August 1979, Lestrange Manor
Lord Voldemort tapped his fingers against the armrest, a slow, deliberate rhythm echoing through the chamber as the reports concluded.
The operation, which the Daily Prophet had so theatrically named Return of the Death Eaters, had been a resounding success. That pleased him greatly.
Yet not everything had unfolded according to design.
"So," Voldemort said softly, his crimson eyes settling on the Lestrange patriarch, "you are telling me that the scapegoat you so carefully arranged slipped your grasp and fled to Australia."
Lord Lestrange inclined his head, tension tightening his features. "I will not deny it, my Lord. It was an oversight. We never anticipated the Ravenclaw would have the intellect and the nerve to betray us, we also underestimated his timing. However, we have already moved to contain the damage."
Voldemort did not interrupt.
"We redirected our investments," Lestrange continued, "toward a new consortium capable of replicating the New Trixies my grandson originally envisioned. The Ministry has also been guided to do the same. We attributed the source to the Black Market, initially we claimed our… colleagues, the Death Eaters had merely purchased inferior knockoffs from Black Market."
"And yet," Voldemort murmured, "they improved upon the design and are selling new Trixies with improved mechanism."
"Yes, my Lord. Even my grandson was momentarily stumped. Still, we have since replicated their improvements."
A pause.
"Have you identified them?"
Lestrange hesitated, then answered carefully. "They call themselves New Dawn. They employ mudbloods, goblins, house-elves, werewolves, even veela, bound through contracts and profit-sharing. All indications suggest they originate from mainland Europe."
"New Dawn…" Voldemort repeated, tasting the words.
His gaze shifted. "Abraxas. Your thoughts?"
Malfoy folded his hands."The immediate concern, my Lord, is lost profit. I feared something like this would happen, though not so soon. What troubles me more is that we do not know how far.... "
Bellatrix cut in sharply, her voice trembling with zeal."My Lord, give me leave to raid them. I will bring you their secrets, their leaders, their blood...."
Voldemort raised a single finger.
Before he could speak, another voice entered the silence.
"My Lord," Regulus Black said evenly, stepping forward, "if I may offer two points that Lord Malfoy and Lord Lestrange may have overlooked."
Voldemort inclined his head. "Go on."
"Our true adversary has never been the Ministry," Regulus said. "It is merely one of the playground upon which both sides maneuver. The real opposition is Dumbledore and the influence he exerts through it. The main supporters of Dumbledore are the Light Affiliated Purebloods, the mudbloods, the light creatures, the half bloods and even intellectuals. Although, most of these people might not support his directly, but they are influenced by him, so they directly or indirectly help him."
Several faces tightened.
"New Dawn, or whatever pawn it is, is eroding his power base. Yes, it costs us a few galleons. But our venture was never about profit. For us, this is an inconvenience."
He allowed himself a thin smile.
"But, for Dumbledore, it is a wound. A persistent one. He cannot act against them directly without tarnishing his benevolent image, without alienating the same people he wants to win over and control, yet he cannot ignore them either. Already, he is calling for their complete eradication."
Voldemort's eyes gleamed.
"They are a thorn," Regulus continued, "one that pricks him constantly. He will rage, scheme, and curse, yet remain shackled by his own ideals."
Voldemort smiled then, a glint on his eyes as he said.
"There is no need to crush ants. We may do so whenever we wish. But a thorn that pricks Dumbledore… its continued existence serves our purpose."
Malfoy frowned. "But my Lord, New Dawn continues to drain resources that could be redirected to the cause...."
"You concern yourself with small ledgers, Mr. Malfoy," Regulus replied coolly. "My Lord concerns himself with the future."
Voldemort chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Indeed. New Dawn is no threat to us. In fact, we may even… assist them from time to time."
His gaze settled on Regulus.
"I am entrusting you with this matter. Establish contact. Maintain commercial interests and discreet correspondence."
Regulus bowed. "As you command, my Lord."
"Barty, you would help Regulas" Voldemort added.
Barty Crouch Jr. rose instantly, eyes burning with devotion. "I will not fail you, my Lord."
"I know," Voldemort said softly. "That is why I trust you."
The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair, his fingers once more tapping against the armrest.
"My friends. My followers. My revolutionaries.
Earlier this year, after our setback, our enemies mistook restraint for fear. They believed that by striking us unawares, they had gained the upper hand. They believed we would fracture, lament, or retreat into obscurity."
His red eyes swept the hall.
"We did retreat, yes. But not in despair. We withdrew to observe, to adapt, to sharpen ourselves. And now, we have returned stronger than before."
A pause. Deliberate.
"Look at them now. Our foes tremble. They whisper about our new methods, our improved designs, our reach. Fear has changed sides."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But are we satisfied with this small achievement? No. Because this was never our destination. Our aim has always been clear: the supremacy of wizardkind in a world that has long suppressed its rightful rulers."
