Chapter 132: Chapter 132: The Dark Lord Moves

September first dawned crisp and clear—the day Harry returned to Hogwarts for his final year. Arthur could sense something looming, a ripple in the air, but he remained unbothered, calmly enjoying his breakfast.

At eleven, Arthur’s mirror chimed. Harry’s face appeared on the other side.

“Hey there, Harry,” Arthur greeted. “Shouldn’t you be on the train? Is the Head Boy really free enough to chat?”

“Hermione’s handling the prefect meeting.” Harry’s grin was sheepish. “Figured I had time for a quick call.”

“Lucky. So, what’s the call about?”

Harry hesitated. “Just… feeling nervous. Feels like something’s going to happen today.”

“You’ll be fine,” Arthur said. “Sirius is on the train, and I’m sure the Ministry’s got the place crawling with security.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I just don’t get why we’re still using the Express during a war. Portkeys would be safer. Floo. Even side-along Apparition. But no, let’s herd every student onto a predictable, moving target.”

“Wizards cling to tradition,” Arthur said. “Change is hard. But I’m glad to see you’ve learned to question everything.”

“Yeah, well, blame you and Sirius for that.” Harry offered a weak smile. “Hopefully, everything passes without incident.”

“Be positive. At least this year, you know for sure the DADA professor isn’t trying to kill you.”

“Small mercies,” Harry laughed, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I should go. Hermione’s giving me the death glare.”

“Then you better get to work. And Harry? You’ll be fine.”

Harry gave a grim smile before the connection ended.

Arthur spent the rest of the morning tending to routine tasks. Nothing urgent. Nothing unusual.

—

Evening fell over Hogsmeade station as the Hogwarts Express pulled in without incident. Sirius Black stepped onto the platform, shoulders aching from hours of hypervigilance.

“Smoothest run in history,” he told Moody, who’d been coordinating platform security. “Not even a dungbomb in the corridors.”

Moody’s magical eye spun wildly. “That’s what worries me. You don’t need fifty guards for a school trip.”

“Maybe we’re being paranoid.”

“Paranoia’s kept me breathing, Black.” The scarred Auror’s real eye fixed on Sirius. “You feel it too. This whole operation stinks.”

Sirius couldn’t argue. The massive security deployment felt like misdirection—impressive but ultimately pointless. “At least the students made it safely.”

“For now.” Moody took a swig from his hip flask. “Question is, what was You-Know-Who doing while we played nanny?”

The answer arrived in the form of a silvery badger that materialized between them. Amelia Bones’ voice, tight with controlled panic:

“Azkaban has fallen. Complete breakout. All hands to the Ministry immediately.”

The platform erupted in chaos. Aurors scrambled for Apparition points while parents clutched their children.

“QUIET!” Moody’s voice cut through the panic like a blade. “Black, secure the castle. Everyone else, with me!”

—

Miles north, in the bitter cold of the North Sea, Voldemort stood in Azkaban’s courtyard like a conquering king. Around him, Dementors circled, drawn to him like moths to a flame.

They offered no resistance. Instead, they attacked the prison guards, turning their soul-draining kiss on the staff they once obeyed.

The skeleton crew—ten guards, where there used to be sixty—lasted barely half a minute. Their Patronuses flickered, then died, extinguished by overwhelming despair.

“Efficient,” Voldemort murmured, stepping over a lifeless husk.

Cell doors exploded open at his approach. Death Eaters stumbled into freedom, gaunt and broken but alive. They collapsed to their knees, weeping with relief and terror in equal measure.

“My lord,” one gasped through cracked lips. “We knew you would come.”

“Did you?” Voldemort’s voice was soft but dangerous. “Good. Or did you think Potter and the Ministry would win?”

“Never, my lord!”

“We kept faith!”

“The Dark Lord is eternal!”

Empty words, but Voldemort accepted them. He needed soldiers, not philosophers.

“Where is Bellatrix?”

“Maximum security,” another prisoner croaked. “They added extra wards after her recapture.”

Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into what might charitably be called a smile.

