Lord Voldemort SI

The day arrived for the completion of the first stage of cleansing the Princes' Source—an initial batch of werewolves who had "absorbed" necro-energy from the Princes' Source were ready to go into service.

I did everything I could—using Snape's homunculi and plenty of Muggles—but only twenty-five out of seventy-two werewolf-mages survived the experiment. I hope they have gained enough strength. Selecting one of them, I transported her to a training ground near one of the bases without waking her. Assuming the form of Elena, I set off.

The idea is unique—using Snape's homunculi to connect the werewolves to the Princes' Source so they absorb necro-energy, then disconnect them. I managed to conceal traces of the connection and disconnection in their energy systems, masking it as a Dark Magic Ritual with a sacrifice. Now, it's time to test the new fighters.

On a closed training ground, I brought one from the trial batch to consciousness.

As she blinked in confusion, I used Legilimency on her to discover her name.

"Awake at last, Elizabeth. We have something to test," I said, handing her her wand.

"The target is over there," I pointed to a transfigured mannequin. "Use the 'Dark Beam' spell."

Tom was never fond of this spell—it's like a sledgehammer, far too obvious. A powerful opponent could deflect or repel it, and for weaker ones, simpler means, such as the Avada Kedavra curse, would be far more efficient. Besides, it takes a few seconds to cast—time enough for any fool to bombard you with 'Petrificus Totalus' or a Cruciatus, then do whatever they like with your body. The last problem could theoretically be solved with teamwork: you're covered while preparing to unleash a powerful attack, but Tom nearly always worked alone and trusted no one with his defense.

As far as I understand, this spell is highly sensitive to the level of necro-energy in the caster.

The werewolf woman began waving her wand slowly, murmuring words roughly translatable to "retribution by darkness."

I was in her mind and saw how she used to cast this spell in training with Dolohov. She managed only a small, black, marble-sized orb from which a little dark beam would fly, as effective as a spade to the target. After a week of training, Dolohov saw her attempts and maintained a very thoughtful silence. He tried to offer words of encouragement but ended up taking a cigarette from one of the werewolves and walking away. A dark figure in a robe, smoking...It was strange on two accounts—a pureblood wizard asking for something from a werewolf, and, from what I knew, Dolohov didn't smoke.

But now, everything was different. The same uncertain words, the same imperfect wand movements.

Yet then came the differences. Normally, the sphere forms from several streams of darkness exiting the wand or body.

For me, this looked like flowing and twisting streams, much like regular water.

Elizabeth produced an intermediate result: crooked black spirals spiraling into the orb.

A black sphere began forming in front of her wand, quickly increasing in size. In less than a second, it reached the size of a Quaffle. Interesting...For me, it gets up to a meter and a half in diameter, but how large will hers grow? After four and a half seconds, her sphere reached seventy centimeters in diameter. Then it seemed to puncture. The sphere began deflating like a pierced balloon, and an intense, coal-black beam focused to the width of a finger shot toward the target. A whistling sound, like that of a projectile, filled the air. The beam reached the target at bullet speed, followed by the sound of an explosion. In the target's place was a twenty-meter-diameter crater.

Excellent, simply excellent. In less than two months, someone who had just picked up a wand could now attack at a level comparable to an Auror who spent seven years at Hogwarts and five in the Auror academy. Of course, it's not all so rosy; she lacks combat experience. If she stares at her spell's results for a few seconds, she'll be killed by even a weaker opponent, and the dozen or so spells she knows aren't enough for a full fight. Not to mention that a wizard who can't Apparate is absurd. It's fine; we'll throw them into mixed units with trained werewolf fighters or have their non-mage werewolf comrades cover them. We'll add a couple of normal protective amulets... Someone will survive the first few battles, and they'll harden over time. Losses among werewolves aren't critical; Aurors, on the other hand, don't have a way to replenish their losses. Just imagine them facing werewolves trained in Advanced Dark Magic!

"Remarkable," I said. "Do you feel magical exhaustion? Fatigue? Pain? Voices in your head?"

Ideally, she shouldn't. I'd cut them off before they reached a level of necro-energy that distorts consciousness. They'll remain sane. Beyond that...few will survive, as these will be the first targeted—dragons must be crushed while they're still eggs. Later, any changes in their psyche can be attributed to the horrors of war.

"No, nothing unusual," she answered, though I could see the answer in her mind. "And I put in as much effort as usual, not too much. I don't understand…"

"Cast the 'Avada Kedavra' spell on the wall," I ordered.

"I don't know any of the Unforgivables," she replied.

"Try it," I instructed, positioning myself behind her.

"Avada Kedavra!" she said. There are about ten different wand movements to cast Avada, and she chose the wrong one.

However, from her wand shot the familiar green whistling beam.

