Three months.
It had been exactly three months since Voldemort's resurrection.
In those ninety days, Dumbledore had found him four times.
The first time was in an abandoned castle on the Bulgarian border.
Voldemort had been trying to access a secret chamber rumored to contain ancient Dark Magic tomes.
Dumbledore broke in through the window at midnight. The edge of Gryffindor's sword grazed Voldemort's ribs and cut off half his arm. Voldemort Disapparated in a cloud of blood mist, leaving behind that arm and every book in the chamber.
The second time was in a cave deep in the Carpathian Mountains.
Voldemort had gathered the first group of returning Death Eaters there—only three of them, all his most fanatical followers.
Dumbledore appeared at the mouth of the cave halfway through the gathering, sealed the entire cave with an enormous Freezing Charm, then forced Voldemort out with Fiendfyre.
One of the three Death Eaters did not make it out.
Voldemort did not care.
The third time came only eleven days later.
In the dense forest on the border between Albania and Montenegro, Voldemort attempted to create a new Horcrux at the cost of a traveling wizard's life.
Halfway through the ritual, Dumbledore walked out from the depths of the forest.
He destroyed the half-formed Horcrux vessel and forced Voldemort to fight while his magic had not yet recovered.
That battle lasted nearly an hour. The bones in Voldemort's left leg were shattered, and the giant serpent's tail was badly burned by Fiendfyre.
But Voldemort escaped in the end.
The fourth time, Voldemort hid in a Muggle city.
He thought Dumbledore would not dare use large-scale magic in a Muggle residential area.
He was wrong.
Dumbledore spent an entire week evacuating the whole district under a carefully crafted lie—a gas leak warning—then appeared in the abandoned factory where Voldemort was hiding at three in the morning.
There were no spectators in that battle. No witnesses.
Only a crater more than ten meters deep blasted open in the ruins of the factory.
Voldemort lost half his face—literally.
His newly grown flesh was burned by some magic that refused to heal, exposing the bone and muscle beneath, making his already horrifying face even more grotesque.
He chose not to repair it.
He kept that scar, reminding himself every day that Dumbledore was no longer the Headmaster hiding behind the walls of Hogwarts and waiting for a prophecy.
Dumbledore was an old madman, and perhaps there was a little madman hiding behind him too.
At this moment, deep in an abandoned mine in Yorkshire, northern England, Voldemort was curled on a jutting rock.
A giant snake coiled at his feet, its enormous triangular head raised, its golden serpent eyes watching its master.
Voldemort closed his eyes.
Four times.
Every time, Dumbledore had found him first.
Every time, it had been when he was at his weakest—either his magic was exhausted, his ritual had been interrupted, or he was in the middle of relocating.
Dumbledore always seemed to know where he was, always seemed to know what he was doing, always appeared at the moment Voldemort least wanted to fight.
"Again."
Voldemort said in a low voice, hoarse and tired.
This was the first time in three months that he had truly felt exhausted.
After three rounds of repair, his new body had gradually adapted to high-intensity magical combat. But the exhaustion of his mind—the suffocating feeling that every step had been predicted and every action precisely disrupted—was driving him mad.
"How can he find me?! How can he?!"
Voldemort stared coldly at the giant snake and roared like a lunatic.
Behind him, the bodies of two servants trembled.
"Where is Lucius?"
Voldemort swept an icy glance over them.
"I do not know, my master."
said the wizard whose right hand was frighteningly pale.
"Someone is betraying me."
After a moment of silence, Voldemort spoke. His voice was not loud, but it echoed again and again through the mine.
The new giant serpent raised its head and let out a low hiss.
"It is not Wormtail,"
Voldemort said.
"He is already dead. And those madmen in Azkaban—they do not know who I am now. It is someone beside me. Someone I ordered you to gather again. Someone who knelt at my feet, wept, and swore he had never betrayed me."
He stood and began pacing through the mine.
When he moved, his left leg staggered slightly. In the third encounter, a stone spike Dumbledore created through Transfiguration had pierced his thighbone.
The wound had healed, but the new bone was not yet strong enough.
The right side of his face had been burned by magic in the fourth encounter, covering a small half of his cheek. The muscles were stiff, making his already terrifying face even more twisted.
"The first person who knew about the Bulgarian chamber was Lucius. That chamber had something to do with the Malfoy family's maternal grandfather."
