The Prophecy Orb

The candle wick burned, making a crackling sound.

A ghostly light illuminated a small area, casting long shadows on the stone wall behind.

This is a long and narrow room.

The walls are made of rough stone, making it look like a prison cell, or perhaps a niche designed by believers to house statues.

But there were neither prisoners nor statues in this room.

In the dim candlelight, only a pale face with lifeless, empty eye sockets was visible, facing the room.

A skull.

The skull sat on a rickety table leaning against the back wall. Two human leg bones were placed on either side of it, and there were some bottles and jars on the table.

Beside the table, against the wall, lay a Runespoor with three heads staring intently at the figure on the wall.

The figure was so blurry it looked like a ghost.

The owner of the ghostly figure stood before the wall, eyes closed, seemingly asleep or deep in thought.

A servant knelt humbly on the ground, his wand pointed at his master's arm, which was gradually turning black, and softly chanted a complex incantation.

The Potions on the table were poured onto his arm, but the black toxins only dimmed slightly.

The corrosive effects of the Potions caused immense pain, and Voldemort opened his eyes.

He had no hair, was like a snake, had two thin nostrils, and a pair of Winky red eyes with vertical pupils.

Voldemort lowered his head and looked at Snape, who was healing him.

Snape's gaze was fixed on the wall, where he could see a small patch of faded graffiti with ten capital letters scrawled on it.

Touching RT

"This is French," Voldemort said in a deep, hoarse voice. "I carved it fifty years ago; I never imagined it would still be here."

e touch is also his name Voldemort.

"This room, which I used to call the 'Reflection Room,' was where I contemplated death."

Voldemort slowly ran his long, thin fingers along the wall, touching the French letters that meant "away from death."

"Through contemplating the inevitability of death, I gained a valuable understanding of the fleeting nature of life."

Snape's gaze shifted from the letters to the fresh skull on the table.

It sounds profound, but this room later became Voldemort's place to torture wizards.

It resembles Grindelwald's Nurmengard Castle.

Just recently, Voldemort tortured and murdered a Death Eaters here.

He never thought about his own death, but about the deaths of others!

"I'll give you a task? How's it going, Severus?"

Staring at his arm, Voldemort could clearly feel the poison corroding it.

That pain tormented him day and night.

"Stark... he's cautious," Snape whispered. "He doesn't quite trust me? Just like that stupid dog Black."

"I thought his exceptional Potions skills were mostly taught by you?" Voldemort said sarcastically.

"Looks like it has nothing to do with you; he taught himself all of that?"

"Stark and I have never gotten along well," Snape said, his head bowed.

"Besides the knowledge taught in class, I've never given him Potions tutoring after class."

Voldemort frowned and said, "Besides his mastery of magic, he's also a Potions Master."

It seems... William Stark has more secrets than I imagined.

"Master, if I may be so bold, why not resurrect them?" Snape sincerely suggested.

"Let's change bodies again? We're all by your side; this time it'll be easy."

Voldemort pursed his thin lips but did not answer.

This body contains Harry's blood and Lily's protective charm!

It took so much effort to bring Potter back to life... He couldn't bear to!

Changing bodies? That's easy now, but that magical power? It'll be gone.

At the very least, he can no longer touch Harry's skin!

The death fourteen years ago? Still vivid in his mind? The fear of being hit by his own Killing Curse? Still lingering in Voldemort's mind.

Even while suffering from the poison, he refused to change bodies before killing Harry.

"However... it's definitely time to make some contingency plans," Voldemort thought.

If Snape can't trick the body into giving him the antidote, this body probably won't last two years and will die sooner or later.

Voldemort needs to find out exactly what happened back then.

What did that Prophecy say? What was its full meaning?

The candlelight flickered suddenly, a gust of wind blew by, dimming it briefly before brightening again.

Lucius Malfoy pushed open the door and fearfully entered the cramped room.

