Valentine’s Day

February 14, 1993, 1:00 PM, Halls of Hogwarts

Adam Clarke

The midday Sun shone through the windows, casting harsh beams of light across the stone floors as I slowly made my way through the bustling halls. Each step felt like a heavy weight dragging me down, and a dull ache pulsed behind my eyes, throbbing with every movement.

The brightness was overwhelming and painful besides. I squinted against the harsh light, wishing I could be back in my dark room, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Everywhere I looked, the world seemed too bright, too loud, too much.

Still, I had slept for far too long, and if I kept it up, my sleep schedule would be completely out of sorts. I still had classes to attend and work to do, after all. So, I ignored my discomfort and fatigue as best as I could.

I trudged onward, though the thoughts of rest still plagued my mind.

The sweet release of sleep will have to wait. I thought, smiling a little as I reached an impasse. I didn’t really have to go to the Great Hall; I could just head over to the kitchens and grab my meal there.

I’d promised Tony I’d meet up with him, though. I wasn’t one to break promises, unless absolutely necessary. Endurance was a virtue I prided myself on, one that I had modeled an entire stage of my life on.

A couple passed by me, looking excessively happy as they chatted loudly amongst each other. The display had been so saccharine that it made me grimace.

What the heck was that all about— and then it hit me: Valentine’s Day. The realization brought not a sense of warmth, but rather a sinking feeling of dread.

The prospect of Valentine’s Day meant one thing to me: an onslaught of exaggerated displays of affection, louder and rowdier than usual. 

As if the world needs an excuse to be even more boisterous; give me a damn break, already. The headache that already plagued me seemed to intensify at the mere thought. Still, it wasn’t enough to dissuade me from my course of action. It was a day I would have to endure, and who knows? Maybe the people wouldn’t be loud, for once.

Entering the Great Hall, I found myself in front of large clusters of students, the air thick with the buzz of excitement and anticipation. As I passed by various groups, I couldn’t help but notice the absence of the usual scrutinizing looks that often followed me.

Huh. I thought, some of the tension easing from my shoulders.

For once, it seemed that people’s attention had drifted away from their usual preoccupations; perhaps they’d focused on more romantic pursuits. It was a small mercy, I supposed.

They won’t be looking at me on top of all the noise.

Yes; the more I thought about it, the more relieving the thought became. Perhaps, just for today, I could blend into the painfully loud background, unnoticed and unbothered.

The faint sense of gratitude lasted for all of five seconds before one of the students from Durmstrang made an excessively loud proclamation to his friends, sending a spike of pain through my head.

Ironic. I thought, still amused despite the discomfort. A day dedicated to love and romance providing me with a measure of solitude.

I had to stop to let a gaggle of giggling girls pass before making my way to my usual place at the Ravenclaw table.

Tony greeted me with a nod as he chewed on his food. Returning the greeting with a brief nod of my own, I settled into my seat with a sigh of mild relief, feeling my muscles relax in the comfortable chair.

“Still exhausted, I see.” Tony said, giving me a side-long glance between bites. “Did you even sleep? You look like you haven’t had a wink.”

His concern was evident as he inquired about my well-being, and I offered him a faint smile in response, ignoring the ever-present pressure at the center of my brain.

“I actually managed to get at least twelve hours in.” I admitted, noting the surprise in his expression. “Doesn’t look like it, I know.”

His eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Twelve hours?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t slept that long in a long time— usually need five or six. But I suppose my body needed the extra rest after… well, after everything.”

Tony’s expression softened with understanding, and he nodded sympathetically. “Still feeling the effects of that duel, huh?”

I chuckled ruefully, the memory of the intense battle still fresh in my mind.

“Duel? Felt more like a vicious beating than a duel to me.” I admitted, wincing as my own movement jostled my brain. “But yes, I’m recovering. Some of the spell damage is taking longer to fade than I anticipated. Everything seems brighter than usual, which is causing these headaches.”

Tony’s concern deepened, and he reached out to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hang in there, mate. You’ll bounce back soon enough.”

I offered him a smile, grateful for his support and understanding.

“Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it.”

It was then that I looked around, realizing that Su was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Su?”

Wordlessly, Tony held a thumb up, pointing it behind him as he took another bite out of his food.

Curiosity piqued, I followed Tony’s gesture toward the Gryffindor table, where I spotted Su engaged in animated conversation with Hermione. The two stopped for a moment, and Hermione smirked before the two laughed.

“Huh.” I said. Turning back to Tony, I raised an eyebrow. “Any idea what they’re talking about?”