"Come with me; I need to tell the others," I announced.

Soon, I was at one of the bases. Dolohov, cloaked as a Death Eater, came to report, while Elizabeth familiarized herself with the other werewolves outside.

"Hello, Antonin. How's the training going with the selected werewolf-mages?"

"I found them instructors among the mercenaries and am personally training them under the Dark Lord's direct orders, according to your...program," he reported.

"What's your opinion?"

"From an ordinary person's perspective, a werewolf is stronger than a wizard. Thus, a group of trained werewolves poses a threat to wizards. But training has been a struggle. The increased strength, agility, and heightened senses don't make much difference for a powerful wizard. Furthermore, in battle, we use attacks that not only aim for physical destruction but also involve light, sound, and even scent signals. This forces werewolves to use more complex, energy-intensive spells to protect their senses, which they haven't mastered. In human form, Pepper Dust Charms take them down as effectively as silver shrapnel."

"We can shield them from Pepper Dust with simple amulets. How are they progressing with the designated spells?" I asked more specifically.

"According to your program…" Dolohov hesitated slightly. "I've been teaching them the spells you indicated. I don't understand why we're starting with Advanced Dark Magic. After a month, they've learned the wand movements and incantations, though they can't produce results. What they manage could be stopped by a Muggle bulletproof vest. The funniest part was when they tried to master the Anti-Patronus—no mist at all. The ones who progressed the furthest ended up depressing themselves. The 'Dark Beam'...Dolohov sighed. He must be imagining the Lord's displeasure. "It turned into a 'Little Beam.' There's now a joke about visible but physically ineffective attacks—they manage it, but it causes no harm. It can't even pierce a piece of paper; it only creases it slightly. And the same goes for a dozen other spells on the list. Instead of the Cruciatus Curse, they emit purple sparks that lift the target a bit. Their defense is slightly better. Some can conjure a grayish-black mist around their body, but it can be broken through with a Quidditch bat. It's a complete failure. But I at least understand what you were aiming to achieve. But why have them learn an acceleration spell that is Dark Magic? Or a Dark Magic healing spell with triple the magical energy consumption compared to a regular one? It's a standard spell, except it's Dark! A normal acceleration spell works just as well and is much simpler. Perhaps, even under these conditions, we could have achieved something. But as soon as they started, you immediately took almost all of them and ordered training for the next group. No one has seen the first group since. Rumors say they're dead. Werewolves are unhappy with you sacrificing 'their own.'"

That was about what I expected.

"I didn't kill them; I empowered them. Although, of course, there are losses in the process. It's time to see the difference."

We headed to the training ground.

Apart from Dolohov, three dozen werewolves and two mercenary mage instructors were present.

"You," I pointed my wand at one of the instructors, "versus her," I pointed to Elizabeth, who had spent over a month at the Princes' Source absorbing necro-energy. "A training duel. And I advise you not to block her attacks 'head-on,'" I told the instructor.

If I understand anything, it will likely go similarly to Snape's first duel with the enhanced Lily. Except Lily's enhancement was magical, while these werewolf-mages are

boosted with necro-energy, which enhances their Dark Magic. If the instructor has any brains, he'll pick his jaw up off the ground and survive.

The instructor took his place opposite the werewolf, about twenty meters away. The training ground's defenses were activated to prevent any unintended casualties. The signal to begin was given.

The instructor made a gesture indicating he would allow his opponent to attack first.

"Expelliarmus!" said the werewolf.

Second-year Hogwarts material. Pitiful. Moreover, I forgot to inform the werewolf that I had only strengthened their Dark Magic... Awkward.

The Expelliarmus beam was absorbed by the instructor's passive defenses. He had even conjured a Reflecting Shield to send it back at the caster, but it wasn't necessary.

"Reducto! Petrificus Totalus!" the werewolf woman continued.

The result was the same. Her attacks didn't get through his passive defenses.

The instructor made a wand gesture and, with exaggerated slowness, pronounced the Air Blade spell aloud.

The werewolf leaped to the side at full speed, loudly shouting "Protego!"

She managed to form a shield, but it didn't help. The spell was faster than her reaction and homed in on her. It sliced through her Protego like a knife through butter. If the intention had been to kill, she would have been dead. As it was, she sustained a shallow cut across her torso.

However, thanks to her werewolf nature, she didn't fall into shock, and the bleeding stopped almost instantly.

"I see no difference," the instructor remarked. It was just like a month and a half ago.

Dolohov was about to signal an end to the duel, but I stopped him.

"Use Dark Magic," I ordered the injured Elizabeth.

The instructor smiled. I swear Dolohov was grinning under his mask too.

"Crucio!" she said, aiming her wand at the instructor.

