Harry Potter and the Surprisingly Competent History of Magic Professor Chapter 236 236: Power the Dark Lord Knows Not

Hello everyone,

There still seems to be so confusion about Bathsheda's ability to see the "original" tiline, so I'd like to clarify it properly, with spoilers, and with a few things I previously only hinted at.

In Chapter 148 - Crack, Bathsheda realizes sothing is wrong. She sees the sa mont twice with Hermione in one and empty corridor in another. The chapter na is Crack, and that na is important, so keep that in mind.

She and Cassian imdiately conclude that this must be related to a Ti Turner. The important part is when soone uses a Ti Turner, you should not be seeing "two versions" of a sa mont. Ti functions as a continuum(In HP Ti Turner laws), not as branching duplicates that create separate simultaneous monts.

When Hermione "decides" to use the Ti Turner, that decision was already part of the tiline. I say decision but its an absolute fixed point. However you phrase it, the aning is the sa, if Hermione's going to use the Ti Turner, then the second version of her must already appear in the past. It's always going to happen. That's how a closed ti continuum works.

So the corridor always had Hermione in it. There is no "version" without her. That corridor had always had Hermione. But Bathsheda sees a version of the corridor without Hermione. And that should be impossible. If Hermione was always destined to use the Ti Turner, then her presence in that corridor at that mont is absolute. There cannot be a corridor without her. That's why both Bathsheda and Cassian imdiately understand that sothing is deeply wrong. This is not normal. This is not simply "Hermione used a Ti Turner."

In Chapter 166 - Patronus, it was ntioned Bathsheda keeps experiencing these alternate scenes, similar to first ti. They always happen around Hermione. Hermione's repeated use of the Ti Turner causing this. So it must be about those fractures.

At the end of the year, in Chapter 179 - Without You, Bathsheda says she has mories of five years without Cassian. And here we begin approaching the deeper implication.

In Chapter 185 - Djinn, we learn sothing critical. Bathsheda's ability works even when ti is rewound by a Djinn. This confirms that her power is not tied only to Hermione's Ti Turner. It functions whenever ti is fractured by an external force. A Ti Turner, a Djinn rewinding, Cassian being present... and not present

That last one is important. It suggests sothing that I didn't spell out directly before. Cassian's presence in this world isn't entirely natural. Not a huge spoiler, it's fairly obvious, but it matters in understanding Crack.

Why Doesn't She Foretell Disasters?

This is the most common misunderstanding. Bathsheda does not see the future. She does not receive prophetic visions. She receives mories from alternative tilines, but only up to the exact present mont she's currently living. If it's 10:00 AM on July 31st, 1993, she receives mories of alternatives up to 10:00 AM.

Not 10:01. She only knows what had already happened in fractured alternatives by that sa tistamp. So she cannot warn about danger that hasn't yet occurred in any fractured version. She experiences fractures synchronously with reality.

She Does Not See "Unlimited" Tilines. Another misconception. Bathsheda does not see all possible tilines. She only perceives Cracks. That is why the first chapter where she notices the ability was nad as such.

Bathsheda sees events that fracture ti, events that directly involve her and events she experiences firsthand. If Hermione used the Ti Turner in a way that did not affect either version of Bathsheda, she would not perceive it. If a Djinn rewound ti in a room she was never present in, she would not know. If she and Cassian had never t, not even passed each other on the street, she would not receive five years of alternate mories. Her ability requires proximity, impact, or personal involvent in the fracture.

I hope this clears everything up. If there are still confusions, I'm happy to answer them, but now at least the chanics of Crack, ti continuity, and Bathsheda's limits should be logically clear.

---

A year after the Dark Lord's return...

Voldemort moved through the Ministry's main corridor as if it already belonged to him.

Behind him ca the Death Eaters, masked and silent, all but four. Bellatrix at his left with a wide smile. Barty on his right, half-grinning, wand loose in his hand. Rookwood followed a step behind. And Lucian walked half a pace behind Voldemort.

The rest were hidden. Painted masks, old designs, so newer, so passed down. To them, this was revolution. The final strike after a yearlong silence since their Lord's return. The long-awaited second rise. A move to take control of the country, seize the Ministry from inside.

But... they didn't know the real aim of their Lord. Voldemort trusted no one but himself.

The atrium echoed with footsteps and soft murmurs, Ministry workers heading toward lifts, a few security wizards loitering near the statue. One man from Magical Transportation looked up, blinked at the group, and went pale. Emptier than it should've been, as if it was emptied before their arrival.

He didn't get to say anything. A spell clipped him in the chest and sent him flying across the fountain, robes smoking before he hit the ground.