He inhaled a pungent Potions, which grew stronger and stronger, penetrating his nostrils.

The room was very damp, and the humidity in the air aggravated the smell.

Malfoy knew Voldemort was injured, wounded by the Stark, but he didn't expect it to be so serious.

Malfoy didn't look up, showing no desire even to check the injuries; he kept his eyelids lowered and said respectfully:

"Master, the conference room has been prepared and is ready for use."

Before Voldemort's downfall, this place was one of the Death Eaters ' strongholds. After his death, it was abandoned.

Unexpectedly, many years later, it once again became a haven for Death Eaters.

"No, we don't need a meeting room, we can just talk here."

After so many years of wandering, Voldemort no longer fully trusts anyone.

This period is extremely important, and he must be cautious about every step he takes.

Therefore, the Death Eaters ' missions are all independent and confidential. Once a leak occurs, he can quickly find out who the... traitors are.

Voldemort looked at Snape: "Very well... you can go now. Call Avery."

Snape packed up the Potions, bowed, and quickly backed away through the door.

Inside the room, only Malfoy and Voldemort. Malfoy's body was tense, and he seemed terrified.

Creak!

The door opened again, and Avery strode in, kneeling down right next to Malfoy.

"This is a top-secret mission," Voldemort said softly.

"I need both of you to get me something."

"What is it, Master?" Avery grinned obsequiously. "Whatever you want, wherever it may be, we'll risk our lives to get it for you."

"And if I send you to Hogwarts?" Voldemort sneered. "Go and kill the Stark!"

Malfoy swallowed hard. Wasn't this just sending himself to his death?

Avery eyes also filled with terror, looked up and said, "Master, if we enter Hogwarts, Dumbledore will probably find us."

Voldemort snorted.

Sooner or later, he will enter Hogwarts and kill Dumbledore and Stark with his own hands.

"No need to go to Hogwarts..." he said coldly.

Malfoy and Avery's bodies visibly went limp, but then stiffened.

The Dark Lord said coldly, "We need to go to the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic to retrieve something for me."

Malfoy and Avery exchanged an uneasy glance.

The Ministry of Magic isn't so easy to break into, let alone steal.

"What's wrong? Is something bothering you?" Voldemort's red eyes were fixed on the two of them, his gaze sharp.

"Of course, no problem, Master!" Avery said quickly and cleverly. "As long as you give the order, no problem will be a problem."

We were a step too late!

Malfoy inwardly regretted that he hadn't licked the Dark Lord for over a decade... his skills had become somewhat rusty.

"What's your plan?" Voldemort approached Avery.

"Perhaps we can control the Unspeakable of the Mysterious Affairs Management Division," Avery suggested.

He glanced at Malfoy and said sinisterly:

"Lucius and Minister Fudge have always had a good relationship. He can go and donate the building, and take the opportunity to use the Imperius Curse to control Broderick Bode Bode of the Department of Mysteries."

Malfoy glared at Avery secretly.

Making him take risks is one thing, but making him donate a building is quite another?

What a despicable fellow!

Voldemort stepped on Avery's head, used his wand to lift Malfoy's chin, brought his face close to Malfoy's, and asked:

Do you have a question?

"I... I..."

Looking at that ugly face so close to his face, Malfoy's expression changed in an instant, and he fawned over it, saying:

"Of course, no problem. Even if you donate all of the Malfoy family's wealth, I have no problem with it, Master."

but..."

"But what?"

"I need Avery's help. I'm afraid I can't complete the task alone. I don't want to delay your important business."

Avery scoffed inwardly, giving Malfoy a cold look.

"Of course," Voldemort said lazily. "I'm giving you two months. I don't want to hear any news of failure."

He gave a cold smile.

"What losers suffer... you know."

Malfoy and Avery both shuddered.

"What do we need to steal, Master?" Malfoy couldn't help but ask after a moment.

"A... Prophecy Orb! About me and Harry Potter!"