Voldemort Looting the Fallen

"Rodolphus, so Bella would not be lonely, you should go keep her company." In the unobservable sea of consciousness, Voldemort wiped at his crocodile tears.

On Azkaban Island, inside a cavern a thousand meters underground.

Rodolphus, transformed into earth and stone, shuddered.

Under Voldemort's immense power, and with the knowledge Voldemort possessed of modifying the body, he had made use of the Lestrange family's physique, which was sturdier than that of ordinary wizards.

If he had not feared Grindelwald's Blue Fiendfyre.

He would even have dared to remain where he was.

Even if Dumbledore and the other two crouched down and pressed their eyes against the stone he had become, they would not see through his disguise.

He had that confidence now.

He wanted to live.

To live until he could see his daughter—far away at Hogwarts.

He knew Dumbledore was a good man.

But he was still somewhat uneasy.

He was wholly immersed in the beautiful dream of a happy life growing up alongside his daughter.

For that, even if Little Crouch and his nominal wife Bella died.

He felt nothing.

Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded in his mind.

"Rodolphus, Dumbledore and the others are already exhausted.

I need you, the strongest one, to lead the charge.

The other four will support you!

Eleven o'clock, upward!

Dumbledore is there!"

Faced with the Dark Lord's command, Rodolphus could only obey.

His body of earth and stone melted away.

It spread upward in the direction of eleven o'clock.

Aboveground.

Dumbledore extended his hand, gathered a gust of wind, and his nostrils flared slightly.

He fell into thought and reminiscence.

"Harry's scent, and Bellatrix's.

She died?

Because of Neville's request?"

He frowned.

He was just about to privately criticize how this was far too cruel for Harry—meaning the killing; he did not