Translation by ChatGPT.
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Rufus felt the weight of those words. Dominus was not just an eccentric old man—it was easy to forget that despite his reputation as a benevolent wizard, he had long ago reached the rank of Supreme. Wizards like him were not merely powerful; they were forces of nature. Like hurricanes or earthquakes, they could not be stopped—only endured.
But that wasn't what Rufus feared most. Dominus, though not an active politician, possessed enormous moral influence both inside and outside the Chamber of Lords.
A hero of the war against Grindelwald, recognized as the greatest living wizard in the world, he enjoyed unanimous support from progressive pure-blood families, Muggle-borns, and international organizations. Many Lords owed him personal favors, and others simply trusted his judgment. Even though that trust had been shaken by Cornelius Fudge's smear campaign, it had only grown stronger after the former Minister's downfall.
This informal web of influence was known as the Faction of Light, and no candidate for Chancellor could hope to be elected without negotiating with it.
Then, from the piled corpses, something moved.
First a subtle twitch.
Then a grotesque convulsion.
Bones rearranged, flesh reconfigured, bodies fused together, stitching themselves into a colossal abomination. The creature rose—five meters of pure monstrosity, its form composed of twisted remnants of countless dead.
The investigators instinctively backed away, eyes wide with terror.
A chill ran down Rufus's spine, and he understood: this was a trap. Mortavius had not left behind only destruction—but a demonstration of the power he was quickly gaining.
Cadaverun.
One of the supreme horrors of necromancy. A nightmare given form, imposing and nearly indestructible—save for a single weakness: arcane fire.
Dominus clicked his tongue. His instincts had already warned him that this heap of corpses was not a mere display of brutality. His wand rose without hesitation.
Few wizards possessed mastery over arcane flames—it was a rare gift, and what stood before them required nothing less.
But Dominus had a special bond. A phoenix, a creature of ancient fire, made his flames worthy of the fight ahead.
He hissed the name of the spell:
"Fogus Arcanus."
The fire erupted in golden flames, consuming the Cadaverun before it could retaliate. The creature released a gurgling roar, its necrotic flesh evaporating in an instant. The terror it embodied had no time to fully manifest before it crumbled to ash.
Rufus watched, his face shadowed by the flickering blaze. A knot of frustration tightened in his throat.
Anger. But directed at what, exactly?
At Mortavius, for his insatiable cruelty?
At himself, for feeling small before such overwhelming forces?
Or at the dawning realization that perhaps this power could not be stopped?
He took a deep breath, attempting to steady the storm inside him, but Dominus did not give him time.
"Necromancers…" the Headmaster murmured, eyes locked on the ashes. "Always despicable. Always willing to cross any boundary. And Mortavius is the worst of them all."
Rufus clenched his fists.
"But this… this is different. Mortavius has never been capable of something like this."
Dominus nodded gravely.
"And that is exactly what he wants us to understand. Before, it took him days to forge a creature of this magnitude. Now, mere hours were enough. His rise in power is undeniable."
Rufus swallowed hard.
Mere hours. A monstrosity like that created in so little time…
The entire wizarding world was in danger.
Dominus turned to him.
"When you win the election, one of your first steps must be to seek international support. There is no time left for hesitation."
Rufus exhaled slowly.
"If you faced the Dark Lord right now… who would win?"
Suddenly, a carrier pigeon descended from the clouds and landed on the Headmaster's shoulder with a small note tied to its legs.
Dominus opened it.
His gaze tightened, and he remained silent for a moment, closing his eyes as if calculating every variable, every possible outcome.
Then, with implacable calm, he replied:
"I don't know. And since I do not intend to offer my life as an experiment… I will find a way to kill him."
Rufus noticed the shift in the Headmaster's tone and asked:
"News about the boy…?"
Each word weighed heavily in his chest.
"No…" Dominus answered. "The Weasleys were attacked."
Recognizing the Headmaster's unwillingness to provide more details, Rufus simply said:
"I'm sorry… But I hope you find the boy. Alive."
He turned, surveying the scene. The Cadaverun that had risen to annihilate them was now nothing but steaming, melted flesh.
"I'll take care of the rest," he added.
Then he began shouting orders:
"Thornwell! Call the newspaper. Don't hide anything—say it was those bloody Dark lunatics. And announce a reward for Nagini, You-Know-Who's pet snake. Mobilize the aurors—we're sweeping Knockturn Alley. I want Azkaban filled—"
Dominus's voice reached his ears:
"This isn't over. Keep all your men ready for the right moment."
Rufus nodded, aware of the gravity of the situation.
But as he walked away, a thought emerged:
If Hadrian Percival were found by him—alive, grateful, indebted—then the Chancellorship would be guaranteed.
He smirked, crushing his cigarette beneath his shoe.
War was horrifying, but he knew how to play with monsters.
As for Dominus, he remained motionless, watching the horizon.
In his pocket, the Medallion of Galaad—an artifact capable of tracking an Aurelius through blood—pulsed wildly in every direction.
A hidden force had taken Hadrian.
Someone who possessed the means to escape all detection.
And for the first time in decades, Dominus felt fear tightening around his heart.