Malfoy Manor, Drawing Room
Voldemort sat elegantly at the table, his pale, handsome features illuminated by the soft glow of the chandelier. With practiced ease, he twirled his wand between his fingers, his crimson eyes fixed calmly on Vlad Thorn, the President of the Presbyterian Council, seated across from him.
Vlad felt an unexpected sense of composure under Voldemort's gaze—an unsettling difference from the Dark Lord he remembered.
Justo's words were true. The Voldemort who had returned was not the same as the one who had terrorized the wizarding world over a decade ago. This Voldemort was still ambitious, but his madness seemed tempered, his greed better concealed beneath a mask of composure.
"Your Excellency, the Dark Lord," Vlad began, breaking the tense silence, "I understand you requested an audience with our Council. Might I ask the reason?"
Voldemort smiled faintly, his tone calm but cutting. "I was curious whether you would continue hiding, as is your custom—waiting until the dust settles before you align yourselves with the victor."
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Vlad's face before he regained his composure. Voldemort wasn't wrong. The Council of Elders often chose to remain neutral during conflicts, stepping in only once the outcome was clear. But this time was different.
Between Dumbledore, Lockhart, and Voldemort, their neutrality was no longer tenable. All three had turned their attention to the Council, and any delay in action might lead to their complete obliteration.
"Your Excellency, I hear you've taken a particular interest in cursed contract magic," Vlad said, steering the conversation to safer ground. "Our Council has some rare tomes and valuable research on the subject that might be of use to you."
Vlad tapped his wand lightly on the table, and with a small flash of light, several thick, ancient books appeared. Each tome exuded a distinct magical aura—some orderly, others deeply sinister.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed as he studied the books. With a wave of his hand, he summoned them to his side.
"You have my gratitude," Voldemort said smoothly, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "This exchange marks the beginning of a fruitful alliance. Together, we shall usher in a brighter future for the wizarding world."
Vlad hesitated, wary of Voldemort's overtures. "A brighter future?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes," Voldemort replied, his voice tinged with subtle temptation. "I have uncovered the key to a new era."
Vlad's curiosity was piqued despite his reservations. "The key to a new era?" he repeated, leaning forward slightly.
"Tell me, Vlad," Voldemort began, "are you aware of what Grindelwald is doing now?"
Vlad's expression stiffened. "Grindelwald? Has he…"
"He has returned," Voldemort said, cutting him off. "He seeks to lead this so-called new era. To that end, he has taken control of Ilvermorny, the American wizarding school."
The revelation sent a shiver through Vlad. If true, it would shake the wizarding world to its core. The implications were staggering.
"Your Excellency," Vlad said, his voice faltering, "what exactly is the key to this new era?"
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, tapping his wand lightly against his palm. "It's something you've already encountered, though your arrogance blinds you to its potential."
Vlad frowned. "You're referring to the meditation method, aren't you?" he asked, his skepticism evident.
"Indeed," Voldemort replied, his tone calm yet commanding. "The newspapers barely scratched the surface of its significance. My own research confirms that the meditation method is not just revolutionary—it is transformative. It will bring about an era of unimaginable change, akin to the invention of the wand or the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy."
Vlad's hands trembled slightly. The gravity of Voldemort's words was impossible to ignore. If true, the meditation method would herald an upheaval unlike any the wizarding world had ever known.
"Your Excellency, the Dark Lord," Vlad said, his voice hoarse, "this claim… if it is true, it changes everything. But how can we be certain?"
"You already know the answer," Voldemort said smoothly. "Grindelwald sees the same potential. Why else would he act now? His foresight is unparalleled, as you well know."
Vlad's heart sank. He remembered the devastation wrought by Grindelwald during his rise to power. If both Voldemort and Grindelwald viewed the meditation method as a harbinger of change, it was no idle speculation.
"I have studied it in depth," Voldemort continued, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Lockhart's claims are true, perhaps even understated. But there is one truth he has avoided, or perhaps dared not say aloud."
Vlad leaned forward, holding his breath.
"The meditation method will shatter the Statute of Secrecy," Voldemort declared. "It is inevitable. Muggle governments will harness its power, and magic will no longer be the sole domain of wizards."
The color drained from Vlad's face. "That's impossible," he stammered. "The Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamot, the Statute itself—they will never allow it!"
Voldemort's eyes burned with intensity. "The meditation method transcends such boundaries. It is universal. Muggles will learn to wield magic, and the current order of the wizarding world will collapse. Chaos will reign, and a new order will rise from the ashes."
Vlad shook his head vehemently. "No! The Ministry will act. The Statute will hold. This cannot happen!"
Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. "Deny it if you wish. But the wheels are already in motion. The question, Vlad, is whether your Council will adapt to the coming storm—or be swept away by it."
Voldemort's piercing crimson eyes locked onto Vlad Thorn, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the intensity of his words.