Then everything cracked open. Screams burst down the corridor. A woman dropped her stack of scrolls and sprinted back toward the lifts. A group of wizards bolted from the wand inspection station, knocking over the velvet rope. One drew his wand, tried to fire sothing off, Lucian hexed him mid-cast. The man dropped, twitching.

Then the defences kicked in. Wards along the walls lit up. A low buzz shivered through the floor. Spells rebounded in rapid bursts as security teams rushed in from the Departnt of Law Enforcent.

The Death Eaters spread. Bellatrix peeled left, laughing as she vanished down a side hall, leaving screams behind her. Barty moved straight into a cluster of Aurors. Rookwood stayed close to the lifts, picking off anyone trying to reach them. Lucian went for the records wing.

Voldemort walked through the centre of it slowly. A bolt of red light missed his shoulder by inches. He didn't flinch. The next mont, the caster was gone.

Soone tried to trap him in a containnt hex. The walls flared blue. Voldemort lifted his wand. The blue split. The roof cracked.

More screams.

The floor began to shake. Spells whipped past columns. A guard threw himself at Rookwood, got flung through a door without a spell being spoken. A young witch sprinted down the corridor with her wand drawn, yelling for backup. Bellatrix's spell took her mid-stride. She dropped like a puppet.

"We need containnt!" a voice shouted from the east stairwell. "Block off the Atrium, now!"

Three Aurors slid into cover behind the reception desk, firing controlled volleys. Rookwood ducked, brows furrowed, as if sothing wasn't right. He dropped, flung a return spell, dark, twisted. One of the Aurors slamd into the wall and didn't move again. His eyes darting around.

Two squads of Ministry Defence stood their ground at the threshold. Robes chard to resist spells, shields stacked thick, eyes fixed. One barked a command.

"Drop your wands!"

The Death Eaters laughed.

"Last warning!" The man raised his shield, wand braced behind. "You breach this hall, we won't ask again."

Lucian stepped forward. "You won't get another chance to."

Spells flared.

A chain of concussive blasts lit up the corridor, black-red sparks tearing across the walls. The line broke under impact. One man scread, another staggered back, blood pouring down his side.

Bellatrix leapt past them, wand blazing. "How's that for an invitation!"

One more blast hit the statue, blew the wand clean off the witch's hand. Marble scattered. Half the fountain cracked open.

Across the floor, Ministry seals began to burn.

Still, a few held. Aurors kept firing from hallways. Curse-breakers showed up near the stairwells, drawing runes mid-spell, flinging trap curses into walls.

Rookwood broke the final ward on the records wing with a twist of his wand and vanished inside. Two people tried to follow him in. They didn't co out.

Ministry staff scrambled in all directions now. So backed into empty lifts that didn't move. Others vanished down staff corridors. One witch had her wand up, pointed straight at him. Voldemort looked at her. Didn't even raise his wand.

She collapsed.

"Control the corridors!" Lucian broke off to the flank. "Push north to the Departnt of Mysteries! We hold the Hall last!"

Barty raised both hands. Fire burst from the chandeliers, raining down. He laughed over the noise.

Voldemort stepped through what was left of the golden gates. Behind him, the hallway was ash and smoke.

None of it slowed him.

His cloak stirred as he passed the shattered Ministry seal. Ahead, black doors waited. The Departnt of Mysteries sat behind the next corridor, buried under layers of wards, unsaid laws, and badly-kept secrets.

Now he'd co back to take what belonged to him.

He raised his wand. The runes peeled back. The entrance to the Departnt of Mysteries opened without a sound. He stepped through the threshold.

The room beyond was wide and dark, round, with spinning doors and shifting walls, designed to confuse intruders, trap them in loops. A weak trick.

One door creaked open. He took it.

The Hall of Prophecies stretched out before him. Endless rows of glass, stacked high and humming faintly. No torches here. The shelves lit themselves from within, casting pale glow over every orb.

Row Ninety-Seven.

He stopped.

There.

A thin, dust-covered sphere sat at the centre of the shelf. Faint gold light inside. Label wrapped around it.

SPT to APWBD

Dark Lord and ? (Harry Potter)

His mouth curled.

He reached out then stopped.

A figure stepped out from the far end of the row. Cloaked. Hood drawn up. No face visible.

Voldemort didn't move. Neither did the figure. The air turned colder. He looked at the cloak. Old, rough, with runes he didn't recognise. Not Egyptian. Not Celtic. Deep cuts, carved like sothing biting into it.

"Move," Voldemort said.

No answer. The figure tapped the stone.

Voldemort's wand rose. "You stand between and knowledge I am owed. Move aside."

Still no answer.

The figure struck the floor again. Magic surged through the rows. The prophecies hissed. Glass cracked. One orb exploded in the distance, splinters rattling down the shelves.