He stopped and coldly looked toward the absent wizard.
"The second time—the Carpathian gathering—I told him to notify Walden Macnair. He did. Then the gathering site was sealed in advance by Dumbledore.
"The third time, I deliberately told him nothing. That time, I was not intercepted in advance—Dumbledore merely appeared along my escape route, as if he had followed the fluctuations of magic. That means the third time, he was not relying on intelligence.
"The fourth time—Lucius advised me to hide in a Muggle city. He said Dumbledore would not dare cause too much trouble on Muggle ground.
"I listened. Then Dumbledore evacuated the entire district and blasted a hole directly above my hiding place."
He turned toward the giant snake, his scarlet pupils burning in the darkness.
"He is telling Dumbledore my every move. He thinks I cannot see it. He wraps every piece of intelligence in the form of loyal advice—"
Voldemort's voice was very soft, with an unnatural calm.
"Watch. I will kill him."
The giant snake made a hoarse hiss.
The corners of Voldemort's mouth slowly rose. The intact half of his face was smiling, while the other half could not complete the motion because of the injury, forming an even more hideous contrast.
He turned and took two steps toward the mine exit, then stopped.
"I should have thought of it earlier. He pretended to be afraid of that old madman, and his fear was real.
"A man with fear will waver. A man who wavers will go to the negotiating table. I suppose he still wants Draco to graduate safely, and I happened to hear that boy has been behaving rather obediently at Hogwarts. There is no such cheap loyalty in this world."
The giant snake slid to his feet.
Voldemort reached out and stroked its scales.
"Lucius must die—"
His voice grew softer and softer, as gentle as venom dripping into clear water.
A bird suddenly cried ahead. Voldemort froze and quickly looked into the depths of the forest.
Then he prepared to flee.
Fortunately, it seemed to be a false alarm.
But Voldemort's expression became even more savage.
"He will come again!"
he muttered.
"He will keep coming until he kills me, or until he dies. He has already become a madman."
Dumbledore's tactics were working.
Voldemort would never admit it, but he knew it in his heart.
Failure itself was an insult to him, harder to heal than bodily wounds.
He began frequently recalling his past glory—the moments when Death Eaters crawled at his feet, the moments when Ministers for Magic begged humbly for a ceasefire.
Memory was an anesthetic, but he also knew that too much anesthetic dulled the mind.
"The rules must change—after Lucius dies—"
He stopped in the center of the mine.
Voldemort turned and looked toward the ventilation shaft leading up to the surface.
A faint beam of moonlight leaked through the crack, illuminating half of his ruined face.
"The Ministry of Magic. Is Fudge still in power? Perhaps they changed him. It does not matter. Ministry officials are all the same. They fear war, fear chaos, fear losing their positions.
"Some of them, long ago, swore loyalty to me. They owe me debts. It is time they repaid them.
"Let giants cause a few accidents in the Scottish Highlands. Let werewolves launch a few attacks in London. Make the Ministry busy!"
Voldemort snapped.
His servants immediately vanished.
Only one newly arrived servant remained: handsome, his face full of longing.
He understood his master's plan far too well, and he also understood the people at the Ministry of Magic.
They would send Aurors to investigate these threats. They would seek Dumbledore's help.
Dumbledore would have to divide his attention to handle Fudge, to deal with the Daily Prophet, to answer the questions of the International Confederation of Wizards.
"Go,"
Voldemort gently stroked his face.
"Find someone who still has a few eyes and ears inside Hogwarts. He has become timid these past three years, but asking him to gather a few names should not be difficult.
"Any student third year or above who has shown abnormalities in the last three years, any student personally tutored by Dumbledore, any student who accidentally erupted with magical power far beyond their peers in class—report all of them to me. I will screen them myself."
Then he lifted his head and strode toward the mine exit.
"Dumbledore, you will grow old eventually."
When Dumbledore arrived at the boundary of Hogwarts, the sky had not yet brightened.
The snow had stopped, but gray-white clouds still hung very low, wrapping the entire castle in a gloomy silence.
He did not take the main gate.
He circled from the path near the Forbidden Forest to the castle's side wing, then entered Hogwarts through a rarely used side door.
At this hour, the corridors were empty.
He slowly concealed his figure and avoided a young wizard who always rose early.