Too slow. And spoken aloud. While she was saying the incantation, the instructor used an acceleration charm to move out of the spell's path.

The Cruciatus curse flew, encountering no resistance, and hit the protective barrier, accidentally striking one of the spectators, who howled in agony before collapsing unconscious.

"She couldn't manage the Cruciatus before. But even if she can now, it still won't hit me," the instructor informed Dolohov.

His answer was met with another Cruciatus from Elizabeth, this time non-verbal.

The instructor dodged again, but this time the curse passed closer to his body.

The werewolf needed a Dark spell that was homing, and she realized this, beginning to make painfully familiar gestures with her wand.

"Stop! No!" I commanded. "No Hellfire! Or you'll both die!"

She would indeed be able to cast Hellfire, but she wouldn't be able to extinguish it. And she couldn't Apparate away. True, we could save those outside the protective barrier, but not the two of them.

Fortunately, she listened to me and stopped the spell halfway.

Frozen in place, taking advantage of the instructor's momentary inactivity, Elizabeth cast "Dark Healing" on herself. It wouldn't heal Dark Magic injuries, but the cut from the Air Blade closed instantly. She cast it somewhat clumsily, though—a scar would remain.

The instructor, now moving intentionally slowly, conjured a new, homing Air Blade.

Elizabeth used a Dark Magic acceleration spell.

This time, the Air Blade couldn't keep up with her as she ran in circles, at the speed of a race car. An unusual race car—completely disregarding movement inertia and ground traction. The Air Blade chased Elizabeth for five seconds before dispersing, exhausted of energy.

Perhaps deciding this nonsense had gone on long enough, the instructor began casting Black Lightning to deal with his opponent. This spell has one major advantage over others: it travels as fast as ordinary lightning. Elizabeth wouldn't be able to escape.

Since the instructor was casting it aloud, Elizabeth immediately began to conjure one of the three Dark Magic defensive spells, the wand movements and words Dolohov had once shown her.

A blackish mist, the Shroud of Darkness, surrounded her—a fairly good all-purpose defensive spell. She finished just as the Black Lightning, as thick as a human arm, connected her shield and the instructor's wand.

It seems we'd frightened the instructor—this would be a lethal attack.

Terrified, Elizabeth responded with her own Black Lightning.

Only hers was as thick as a human leg, like those used by wizards in my Inner Circle.

The lightning struck her opponent instantly, tearing through his passive shields and the defense he had cast in front of himself. The strike was so powerful that it obliterated the upper half of the instructor's body, leaving only his legs below the knee.

Elizabeth stared at her wand, completely astonished. Incidentally, it might be necessary to take her and the others to Ollivander. They may need new wands…

"What a ridiculous trick," Dolohov said to me. "Why disguise someone from the Inner Circle as a werewolf? And how did you do it if Polyjuice doesn't work on werewolves?"

Yes, people are like that. Everyone, including me—if our opinions don't match the facts, we ignore the facts.

"She is one of those werewolves," I said. "Don't lower the shield around the field. Elizabeth, cast the Anti-Patronus!"

I would use this to show that her Anti-Patronus was something even the Inner Circle didn't possess.

Elizabeth started waving her wand, making a record number of errors in her wand movements and stammering through the words.

The more experience and power a wizard has, and the more often they use a certain spell, the easier it becomes for them. Up to a certain limit, of course, eventually leading to wandless magic.

I hadn't expected her to succeed with so many errors, but she did.

Black smoke started to pour out of her wand, which then gathered into the form of a large black bear. The bear looked around, then walked toward the protective barrier and raised a paw.

"No, don't!" she said.

The bear reconsidered and approached Elizabeth. She touched it and started stroking it—Corporeal Anti-Patronus! She was lucky that Anti-Patronus was one of the few self-guided Dark Magic spells that was safe for the caster.

"Has the Dark Lord accepted a new wizard into the Inner Circle?" Antonin asked me. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"No. She's a werewolf who's been holding a wand for less than two months. Test her. I'll go bring the others."

Reaching the Apparition platform, I vanished, returning a few minutes later with twenty-four unconscious werewolves who had also completed their time at the Princes' Source. I wondered how much longer the Princes' Source would last… And then there was Slytherin's Source…and perhaps the Gaunts could be useful…

Dolohov immediately summoned reinforcements and pulled me into a nearby office for a conversation.

"How did you achieve this?" he asked me. "Is the enhancement permanent?"

"Yes, the enhancement is permanent. How I did it is the Lord's secret."

"Does the Dark Lord know?" he asked.

"Of course!" I replied. "It's his methodology. I am merely the executor."

"Could we enhance regular wizards this way?" he asked.

"I don't know. I think it's possible. But survival rates would likely be even lower than one-third."