Tony shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. “Not a clue. But whatever it is, it seems rather funny.”

“Yeah… I could use a laugh.” I said, and instantly winced. “But then again, maybe not…”

“What you need is to eat, Clarke.” Tony said.

I frowned and sighed. He was right; I began serving myself some food, opting for simple and easily digestible choices.

“And don’t forget your—”

Tony’s words were met with a raised hand as I interrupted him, displaying a vial full of a dark purple liquid.

“I’ve got it covered. Thanks.” I assured him, a hint of resignation in my voice. Drinking potions was never a pleasant experience for me, but this one was necessary to strengthen my body’s digestive tract, allowing me to absorb nutrients more effectively. A little discomfort now was preferable to a lot of discomfort later, after all.

With a grimace, I uncorked the vial and quickly downed the potion, shuddering at the bitter taste that assaulted my senses. Hastily setting the vial aside, I turned my attention to my meal, determined to banish the unpleasant taste from my mouth as quickly as possible.

Focusing on the food before me, I dug in with vigor, hoping that the hearty meal would help to wash away the lingering aftertaste of the potion. With each bite, I could feel the discomfort in my head gradually fading, replaced by a sense of satisfaction and relief.

The horrid taste, of course, still remained. It seemed that life was insistent on replacing a problem with another. Couldn’t I have one day where absolutely nothing went wrong, and I was whole of mind, heart, body and soul?

Meh. I thought. I’ll take what I can get, I guess. At least the headache’s easing up.

And so it was; of course, the world was still very bright, and people’s voices still bordered on the grating, but at least the sharp spikes of pain had been dulled, instead replaced with a mild throbbing spread all over the noodle within my noggin.

It was almost pleasant. Almost.

Tony tapped my arm a few minutes later, drawing my attention. I halted my actions and turned to him, curious about his interruption. Instead of meeting my gaze, Tony subtly gestured towards Su again. My interest piqued, I followed his indication.

Su’s expression betrayed a very obvious surprise, her eyes wide as she listened intently to a student who stood before her.

“Who’s she—?”

“Dunno. Obviously from Mahoutokoro.” Tony said, gesturing at the traditional robes of the Japanese school. “Hopefully he turns around soon.”

Although their conversation remained unheard from my distance, I observed as the Mahoutokoro student handed Su a very red letter before swiftly turning and departing from her side.

Recognition dawned on me as I realized the identity of the student— it was Hien.

But why had he given Su a letter? The realization struck me suddenly, like a bolt of lightning on a clear day. It was a love letter.

“He didn’t.”

“He did.” I said.

“That’s a shame.”

“What?” I turned to Tony, giving him a look of confusion. “Shame? Weren’t you the one saying that they both like each other?”

But Tony only sighed. “Yeah, I did.”

“So…”

Tony sighed again, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Ron and I bet on when he’d muster up the courage to confess. I said it wouldn’t be until next month.”

I smiled at that, ignoring the pain for a moment in favor of the sense of sudden amusement that came over me. I gave him an inquisitive look.

“Five Sickles.” He said, reading my look well.

“Heh.” I took another bite of food. “Should’ve talked to me, y’know.”

“Why?”

“Well he’s— Hien, I mean— he’s been asking about Su for a while.” I said. “And he’s never seemed the kind to just wait forever. He makes his move at the moment which he believes will deliver the most impact.”

“And how do you know this?”

“You learn a lot about someone when you’re in a fight against them.”

“Huh.” Tony said. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah.” I said.

Still, the idea of Hien making a gesture towards Su caught me off guard. After all, Hien was fifteen, and Su was only twelve. The age difference gave me pause, but then again, cultural norms varied greatly across the world. Perhaps, in the Far Eastern nations, such expressions of affection were considered normal at their respective ages?

Then again, Magical Britain wasn’t much to talk about either, was it? Ophelia had felt perfectly comfortable kissing me, where I would have balked at the idea, had I been in her position. 

Shaking my head slightly, I conceded that I didn’t need to understand it beyond the fact that Hien and Su were both young, so it didn’t matter all that much. I returned to my food and finished my plate, just as Su made her way back to our table.

She was still red in the face about the whole thing, prompting Tony to tease her about it.

“Wow, Su, you look like a tomato.” Tony remarked with a mischievous grin.

“Don’t.” Su rolled her eyes, but somehow her cheeks managed to turn even more red. She continued, attempting to brush off the embarrassment. “It’s nothing, just a silly letter.”

I exchanged a knowing glance with Tony, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Oh, just a silly letter, huh?” I teased, unable to resist joining in.

