HP/LOTM: Visionary - 427

Chapter 427: Tom’s Doubt, A Ruinous Choice

When Tom from the future was annihilated, the Tom of this era felt it at once.

"That woman has been destroyed. By whom?" he muttered.

He had only just seized Chaos’ power. He knew he was not yet a match for Dumbledore, who had been wielding a Deep Realm King for over fifty years. Caution tugged at him on one side.

On the other hand, the scraps of information his future self had brought back, and her usual, blazing arrogance, pulled the other way.

Talking to another version of himself had been unbearably awkward, so she had told him very little about the future. Just that damnable Prewett, the accursed Prewetts, that only a dead Prewett was a good Prewett.

Beyond that, all Tom knew was that Lily Potter’s son had rebounded his Killing Curse, that he would manage to resurrect himself fourteen years later, and a few scattered notes like the names of certain loyal Death Eaters such as Severus Snape.

"What to do, what to do…" Young Tom paced the hall of Riddle Manor, troubled.

"My Lord."

Someone knocked on the great doors. A familiar voice drifted in.

Tom flicked his wand. The doors swung open to reveal a tall man with greasy hair and a face full of pockmarks, wearing a perpetually bored expression.

"Ah, Rookwood, my good friend. What brings you to me?" Tom said warmly, taking the hand of the Department of Mysteries’ man he had planted.

Augustus Rookwood was the reason Tom had recently held a special ritual to draw on Chaos’ power in the first place: to erode the contract bound into the Silent Tablets and tempt the Unspeakables into betrayal.

"Lord, I think the old fox has noticed something. He let Eleanor Prewett go early," Rookwood said.

His gloom, tinged with a kind of weary misanthropy, made it hard to read his face. As for his mind, Tom could not pierce it at all. Unspeakables specialised in the power of thought.

"What? Your plan involved the Prewetts and you did not say so earlier?" For once, Tom dropped his usual gracious mask in front of a subordinate.

"I was not sure you would keep your word. The secret the Prewetts hold is too tempting," Rookwood said, staring straight back. After all, the two of them were only partners, not master and servant.

"I will swear it in blood. I do not care about the Prewetts’ treasures. I want only this: that the Prewett line be ended," Tom said.

Panic had frayed his reason. He did not have time for careful manoeuvres.

"All right," Rookwood said.

Tom drew his wand and sliced a drop of blood from his hand. Rookwood did the same. The two drops met in midair and merged, spinning together into a small ring.

"It is done. The blood oath is set. Neither of us can block the other from reaching his goal. Now tell me about the Prewetts," Tom said.

Much as he longed to remove this witness, the power of the oath bound his hand.

"Every Deep Realm King was originally a Protocol," Rookwood began. "In the ancient age, wizards codified the surplus mental power generated by the human system into fourteen Protocols. Six of them became Deep Realm Kings. Six were forged into the Silent Tablets used by the various countries. Two more are missing."

"The Thirteenth cannot be found. The Fourteenth is held by the Prewetts."

"What does this Protocol do?" Voldemort asked, knuckles whitening on his wand.

"Legend says it can be fused into a wizard’s body, turning them into a new Deep Realm King. Or it can operate on its own. The six Kings that exist now were born that way," Rookwood said.

Tom’s greed surged. This was everything he had ever wanted: true immortality.

Green light gathered at the tip of the wand hidden behind his back. He was already thinking of how to keep this secret for himself.

He never got the chance.

Chains erupted from the ring on his finger, wrapping his wand hand in burning links. Agony lanced up his arm. He fought not to show a flicker of it on his face.

"Fine. Tell me your plan. I will give you everything you need. Just remember this: the Prewetts must die," Tom said.

Hatred blazed in his eyes.

Rookwood nodded. "I will stage a fake Deep Realm incursion inside the Department of Mysteries. By regulation, Eleanor will be recalled at once. You will lead the team to ‘deal’ with it, then seize her and use her as leverage to bring in the other two Prewetts. Then we wipe them out."

He set out a plan to slaughter an entire family as if he were discussing the weather.

Tom thought it through. For all his unease, he could not see a better way.

"Very well. We do it your way," he said.

They set the plan in motion at once.

……

By Saturday, rain was drumming steadily on London’s roofs. Rookwood arrived at the Ministry as usual, carrying a Portkey.

"Morning, Rook," one of the young women from the Department called as she passed.

"Good morning," he said with a polite smile, every inch the ordinary office worker who never carried stress over to the next day.

He went to his office, a room to the right of the Hall of Prophecy, closest to the Silent Tablets.

"Hey, Rook, I have a few newcomers here. Take them down to the Tablets to register," a burly wizard called.

"Of course," Rookwood said.

A handful of fresh recruits followed him. Together they reached the chamber where the Tablets stood.

"Look. The greatest creation of wizarding civilisation: the Silent Tablets," Rookwood said.

His voice rang with conviction. The strength and lift in his mental force infected the new Unspeakables, filling them with a heavy sense of purpose.

"Avada Kedavra."

Green lightning smashed into the nearest recruit. From him, it leapt in chains, linking the others and tearing their lives away in a heartbeat.

"So great that I am jealous enough to want to strip them down to the last scrap," Rookwood said.

The bright, proud force in his mind turned ice-cold, like some low, distant rumble from the depths of the Nine Hells. He bared his teeth at the corpses.

He snatched out the Portkey Voldemort had prepared, steeped in Chaos’ breath, and placed it beside the Tablets. A Blasting Curse detonated it.

Chaos’ aura burst outward. The Tablets felt it at once and sent a message to every Unspeakable.

"Register code-name: Chaos. Incursion location: Department of Mysteries, Silent Tablet chamber."

The message shot through the network. Every Unspeakable felt a chill lance up their spine.

We have been breached. The enemy is at the very heart of us.

The thought flashed through them all.

The Portkey flared to life. Voldemort strode into the Department of Mysteries with a squad of Death Eaters at his back.

At the same time, in Byberil village, Eleanor was fastening her Unspeakable’s robes.

"Sibby, Aiden is in your care. I have to go," she said.

"But, Madam Eleanor—" Sensen reached for her, but Eleanor had already twisted on the spot and vanished