"I'll consider where to place our new fighters. They'll need amulets and protection from the werewolves, at least until they become accustomed to their new strength."

"What's your assessment?" I asked.

"They have gained an excessive amount of raw power. But this isn't always an advantage, especially for area attacks where allies might be present. It's best to eliminate them with a single strike from an ambush, relying primarily on stealth. If it comes to a fight, avoid exchanging blows, especially if they're in greater numbers."

"Are they useless?" I asked.

"No, of course not. But we'll need to devise a new strategy around them."

"What kind of strategy?" I asked.

"It's not something I can come up with in five minutes… I'll consult with Jags. Ideally, we'd deploy Anti-Patronuses immediately. It would provide both offense and detection. Then we'd strike with Dark Magic over an area while regular werewolf fighters cover them. And let them not forget about the Unforgivables. Ideally, they should cast Hellfire from a distance before they're detected, and then fall back," he advised me.

A reasonable approach, though it had its nuances.

"Most of them can't Apparate," I informed him.

Dolohov merely smirked.

"That's true. They've mastered Hellfire and the Corporeal Anti-Patronus but can't Apparate. Only Dark Magic was enhanced."

Dolohov swore in Russian.

"Let them learn. For now, we'll provide them with portals or assign Apparition-capable support. We should call in the other Death Eaters," he told me.

"For what?"

"We have two and a half dozen Corporeal Anti-Patronuses. You need to explain where the other fifty of their comrades went. I'll cover for you," he said.

All right. Time to put my oratory skills to the test. After all, I chose volunteers and warned them that this was deadly dangerous… Wake them one by one and start explaining that their sacrifice won't be forgotten.

Five hours later, it was all done. Speaking to each of them individually turned out to be a good idea. I only had to kill one, and five were put under the Imperius Curse. I think no one

will notice they're under the Imperius Curse—I'm a master, after all. They don't even know they're under it themselves. The others were convinced to cooperate. Most agreed to work voluntarily after being promised a raise and a generous dose of "for the good of the werewolf people" propaganda.

"So, only twenty-five out of seventy-two survived? And you're going to keep doing this?" Elizabeth asked me.

I had saved her for last, as she was keeping the others occupied with tales of her duel.

"Yes. It's an experimental ritual. Werewolves need magical support, and this is the only way to provide it. You knew what you were getting into; this way, you'll be able to defend yourselves and your people," I explained.

"So you killed them to strengthen us?" she asked while fidgeting with her fingers.

"No. I killed Muggles to strengthen all of you. Unfortunately, it's impossible to predict in advance who will survive and who won't. I'm sorry."

"But this is…"

"Immoral? Would you like me to show you memories of werewolves writhing in pain from silver-inflicted wounds, knowing I couldn't save them?" I went straight to the point. "One good magical shield could have saved lives, three shields and there'd have been no casualties at all. The future of werewolves depends on people like you. Either you mourn, and they'll wipe you out, or you surrender and continue to live in filth for centuries, or you help the Dark Lord win and become full citizens of magical England."

"I understand," she mumbled, looking away.

But still, I sensed a feeling of something unsaid through passive Legilimency.

"You want to ask me something?" I prompted.

"No. Well, yes. Well… no…" she started, hesitating.

"Just say it—quickly," I ordered.

"I have a werewolf man I'm close to. We were planning to marry," she began.

"What does that have to do with me?" I clarified.

"It's not certain that we'll both survive the war... I'd like to have a child with him."

Not the best idea in my view—a child would reduce their survival chances. But then again, maybe it would give them motivation to fight? And why is she asking me?

"I'm curious…will I still be able to have children?" she asked.

Frankly, it's of little importance to me. But if Bella can, then she should be able to as well. It's easiest just to let it run its course. Although, I could at least gather statistics on children born to mothers with high levels of necro-energy, which might prove useful... considering my own future daughter…

"You can. But I recommend a magical marriage before conception," I advised.

"Why? Isn't that just superstition?" she asked.

"I'm just giving you my advice."

"I don't know anyone who could perform the ceremony. And I don't know how it's done myself."

Good point. But I've read enough books on marriage rituals. I've seen Carrow's wedding with Sirius and my own. I can handle this.

"I'll perform the ceremony. If anyone else is interested, send them my way," I told her.

Her amazement exceeded even Dolohov's surprise. She then threw herself into a flood of thanks. As long as none of my allies hear about this—though Elena already has a reputation bad enough that it can't really get worse…

She nodded and agreed. For now, I'd quickly locate her partner and conduct the ceremony. Then, I'd change my appearance and head to Edward, who promised to show me new books and memories. I'd also need to speak to Bellatrix, who was seriously considering sending a congratulatory letter to Rudolphus saying, "Congratulations! Now you have a child and a wife."