Su shot me a mild glare, her cheeks growing even redder.

“Yes, just a silly letter.” She repeated, though her tone betrayed a hint of curiosity.

She attempted to open the letter and read it. A few moments later, she started to smile.

Tony, feeling mischievous, leaned over her shoulder and began to read it, much to her mortification.

“A radiance unlike any other,

For you are the Sun and stars,

and I would—”

Su got a supremely annoyed look on her face for a moment before swatting Tony’s arm.

“Ow!”

“Mind your business!”

“Okay, okay.” Tony said, rubbing the spot where she had hit him, though he was still very much amused. “Sorry.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange, finding their adorable little antics entertaining.

“Looks like Hien must really like you, Su.” I commented, attempting to offer some reassurance.

Su sighed, looking torn between confusion and uncertainty. “I don’t know, Adam. It’s all just so… unexpected.”

Ignoring Tony’s dumbfounded look at the girl’s sheer obliviousness, I offered her a sympathetic smile, understanding her dilemma. “Well, just take your time to figure things out. There’s no rush.”

I’d been the object of a few people’s affection before, dealt with unexpected advances, and it was always a jarring sensation. I’d also demonstrated affection to a few, but…

Let’s not go there.

“Anyway.” Tony said, changing the subject and dragging me away from my darkening thoughts. “Su.”

“Yes?” She asked, holding the letter up to her chest in defense, but Tony only raised his hands in surrender.

“I was just about to ask if you’ve seen Ron anywhere.”

“Oh.” Su said, lowering her letter a little before a smile of amusement crossed her features, momentarily banishing away the embarrassment she likely still felt.

Su’s smile then widened into a grind, and she let out a short giggle.

“What?”

“Well…” She said and began to recount what Hermione had told her. It seemed that Lockhart had somehow managed to wrangle a few dwarves to deliver love letters between students, including one to Harry, sent by Ginny.

According to Hermione, Harry had attempted to make a quick getaway, but the determined dwarf had refused to be deterred. In a comical twist of events, the dwarf had ended up latching onto Ron’s head before launching into a spirited song about Ginny’s eternal love for Harry.

Tony and I couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

“I don’t know how they do it, but those three always get into the most ridiculous predicaments.” Tony remarked between chuckles.

“It’s definitely a skill.” I mused.

Su nodded in agreement, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I can just imagine their faces.”

The image of Harry attempting to escape from a determined dwarf was too amusing to ignore, and we continued to share anecdotes and jokes, reveling in the lighthearted moment.

The moment didn’t last, though.

Lockhart, ever the enigma, continued to uphold his reputation for eccentricity with his latest antics. I couldn’t help but wonder about the true motivations behind his theatrical displays. What were his real plans, hidden beneath the façade of his charismatic persona?

Was it truly as simple as the pursuit of glory, or was there something else he was aiming for?

I knew he was different, somehow. He had an edge to him that only I seemed to notice. 

A killer recognizes another.

I closed my eyes, banishing that thought to the furthest corner of my mind. The answer remained elusive; Lockhart was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of events unfolding at Hogwarts, I found myself preoccupied with my own concerns. The message I had sent to the Blackthorn family had been received, and I couldn’t help but wonder what their next move would be.

The uncertainty of it weighed on my mind. I wasn’t sure whether my move was the correct one. Would this incident invite further escalation, or would the Blackthorn family leave me and mine alone?

Dwelling on the unknown was a futile endeavor, of course. With so much chaos surrounding us, there was little use in expending more energy than necessary worrying about things beyond my control.

I’d already made plans for either eventuality, so I just needed to wait. Lockhart was one puzzle that would have to wait, as well.

For now, I focused on my recovery.

Now, if only the next potion I had to take had the texture and taste of watermelon…

Asking for too much, Clarke.

oooo

February 14, 1993, 3:00 PM, Phoenix’ Roost

Lord Voldemort

Voldemort stood in the center of the open field behind Headquarters, his posture relaxed yet poised for action. Across from him, Nick Guffries rose slowly, his breath ragged, but determination burning bright in his eyes.

“Again.” Voldemort commanded, his voice cool and commanding.

Guffries nodded, wiping sweat from his brow before lunging forward with renewed vigor. His movements were swift and aggressive, a whirlwind of slashing wand motions and bursts of magic.

Voldemort countered each attack with effortless grace, his own spells weaving through the air with precision and control.

Their duel unfolded like a one-sided dance, each step carefully calculated as they circled each other, the grass and snow beneath their feet crunching beneath their heels.

Another barrage of curses came, but Voldemort deflected them once more with the same ease. 

