Cloak And Dagger

February 10, 1993, 6:45 PM, Phoenix’ Roost, England

Gellert Grindelwald

The warm, almost reddish light filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting long shadows across the room. It was late evening. The world was beginning to be veiled in a cloak of darkness, a stark contrast to the steadily weakening glow of the sky.

Despite the tranquility of his surroundings, Grindelwald found himself restless as he sat at his desk, his mind consumed by a sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

He had spent the better part of the evening going over reports, scrutinizing every detail with meticulous precision, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of discontent that lingered within him.

Frustration simmered beneath the surface as he poured over the parchment strewn across his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was annoyed at himself for feeling this way— restlessness was a weakness he could ill afford, especially now, when every move he made was crucial to the success of his cause.

Still, he was human and could not very well ignore his base instincts forever.

The sound of the quill scratching against parchment filled the air, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the tumultuous thoughts swirling in Grindelwald’s mind.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand wearily across his forehead.

Try as he might to push aside his restlessness, however, it clung to him like a shadow, refusing to be banished into the depths of the night.

On the other side of the desk sat Matthias, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously sorted through his own stack of parchment. With each file he examined, he added it to the ever-growing stack before him, his movements methodical and precise.

Grindelwald watched him from across the desk, his patience wearing thin as Matthias worked diligently, seemingly oblivious to the older man’s growing irritation. It grated on Grindelwald’s nerves to see him so absorbed in his task, as if he had all the time in the world to spare.

With a resigned sigh, Grindelwald reminded himself of the importance of maintaining his composure, especially in the presence of his most trusted advisor. It wouldn’t do to lose his cool, not when Matthias was simply doing the job he was supposed to.

He knew why he felt this way; Gellert longed to be free of the burdens that weighed heavily upon his shoulders and to cast aside the mantle of responsibility that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

What I would do if I weren’t burdened by the weight of purpose…

As Matthias continued to work, Grindelwald closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to find the strength to endure.

And as he opened his eyes once more, his gaze meeting Matthias’ across the expanse of the desk, Grindelwald knew that he could not falter in his resolve. The path he had embarked on was fraught with challenges and obstacles, but it was a path he had chosen; he would follow it to the very end.

Matthias broke the heavy silence with a light smile, his gaze meeting Grindelwald’s with a hint of concern.

“You don’t look so well.” He said out of the blue. “Maybe we should take a break, or delegate this task while I inform you of the most important details.”

Grindelwald shook his head. Perhaps Matthias wasn’t as oblivious as he had initially supposed, or maybe Gellert truly was that tired of the minutiae? He couldn’t tell.

Still, he appreciated the offer.

“Thank you, my friend.” He replied, his voice betraying a trace of gratitude. “But we must press on. There is much to be done, and little time to spare; these particular reports are not something I can leave unchecked, even for an extra few seconds, however monotonous.”

There was no room for complacency. He had allowed himself his day of rest on Christmas, but now he had to be quick on his feet.

Or quick with my eyes and quill, in this case.

As the minutes passed, Grindelwald glanced up from his work, surprised to find that his stack of parchment had noticeably diminished. His gaze shifted to Matthias, who sat opposite him, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I see you’ve been busy.” Grindelwald remarked, a note of confusion and mild relief in his voice.

Matthias returned his gaze with a smile of satisfaction.

“Indeed.” He replied. “Since I finished compiling everything, I took the liberty of simplifying it without sacrificing any of the crucial details. I thought it might make our work more efficient.”

‘Our work’, he says. Gellert thought. He did all the work and then simplified it to make my own task easier.

“Thank you, Matthias.” He said sincerely. “Your initiative is greatly appreciated.”

Yes. Together, they were stronger than they could ever be alone. As they resumed their work, the air between them seemed lighter, infused with a renewed sense of progress.

This was exactly what Gellert had needed.

Just a little bit more and I can retire for the evening.

“Ah, yes.” Matthias said. “You told me to remind you that there is a—”

Grindelwald raised a hand, halting his second-in-command mid-sentence.

“Yes, of course.” Gellert interjected with a nod as he checked the clock to the side of his desk. “The meeting with our operatives in the States, due in… in an hour. Yes.”