Rudolphus Lestrange's Perspective

Sometimes, life has terrible days. The worst was when Bellatrix left him. Second place goes to the day he learned of his mother's suicide. And now today, without a doubt, takes third place: his second wedding.

Yes, he had prepared. What thoughts might cross the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl being married off to a thirty-year-old by men in their fifties? Nothing good, obviously. He instructed the house-elves on what to do in case of a suicide attempt. He stocked up on antidotes in case she tried to poison him or herself. He had already taken so many antidotes that only a potion master could poison him at this point. He wore charmed rings and amulets, which protected him from curses, at least subtle or single ones. He prepared a speech for his father and his bride. He had spoken with the house-elves about where his new "Mrs. Lestrange" could go and whom she could meet and whom she could not. But his pride was the amulet he enchanted specifically for her. The closer Isabella got to certain places, like the basement or the Nessie pond, the stronger her desire to leave, and the louder his amulet's alarm would sound.

Making their ancestral home the Headquarters of the Organization had not been the best decision. As long as only those in the know resided there, it was fine. But now, another resident would be living there, and one moment Snape would be there, then Elena, the Dark Lord, then Alecto with Sirius...

Of course, he thought about the child—meaning his new wife. By his order, the house-elves set up several swings in the yard. He bought ten brooms, both old and new, spruced up a small Quidditch field, and bought all seven years' worth of textbooks from Flourish and Blotts. He bought sweets, too. He locked the wine cellar with a password and protective spells. Naturally, the marriage wouldn't be publicized, and the girl would receive a home education.

But inviting guests to the house would be unwise, so the wedding was set to take place in Spain. Hopefully, none of her sympathetic relatives would challenge him to a duel. He didn't want to kill anyone, but he even more certainly didn't want to be killed…

Standing before the mirror, he confirmed that he looked presentable and went to find his father.

His father and Rabastan were already waiting in the hall in formal robes.

"Great robes, brother," Rabastan commented. "Why so glum? Wedding or funeral?"

Funeral—for his conscience, Rudolphus thought to himself.

"I have a headache," he lied.

"Rudolphus, a word," his father said. "Did you read the full dossier on your future bride and her family?"

No, not fully. But he'd read enough.

"Yes, fourteen generations of pureblood wizards. Thank you, Father," he replied.

"I worked hard to find you a suitable bride. I hope you two get along," his father informed him.

Just Hellfire, Rudolphus thought. Poor, underage, and his.

If only his bride had a chest, something he could at least look at without feeling pain…But according to the documents, her figure was zero-zero-zero. Well, at least she wasn't overweight...

"Rudolphus, try to keep quiet as much as possible. Don't insult anyone. All you need to do is say 'I do' at the right moment."

If he felt this bad, how must his bride feel?

Soon, they touched a goblet, which acted as an international Portkey, and found themselves in Spain at the home of his future father-in-law.

His first impression was that his future family wasn't as poor as he'd anticipated. Their house wasn't a hovel like the Weasleys' Burrow. It was modest, like the Carrows' place, but tasteful. And they had a ritual hall, albeit in a separate building.

The two-story home was nestled among lush greenery, with vineyards nearby.

They were greeted by a man and a woman.

"Don Jaime de Torquemada," introduced the man, who looked about sixty.

"My wife, Marian de Torquemada," he added.

"Rudolphus Lestrange, very pleased to meet you," he said. "This is my father, Edward Lestrange, though you already know him."

Before long, they were drinking on the veranda, discussing who would receive what from the marriage arrangement. After two glasses, Rudolphus lost track of the conversation. Twenty minutes later, Edward brought him back to reality:

"I'll handle signing the contract myself. I'm sure Rudolphus is eager to meet his future wife and have a chance to say a few words before the ceremony."

"I'll lead him," Marian offered.

She soon escorted him to a rather modest library.

"I'll leave you two alone," she said.

"Hello," the girl greeted him. "Are you my future husband?"

Rudolphus involuntarily swallowed. No, he wasn't struck by her beauty, nor did he feel love at first sight. It was simply that if Bellatrix had had a daughter, she would look exactly like this. Even her voice was similar!

Apparently, his father had put considerable effort into finding a woman who resembled his previous wife.

"Yes, my name is Rudolphus Lestrange, but you already knew that, I'm sure."

What was he supposed to say next? That he ran the family business and hunted Muggles by night? Their latest venture had been aiding Voldemort in killing Dumbledore's phoenix? All in the name of preserving purebloods—now with the added pleasure of marrying children. Nothing can stop progress…Well, let's not dwell on the bleak.

Offering a drink would have been a sure bet, except he wasn't sure if her parents permitted her to drink, and she wasn't his wife yet...

"Tell me about your family," he

said.

