High in the Alps of Southern Europe, a secluded tribe of giants dwelled among the snow-capped peaks. Their quiet existence was shattered by the arrival of an uninvited guest. A streak of black mist, a stark contrast against the pristine white, descended upon their mountain home.
The giants, grasping their crude wooden and stone hammers, watched warily as a figure materialized from the darkness. It was a bald man with unsettlingly pale skin, garbed in tattered black robes that billowed in the wind. Unlike any human they had encountered, this one lacked a nose, or at least possessed only rudimentary nostrils. This bald, black-robed figure radiated danger, an aura so potent that it stayed the giants' inherently violent hands. After all, giants only reasoned with foes they couldn't defeat.
"Who are you?! How did you find our tribe?!" roared an eight-meter giant, hefting a stone hammer the size of a man.
Voldemort's remnant soul, unfazed, did not understand their tongue, but comprehension was unnecessary. He casually rubbed his bald head before unleashing a merciless attack.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green flash illuminated the silvery-white mountain. The giant's body turned ashen, lifeless, and collapsed within seconds.
The remaining giants erupted in fury, their shouts unintelligible but undoubtedly hostile. Voldemort's remnant soul, wand in hand, continued his onslaught.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
After decimating their ranks, Voldemort's remnant soul seized the largest surviving giant with "Swift Imprisonment" and Apparated away.
...
Meanwhile, in a small French wizarding town, a richly dressed young man stumbled through the dimly lit streets, glancing fearfully over his shoulder. His noble bearing was gone, replaced by tattered clothes and utter disarray. Any wizard would recognize him as a vampire, but one in dire straits.
Hunted and unable to transform into a bat, his escape was hampered, his chances of survival dwindling. Soon enough, the vampire found himself trapped, as a dozen small figures blocked his path at a dark crossroads.
"Disgusting things!" he spat. The vampire turned, desperate to flee towards a nearby alley. But he stopped short, fear etched on his face. As the small figures emerged into the lamplight, their true forms were revealed: fairies.
Lanlock, clad in reforged armor, raised a hand, using fairy magic to bind the vampire. His greyish-black eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. "You should have known, you couldn't escape from the start."
...
On a secluded island off the coast of England, serving as Voldemort's remnant soul and Lanlock's base, a towering mountain rose from an ancient forest. Hidden entrances concealed within the woods led to a fortress-like space magically carved into the mountain's interior.
Voldemort's remnant soul imprisoned the captured giant alongside other intelligent beings: werewolves, mermaids, house-elves...
He turned to face Lanlock, who had captured a vampire. "Are you sure your plan will work?"
Lanlock tugged at his lips, revealing a cruel smile. "Sure? No. Definitely? Yes."
"I hope you're still so confident later," Voldemort's remnant soul sneered. "He's another version of me; he won't be easily fooled."
"I admit that," Lanlock conceded, unfazed. "But you must also admit, his overconfidence, his failure to take us seriously, granted us this opportunity. That was his greatest mistake."
"And he still hasn't dealt with the goblin I sent out, which means he doesn't want to do it himself." A sly glint flashed in Lanlock's eyes. "So, if someone else were to take action, like those junior wizards, would he be able to resist watching?"
Lanlock smiled sinisterly. "That would be our opportunity."
Voldemort's remnant soul considered this. "Perhaps you do have a point." Tom's love of watching events unfold would undoubtedly draw him away from Hogwarts.
"As long as we seize the opportunity to capture the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest," Lanlock glanced at the imprisoned creatures, "Then those goblins I sent out will have died a worthwhile death."
Voldemort's remnant soul deeply agreed with Lanlock's callous disregard for his subordinates. They were merely expendable resources. Success justified any sacrifice; their deaths would be an honor.
"Get ready," Lanlock said, heading out of the cell. "My men have reported that the Death Eaters have already made their move. You'll have to handle it then."
This ensured the centaurs would be captured before Tom returned. Lanlock left the words unspoken, but Voldemort's remnant soul understood.
Still, Voldemort's remnant soul was annoyed. If he possessed even a single useful subordinate, he wouldn't need to risk his life at Hogwarts. That place housed Tom, Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and over a dozen professors! Even with Tom lured away, he'd have to steal the centaurs from under the noses of those old fogies, Dumbledore and Grindelwald. The thought alone was exhausting.
He gritted his teeth, his fierce eyes filled with conflicted emotions. There was no alternative. His only option was to grab a centaur and run. He couldn't fight those guys; the longer it dragged on, the more dangerous the situation became.
---