Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

His tone suddenly carried a deep sense of regret, "It is precisely because of this strength that the corrupt remnants of the old era were not completely destroyed! You should already know what I'm talking about!"

"That's right! What hasn't been destroyed is this 'International Wizarding Confederation Secrecy Law,' which has bound us for hundreds of years!" Voldemort's voice suddenly rose, carrying a strong sense of accusation. "And the International Wizarding Confederation, led by Albus Dumbledore! They are all old-fashioned and stubborn elements, their minds filled with outdated ideas!"

"They are using all sorts of means to hinder us, to hinder the progress and development of our magical world!" His voice was filled with resentment and indignation. "We deserve a brighter, more glorious tomorrow! We possess powerful magic, and we shouldn't be hiding like rats, eking out a living in the shadow of Muggles!"

“It’s a real shame.” Dumbledore shook his head slightly, his tone still indifferent, as if the “pedantic person” Voldemort spoke of had nothing to do with him. “He’s always like this, forcibly projecting what he cares about onto others, and using it as an excuse to vent his dissatisfaction.”

Dumbledore suddenly sensed a faint yet distinct magical fluctuation emanating from his side. With a thought, he slowly raised his wand and gently flicked it, precisely drawing a wisp of silver, thread-like memory energy onto the tip of the wand.

“Let me see…” Dumbledore naturally knew that this was a memory thread transmitted by Dylan. He gently brought his wand close to his temple, and with a touch of his fingertip, the silver thread merged into his mind. The memory of the location of Voldemort’s hiding place that Dylan had pinpointed was also clearly presented before his eyes.

“So it was here.” Dumbledore nodded with an expression of expectation, and said calmly, “This place is indeed very much in line with his style; it’s the kind of hiding place he would choose.”

"That International Wizarding Federation is outdated and completely unsuitable to lead us into a new future!" Voldemort's voice was resolute and certain, as if he were declaring an established fact.

Upon hearing this, Dylan smiled inwardly. It seemed the time had come. Voldemort had laid the groundwork for so long, and now he was finally about to reveal his true purpose and issue a clear call to all the wizards he had incited.

The wizards watching his speech, whether loyal followers or disgruntled ordinary wizards, were all deeply moved. Their questions and resentments were stirred up. It was like a reservoir that had been slowly filled with water and was now saturated. All it took was a vent for all the pent-up emotions to burst forth. What Voldemort was about to say was that vent that was about to be opened, giving these people a clear direction to take and binding them completely to his cause.

Now that such signs have been detected, we cannot allow the situation to continue. We must stop him immediately and interrupt this highly inflammatory speech before he actually calls on everyone to take action.

"I'll go find this student now." Dumbledore took the parchment, and without even having time to unfold it, he lightly tapped his wand, and a dazzling golden flame ignited beside him. Fawkes the phoenix let out a clear cry and leaped into the flames, and Dumbledore's figure disappeared into the dancing flames.

The firelight vanished in an instant, leaving only a lingering magical aura in the air. Cornelius Fudge, who could no longer contain his anxiety, stepped forward and asked urgently, "Mr. Dylan, where exactly is the mysterious man?"

"It's quite far away. I've never been there before. I can only tell from the energy fluctuations that it's an open plaza area."

The square Dylan mentioned was Heroes' Square, the famous square in Budapest, the capital of Hungary. Dumbledore was familiar with the place; he had stayed there briefly before. Dumbledore sighed softly, turned to look at Fawkes, the phoenix perched on his shoulder, and said with a hint of apology, "Fawkes, you'll have to work hard again."

Phoenix Fawkes affectionately nuzzled Dumbledore's finger, nodded gently, then spread its magnificent red wings and slowly flew into the sky. Taking advantage of the moment it took off, Dumbledore reached out and firmly grasped Phoenix Fawkes's claws, using its strength to also take off.

After leaving the ground, Dumbledore's gaze fell on the monument in the center of the square. He raised his wand and waved it gently at the monument. Suddenly, the angel statue at the top of the monument trembled slightly, as if it had been infused with life. Its stiff wings slowly unfolded and then it took off, following Dumbledore and Fawkes the Phoenix, flying into the sky together.

Meanwhile, Voldemort, in the night sky, took a deep breath, his tone growing increasingly impassioned and resonant, continuing his speech: "No matter what we want to do, we are always restricted by the rules and regulations of the International Wizarding Federation, bound by layers of secrecy laws. We have to spend a lot of time and energy searching for remote and hidden corners, wasting huge amounts of Galleons, just to temporarily build a rudimentary venue. But we know perfectly well that there are countless well-equipped and large-scale venues in the Muggle world, yet because of those damn secrecy laws, we don't even have the right to borrow them!"

His voice was filled with resentment and indignation, as if he were speaking for all wizards: "We deserve a better life! This world should not be a prison that confines us, but a stage for us to showcase our talents and realize our value! We should stand up and change this world, creating a new era that truly belongs to wizards!"

"This new era doesn't just belong to me alone, it belongs to each and every one of you!" Voldemort's tone suddenly became earnest, carrying an unprecedented appeal. "I need your help, I need everyone to work together, united as one, to build that bright, glorious new era that belongs to us wizards!"

"This... Voldemort, how could he say such a thing???" Barty Crouch's eyes widened, his face filled with disbelief. In his memory, the figure in the hazy green light had become completely unfamiliar.

