HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Horcruxes are his guarantee of transcending death, the pinnacle of his magical skills, and a taboo that he will never allow anyone to peek into.

Any talk of a solution, even mere speculation, must be crushed in its infancy.

He knew, of course, that it was a trap.

But the Horcruxes are his biggest secret. Although he thinks he has hidden them very well, he must not take any risks!

Even if it's just to confirm whether these prophecies exist or pose a threat, he must take action.

More importantly, his authority was challenged like never before.

The Ministry of Magic openly declared that it had discovered his weakness, and if he did not respond forcefully, the wizards who were still observing, and even the Death Eaters under his command, would waver.

And they have already begun to waver.

His gaze suddenly shifted to a silent figure at the end of the long table, and a sense of oppression descended upon him instantly, as if it were a tangible force.

“August,” Voldemort’s voice forcefully pulled the other man out of the shadows, “you once worked in the Department of Mysteries, tell me, how many prophecies related to me does the Ministry of Magic actually hold?”

August Lukwood looked up, his face remaining calm: "Master, the Hall of Prophecy contains tens of thousands of prophecy orbs, all of which are protected by powerful magic. Unless touched by the person involved in the prophecy, outsiders cannot discern their contents, so I have no way of knowing the exact number."

Voldemort twirled the Daily Prophet between his fingers, a cold smile creeping onto his lips: "So, how credible do you think this 'destruction list' mentioned here is?"

He waved the newspaper in his hand, his gaze fixed on Lukwood, "I saw Trelawney's name. She has three numbered prophecy orbs under her name, all of which are on this destruction list."

Lukwood pondered for a moment, carefully organizing his thoughts: "The possibility is not low, my master. The Hall of Prophecy displays a vast number of prophecy orbs, the magic they contain will become unstable over time, until they are completely annihilated."

He paused, making sure no word would bring him trouble: "When I was a Silencer at the Ministry of Magic, officials made suggestions to reduce maintenance costs and potential risks. They suggested regularly cleaning up prophetic orbs deemed 'worthless' or on the verge of collapse, but that proposal was shelved at the time."

Voldemort nodded and stopped pacing.

All the Death Eaters held their breath, awaiting their master's verdict.

"We will respond to this 'invitation'."

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile, "But not in the way they expect."

"They've laid a trap, thinking we'd cautiously 'steal'? No... We'll bring fear and destruction directly to their most heavily guarded places!"

“But master, if that old dog Dumbledore and that bastard Greengrass team up, we might very well…”

Voldemort gave the speaker a cold look.

Lockhart, his face etched with wrinkles, immediately shut his mouth, lowered his head, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Master, I'm sorry, I... I just..."

"You just think I'm no match for them. Isn't that right?"

Voldemort's voice was very soft, yet it made Lockhart tremble like a leaf.

"No, Master, no... I'm just worried about your safety, after all..."

"After all, I was once their defeated opponent. Right?"

Voldemort interrupted him again, his blood-red pupils burning in the shadows.

"No... Master, I never thought of that... never..."

"lie."

Voldemort spoke expressionlessly, his cold voice echoing through the silent room.

Chapter 433 Searching

"I know, I know that's what you all think..."

Voldemort nodded to himself, then continued, "Yes, even my most loyal servant must have had a moment of doubt deep down... after all, the memory of defeat is so vivid."

He slowly scanned each buried head, sensing their silent fear.

"It's ok."

His tone suddenly softened, but this was more chilling than his anger. "I forgive your slight hesitation. Because you are all family members I personally chose. Shouldn't there be more tolerance and understanding among family members?"

Lockhart seemed slightly relieved, but the other Death Eaters lowered their heads even further, knowing all too well what their master's "leniency" meant.

"But loyalty must not be tainted."

Voldemort said calmly, "I will never forgive those who have truly betrayed me, never."

He sneered, his voice suddenly turning somber: "One of them is hiding in Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's old wing, thinking he has found new refuge."

His gaze seemed to pierce through the walls, looking towards the distant castle.

"There's another one, hiding in his magnificent manor, playing both sides, always ready to abandon his former master like a rat and fawn over the victor."

His gaze shifted to another direction, his scarlet eyes blazing with murderous intent.

"As for the third one..."

Voldemort's lips curled into a cruel smile. "A coward on the run, vile and foolish. Does he think he can escape? I've sent out hunters... I'm sure we'll soon have definite news of his whereabouts."

He raised the eleven-inch blackthorn wand in his hand, his fingertips slowly tracing the shaft, as if examining a less-than-perfect tool.

"At that time, everyone will understand once again what the consequences are for betraying the Dark Lord—"

He lifted his gaze from his wand and slowly swept it over the crowd. "That will be far more painful and prolonged than dying a heroic death on the battlefield."

“And now,” his voice regained its calm, drawing everyone’s attention back to the present, “let’s first send the Ministry of Magic a ‘greeting’ that they will never forget.”

