"Not entirely," Bernadette said. "I ambushed him. And he was constrained by Quirrell, so he couldn't operate at his full capacity either."
Dumbledore looked at her for a long moment. "Even so — it was still Voldemort." He gave a quiet exhale. "I find myself wanting to learn this 'ancient magic' of yours."
He shook his head. "At my age, though. I can't afford the cost of a damaged soul."
They held each other's gaze for a moment. Bernadette said: "Professor, if there's nothing else — I need to be at the Ministry today. Lucius Malfoy arranged my start date. And I'll need to take a leave of absence from Muggle Studies — I don't expect it to be very long."
"Go. Be careful."
"Understood."
Dumbledore watched her leave, then quietly settled his spectacles back in place. "Gellert," he murmured, "is this why you arranged for that child to get close to Charles?"
"Did you foresee this day, long ago?"
"Did you believe Charles was the one who could help you — who could realise what you once dreamed of?"
"Did you hope he would inherit your obsession?"
After a long silence, the centenarian picked up the half-finished woollen socks again. "All these years and you still won't rest. Honestly."
...
Bernadette left the headmaster's office and stepped directly into a Ministry fireplace. She emerged into a resplendent hall — walls panelled in polished dark wood, gilded fireplaces set at intervals all along them, most of which had witches and wizards stepping out.
In the centre of the atrium stood a fountain. In a circular pool: five golden statues — a noble wizard at the tallest point, wand raised skyward. Surrounding him, a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf.
Bernadette's gaze rested on the grouping for a moment, then settled on the goblin.
She'd read enough magical history. The governing class of the wizarding world was human witches and wizards. Centaurs had retreated into the Forbidden Forest; house-elves had been effectively branded with a form of mind-submission that turned them into witches' and wizards' servants. And the goblins, supposedly the conquered ones — had ended up operating Gringotts, controlling the entire magical economy's currency and exchange.
The ones who lost somehow ended up holding the financial reins. If you didn't know the history, you'd think the goblins had won.
Having witnessed the founding of the Intis Empire, Bernadette had a rather clear sense of what control over economic infrastructure actually meant for a state. That was the sort of thing you kept in your own hands at all cost.
This really is a strange world.
Lucius Malfoy was waiting in the hall. The moment Bernadette stepped through, he moved to intercept the security check wizard before the man could even rise from his seat. "This is a friend of mine — no need for a search."
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius led Bernadette to a quiet corner and lowered his voice. "There's a complication."
"What is it?"
"Fudge agreed to have you join the Ministry. I managed to get him to put you in a management position. But…" Lucius tightened his grip on the serpent-head cane. "He's assigned you to Azkaban. To oversee the guards there."
"Azkaban."
Bernadette said, without inflection: "That's fine. I've been curious about that place — the one every witch and wizard is terrified of." She paused. "But I need to know how long it'll take to transfer me back."
"That's… uncertain. Fudge has secured support from several other pureblood families, so his dependence on me is considerably less than before. Either I offer him interests compelling enough to move him, or you create an opportunity on your end."
"Otherwise — it could be a long time."
Bernadette frowned. She hadn't come to the Ministry because she actually wanted to be a civil servant. She'd come to use Lucius and the Ministry role for Shadow Box roleplay. If she was stuck in Azkaban long-term, that entire plan collapsed.
"What kind of opportunity would work?"
"The simplest: a meritorious service. Saving the Ministry from some loss, or something similar."
"Alright. I'll think about it."
This was probably something she'd need to ask Vincent about.
...
LOTM world.
Thursday. 2 Kingdom Road, West District — the Kingdom Museum.
Klein was up early. With his bodyguard in tow, he arrived at the Roselle memorial exhibition.
Early as he was, a queue had already formed — which said something about the influence this man continued to exert more than a hundred years after his death. The man still had an enormous following.
At nine o'clock sharp, Klein — in the white dress of "Kleya" — presented his ticket and filed in with the crowd. Stephen followed behind, half-listening to the docents recount Roselle's life story.
As the Queen Mystic's second mate, Stephen was hardly unfamiliar with his captain's father — he knew the "Caesar Emperor" better than these docents did.
Under different circumstances, he'd have enjoyed this exhibition immensely. Instead, Amon's presence was a constant reminder of the situation he was actually in.
"I met Roselle," Amon said, with something almost like fondness in his voice. "A remarkably interesting man. His mind constantly produced ideas that were decades ahead of their time — and he'd actually go and implement them. I considered parasitising him at one point. I wanted to study that mind up close."
"Then I moved to do it, and somehow managed to alert Stijano."
"Stijano — what you usually call the God of Steam and Machinery. Before Roselle appeared, He was still the God of Craftsmanship. It was only after Roselle introduced all his inventions that He suddenly changed His divine name. That alone tells you how important Roselle was to Him."
Stephen had heard aspects of this from the Queen Mystic before. He thought for a moment and asked: "If that god valued Roselle so highly, why did they eventually—"
"Because Roselle had no intention of letting any god ride atop him forever," Amon said. "He didn't want to be controlled by anyone. He wanted to command his own fate."
"And you saw how that ended."
"That's gods for you. High and untouchable gods."
Stephen was quiet for a moment. "And yet you seem to have no respect for them at all."
"Ha ha ha ha ha. Once you know what the seven gods actually are, you'd understand why there's nothing to respect. It's precisely why so many people call me the God-Defier."
"It suits you."
Klein moved with the crowd into the first exhibition room. A female docent said, with barely contained excitement: "Ladies and gentlemen — everything in this room belonged to Emperor Roselle's personal life."
She pointed around the room. "That's the velvet quilt he slept under. Those are the gold-inlaid glass vessels he used for wine."
"And over there — his flush toilet. The very first modern flush toilet ever built!"
Klein stared at what appeared to be a solid gold toilet, his expression somewhere between shock and pain. That level of extravagance. How much would that thing be worth?
If I could sell it somehow… it would go a long way toward easing my financial situation.
He forced the fantasy aside and looked elsewhere — and then a familiar face walked directly into his field of view. Black hair, dark eyes, yellow skin. The fellow countryman, Charles.
To be continued…
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