Just as the words left his lips, a sharp knock echoed through the chamber, interrupting their conversation. Grindelwald exchanged a glance with Matthias, a flicker of surprise sparking in his eyes.

“Or perhaps not…?” Matthias wondered.

“Have they made good time on their return, do you think?” Grindelwald said, his voice tinged with anticipation. Maybe they could end the day’s work earlier than usual.

Without waiting for a response, he waved his wand and signaled for the guards stationed outside to open the door, eager to see who stood on the threshold.

The door opened.

Grindelwald’s surprise was palpable as, instead of the group of wizards he expected, only one man entered the chamber. It was Rafiq, his arrival unexpected as he wasn’t due to arrive for another week.

A complication? Grindelwald thought, but he pushed the attached dismay away before it took root in his mind.

Despite the unexpected nature of Rafiq’s appearance, Grindelwald wasted no time in extending a welcoming hand.

“Mr. Rafiq.” Gellert greeted, gesturing towards the chair by Matthias. “You have returned; please, sit.”

Rafiq did not reply, instead following the suggestion and sinking into the chair offered by Matthias, exhaustion etched into the lines of his weary face. He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself.

Grindelwald and Matthias exchanged a brief, knowing glance. It was clear that Rafiq’s journey had taken its toll, and he had stopped at nothing to get here. The two allowed him a moment of respite, knowing that whatever news he brought with him could wait until he was ready to share it.

After a minute, Rafiq opened his eyes and drew a deep breath.

“I apologize.” Rafiq said. “The trip back has been… Harrowing, to say the least. I was being followed, for a time.”

“Considering the nature and location of your mission…” Matthias said, brow furrowed. “It’s not surprising. The price on your head is the highest in your homeland. Still, we expected you’d be gone for a while still.”

“Yes.” Grindelwald said. “It is good to see you safe and sound.”

“Thank you.”

“I assume you have news for us?” Grindelwald said, his tone measured yet expectant.

Rafiq met Grindelwald’s gaze with a nod of assurance.

“It was a success.” He replied, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his voice. “I’ve obtained the location of the Eye of Ra.”

Grindelwald let out a breath of surprise. When Rafiq had first come to him with this proposition, he hadn’t believed he could do it. Venture back into the land of your birth on your own and steal state secrets?

Frankly, Grindelwald had thought the entire plan was mad, but Rafiq assured him it would work. It had been a very weighty decision, as he would have been losing one of his best recruit trainers, as well as a valuable resource, had this failed.

He was glad that it was a success.

Grindelwald felt a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins. The Eye of Ra— a powerful artifact rumored to possess the ability to reveal the true nature of anything it beheld— had long been a coveted prize in his quest to reach the Abyss.

With it, their plans would be one step closer to fruition.

“So, don’t keep us in suspense, man!” Matthias said, equally as excited. “Where is it?”

Rafiq smiled and produced a small map from his robes, along with a slip of parchment. Placing them on the desk before Grindelwald, he waited silently for the older wizard to examine them, glancing towards Matthias with a nod.

Curiosity piqued, Grindelwald picked up the slip of parchment and swiftly scanned its contents: a set of coordinates.

His gaze then shifted to the map, his eyes tracing the intricate lines and symbols until he found the corresponding location. A flicker of recognition crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by a mask of calculation as he processed the implications of their discovery.

If this was right…

Turning to Rafiq, Grindelwald’s expression was grave, his mind already racing to adjust his plans in light of this new information.

“Is this the correct location?” He asked, his voice measured and controlled.

With a somber nod, Rafiq affirmed Grindelwald’s suspicions. “Oh, yes. I did the calculation several times, but it would be prudent to have confirmation, just in case I have misjudged.”

“Of course.” Matthias said, as a matter of fact, but he didn’t look like he needed much convincing. “Though, considering that this location is a place we have been keeping an eye on… Chances are that your calculations are indeed accurate.”

As the weight of this revelation settled over them, Grindelwald’s mind buzzed with possibilities. This required him to reassess his strategies, to adapt and evolve in order to capitalize on this newfound opportunity.

