HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 430

Chapter 430: Thicker and Longer

Voldemort slanted a look at Lucius.

He knew exactly what sort of man Lucius Malfoy was. In terms of sheer loyalty, Lucius did not measure up to Goyle and Crabbe senior, let alone Bellatrix or Barty.

Even so, Lucius had always held a crucial place at Voldemort’s side—and not only because of the Malfoy fortune. He possessed something vanishingly rare among the Death Eaters: a true sense of the bigger picture. His grasp of power and influence went beyond even Bellatrix’s and Barty’s.

For that alone, Voldemort had tolerated a great deal: Lucius’s earlier betrayal, his decision to risk Voldemort’s diary—Voldemort’s soul itself—by sending it to Hogwarts, only for Sean Bulstrode to destroy it.

Had anyone else committed such errors, they would have been on the receiving end of the Killing Curse more times than they could count.

Slowly, Voldemort lowered his wand. He looked from Lucius to Goyle and Crabbe. “Lucius speaks sense. Your punishment will be postponed—for now. If you can bring the giants into our camp, I will forgive your foolish attempt to deceive me. But if you squander my mercy, if you waste the chance I have given you, then what awaits you will make the Cruciatus Curse seem merciful.”

“Thank you, my Lord, for your mercy, for your great compassion,” they stammered.

“My Lord, we… we will complete the task. This time we will not fail!”

Voldemort waved a hand, already bored with them. He had no desire to waste another word on Goyle and Crabbe senior .

Seeing the gesture, the two men glanced towards Lucius and gave him a grateful nod. Under the jeers of the other Death Eaters, they scrambled out of the chamber.

Voldemort settled back in his seat and ran a pale hand over Nagini’s head where she twined around the back of his chair. “Our plan to use the Ministry to hamper Hogwarts and Dumbledore has stalled,” he said. “That idiot Fudge is hesitant and indecisive. He is no longer a useful tool.”

Silence fell around the table.

At last, a man seated near the far end of the long table spoke. “My Lord, I have a thought. I beg your correction.”

Voldemort turned his gaze on him, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “As someone newly sworn to my service, I am curious to hear it,” he said. “I want to see how you differ from the old men at my side who will not trouble themselves to think on my behalf. Boreal.”

At that name, the smiles on the faces of the veteran Death Eaters froze at once. They stared at Voldemort, expressions turning grave and fearful. A few of them even began to tremble.

Boreal inclined his head to Voldemort. “My Lord, this issue is indeed difficult. But I have spent many years inside the Ministry and have learned much about certain people and matters. Those here have not had my experience. It is only natural if they have not thought along these lines. I am sure they can aid you in other ways.”

Voldemort’s mouth curved in a small, unreadable smile. He only nodded. “Speak, then. Let us hear your idea, Boreal.”

“Fudge, my Lord, is cowardly, stubborn, weak, and greedy for both gold and office. He is not a good tool. Most importantly, he does not truly stand with us. He has never submitted himself to you. Under his hand, many things will twist out of shape and fail.

“So my thought is this: perhaps we should consider elevating a wizard who is loyal to you as Minister for Magic. Even if this person cannot yet openly support us, a Minister under your banner will still be able to accomplish much for you—such as hampering Hogwarts and Dumbledore.”

As he spoke, Voldemort’s serpentine features shifted, a flicker of interest passing over his face. He nodded slowly. “Tell me, Boreal. Whom do you suggest?”

“My Lord, Fudge has raised up a protégé of his own. Her name is Dolores Umbridge. This woman has a great deal of ambition. She may be of use to us.”

“And Fudge? How are we to remove him?”

“Simply forcing Fudge out would be wasteful. Perhaps we can make him into a stepping stone in his final days, a ladder for the Minister we choose. That way, even at the end, he will be offering up the last of his usefulness to your cause.”

“Very good,” Voldemort said. “Then this matter is yours to manage, Boreal.”

“It will be my honour to offer my strength to you, my Lord.”

…

Crack.

Marvolo Gaunt’s ring split cleanly in two.

Panting, Sean tucked the halves away.

The soul fragment inside that Horcrux had been one of the strongest Voldemort had ever torn from himself, and dealing with it had taken a great deal out of Sean.

He opened his interface and glanced at the new message, preparing to accept the spoils.

[Duel Won!]
[Conditions Met: Victory Against Horcrux Soul Fragment.]
[System Commencing Random Ability Extraction from Defeated Target: Tom Riddle (Horcrux Core Fragment).]
[Opponent Strength Assessment: Legendary. Drawing Four Abilities.]
[Extracting...]

For a moment, Sean felt needle-fine agony race along every nerve, space itself seeming to twist around him as if trying to Apparate his body apart and reassemble it while raw curse power and awakening magic roared through his core.

[Extraction Complete!]
[New Curse Acquired: Crucio LV5]
[New Skill Acquired: Apparition LV5]
[New Spell Acquired: Stupefy LV4]
[Talent Enhanced: Magic Awakening (5/7)]

Every skill this time was one Sean already possessed, but at a higher level than his current mastery—Stupefy being the exception. Between the new abilities, Sean valued Apparition the most. He had seen advanced uses of Apparition before and envied them. Now he finally held that level of power himself.

He closed the interface.

Pain welled up from deep inside his body, and he exhaled slowly. In the Room of Requirement, he found a place to lie down and braced himself for the fifth Magic Awakening to come.

Once again, he chose to remain conscious during the process. As before, he opened his Spirit Vision and watched the threads extend from his body and from the void around him.

He poured all his focus into one of his own silver threads, twining it around a strand that had emerged from the emptiness and hauling it, inch by inch, into himself. This time, the thread he caught was noticeably thicker and longer than any he had taken before.