I underestimated them.
That realization alone was… amusing.
Dementors were never mindless.
That was the lie the wizarding world told itself—because the alternative was far more unsettling.
That something like them could think.
Could communicate.
Could understand.
I stood unmoving in the fractured expanse beneath Azkaban, yet my mind was anything but still.
It had been… divided.
Perfectly.
"Split Mind," I murmured softly, more out of habit than necessity.
A spell of my own design.
Elegant. Efficient. Necessary.
Three streams of thought operated in flawless parallel.
The first controlled my body—posture, breathing, magical output, environmental awareness.
The second… observed.
It dissected the Dementors.
Their movements. Their patterns. Their fluctuations in presence.
And most importantly—
Their language.
It wasn't spoken.
Not in any conventional sense.
No sound. No vibration. No magical resonance detectable through ordinary means.
It was… impression-based.
Concepts imposed directly onto the soul.
Primitive.
And yet—
Profound.
"It only took a day and a half," I said quietly, almost disappointed.
Basic comprehension, at least.
Structure. Repetition. Intent markers.
Enough to begin.
A Dementor drifted closer.
Its form stretched slightly—like ink dispersing in water.
Then—
A pulse.
Hunger. Memory. Permission. Inquiry.
I smiled faintly.
"Curious, aren't you?" I replied—not with words, but with intent.
I pushed the concept outward.
Refined. Controlled.
The response was immediate.
A ripple across all of them.
Recognition. Distortion. Difference.
"Yes," I confirmed. "I am."
The third stream of my mind worked elsewhere entirely.
Ekrizdis's notes.
They were… exactly what I expected.
And yet far worse.
"Crude in method," I observed internally, flipping through a floating parchment with a flick of thought. "But revolutionary in principle."
He lacked refinement.
Control.
Vision.
But he had stumbled onto truths.
Soul extraction not as destruction—
But as conversion.
One note caught my attention.
I paused all other processes for half a second.
More than enough.
"Dementors do not merely consume. They refine. They repurpose. The soul is not lost—it is reduced to function."
My eyes sharpened.
"…Function?"
I reached outward again—this time more deliberately.
Not just observing.
Interacting.
"You use them," I projected toward the nearest Dementor.
"Don't you?"
A pause.
Then—
Agreement. Fragment. Purpose.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"Show me."
This time, the response was slower.
Heavier.
A fragment drifted toward me.
Not one of the dimensional shards.
Something else.
Denser.
Darker.
A soul remnant.
I examined it carefully.
Not touching.
Not yet.
It lacked identity.
Memory.
Emotion.
But it retained structure.
"…You strip away everything unnecessary," I whispered.
"What remains is… raw utility."
A tool.
A building block.
I laughed softly.
"Even I hadn't considered this approach."
Behind me, another part of my mind continued scanning the chamber.
Artifacts.
Dozens of them.
Some broken.
Some… very much intact.
One, in particular, drew my attention.
A black crystalline construct—pulsing faintly, almost like a heartbeat.
I stepped closer.
"Containment?" I muttered.
"No…"
Recognition clicked.
"Conversion engine."
It wasn't storing souls.
It was processing them.
Primitive compared to what I could create.
But the concept—
Revolutionary.
"This changes everything," I said quietly.
Not immortality.
Not domination.
Infrastructure.
An entire magical system built on processed soul fragments.
Weapons.
Enhancements.
Energy sources.
Even—
My thoughts paused.
"…Spell casting mediums."
I turned back to the Dementors.
"You've been farming power," I said, impressed despite myself.
They responded instantly.
Correction. Not power. Purpose.
I stilled.
"…Purpose," I repeated slowly.
That word again.
Not hunger.
Not instinct.
Design.
Something—or someone—had taught them this.
And suddenly—
The presence I felt earlier returned.
Stronger this time.
Closer.
Watching.
My smile faded into something sharper.
More focused.
"So you're still here," I said calmly.
The fragments around me trembled.
The Dementors withdrew—just slightly.
Not in fear.
In deference.
That told me everything I needed to know.
"…You're not just observing," I continued.
"You're guiding."
Silence.
Then—
"You divide your mind… yet seek to unify existence."
The voice again.
Vast.
Ancient.
I didn't flinch.
"Efficiency," I replied simply.
A pause.
Then—
"And what will you become… when there is nothing left to divide?"
For a moment—
Just a moment—
All three parts of my mind aligned.
Perfectly.
And I smiled.
"Something you cannot predict."
Behind that answer, however—
A calculation formed.
If Dementors could refine souls…
If Ekrizdis had accessed pre-existence states…
If this entity existed beyond both…
Then the next step was obvious.
Not control.
Not mastery.
Integration.
And somewhere far away—
I felt it.
A shift.
A burning.
A storm.
Dumbledore.
He had begun his attack.
And this time—
He wasn't holding back.