“I presume the location was not specifically written down to avoid any direct mention of it.” Rafiq added. “Thus helping deny proof of involvement.”

“Not an inaccurate presumption.” Grindelwald allowed, though he still had his misgiving. “And you trust this source?”

“I trust him.” Rafiq said with no hesitation.

Grindelwald regarded the man for a long moment, weighing his options with care. His gaze flitted towards Matthias, the individual he trusted above all others. With a sense of mild urgency in his voice, he addressed them both.

“There are already two artifacts at that location.” Gellert began, his tone serious and measured. “That is why I’ve had the area under surveillance. We will need to adjust our plans accordingly, as we now have a third.”

Grindelwald knew that obtaining one artifact without securing the other would complicate their future endeavors. Increased security measures would undoubtedly be implemented if they left the other artifacts behind, making their next excursion significantly more difficult.

“We cannot afford to leave anything to chance.” Grindelwald continued, his gaze steady as he met the eyes of his companions. “Our success hinges on our ability to seize all three artifacts.”

“And these two other artifacts…” Rafiq said. “What are they?”

At Rafiq’s inquiry, Grindelwald paused, considering his response for a moment as he shared a look with Matthias, the only person he’d told.

“You will be the one heading one of the squads in this mission, Mr. Rafiq, and so you will need to know, at any rate. The other artifacts.” He began, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. “Are the First Time-Turner… and the Veil of Death.”

oooo

Same time, Knockturn Alley

Unknown

As evening surrendered to the night, Knockturn Alley came alive with a sinister energy that permeated the shadows. The air was thick with the scent of decay and desperation, and the worst of the worst began to emerge from the darkness.

Among them, a man moved through the streets with purpose, his every step radiating with an aura of aggression to ward off any would-be attackers.

His eyes held a dangerous glint as he cast a predatory gaze upon any unsuspecting passersby who dared to wander into his immediate surroundings.

Dressed in shabby robes, he blended seamlessly with the other ne’er-do-wells, his appearance deliberately crafted to deter unwanted attention, keeping most at arm’s length while his demeanor dissuaded any would-be troublemakers from testing their luck.

It was a delicate balance, but the man navigated it with practiced ease. In the treacherous underbelly of the Wizarding World, survival depended on one’s ability to fight and deceive, and he was adept at both.

With cautious steps, he weaved his way through the labyrinthine streets of Knockturn Alley until he reached the designated spot indicated by his employer. The alley was cloaked in an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of stealthy figures lurking in the far shadows, staring him down as if they were measuring the worth of what he carried.

As he arrived at the designated location, his eyes scanned the dimly lit surroundings, searching for any sign of the package he was tasked with retrieving. However, the spot appeared empty.

Had his employer been given the wrong information?

Frowning slightly, the man’s senses sharpened as he remained vigilant, acutely aware of the potential dangers around him. He knew that time was of the essence, and the longer he lingered in the open, the greater the risk of attracting unwanted attention, whether it was from would-be thieves, or perhaps even the occasional magical officer.

With a silent curse under his breath, the man weighed his options, considering his next course of action. Retrieving the package was imperative, and he didn’t want to deal with the irritation of his boss if he returned with nothing.

No. He would not go back empty handed. He would have to— wait.

He saw something peeking out from a pile of seemingly worthless clutter. A surge of relief washed over the man as he made his way toward the pile. Scrutinizing it, he quickly discerned that there was a wooden box partially concealed beneath the debris and made to look like it was trash like everything around it.

Smart.

Without hesitation, he reached for the box, his fingers brushing against its rough surface. As he inspected it more closely, he noticed the telltale signs of a Sealing Charm. Yes, this was indeed the package he had been sent to retrieve.

With a sense of satisfaction, the man carefully examined the box, ensuring that it remained intact and undisturbed. Satisfied that it had not been tampered with, he shrunk it and tucked it securely in his robe’s pocket, concealing it from prying eyes.

With the package now in his possession, the man exited the alleyway, his focus solely on delivering the package to his employer without incident.

He stopped for a moment, casting a glance at his immediate surroundings. He thought he had heard something, but a few moments’ worth of scanning showed that there was no one there. He gave the area one final look before he resumed his journey, making his way through the maze-like streets.