In the corridor, most of the portraits were dozing. Only an old wizard with a full beard at the second-floor corner opened one eye, then quickly shut it again and pretended to have seen nothing.
Dumbledore silently watched the young wizard for a while.
He watched him practice Transfiguration, take a small sip of potion, then sit beside the courtyard, waiting for his magic to recover while catching snow in his palm.
His acting Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, came from the distance and took the young wizard's hand.
Minerva McGonagall was his most outstanding student in Transfiguration, and having her teach him Transfiguration was something Dumbledore had arranged early on.
So he smiled gently.
The war had begun.
But he did not need to know that.
He should be at Hogwarts, studying magic.
He imagined that one day the child would ask about this war, would ask why.
By then, he would already have prepared the answer. If he died before Voldemort did, then his death would answer for him:
how far an old wizard could go for the future.
He left silently. The black-haired young wizard seemed to sense something and glanced beneath the portrait, then gently shook his head.
Headmaster Dumbledore had not returned for a long time.
Sean had not seen him in a long time.
He had thought of him more than once.
"What are you thinking about?"
Professor McGonagall asked.
"Headmaster Dumbledore."
Sean answered honestly.
"Best not to think about him—a Headmaster leaving without reason for so long!"
Professor McGonagall suddenly gained a bit of anger for no reason.
Sean did not dare reply. He looked toward the window.
From this angle, he could just see the treetops at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The forest's edge looked especially deep before dawn.
A strand of sunlight leaked through the gaps in the treetops, shining on the ground covered in dead leaves.
The morning wind had already risen, blowing the bare branches against one another with knocking sounds.
Dumbledore stood beneath an old oak tree.
His hands were tucked into his sleeves, and his long silver-white beard fluttered slightly in the wind.
He did not carry his wand—or at least, he had not taken it out.
This was not a battle posture.
This was the posture of waiting.
He was waiting for someone.
Someone who should have appeared beside Voldemort. A chess piece that would be permanently removed from Voldemort's board after tonight.
Footsteps sounded in the forest.
A figure wrapped in a dark green traveling cloak walked out from the shadows of the trees, the hood pressed low, hiding most of his face.
Lucius Malfoy stopped five steps away from him.
He raised a hand and removed the hood, revealing a face much more haggard than it had been three months ago.
His blond hair was still combed meticulously behind him, but several white strands had appeared at his temples.
Two deep shadows lay beneath his eyes.
"Dumbledore."
he said.
His voice was very quiet, but even he heard the tremor beneath it.
Clearing his throat, he said it again, this time more steadily:
"You received my message."
"I did."
Dumbledore said.
"I need to discuss your situation with you."
Lucius did not answer.
After a while, he said tiredly,
"What do I have to worry about?"
"You have been discovered."
Dumbledore said.
"What?"
Lucius froze.
"You have been discovered. Now, you return."
Dumbledore repeated. His tone was exactly the same as the first time—neither heavy nor fast, but carrying no room for negotiation.
Lucius's face changed three colors in a few seconds. First deathly pale, then flushed with anger, and finally a gray close to collapse.
"You—"
His voice jammed, then he found it again.
"You never intended for me to continue as an inside man from the beginning."
"I did use you at first,"
he paused,
"but while you were betraying Voldemort, he was also using you. He already suspects you. You should know that."
Lucius's lips trembled slightly. In the end, he only uttered one word:
"…Yes."
Dumbledore nodded.
"Will you win?"
Lucius asked.
"I think we will."
Dumbledore said.
"But to be honest, I cannot guarantee it."
Lucius fell silent.
He stood there, looking into Dumbledore's blue eyes, still bright in the twilight. One second, five seconds, ten seconds.
"You have already done well. You have won a future for the Malfoy family, haven't you, Lucius? I must say, your ideas have never been especially bad."
Dumbledore's deep gaze studied Malfoy.
"Heh, heh—"
Lucius gave two polite laughs.
"I will tell him that you were one of my people all along."
Dumbledore seemed to see through his thoughts and said calmly.
A fanatical light flashed in Lucius's eyes.
"But you must be prepared, Lucius. Your manor, your property—"
Dumbledore spoke slowly.
As if confirming an inevitable revenge.
"Oh—"
Lucius looked pained, but soon returned to a serious expression.
"A necessary investment."
Dumbledore studied Lucius seriously.
He was indeed a shrewd businessman.
~~~