"The House of Torquemada is among the 'Most Ancient and Noble' of magical Spain. Our family's rise to political prominence began with the efforts of Tomás de Torquemada, known among wizards as the founder of the 'false Inquisition.' He realized that Muggles were becoming more numerous and harder to control. The days of Ancient Egypt, when wizards ruled as gods, were long gone. During the so-called 'Dark' Middle Ages, despite their own divisions, wizards managed to keep Muggle development in check. However, due to poor training of Muggle-borns and leniency toward Muggles, knowledge of magic began to seep into the Muggle world. Moreover, a number of Muggle-borns sided with Muggles against existing policies, which deprived even their Muggle relatives of all rights. This led to a centuries-long conflict as they were joined by 'blood traitors.' It turned out that Muggles, when given magical support and access to places protected by magic and equipped with artifacts supposedly 'blessed by God,' posed a significant threat to wizards."

"To change the situation, Tomás de Torquemada infiltrated the Muggle church and created the Inquisition, an organization ostensibly for eradicating heretics, but in reality, they were eliminating non-loyal wizards and using Muggles to do so. To deceive the Muggles, they performed 'miracles' and hid wands inside crucifixes. Another objective was to eliminate Muggles and falsify evidence of their magical involvement. Captured individuals were used to power energy-accumulating systems, which is why burning at the stake was favored—it was the most effective ritual sacrifice at the time. If a target escaped, a ritual called 'volting' was performed using the person's belongings, burning a straw doll in their place, which would cause severe illness in the fugitive. For a long time, their activities were successful, largely due to the Spanish government's structure—an absolute monarchy. By taking control of a single person with a special potion, they could control the entire political system. Unfortunately, uprisings began against Inquisition power, notably in the Netherlands. Because the rebels practiced republican governance, controlling their leaders was impossible. A military campaign was launched using Muggles, but it ended in defeat. As a result, more Muggles learned about wizards, and some previously neutral families turned against the policies, supported by Muggle-borns who had lost relatives in the conflict. Eventually, the decision was made to stop attempting to control Muggles. Magical countries were established, and the International Statute of Secrecy was implemented to control magical families. This led to the decline of the Torquemada family, which even its allies accused of excessive cruelty. In the twentieth century, we have lost nearly all our wealth, and few are willing to associate with us. We have a reputation similar to the Blacks' in England, though unlike them, we lack their wealth and political influence. Then again, as far as I know, the Black family has lost all its male members and is not doing well either."

At this point, Isabella politely fell silent, gazing at him.

Rudolphus sighed inwardly.

"Never repeat that to anyone—not even to me. England has a more…pro-Muggle stance. None of those events you mentioned ever happened. Wizards never tried to rule Muggles, they never held back Muggle progress, and they certainly never lost due to stupidity and division."

"So wizards had no influence on Muggles before the International Statute of Secrecy? Then what do they teach in the history of magic?" Isabella asked, perplexed.

"Goblin rebellions. Purebloods are taught family history at home. What you've said could be considered extremist. If I repeat it, it could mean up to two years in Azkaban. As a minor, you'd get off with a fine. Tomorrow, start studying the collection of laws of magical Britain."

"As you wish. But I already feel my respect for magical Britain rapidly dwindling."

He had thought she would talk about her parents, not recount the family's history…

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

"I'm homeschooled," she replied. "I could even show you."

With that, she approached a side cabinet and took out a Pensieve. It was clearly an old and worn artifact, looking about three centuries out of date.

"This Pensieve belonged to the great Tomás de Torquemada himself," she said, with reverence similar to how Bellatrix spoke of the Dark Lord. "He and other family members regularly stored their memories in it. There are memories of war councils, battles, tortures, and much more," she added.

"Are you allowed to view it?" he asked. The Blacks had something similar.

"Of course. I grew up with it," she replied. "My favorite memories are of Tomás de Torquemada's life. How he received a theological education and pretended to have ascetic inclinations; how he joined the Dominican order; in 1459 he became prior of the Santa Cruz la Real Monastery, one of the main monasteries in Segovia, and later spiritual advisor to the Castilian princess Isabella. He helped her rise to the throne and arranged her marriage to Ferdinand of Aragon, on whom he also exerted considerable influence, naturally through magic. Soon, Torquemada gained a reputation for his 'religious fervor and theological knowledge,' even charming the Pope himself. In 1478, at the request of Ferdinand and Isabella, Sixtus IV established the Spanish Inquisition, and in 1483, appointed Torquemada as Grand Inquisitor. However, his actual goals were quite the opposite of what he presented to the Muggles. Tomás de Torquemada was one of the most famous Dark Lords of his time."

