"We made a pact to be frauds together, and you betrayed the organization?!"
Trelawney's feelings were a tangled mess.
She wasn't a complete charlatan; what she taught was rooted in genuine divination. But while she'd inherited her family's talent for prophecy, it was a pale imitation, leading to wildly inconsistent predictions.
Yes, she'd foreseen the birth of the Savior and the Tom Riddle's destiny, but that didn't change the fact she was generally clueless.
And now, thanks to Tom's meddling, even Dumbledore dismissed her successful prophecies as "feudal superstition."
"Sigh…"
Looking at Cassandra, whose prophetic talent dwarfed her own, Trelawney couldn't help but sigh.
Was it envy? Jealousy? Disappointment…? She couldn't say.
But for some reason, she felt strangely calm.
Perhaps it was relief?
...
Meanwhile, far away in South America...
Here lay the Amazon, the world's largest rainforest. Its biodiversity was staggering, teeming with everything from mosquitoes and giant spiders to anacondas and countless fantastical creatures. For most, this was a forbidden zone.
Of course, that was only from an average person's perspective.
Deep within the rainforest, colossal trees twisted and turned, their branches intertwining at bizarre angles to form structures that resembled natural wooden cabins.
While the contorted trees outside could be attributed to nature's artistry, the pots, pans, tables, chairs, and benches inside defied explanation.
Tom, with Nagini at his side, was currently being entertained by a group of Death Eaters within one of these cabins.
Below, in the river, an abnormally large crocodile swam, a plank with raised edges strapped to its back. Neatly arranged upon the plank were local delicacies and exotic drinks.
The crocodile swam to the shore, where a wizard levitated a plate of food from the reptile's back to the wooden cabin.
"Master, these are the finest dishes prepared by the best chef in the region. Please, try them."
A middle-aged Death Eater in "retro" robes groveled before Tom.
Tom sampled the food with a detached air. "Where were we? Ah, yes. Azkaban. Shall we storm it to demand the release of our comrades?"
"Indeed! Just give the word, Master, and we shall surround that wretched prison and free our brothers and sisters at once!"
Tom feigned a thoughtful expression.
Nagini remained silent beside him, careful not to disturb his contemplation.
"Well, additional followers would be useful."
Abruptly, Tom rose to his feet. "Let us depart. Gather men and supplies. We are paying a visit to Fudge at the British Ministry of Magic."
...
England, the Ministry of Magic, nestled deep beneath London.
The employees of the various departments bustled about their duties when suddenly,
"Disaster! Utter disaster!"
Scrimgeour burst into Fudge's office, shouting.
With a resounding "bang," Scrimgeour kicked open the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Before he could even catch his breath, Fudge hissed, "Scrimgeour! Are you attempting a coup?!"
"No, Minister, I assure you, no coup!"
Scrimgeour panted heavily. "This is… this is catastrophic!"
"Calm yourself, man, calm yourself. Look at you."
Fudge calmly picked up his teacup, blew across the steaming liquid, and took a deliberate sip. "What catastrophe could possibly warrant such behavior? Tell me."
He was the Minister for Magic, personally elevated by Dumbledore himself. Even though Dumbledore was being uncooperative, he could always shamelessly beg Tom for assistance.
Fudge… showed absolutely no sign of panic.
"The Dark Lord has arrived with his forces!"
As Scrimgeour spoke,
Pfft—
Fudge spat out his tea.
"Minister, what are our orders?"
Scrimgeour looked at Fudge with undisguised anxiety.
"What do you mean 'our' orders? Your orders, you blithering idiot!"
Fudge, his face radiating righteous indignation, declared, "I, Fudge, am an unofficial honorary member of the Death Eaters! How dare you presume to place yourself on equal footing with me?!"
"Go! Open the gates! Welcome the Dark Lord!"
Watching Fudge's hasty retreat, Scrimgeour's lips twitched.
Fine, I surrender.
...
Half an hour later.
"Oh, Professor Tom, what a pleasant surprise!"
Upon learning the purpose of Tom's visit, Fudge immediately declared it to be no problem at all.
In fact, he had suggested releasing the prisoners to Tom during their last meeting, but Tom had declined at the time.
He had absolutely no idea what had changed Tom's mind now, but it hardly mattered.
"Then… shall we depart for Azkaban at once?"
Fudge asked Tom tentatively.
"Yes. Best to conclude this matter with all due haste."
Tom did not object to Fudge's suggestion.
...
Another half hour passed.
Led by Fudge, the group arrived at Azkaban via the Ministry's secret passage.
Stepping onto the desolate island in the North Sea, Tom gazed thoughtfully at the imposing, triangular prism-shaped fortress before him.
He hadn't come to liberate all the imprisoned Death Eaters; he had only two specific targets in mind.
One was Barty Crouch Jr., and the other was Bellatrix Lestrange.
Both were exceptionally loyal to "him."
Tom intended to recruit them before Voldemort (remnant soul) returned, positioning them as spies around him.
At the opportune moment, he would have them betray the bald monstrosity.
Tom had even rehearsed their lines of betrayal in his mind.
"Hehehe... Hehehehe..."
Imagining Voldemort (remnant soul)'s bewildered expression sent Tom into silent peals of laughter.
The bald idiot would never suspect that his most trusted lieutenants would turn on him!
Tom had changed his mind about coming precisely because he craved to witness the look on that monstrosity's face.
The Death Eaters and Fudge, witnessing Tom's "sinister" smile, couldn't help but tremble. But fearing his displeasure, they dared not utter a word, controlling even their breathing.
Nagini remained unfazed; in her mind, Tom was simply an actor, and a genuinely good person at heart.
"Very well, the rest of you will wait outside."
Tom gave Fudge and the others their instructions, then led Nagini toward the grim, gray fortress.
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