"Vlad," Voldemort began, his tone measured, "in the past, magic was bound to the bloodline of wizards. Regardless of the Ministry of Magic's efforts, Muggles could never truly master it—it was beyond their reach."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "But in the future, with magic rooted in meditation, wizard bloodlines will lose their significance under the tidal wave of Muggle potential."
Voldemort's expression turned cold, his voice hardening. "There's something I haven't told you yet. Meditation has the potential to shatter the bottlenecks that limit us. But at its current stage, it is incomplete. It requires refinement—experimentation."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing.
"Dumbledore avoids this truth, and perhaps Lockhart hesitates as well. But Grindelwald, myself, and even you—eventually—you will all see the necessity. We will promote meditation among Muggles, using them as subjects to perfect the method. Through their numbers and their trials, we will chart the path to ultimate power."
Vlad stared at him, his thoughts racing. The implications of Voldemort's words left him shaken. He despised the idea but couldn't deny its allure. If meditation truly allowed him to surpass his limits and achieve immortality, how could he resist?
It wasn't just him. The entire Presbyterian Council would likely embrace such a path without hesitation. Their history was steeped in self-serving decisions, trampling over morality in the pursuit of power.
Voldemort's voice cut through Vlad's internal conflict. "Join me, Vlad. Together, we will ride the pulse of the new era and shape our own destinies." He extended a pale hand, his invitation both commanding and seductive.
Vlad closed his eyes, forcing himself to think clearly. After a moment, he reopened them, his expression calm.
"The Dark Lord honors us with this opportunity," Vlad said evenly. "The Church is prepared to collaborate with you, If you can help us"
Voldemort withdrew his hand, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Very well. Speak your terms."
Vlad's voice grew harsh. "Kill Lockhart. His actions have created irreparable animosity between him and the Church. Moreover, as the founder of the meditation method, he is a threat to both of us. Eliminating him is in our mutual interest."
Voldemort's expression remained unreadable as he considered Vlad's demand. Deep down, no one wanted Lockhart dead more than he did. Yet Lockhart's death had to wait until Voldemort could sever their magical contract and rid himself of the mark Lockhart had placed on him.
"Agreed," Voldemort said finally, his tone tinged with a hint of calculation. "But rest assured, someone else will kill Lockhart for us when the time is right."
England, Seaside
Lockhart stood on the beach, gazing out over the endless expanse of blue water. The salty breeze ruffled his robes, but his expression was distant, contemplative.
"Snape," he said softly, "given your knowledge, you must be aware of the unique properties of the Founders' treasures, correct?"
Snape, standing nearby, hesitated momentarily, organizing his thoughts before speaking. "The sword of Gryffindor is unparalleled in breaking curses and defeating magical creatures. Ravenclaw's diadem is said to enhance a wizard's wisdom and creativity. Slytherin's locket possesses profound effects on the soul and curses. As for Hufflepuff's cup, it's rumored to contain many magic power Helga put on."
Lockhart smiled faintly. "Precisely. And tell me, what is the most crucial factor in choosing a location for a magical school?"
Snape didn't hesitate this time. "Resources," he said firmly. "Hogwarts thrives not only due to its magical environment but because of the abundant resources provided by the Forbidden Forest. The same principle applies to other schools like Durmstrang and Ilvermorny—they all have dedicated resource cultivation areas. A school cannot rely solely on purchasing materials; it would be unsustainable."
Lockhart nodded approvingly. "You understand. Now, let me ask you this: What is your opinion of the resource realm of Kamar-Taj?"
Snape's normally stoic face softened slightly with a trace of nostalgia. "It is unparalleled—a paradise for wizards. The abundance of resources with minimal danger makes it an ideal location. If I had the chance to enter it again, it would be a dream."
Lockhart's smile widened. "Then, how would you feel about building our own magical resource realm?"
Snape turned to him, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You're serious?" he asked. "This isn't as simple as a space-extension spell. No wizard today, not even Dumbledore, has mastered such techniques."
Lockhart's response was calm, confident. "What about the Sorcerer Supreme?"
Snape frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps… but knowing you, there's no way you'd allow the Sorcerer Supreme to directly involve themselves in the wizarding world. Even if they shared their methods, do you truly believe you can replicate what was created by a dimensional demon?"
Lockhart chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm not aiming for something on the scale of the Sorcerer Supreme's realms. But I am confident I can create a smaller, self-sustaining magical space—enough to support a school of thousands."
Snape crossed his arms. "And what do you need from me?"
Lockhart's expression turned serious as he continued. "I consulted the Sorcerer Supreme on how to construct such a space. The knowledge is secure. As for the anchor treasure to stabilize the realm, I've made significant progress."
With a flick of his wand, Lockhart conjured two objects before them: a glowing blue orb and a golden cup that shimmered with ethereal light.
"This," Lockhart said, his tone measured, "is a fragment of the Cosmic Cube and Hufflepuff's Cup."
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