The tapping stopped.
"This is merely the first step. The path ahead is long and arduous. It will demand patience, resolve, and conviction. But we will persevere. We always have."
His voice rose, not in volume, but in certainty.
"Our next course of action is expansion. Recruitment. Persuasion. We will no longer wait for wizardkind to stumble toward us. We will lead them. We will show them our righteousness, and more importantly, our power."
A murmur of approval rippled through the chamber.
"Our recent operations have restored momentum. Now we seize it. We carry it forward. We transform momentum into inevitability, and inevitability into victory."
He spread his hands.
"So I ask you, here and now: are you with me? Will you follow me to the zenith of our destiny?"
The answer thundered back as one.
"Yes."
Voldemort nodded, satisfied.
"Then increase recruitment. Intensify outreach. Sway the old families, the hesitant houses, the proud bloodlines who still cling to neutrality."
His gaze hardened.
"The purebloods must understand this truth," Voldemort concluded calmly."History does not reward those who stand aside. They will either align themselves with the cause of wizardkind's supremacy… or be remembered as those too weak to claim their place."
A heartbeat of silence passed.
"My Lord," Bellatrix said suddenly, stepping forward, her voice trembling with fervor, "forgive my impudence, but when do we strike again? The next operation. This time, I volunteer. I swear I will complete the mission."
Voldemort did not look at her immediately.
"Patience, Bella," he said at last, almost indulgently. "Soon enough."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Have you forgotten those who stood against us at that wedding?"
Bellatrix's lips curled, eyes alight."No, my Lord. I have etched their faces into my memory."
"Good," Voldemort replied softly. "Then it is time we learn where they live. What they do. Who they rely upon."
He leaned forward.
"And then we shall offer them a second choice."
Bellatrix inhaled sharply."A choice they cannot afford to deny."
"Precisely."
"And if they still refuse?" she asked, almost reverently.
Voldemort's smile was thin and final.
"Then they remove themselves from history," he said. "And we simply… clear the board."
"Your wish is my command, my lord," promised Bellatrix Lestrange.
___________________________________________________________________________
Hours LaterChâteau de Lestrange, France
"Corvus, your plan worked," Lord Lestrange said, lifting his teacup with evident satisfaction. "The Dark Lord has lost interest in the New Dawn affair. He believes they will serve as a counterweight to Dumbledore."
Corvus inclined his head, expression composed.
"However," Lestrange continued, his smile thinning, "we must tread carefully. The task of intelligence gathering and initial contact has gone to Regulus Black, exactly as we hoped. But Barty Crouch Junior has been assigned alongside him."
Corvus's eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
"I will speak with my godfather," he said calmly. "We'll chart the next course once I have a clearer picture."
"By the way, I replied to the letter that Dumbledore sent to our scapegoat, let me give you copy of that" Corvus proceeded to give Mr Lestrange the copy.
Mr Lestrange quickly picked it up and started reading, then he started laughing, " Haha, My grandson, you have a knack of getting under people's skin, Dumbledore would be stumped by this reply".
Corvus smiled and started thinking of what to do next. Although, he created a new front, but he has to be extremely cautious not to get swept away by both.
The Lestranges sat together in the château gardens, porcelain cups steaming gently in the afternoon air. The hedges were immaculately trimmed, the fountains murmured softly, and Nyx lay curled at Corvus's feet, half-asleep but alert.
"Godfather should arrive tomorrow, we can plan something then, I would need your suggestions as well regarding the best course of action," Corvus added after a moment. "Grandfather… could you arrange a more advanced alchemical instructor for me?"
Lord Lestrange sighed. "I attempted to contact Nicolas Flamel. Unfortunately, he did not see fit to respond."
His alchemical bottlenecks and failures to innovate further, unsettled Corvus.
For all the grand plans he has, if he cannot implement them due to lack of knowledge, the plans are nothing but castles in the air. He is grateful for the help of his grandfather, for at least not dismissing his wishes outright, but, if he fails to continue to deliver better products, better plans and better strategies, everything would fall apart like a castle of cards and he would not drown alone, he would take all his loved ones with him, which worried him greatly.
"Do not worry, my grandson," Lestrange said, setting his cup aside. "I have reached out to other masters. I am confident someone will reply."
Corvus nodded, though his thoughts were already elsewhere.
The game was moving faster now. Some pieces were shifting beyond his direct control.
He was too young. Too weak to act openly.
For now. He could only nudge.
And yet, he knew the truth. He was already ahead of most his age. Ahead of many older than him. But talent was not enough. Intelligence was not enough.
Not yet.
The board was set.And Corvus intended to survive long enough and save people he wanted to save.