"Ladies and gentlemen of our great magical communities."
Master Weiguo's calm, measured voice filled the chamber as his sharp gaze made a slow, deliberate sweep of the hall, climbing to the gallery above, moving left and right along the seated Archmages, before settling back on the assembled hall ahead of him.
"Yesterday evening, the course of our long-held tradition was brought to a tipping point unlike anything we have witnessed in a very, very long time."
By now, the previous evening's events had reached every magical household on the planet, and with them had come a reality that could no longer be argued with or set aside: the wizarding world was no longer concealed. Magic had stepped into the light, and the Statute of Secrecy, upheld and maintained for centuries with meticulous and often extraordinary care, had ceased to mean anything at all.
What that meant for them was the question occupying the mind of every witch and wizard alive, and the only people capable of answering it were seated in this chamber. The highest authority the magical world possessed, the assembled Councillors and Speakers of the ICW, and the world was watching them with the particular intensity of people who understood, on some level, that what happened in the next few hours would determine the shape of things for a very long time to come.
Doubt and anticipation moved through the watching millions in equal measure, alongside no small amount of fear, and in some hearts, something that might cautiously have been called excitement.
Having established that point, Master Weiguo then abruptly changed direction.
"Before I address this matter further, I must bring to your attention another development, perhaps equally grave." He paused, his gaze moving briefly along the table to either side of him. "Some of you will have already noticed that there are only seven of us seated here this evening."
He let out a quiet sigh. "Our colleague, Anatoly Volkov... also lost his life last night."
The silence broke instantly. Murmurs spread from row to row across the hall with the speed of something that could not be contained, while from the gallery above came a burst of camera flashes and the frantic, overlapping scratch of Quick-Quotes Quills racing across parchment.
What had happened over London and the southern region had been broadcast live for the world to see, everyone already knew of it. Volkov's death, however, had been kept from the public until this very moment, known only to a select few.
It was not the death of just any wizard, after all, and the reaction was entirely to be expected. Anatoly Volkov was one of the pillars upon which the magical world rested, and news of his death was no less shocking than the assassination of the President of the United States would have been to the Muggle world, enough to send shockwaves not merely through America, but across the entire globe.
Master Weiguo allowed the murmuring to run its course before continuing.
"The two events, what occurred in the United Kingdom and what happened to Anatoly are, I suspect, by no means a coincidence." He let that settle for a moment. "And on that note, before we address anything further, or ask you esteemed ladies and gentlemen of this assembly to reach any decision, I ask speaker Maverick Caeser, as you are who is most directly involved in everything that has transpired, come forward and give us an explanation."
Having said that, Master Weiguo turned his head. His gaze passed over Dumbledore before coming to rest on Maverick, who sat with his head propped on one hand, absentmindedly looking out over the assembly below.
Every eye in the chamber followed. Enchanted cameras turned, lenses adjusting, settling on the youngest face at the long table.
Maverick showed no sign of surprise at the mention of his name, nor at what was being asked of him. Without looking up, he gave a small, unhurried nod, then rose to his feet with the same easy calm with which he had been sitting, while Master Weiguo watched him for several long, unreadable seconds before quietly returning to his seat.
"Before I begin," Maverick said evenly, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the chamber, "I would like to note that much of what we know regarding Speaker Volkov's passing is still under investigation, and it would be premature to say anything with certainty."
He paused briefly. "As for last night's events over London, I was indeed directly involved, and I will now give this chamber a full account."
He calmly swept his gaze across the chamber before continuing.
"I imagine most of you are already aware that Hogwarts has been hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. For those who may not be familiar with it, the tournament is a centuries-old magical competition between neighboring schools. Accordingly, Headmistress Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons has been staying at Hogwarts throughout the school year, with yesterday evening marking the tournament's finale..."
"The reason I bring this to your attention is that it was during that time we first detected an anomaly. Speaker Maxime was the first to sense it. Her magical perception is exceptional, even among the seven of us, and what she perceived was an abnormal surge of magical energy, dark in nature and bearing the unmistakable signature of extremely dark magic."
Maverick paused and looked across the table to Olympe Maxime, who responded with a single nod, affirming his statement.
He turned his attention back to the assembly. "She immediately brought it to our attention. Guided by her, Speaker Dumbledore and I were eventually able to perceive the same magical signature. It was faint, but distinctive enough that none of us felt it should be dismissed. We briefly discussed the matter and agreed that one of us should investigate."
"That person was me. I set out knowing only that something was wrong. Whether it was a threat, a coincidence, or something else entirely, I could not have said."
"I followed the magical trail for several kilometres. The closer I got, the darker and more vile the magic became under my perception, until it led me to a small village in the north of the country called Little Hangleton... more precisely, to the graveyard on its outskirts."
His expression settled into something quieter and more deliberate.
"What I found was the aftermath of a dark ritual. Whatever had taken place had already been completed."
The chamber was deathly still, as though even the enchanted cameras had forgotten to blink.
"The subject of that ritual was a wizard whose magical power I could immediately tell was considerable, comparable to my own. And he appeared to sense my presence the moment I arrived."
Maverick's brow furrowed slightly as he looked out across the hall.
"I did not recognize the man at first. He was certainly not one of the eight of us. His appearance was deeply unsettling, and the magic he radiated felt wrong in a way that is difficult to describe. Dark... corrupted. I did not engage him immediately, nor did he seem particularly alarmed by my presence."
He let the silence linger for a heartbeat. "Tom Riddle... or rather, the name by which he introduced himself to me was... Lord Voldemort."
The name landed in the silence of the hall like a stone dropped into still water, and the reaction that followed was immediate. Murmurs spread through the rows in every direction.
It was an identity familiar to every established mage of modern history. However short his time had been, Tom Riddle had still once been an Archmage, which needed no further explanation.
"He confirmed it himself, and he was anything but modest about it. He told me he had never truly died, that he had deceived the entire wizarding world for years. He claimed to have achieved this by splitting his soul through an exceptionally dark branch of magic, creating what is known as a Horcrux. It was through that method, he boasted, that he had managed to resurrect himself."
At the mention of a Horcrux, even Takamura, Master Weiguo, and Guimarães visibly stirred, exchanging brief, sharp glances. They, having reached the very peak of magic as well as magical knowledge obviously understood exactly what that word meant... and the implications it carried.
"Are you certain it was a Horcrux, Speaker Caesar?" Guimarães asked, leaning forward slightly. "Did he confess it himself?"
"That is what he told me," Maverick answered, glancing briefly in his direction. "I cannot state with certainty that his claim was true, but I can state is that the residual magical energy at the site was extraordinarily vile, more corrupted than anything I have ever encountered."
The hall murmured again, and Maverick waited a moment before continuing.
"He then extended an invitation. To become his follower, to be more precise." The corner of his mouth lifted briefly into something that was not quite a smile. "Perhaps that was why he confessed so freely in the first place... to glorify it before me. For the life of me, I still cannot fathom why he thought I would ever consider such an offer."
"I declined, of course," he continued. "I could also tell that, beyond the darkness of his magic, his state of mind was deeply compromised. His power, while formidable, felt unstable, as though it was no longer entirely under his control."
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