After a while, he reached a secluded spot, well enough away from any seedy establishments or businesses worth even thinking about. Without hesitation, he Apparated away, vanishing from Knockturn Alley.

Moments later, he reappeared outside the gates of a large residence nestled in the countryside. The air was crisp and cool, the land open and freeing; it was a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of where he’d just come from.

With a sense of mild relief, the man stepped forward, producing the box from his pocket and reversing his Shrinking Charm.

With the weight of the wooden box pressing against his side, he approached the gates in anticipation. He pushed them open and went up the winding path leading to the building in the distance.

Before long, the man reached the front door. It swung open before him, revealing a decrepit-looking house-elf standing in the threshold.

Without a word of greeting, the man strode past the house-elf and entered the manor, feeling a rush of warmth wash over him as he stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, but the comforting glow of flickering candles and crackling hearth fires welcomed him in.

Despite the sense of familiarity he felt, the man refused to shed his outer robes. This was not a social call, and he was ever the professional.

“This way, sir.” A second house-elf appeared and spoke to him. It gestured for him to follow, and so he did.

It led him through the entrance hall of the manor. They passed through several hallways, each one lined with antique furnishings and intricate paintings, until they finally reached a large, ornate door.

“Come.” A voice came from inside, and so the man entered it.

He stepped into a well-lit, luxurious office that exuded an air of opulence and authority. The room was bathed in warm light, coming in from a large fireplace filled with logs which looked to have been burning for hours.

The furnishings were rich and elegant, with plush velvet armchairs arranged around a mahogany desk that commanded the center of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes and ancient scrolls.

At the far end of the office stood a tall figure, his gray hair catching the light as he gazed out at the meticulously manicured gardens below. He was dressed in impeccable, well-tailored robes that spoke of wealth and refinement, his posture exuding an aura of authority.

As the man approached, the figure turned to face him, revealing a face lined with age and wisdom, yet sharp and shrewd beneath piercing black eyes. There was a calculating glint in those eyes as they met the man’s gaze, and a small smile played at the corners of his lips.

“Ah, Mr. Doncrest. You’ve returned.” The gray-haired man said, his voice smooth and commanding. “And I trust you’ve brought what I requested?”

“Yes, Mr. Blackthorn.” The man— Doncrest— said as he placed the wooden box atop the desk before him. Stepping back, he waited patiently, his demeanor composed and attentive.

“It was where you said it would be, cleverly hidden.” Doncrest continued.

Blackthorn regarded the man with a nod of acknowledgment, assessing him with a hint of scrutiny.

“And were you followed?” He asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Doncrest met Blackthorn’s gaze squarely, his own expression betraying no hint of concern.

“No, sir.” He replied confidently. “I took all necessary precautions, as requested.”

Satisfied with the man’s response, Blackthorn inclined his head in approval. “Good, good. I expect nothing less from you, but it does not hurt to make sure.”

“Certainly.” Doncrest said, giving the man a nod. “Is there anything else you require?”

“No.” Blackthorn replied with a tight smile, gesturing for the man to leave. “Slinky will have your payment ready as you take your leave. That will be all.”

“Sir.” Doncrest nodded and left the room, leaving Blackthorn alone with his prize.

Blackthorn’s gaze lingered on the wooden box resting atop his desk. He approached it, his movements deliberate as he reached out to inspect the contents within.

Despite the urge to immediately open it, he resisted the temptation, choosing instead to savor the moment. He traced the edges of the box, his fingers lingering on its weathered surface. Inside lay something that he had stolen from what he considered to be an enemy of the family— it was not something he had wished to do, but honor had demanded blood, and this would do well.

He lifted the Sealing Charm and raised the lid of the box, expecting to find the head of the Thestral he had targeted, one belonging to a young man who had dared to injure his son. However, what greeted his eyes was something altogether unexpected; it was the head of a man, its features contorted in a grotesque rendition of a grin.

He took a step back in shock. A moment later, his wand was in his hand, ready for anything. Blackthorn stepped away from the windows, keeping his eyes squarely on the entrance to his office. Was this the prelude to an attack?