Lockhart.

Voldemort suddenly turned his cold gaze to Gilderoy Lockhart, who was standing to the side with a pale face.

“Master…Master.” Lockhart practically tumbled and fell to his knees.

"You will take the lead in developing a plan before the operation begins."

“Ah…me?” Lockhart looked up abruptly, his face first blank, then turning to terror.

"What, you don't want to?" Voldemort looked at him expressionlessly and asked coldly.

“I…I am willing…my master. It would be my greatest honor,” Lockhart stammered.

"Humph!"

A cold snort escaped Voldemort's nose, making Lockhart shudder.

"Don't think that just because you're silent, I don't know about your underhanded dealings. And what else have you done in the past..."

Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes, looking at him with a half-smile. "We all know you still have some quick wit and cleverness hidden away. Now is the time to put them to use, isn't it?"

Lockhart's no-longer-handsome face instantly drained of color, turning as pale as paper. Cold sweat soaked his back in an instant, and his wizard's robe clung stickily to his body.

He even began to miss his life in Azkaban.

Voldemort continued, "Bring back that prophecy orb about me and Harry Potter, and hand it over to me. Also, confirm whether there is anything truly hostile to us in the Department of Mysteries' Hall of Prophecy. If so... destroy it completely."

He paused, then pointed to the group of people present: "Lukewood is familiar with the layout and protective magic there, and all the Death Eaters will obey your commands."

After he finished speaking, he waved his hand, and his figure disappeared back into the shadow of the chair, as if he had become one with the darkness.

“This will be a test, Lockhart.”

He said in a low voice, “The time has come to prove your worth. Let me see if you are truly loyal enough… Remember, failure is not an option you can afford. Don’t let me down.”

"I...I will obey your command, Master!"

Lockhart quickly bowed in response, his voice echoing in the empty, gloomy hall.

Voldemort's figure had completely disappeared into the shadows, leaving only his scarlet eyes burning in the darkness like a bonfire from hell.

"As for that... Greengrass."

Voldemort's voice slowly seeped from the shadows, carrying a suppressed malice, "The last defeat was only because of that... strange wand in his hand."

He paused, as if recalling every humiliating detail of that battle.

“I already know where that wand came from,” he said with absolute certainty. “I recognize whose work it is—a mad wand maker.”

"Is that Ollivander, Master?"

Bellatrix boldly guessed, "That old guy does have some tricks up his sleeve..."

"No! Not that mediocre shopkeeper!"

Voldemort shook his head, his tone full of disdain, "He is a wandmaker who lives a reclusive life, immersed in his own world."

He fell into reminiscence as he spoke, and after a moment he spoke again: "Many years ago, I met him by chance during my travels. He was an obsessive genius, or rather... a madman."

"I have already sent Dolohov to 'visit' him." Voldemort's tone carried a cruel anticipation. "If this other party is wise enough to dedicate his talents to Lord Voldemort... to forging a wand that is truly worthy of me, an unparalleled one! Then Dumbledore, Greengrass... and indeed the entire wizarding world will grovel at my feet! No one will be my match!"

His voice rose with excitement, but then his gaze fell back on the makeshift black thorn wand in his hand, a shadow of gloom flashing in his eyes.

This wand, though powerful, is far less responsive to his former yew wand.

More importantly, it constantly reminded him of his previous crushing defeat—his loyal wand was utterly destroyed in the duel with Sargeras.

A sinister rage flashed across his snake-like face, causing the surrounding air to seem to distort for a moment.

“Master,” another Death Eater, seemingly wanting to demonstrate his thoroughness, cautiously suggested, “Regarding this raid on the Ministry of Magic, should we… contact those goblins? Perhaps they could offer some assistance.”

Voldemort gave the speaker a cold glance—

"Heart-piercing and bone-scraping!"

A dazzling red light burst forth from the shadows without warning, striking the talkative Death Eater precisely.

A piercing scream instantly shattered the silence. The Death Eater curled up on the ground, convulsing and writhing in agony, his bones creaking and twisting.

Voldemort's cold, high-pitched voice lashed at everyone's souls like a whip, filled with undisguised rage:

"Shut up! Who gave you permission to mention those greedy and arrogant beasts?!"

The effects of the Crucifixion continued, and screams became the cruelest background noise to his words.

"Voldemort needs no one's 'help'! The Dark Lord's power is enough to crush all obstacles! Our cause is the glory of pure-blood wizards! Anyone who tries to use external forces to taint this purity... this is their fate!"

He pointed to the writhing body on the ground, the screams gradually fading until only unconscious twitching remained.

Yes, not long ago, a so-called "fairy leader" helped Voldemort when he was on the verge of death.

But he felt no gratitude, only deep-seated shame and disgust. This "favor" was a stain that Lord Voldemort would never want to mention for the rest of his life!

This is not a matter of friendship, but rather the usurpation and coveting of a great wizard by a lower race.