"Officially, Torquemada's main mission was the religious and political unification of Spain. To achieve this, he reorganized and expanded the Inquisition's activities. By 1483, Torquemada was Grand Inquisitor of Castile and Aragon, and by 1486, of Valencia and Catalonia. Historian Sebastián de Olmedo called him the 'hammer of heretics, light of Spain, savior of his country, and honor of his order.' Torquemada's name, as part of Spain's 'Black Legend,' became synonymous with religious fanaticism. But for him, these were only superficial motives to gain absolute power and carry out purges aligned with his beliefs."

"The expulsion of Jews in 1492 and Moors in 1502 was necessary to confiscate the possessions of those condemned by the Inquisition and to remove foreign wizards from Spain. Torquemada's peak number of auto-da-fé cases of Muggle-borns is estimated at 2,200, half of them straw dolls enchanted by volting, beyond the Inquisition's reach. To prevent the spread of 'heresy,' Torquemada and other leaders of Europe at that time authorized the burning of non-Catholic literature, primarily Jewish and Arabic libraries. Juan Antonio Llorente, the first historian of the Inquisition, claims that throughout Torquemada's tenure, 8,800 were burned alive by secular authorities in what is now Spain, and 27,000 were tortured to death, though historians debate these figures. Llorente considered them low and included only those killed by court order."

"Thanks to Torquemada's work as a political figure, the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon united into what became Spain. Later, Spain became one of Europe's mightiest nations, beginning the colonization of the New World and becoming a 'cultural cradle' for all of Latin America. This enabled them to implement a proactive foreign policy, suppress Muggle-borns, and keep Muggles ignorant over vast territories."

"After fifteen years as Grand Inquisitor, Torquemada grew old for his time, simulating his death with a homunculus in Saint Thomas Aquinas' monastery in Avila in 1498."

And on and on it went…

"After three faked deaths, Torquemada is rumored to have possessed the Elder Wand and was ultimately killed in Holland during what Muggles call the Eighty Years' War under unknown circumstances. Would you like to view the memories?"

Thanks, Father. I thought you'd given me a kneazle, and it turned out to be a nundu… So now I'm supposed to come home from a raid, shake off the blood and guts, and then hurry to watch more blood and guts in the Pensieve?

"Perhaps later."

Or maybe it's not as bad as it seems? Maybe she's just memorized this like a good daughter and is reciting what she thinks she's expected to say?

He felt an overwhelming urge to use Legilimency, but he couldn't. She likely had protective amulets on, and even if he succeeded, it would be a breach of etiquette worse than if he slept with her right here and now.

"So, what can you tell me about yourself? What skills do you have? What have you studied?"

His father had once shown him memories of the young Voldemort—a charming, personable youth. But this girl? He would never trust her with anything!

"Unfortunately, I don't have any special abilities for a witch. No Parseltongue, no enhanced magical vision. My education is standard for a pureblood girl."

"Occlumency? Potions?" he asked.

"I've been studying Occlumency for less than a year. No notable progress. Potions—below average."

Wonderful, just wonderful. He had almost planned to ask Snape to brew antidotes…

"From what I gather, you support pureblood ideals?"

"Of course. I am a pureblood myself

after all."

What followed was a long, tedious conversation about "the great deeds of our ancestors." An hour later, they were interrupted—it was time for the ceremony.

One wedding seen, all weddings seen, he thought cynically, but it was true.

Soon they were called to the ceremony. It was dull. He stood with his brother and father, while she was accompanied by her mother, father, three sisters, and a brother.

Her father used some ancient, moss-covered version of the ceremony. He'd already been holding his bride's hand for two hours; his hand was sweaty, his feet hurt… The only amusing part was that Don Juan clearly had no love for goats: he'd sacrificed four as part of the ritual already.

Three goats later, the ritual was complete. After the obligatory formalities, they returned home. He showed his wife her rooms, connected to his own, and sat down to drink while she changed.

After about half an hour, she knocked and entered.

"How do I look to you, Mr. Rudolphus?" Isabella asked. "Your wife, Bella."

She looked decent. A red robe, nothing underneath.

Rudolphus reached for a fresh glass of wine, drank it, and replied.

"You look lovely," he said. "But may I call you Isabella?"

"Call me whatever you like," she replied, dropping her robe. "And what do you think of how I look now?"

He looked at his naked wife. Positives: she looked quite good; smooth, tanned skin—though that wasn't a surprise given this was Spain, not England. But there were negatives. Her age. Her height—at the ceremony, she'd been in heels, but now barefoot, she was quite short—and, most troubling, her lack of any curves or figure. What was he supposed to do, chew on bones like a thestral? Despite his months of abstinence and her vague resemblance to Bellatrix, he felt no desire whatsoever.

"Let's talk first," he suggested. "Why aren't you in pain? What kind of marriage bonding ceremony did your father use?"