Had Doncrest betrayed him? No; that was ridiculous. He would be a fool to do so. Blackthorn knew the man’s family well, and Doncrest’s loyalty, while not above reproach, was certainly ironclad.

Calming himself down, Blackthorn took a step forward again, studying the contents of his package. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the face staring back at him, the features marred and distorted by the severe damage wrought to it. Then, realization dawned with chilling clarity. It was the face of one of the men he had hired— he had been supposed to deliver the Thestral’s head to the agreed upon location.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight before him. The head was shaved, its skin and flesh peeled off at parts and showing the skull beneath.

A surge of anger and revulsion welled up within him. This was not just a message from their enemies; it was a personal affront, a brazen challenge to his power.

As Blackthorn prepared to summon Doncrest back to him, he noticed something peculiar happening before his eyes. The top of the head began to glow with an eerie purple light, casting twisted shadows across the room.

Intrigued, yet wary, he watched as lines began to sear themselves onto the surface of its necrotic skin, as if etched by an invisible, hot knife.

The air filled with an acrid stench as the lines formed intricate patterns, weaving together to create a message of sorts. Blackthorn stepped back instinctively, covering his face so he wouldn’t have to breathe any of the fumes in.

He moved to the side of the room, fetching a bezoar from his emergency Potions stores, just in case. With a wave of his wand, he cleared the air, dispelling the fumes that lingered in its wake.

Then, with cautious curiosity, he approached the dead man’s head once more, his eyes fixed on the lines etched into its surface:

“TRY THAT AGAIN AND IT IS YOUR FAMILY WHO SHALL SUFFER NEXT.”

As he studied the message, Blackthorn’s expression hardened with realization. It was a clear threat from the Clarke boy; he’d underestimated him.

A sense of weariness washed over him. The reason he had targeted the boy had been to satisfy his family’s honor with blood.

He had expected this to be a quick affair, with the Mudblood stumbling onto the mangled corpse of his pet and all would have been done. Blood would have been spilled, honor would have been satisfied, and the matter would have been closed.

I suppose that blood has indeed been spilled here. He thought in a sense of dark amusement, staring down at the mangled head before him. It would be foolish to continue this nonsense.

However, he knew all too well that his wife would not accept this turn of events so easily. She was fiercely protective of their family’s reputation and would likely seek to escalate the situation even further. Blackthorn sighed, feeling the weight of his wife’s expectations bearing down on him.

All of this turmoil, all of this bloodshed, over a foolish dispute involving a schoolgirl.

The entire point was moot, besides, as his sources had found that the girl in question hadn’t even been interested in Clarke. His son had acted without thought and, in the process, jeopardized their pride, honor and standing.

As he grappled with these thoughts, Blackthorn couldn’t help but wonder if there was another way to resolve this. Perhaps it was time to consider a different approach.

This feud needs to stop before it gets the chance to set in, especially with the current political climate. He thought to himself. Between the threat of Grindelwald, and the whispers he’d been hearing concerning a strengthening mark which was on the left forearms of a few, certain… unsavory people, he couldn’t afford to toy with the reputation of his family.

Besides, he couldn’t deny the potential usefulness of someone as skilled and resourceful as Clarke. Such a person could prove to be a valuable asset to his own plans— in fact, his gesture here proved that more than ever.

The boy was willing to dirty his hands, which is more than he could say of his own son. He would have words with the boy, come Easter break.

Until then… His gaze went back down to the box, closing it with a click.

At the very least, it wouldn’t do to cause any further enmity with the Black family, especially considering their pedigree, and their potential political influence and power. No, Blackthorn decided that the matter was settled for now, but that Adam Clarke should be kept under observation.

After all, in the dangerous game of politics and power, one could never have too many allies or too much information.

With a sense of resolution, Blackthorn made up his mind. Clarke would not be pursued further— at least not at this time.

Instead, he would be watched carefully, his movements and actions monitored for any signs of potential usefulness.

With that decision made, Blackthorn shrunk the box and tapped the table’s side, causing its back panel to open unexpectedly. He placed the shrunken box inside and closed it, before taking a seat and leaning back.

There was much to consider.