Voldemort raised his wand. The cloaked figure's hands rose. Pointed straight at him. Voldemort cast. Green light flared across the Hall of Prophecy, heading straight to the figure.

The figure stood within reach of death, no shield raised. Whatever trickery this was, it had reached its end. A smile split Voldemort's face.

But the figure moved. Striking down, splitting the Killing Curse in two. Voldemort stared in shock as the two streams of his spell fell behind the figure. The figure lowered one hand, raising the other.

Another pulse rolled through the air.

The lights in the entire Hall blinked out.

The Hall held.

Then a low hum, like a storm gathering the throat.

The rows of shelves behind Voldemort began to shake.

He turned slightly.

All the spheres behind him were glowing now.

Every one.

He looked back at the figure.

Then... Magic broke loose...

But that mont still lay months in the future.

***

A week after Dark Lord's return...

Voldemort sat at the centre of the hall, elbow hooked over the carved arm of the Selwyn Manor throne. Bellatrix hovered at his left, eyes glittering, half-drunk on proximity. Barty stood on his right, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve with his tal hand. Behind them, Lucian stood stiff as a board beside Rookwood.

The rest knelt across the floor. Rows of black robes and bent heads.

Voldemort wasn't looking at any of them. His eyes were fixed past the walls, past the manor, past anything that could be seen by anyone else in the room. Like he'd stepped out of his body mid-thought and hadn't quite rembered to return.

Bellatrix shifted in his direction. "My Lord?"

Voldemort didn't react.

"Is sothing-"

"Quiet."

The word cracked through the room sharper than a curse. Bellatrix shrank back, wide-eyed. No one else moved.

Still, he didn't speak. His fingers tapped against the chair, then stopped again.

Lucian glanced toward Rookwood.

The older man shook his head.

He will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

The line looped, again and again in his head.

The words bit deeper every ti they passed through.

Power the Dark Lord knows not.

The Rosier had spells he didn't recognise.

Voldemort had seen a couple. Those weren't taught at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore didn't know those spells. He was sure of it. Did he learn them from Flals?

Voldemort leaned back slowly. He tapped a long finger against the arm of the chair. Prophecy... After his fall, he started to mind them.

Power the Dark Lord knows not...

He gritted his teeth.

Cassian Rosier had walked into Hogwarts on family connections, run lectures. And they let him. Gave him a classroom. Students. A seat at the table.

He smiled in the face of Ministry oversight. Laughed at duel threats. Taught spells to teenagers, like it was the only thing he cared about.

Voldemort had mapped every bloodline. Dug through tombs for forgotten rites. Killed n for less than this.

Magic didn't surprise him anymore.

Or so he thought.

Cassian Rosier had spells that slipped past his grasp. Old, maybe. Or worse, new. And if they were new, soone was capable of creating magic he couldn't understand.

"Lucian," Voldemort said, voice quiet.

Lucian scrambled forward, knee hitting stone. "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort looked down at him. "Where does your brother learn those spells? Are they Rosier secrets?"

Lucian shook his head. "No, my Lord. No one in the family knows. I asked my father. My grandfather too. They both said I shouldn't ddle in Cassy's business."

Voldemort made a low sound in his throat. Then flicked his fingers.

Lucian rose, stepped back into place.

Before anyone could speak, the doors slamd open. Everyone turned. Wands shifted under cloaks.

Lucius Malfoy stumbled inside, robes torn, streaks of blood on one sleeve, hair half undone.

He dropped to his knees. "My Lord."

Voldemort's eyes sharpened. "What happened?"

Lucius kept his head down. "Nott called to assist. His boy was rebelling. I went to help... bring him in line."

Silence prickled across the hall.

"We were in his house. Trying to talk sense into the boy," Lucius continued. "Then a dragon hit us."

A few heads lifted.

"A dragon?" Goyle Sr said, disbelieving.

Lucius grit his teeth. "And that wasn't the worst of it."

Bellatrix tilted her head, smile twitching.

"The house," Lucius said, voice tight, "the garden. The flowers. All of it moved."

He breathed in sharp through his teeth.

"The trellis tore itself off the wall and wrapped around Nott's legs. The flowerbeds ca up in chunks. Roots, thick ones, burst from under the paving and split it open. One of them snapped the wand clean out of my hand."

He paused. His hands shook.

"I grabbed the boy. I got to him. Thought we were clear, then the flowerbed underneath him cracked. It opened. Roots pulled him straight in."

He looked up then. Pale. Bloody at the temple.

"It didn't kill him. It took him. It took the boy away. But Nott... he couldn't make it."