"Everything was cleared with Mr. Edward Lestrange," she said, wrapping the robe around herself again. "I don't know the details, but those blood magic experts are so peculiar!"

"Is your father also a blood magic expert?" he asked, trying to enter her mind with Legilimency. That detail hadn't been in her dossier, though it made sense now.

He tried to discreetly access her mind, but she simply turned her gaze aside, covering her eyes with her hand.

"You may do whatever you like with me, but not Legilimency," she said.

"My apologies," he replied. "How do you view this marriage?"

"It's not so bad," she replied. "All of my sisters had arranged marriages, and of all the options for me, you're the wealthiest and youngest."

Fair enough.

"But it bothers me that you drink so much," she commented.

"It's nerves," Rudolphus answered. "If you'd like, we can postpone the… 'wedding night'."

"That would be pointless," she replied. "I have no objections to you or to having a child together."

Rudolphus poured himself another drink. Right, enough with the alcohol. Time to think things through.

He had a prepared speech but decided not to use it.

"I need to think," he said.

"You could think while we proceed," she suggested, trying to throw her arms around his neck.

But under the influence of an acceleration charm, he dodged easily.

This was certainly not the bride he'd envisioned… Thank you, Father, he thought, I've ended up with every pedophile's dream.

"Do I displease you?" she asked.

"No, you're… fine," he replied. "You just remind me of someone... And she, too, went by the name Bella... But oddly, I don't feel any desire."

How humiliating—to be running from a woman who wants to sleep with him. He hoped his father wasn't spying on them.

"Am I that hopeless?" Isabella asked, as if inquiring about the weather.

"Aren't you aware that most thirteen-year-olds don't act like this?" he asked in return.

"It's foolish to expect typical behavior from a member of an ancient Dark family who has spent her free time with a Pensieve full of medieval memories."

Rudolphus downed another drink. Fine, alcohol was no issue; he could always get a new liver…and he knew where to find one.

At that moment, the girl placed several vials on the table from her robe's pocket.

"Potions for arousal. Polyjuice. Aging Potion. Would you prefer me at eighteen? Or thirty?" she asked.

This felt like a twisted nightmare. A thirteen-year-old trying to take charge in their relationship. It made him want to… No, not bed her—discipline her.

"You have no sense of decency," he declared bluntly.

"If that matters, I could eat a portrait of Dumbledore," she replied with a smile.

"You have a portrait of Dumbledore?" he asked.

"I collect Chocolate Frog cards. Are you interested in my offer? I was joking, but if it'll help…"

"No!" he said. "Let's wait until tomorrow," he suggested hopefully.

For a second, something stirred within him. For a fleeting moment, he could understand Sirius Black—only for a moment.

"All right. I'll sleep, then. But could I kiss you? So I can get used to your kisses by the time I'm seventeen?"

Any idiot would suspect a ruse. But his father had vetted her, so there should be no deception. And how would he even check, not really knowing Isabella? Imperius her? Fine, let's see where this goes.

Taking his silence as consent, she leaned in and kissed him, then pulled back and licked her lips.

"Are you really a virgin?" Rudolphus asked.

She laughed, almost like Bellatrix…

"Of course."

"And where did you learn to kiss?"

"I practiced on apples. Do you believe me?"

"Before I met you, I would have. And if it's true?"

"The family Pensieve. There's a lot in there," she explained.

"Understood. But not all of it applies to real life."

It was no accident Rudolphus had downed so many antidotes. And he hadn't cast a protective film over his skin for nothing while she was changing.

"Who are you?" he asked, pointing his wand at his wife.

"Your wife, Isabella."

"What were your lips coated with?" he demanded.

"'Passion's Madness,'" she replied. "Don Juan warned me that after your divorce, you might have issues."

"Everyone knows about my divorce?"

"No. Only my father, my mother, and myself."

"Isabella, let's talk like adults, without trying to seduce me," Rudolphus suggested.

"We have several options," she said. "The first: we live a long and happy life together, periodically having children. The second: I give you one child, and the contract is fulfilled. We can live in a sham marriage; you can find a lover, and I'll find one too. The third: divorce. But it will be costly, and there's no guarantee your next wife will be any better. She might even be three times your age."

Rudolphus felt the urge to cast Imperius.

"If you treat me poorly, I'll kill you," she said with a polite smile, avoiding eye contact to prevent Legilimency.

Rudolphus thought. A Gryffindor might react differently, but he was far from a Gryffindor. And honestly, things weren't so bad…

"The first option, Isabella," he proposed. "I think tonight we'll get by with minimal potions and the rest. Wash off the 'Passion's Madness,' take a Fertility Potion, and come to me. I need to get accustomed to your kisses."

The swings could stay, but within nine months, a nursery would need to be prepared.