He found her deep in the bowels of the prison—Bellatrix, curled in the corner of a dark cell. Her time in Azkaban had broken her more than before. The Dementors had forced her to relive her failure again and again—the Horcrux she’d failed to protect.

“Bella.”

She looked up, and madness flickered to desperate hope. “Master?”

“Rise.”

“My Lord,” she whispered, stepping forward cautiously. “I failed—”

“Later.” His gaze was elsewhere. “Tell me about the Hayes boy.”

“He is… dangerous, Master. Stronger. Our spells turned against us. The battle—if it could be called that—lasted seconds. That strange magic, those portals…”

“His magic is irrelevant.” Voldemort’s red eyes glowed in the darkness. “A child playing with forces beyond comprehension. He caught me unprepared once. Never again.”

“Yes, my lord. You are supreme.”

He studied her for a moment with clinical detachment.

“We deal with Potter first. The prophecy binds me somehow, weakens me. When it breaks, when Potter falls, then Hayes learns the price of defying Lord Voldemort.”

Bellatrix wisely said nothing about the Horcrux.

But as she looked at him, she saw something… different. He was stronger than he had been last year. Not just physically. Something deeper.

She remembered those long nights—him hunched over ancient tomes, searching for answers after the battle with Hayes. He had been obsessed with the boy’s strange, impossible power. Magic that bent space, ignored all known rules.

He never found its source. Even Lord Voldemort had been denied that truth.

But in his failure to uncover one mystery, he had uncovered another.

Something older. A being of impossible power—a force beyond death, beyond magic, offering strength, knowledge… even immortality in its truest form.

Voldemort had declined. He would be no one’s servant.

He would forge his own path. Master power his way. One day, he would surpass even that being.

He was Lord Voldemort.

“Let’s leave this place,” he said, voice calm, unhurried. “We have work to do.”

Bellatrix straightened. “How may I serve?”

“Prepare for battle.” He turned, cloak snapping in the wind. “Gather the others. We have a war to win.”

As they departed—leaving Azkaban an empty shell of horrors and husks—the world seemed, somehow, a little darker.

—

Arthur had slept well. He only found out about the breakout when Winky delivered the morning Prophet.

AZKABAN BREACHED – MASS ESCAPE, the headline screamed in bold.

Not unexpected. Arthur had known it was coming—just later than he’d anticipated. Voldemort had been foolish to wait this long. As long as the Ministry kept using Dementors, the prison had been a liability. Wizards never learned.

“Bellatrix Lestrange is free,” he murmured, eyes scanning the article. “That should be… interesting.”

“Master thinks this is funny?” Winky asked with a disapproving frown.

“Maybe,” Arthur replied, tossing the paper aside. “I wonder if dear Bellatrix mentioned to her Lord that he’s nearly mortal now.”

The mirror chimed, interrupting them. Sirius appeared on the other side, exhaustion written in every line of his face.

“You’ve seen the news?”

“Hard to miss,” Arthur said. “How bad is it?”

“Catastrophic,” Sirius muttered. “Every Death Eater we captured, plus a few extra psychopaths the Ministry forgot about. Minister’s calling emergency sessions. They want every department on high alert.”

“For what? Bit late for that.”

“I know,” Sirius sighed. “But when has the Wizengamot ever acted on time? Amelia’s pushing for stricter emergency laws.”

“I don’t think they’ll matter. His next move is obvious. He’ll go for a final battle.”

“Moody thinks the same. There’s a lot of movement at the borders. Looks like he’s rallying his army.”

“Then Hogwarts will be the battleground,” Arthur said. “I hope you’re ready for that.”

“We will be,” Sirius said firmly. “I’ll step up Harry’s training. You’re welcome to stop by and test him whenever you’re free.”

“I will,” Arthur nodded. “Tell him I’ll visit next week. We still have a treasure hunt to finish.”

The call ended, and the room fell quiet once more.

Arthur leaned back, eyes on the Prophet’s headline. The final war was coming and if his instincts were right—he even had a good guess when.

A date that wasn’t just special…

It was inevitable.

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