Rookwood's jaw worked soundlessly.

"It's Cassy," Barty said, snorting, as if the thought still offended him. "Has to be. He and his whore had a dragon. I saw it myself."

Bellatrix tilted her head. "Didn't he lose his magic?"

Barty blinked, then shrugged. "Yes. Maybe it was the whore."

Voldemort's fingers curled loose, as if holding sothing invisible.

He turned his head slowly. Looked past Lucius, past the floor of kneeling Death Eaters, past the heavy doors.

Power the Dark Lord knows not.

"Get ready to raid the Ministry in a year."

***

Cassian sat slouched in the armchair across from Regulus and Magnus, hands resting on his knees.

Regulus stared. "You lost your magic?"

"That's the fifth ti you've asked."

"Well, say it slower."

Cassian scratched at his jaw. "Yeah. The Cup took it."

Regulus's frown deepened so hard it looked permanent. Across from him, Magnus let out a short sigh and reached for his pipe.

Cassian leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "I stepped in. The Cup flared up. Big show, dramatic glow, and then, poof. Nothing."

Magnus squinted at him. "You an nothing as in-"

"Gone. Nil. Zilch. I tried to light a bloody Lumos and it laughed at ."

Regulus gave a short, breathless laugh. "Back to where you started."

Cassian squinted at him. "You can say that."

Magnus tapped ash into the tray. "Go back and rest."

Cassian pushed to his feet. Just up and out, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other curling tighter the longer he walked.

His room was quiet. Towel had left food on the table, half-covered with a tea towel and still warm. Bit of rice, curry, so flatbread. There was also a folded newspaper and a stack of letters soone had dumped into a basket.

Cassian sat. Towel hadn't left tea. Rude.

He pulled the paper closer.

AZKABAN BREACHED. AGAIN.

He scanned the rest. Third breach in five years.

Bellatrix Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov, Walden Macnair, and six others remain unaccounted for.

Cassian let the paper drop.

His jaw clicked as he clenched it. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced tight.

Did he regret it?

No. He didn't.

Stopping the Tournant looked stupid now, sure. But at the ti, waiting wasn't an option he could afford. He'd run that mont over so many tis, it was starting to look like a looped film reel.

If he hadn't stopped it, Cedric would've reached the Cup first. And what then? What would Barty do to him?

Bathsheda had answered that. No Cassian in Hogwarts ant Cedric died. Simple.

And Potter?

Could he escape again?

He'd done it, according to her. Dragged himself out of Voldemort's grip like so cursed escape artist, even brought Cedric's dead body with himself.

But things had changed. Cassian had changed them.

Barty was there this ti. So were the Death Eaters. The Longbottoms...

Would Harry have summoned the Cup and escaped again?

Cassian rubbed a hand down his face.

He couldn't bet on that. He wouldn't.

But it cost him his magic.

He sighed and dragged the pile closer.

The first few letters were harmless, mostly fussing. McGonagall asking after his health. Neville's gran offering soup and unsolicited potions advice. Bathilda's handwriting popped up on two envelopes, both neatly written, one with notes about her new book, the other a snide "don't die before sending feedback."

He flicked through the rest. Three from forr students. Tonks mocking him being weaker than her now.

The last envelope stopped him. Plain parchnt. No seal. No sender.

He slit it open with the knife Towel set for the at.

Splotchy ink. So red marks. Hand must've been shaking. A sar crossed the P in 'please'.

Ink. Or blood. Or both.

Cassian stared at it.

Sir... please help .

-Theo

Cassian didn't move for a second.

Then he crushed the letter in one hand.

***

Bathsheda stared down at her left ring finger. The rune there pulsed. Then again. Calming her restless heart.

The room was packed. Ji stood near the hearth, arms folded, shoulders square. The Flals flanked the desk. Dumbledore, as usual, lurked by the window.

"Cassian's information saved us a chunk of ti," Ji said, eyes squinted. "Mingyu admitting the Feng Shui Marauder lives and that they're working together gives the Flals what they need."

Nicolas gave a nod.

"Tomorrow," Ji said, "we make it official. I'll host you at the tower. Then I expose the network."

He looked to Albus, then Bathsheda.

"I want containnt. Everyone in the school held in place. Albus and Bathsheda. No one leaves. No owls. No Floo. No Portkeys. Nothing."

Bathsheda gave a sharp nod. "What about staff?"

"Contain them too. If anyone pushes, throw them into stasis."

Ji turned toward the map again. "I'll trigger the dragons. Wards go up as soon as the eting starts."

Bathsheda took a breath. The rune thrumd again. Slower this ti. She could feel her heart syncing to it.

Dragons, containnt, a public takedown.

Cassian would've loved it.

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