Barty Crouch had dealt with Voldemort for many years and knew his character well. Voldemort was an extremely arrogant, autocratic dictator who always gave orders and treated everyone as his subordinates. He would never bow down and beg for help, let alone say things like "we need your help" or "we need everyone to unite." This Voldemort made him feel a strange sense of unease and trepidation.

What changed him?
Looking at Voldemort, who appeared to be earnest and accepting of everyone, in the hazy green light of the night sky, Barty Crouch's gaze grew increasingly solemn. A flood of long-forgotten memories surged into his mind. As the former Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he had personally experienced that dark era and had personally organized and led the Ministry of Magic's staff in countless fierce battles against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

It was a long, arduous, and unforgettable time. It was in these life-and-death battles that Barty Crouch truly saw Voldemort's true nature: a thoroughly insane dictator. In his memory, whether it was the wizards who stood up and confronted Voldemort, or the Death Eaters who knelt and followed him, the core emotion they all felt towards Voldemort was a deep-seated fear.

Voldemort never showed mercy to wizards who dared to defy him. Once they encountered him, there was almost always only one fate awaiting these wizards: to be killed by him without hesitation with the Killing Curse.

This was just the beginning. To achieve the ultimate deterrent effect, Voldemort would also assign loyal Death Eaters to track down the wizard to his home, slaughter his family and friends, and finally project the hideous Black Mark over the devastated ruins, both to declare victory and as a bloody warning to all who resist.

This is precisely the fundamental reason why Voldemort possessed such terrifying power, and was even called "the mysterious man" or "the one whose name must not be mentioned" by wizards.

Barty Crouch clearly remembered that Gellert Grindelwald, though ambitious, knew how to reason with people and appeal to their emotions, trying to win over those who shared his ideals. But Voldemort at that time had no such concept. In his world, it was either absolute obedience or complete destruction. He would leave almost no survivors for anyone who opposed his position or unfortunately encountered him.

The fate of Harry Potter and his family is the best proof of this. However, by a stroke of luck, young Harry miraculously survived and became known in the wizarding world as the "Boy Who Lived." Even towards the Death Eaters who followed him, Voldemort was equally ruthless and merciless.

Anyone who fails to meet his requirements or makes the slightest mistake will suffer the extreme torment of the Crucifixion Curse. It was precisely because of this deep-seated fear that so many Death Eaters chose to betray him without hesitation when news of Voldemort's downfall arrived.

They rushed to the Ministry of Magic to confess, insisting that all their previous misdeeds were forced upon them under Voldemort's Imperius Curse and were not their own intentions. However, the Imperius Curse is different from other magic; it has no corresponding counter-curse and can only be resisted by one's own will. It is impossible to directly prove whether one has been controlled through magical means.

But now, Voldemort before them seemed like a completely different person. In the hazy green light, he slowly opened his arms, his posture exceptionally inclusive, as if he were ready to accept everyone. His tone carried an unprecedented generosity and magnanimity: "Come! Boldly come and find me! Whether you have insulted me, turned your weapons against me, attacked me, or even betrayed me and abandoned me, I can forgive and forget all past grievances!"

"As long as you are willing to return to my side and contribute to building a new world, then there will surely be a place for you in this coming new world." His voice became even gentler, carrying a persuasive power. "Even if you have some concerns or hesitations—perhaps you find the sunlight too scorching and are unwilling to reveal your whereabouts in the light—what about the moonlight? The cool moonlight is enough to be a veil for you to cover your faces, allowing you to walk towards me without any burden..."

After Voldemort finished speaking, he lowered his head slightly.

Damn it, if it weren't for that piece of crap named Karthus who suddenly appeared out of nowhere recently, snatched a lot of his former subordinates, and absorbed a group of people to work for him, why would he bother saying all this nonsense!
Voldemort's words, which were more magnanimous than anyone could imagine, were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, causing a huge uproar in Azkaban's prison. The Death Eaters, who were already extremely loyal to Voldemort, could no longer contain their excitement and fervor, and they all wept bitterly.

Bellatrix Lestrange knelt down, gripping the cold prison bars tightly with both hands. Tears streamed down her face like broken pearls, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Her voice was hoarse but full of strength: "Master! You are so great! You are willing to forgive those traitors who betrayed you and committed unforgivable sins!"

"I want to go back to my master! I want to become a member of the new world and serve you faithfully!" She suddenly raised her head, her swollen eyes scanning the prison corridor, urgently searching for the guards, her tone filled with intense determination, "I must find a way to leave here and return to my master's command!"

The guards of Azkaban, sensing the almost crazed look in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes, instinctively shrank back into the corner, wishing they could hide in the shadows and avoid meeting her fierce gaze.

At the same time, a strong sense of vigilance arose in their hearts—the Death Eaters were so agitated that the risk of a prison break had increased dramatically. They began to secretly consider whether they should immediately write to the Ministry of Magic to request additional manpower and strengthen the defenses to avoid the chaos of a large-scale prison break.

But the moment that thought arose, a vague yet extremely tempting voice suddenly rang in the minds of the guards. The voice was gently bewitching them: what would happen if they released the Death Eaters instead of asking the Ministry of Magic for help?
The guards of Azkaban were already living a miserable life. Every day they not only had to face these vicious criminals, but also constantly guard against the Dementors roaming the cells. Even though the Dementors hadn't attacked them yet, the daily oppression and fear had already exhausted them both physically and mentally. (End of Chapter)