in coordinated chaos while personnel in safety gear moved with practiced urgency. Dust plumed into the thin Martian air, metal giants roared and rumbled, and the entire landscape unfolded like a living tableau pulled straight from an epic science fiction spectacle.

  And at the heart of the site was, of course, the giant glass reinforced and enchanted dome. It was not that large yet, only about half the size of a football stadium, but that was more than enough to house all the researchers and let them call it a home on this alien world. Moreover, it was designed to expand far beyond its current scale, and the work underway was still largely preliminary, focused on laying the foundation before any truly serious project could begin.

  Howard and Norex, Maverick's two science guys, were deeply engrossed in their work on the Kree Imperial cruiser, so he limited himself to a brief update on their progress before turning his attention back to the on base construction again.

  For nearly half a month, he assisted wherever he could to accelerate the build, whether that meant acting as space uber or simply relocating massive structures from one section to another, helping fit together the sprawling metal puzzle and push the megaproject further along.

  In fact, more than being a professor, more than anything else really, the thrill and satisfaction he drew from watching everything come together brick by brick gave him a deeper sense of fulfillment than anything else. After all, this project was his creation, his pride, his baby.

  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, that was not the only baby he had. Time moved on, and by mid-July, his attention turned once more, this time to projects back on Earth, particularly Caesar Technologies, where more mundane, or less magical, endeavors were underway.

  There, he reviewed the prototype of the phone, Caesar Two, scheduled for release in November. It was largely complete, incorporating his suggestions like infrared data transfer capabilities and a few additional add-ons, but it still wasn't entirely to his liking.

  The overall design, for one, still didn't satisfy him—the thickness was off, and the battery capacity left much to be desired. So he suggested several refinements and adjustments, absolutely not sounding like a villainous boss at all.

  Anyway, they weren't working for free. In fact, he was paying them generously, much more than other companies in similar fields, so it was only natural for them to deliver what was asked. Besides, what he was asking wasn't outrageous, and with a few months still remaining before launch, there was ample time to fully implement his vision and perfect the final product.

  The next task on his list took him across the Atlantic. At Saint Matthew Island, he met his teacher to discuss the operation planned for early next year in more depth, filling in any remaining gaps and clarifying exactly how Edward's people would be utilized once everything commenced.

  The hundreds of witches and wizards working under the man would play a vital role, and to ensure events unfolded exactly as he envisioned, a discussion between just the two of them was not enough. Everyone involved would need to be thoroughly briefed, and beyond that, practical drills would also be necessary as insurance against unforeseen variables.

  Things, of course, would be far simpler if Maverick chose to ignore the possibility of innocent people getting caught in the aftermath when everything unfolded, but that was never an option he was willing to entertain.

  That was precisely why he had plans layered within plans, and why he involved so many different parties in the operation. Thus, over a week was spent with his teacher and the assembled teams going through every detail, but on the bright side, when he returned home he was satisfied and still had over a week left before the school term began.

  Go on a short getaway somewhere or just dive headfirst into Isabella's arms, he mused, but apparently the universe had other ideas. Or maybe a certain white-bearded old menace had simply felt his nose twitch, because suddenly he was summoned with all the subtlety of a cannon, and informed, rather insistently, that his presence at the school was absolutely mandatory.

  From that moment, Maverick knew that his holidays, if they could even be called that, were officially over. At least all the tasks on his list had been taken care of, and so, both satisfied and somewhat annoyed, he returned once more to the legendary castle—off to another thrilling year.

  —————————

  Author's Note:

  Hey guys,

  I've decided to do a full rewrite of this fic and repost it again. There are a couple of reasons for this.

  First off, the response on Webnovel has been kind of weak, honestly. Of course, I know this isn't the best crossover fanfic out there, and I'm not claiming it's some masterpiece. At best, it's probably mid. Still, I genuinely believe it deserves better than what it's getting right now.

  Second, it's become pretty clear to me that, out of those who quit the book, most were readers who dropped the story very early on. Maybe some misunderstood the direction, maybe things didn't go how they expected, or maybe the early chapters just felt too cringe or too typical.

  Of course, I know I can't make everyone happy. Moreover, as a writer, if I only follow reader demands and ignore my own ideas, it stops being my fanfic.

  That said, I know I can do a lot more to improve the book, especially the first impression, and that's exactly what I plan to do. My mind's made up.

  Important note, this isn't a full overhaul. The main plot is staying the same. This is a rewrite, not a fanfic of a fanfic.

  Like I mentioned earlier, I'll be fixing early mistakes, smoothing out parts that came off as cringe (I know that lost me a lot of readers), and cleaning up some amateur mistakes from the early chapters.

  Thanks to all the feedback over time, along with the experience I've gained putting my ideas into words, I know better now, and I want the rewrite to reflect that.

  However.

  Because of this, updates here on the original fanfic will be slower for a while, at least until the rewrite catches up. On the rewrite side, I'll aim for around seven chapters a week. Here, updates will likely be two or three chapters per week.

  Of course, you don't have to read the rewrite if you don't want to. You can keep following this version, since the overall story and future plot won't change. Just know that once the rewrite catches up, I'll stop posting here and continue only with the new version.

  Finally, I hope you understand where I'm coming from. I've thought long and hard about it, and my mind is made up. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments.

  And as always, thank you so much for sticking with me. As long as I'm healthy and still getting feedback, I have no intention of dropping this fic.

  Peace ??

  You can find this story on Webnovel, Fanfiction, and ScribbleHub, all under the same author name: RyanFic. Updates drop first on Webnovel!

  Thank you so much for your support. It means the world! ????