He could likely do this blindfolded.

Sloppy. Imprecise. Voldemort thought in mild disappointment. But forceful, and strong willed.

As the duel intensified, however, Guffries’s frustration grew, his attacks becoming more desperate and erratic. Voldemort remained calm and focused, his mind sharp as he anticipated Guffries’s next move. With a flick of his wand, he sent a jet of yellow soaring toward Guffries, who narrowly dodged it, stumbling backward.

Sensing an opening, Voldemort pressed his advantage, launching a series of rapid-fire spells that forced Guffries onto the defensive.

To his credit, Guffries refused to back down, summoning his strength for one final push. With a roar of determination, he unleashed a powerful blast of magic, sending a shockwave rippling through the air.

Voldemort countered with another contemptuous deflection, sending it harmlessly scattering across the field. In the momentary lull that followed, he saw something flicker in Guffries’s eyes— a glimmer of respect, perhaps, or admiration for his opponent’s skill.

“Enough.” Voldemort declared, his voice cutting through the tension-filled air.

“But, sir, I can still—”

Voldemort, however, only shook his head.

Sighing, Guffries lowered his wand, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Despite his exhaustion, there was a fire in his eyes, a hunger for improvement that Voldemort could respect.

The boy was young, impulsive, foolish, and lacking much forethought. The circumstances which had brought him to Voldemort were proof enough of this; attacking his nemesis, Lockhart, at Hogwarts during the height of its celebrations was foolish madness.

Madness, yes. Voldemort thought, smiling inwardly. And yet, such zeal can be harnessed to be of use. Perhaps.

“You made a valiant effort, Mr. Guffries.” Voldemort said, his tone betrayed nothing of what he felt inside. “But you know what your weakness is, don’t you?”

Guffries closed his eyes for a moment, and he looked like he was biting back his response.

He opened his eyes. “Yes, sir. I let my anger get the better of me.”

“That is correct.” Voldemort gave him a nod. “Make no mistake, emotions are indeed necessary in the channeling of magic. However, your anger tends to run too hot, and it impairs your ability to judge your own ability, or even your strategic position within a high-stress, combat situation. Such weakness will only cause you to fail, and you’d be lucky if the only thing you lost was your own life in the process.”

Guffries said nothing, just looking down and looking like he was doing his best not to lash out.

“With that said…” Voldemort said and faked a smile for the young man, who raised his head in mild surprise. “You have much potential, Mr. Guffries. Your spells are powerful, and well practiced. I could feel their impact. The skill is there, but your mind is clouded. You must learn to control your anger, to channel it into something more than blind fury. Only then will you truly become a force to be reckoned with.”

Guffries nodded, his expression determined as he absorbed Voldemort’s words. “Thank you, sir.”

Voldemort checked his pocket watch, the gleam of satisfaction crossing his features as he noted the time.

“Clean yourself up, Guffries.” He instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “We’ll be on guard duty in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”

Guffries nodded, acknowledging the order with a sharp bow before turning to leave. Voldemort watched him go, his mind already shifting to the tasks ahead. With a purposeful stride, he made his way back to Headquarters proper, his gaze sweeping over his peers among the guards.

He exchanged nods with those he passed, his demeanor cool and composed as he navigated the bustling corridors. As he approached the buffoon he’d turned into his thrall, a flicker of satisfaction crossed his features at the man’s instant change in demeanor, giving him a deferential nod.

The thrall’s eyes held a dull emptiness as he acknowledged Voldemort’s presence.

“Is it done?”

“Yes.” He said, and that was the end of it.

“As you were, then.”

He left him behind without even waiting for the haze to fade from the man’s mind. He wasn’t important beyond the service he provided Voldemort, after all.

The materials he’d been tasked with acquiring had been safely deposited where Voldemort had ordered. It was a small step, but one that would save Voldemort a lot of trouble down the line.

His mind was already turning to the next phase of his plans. In the ever-shifting landscape he found himself on, every move mattered— and Voldemort was determined to stay one step ahead of his adversaries.

His sources, both observed and clandestine, had provided fragments of information that hinted at Grindelwald’s intentions. The acquisition of artifacts and the planned gathering at Stonehenge held significance, but the missing piece of the puzzle still eluded him.

Voldemort’s lips twisted into a thin smile as he contemplated the challenge. He thrived on such uncertainties, relishing the opportunity to unravel mysteries and manipulate events to his advantage.

Judging by the knowledge that their forces were slowly being reassigned to positions in Great Britain, he could get a feel for what Grindelwald was aiming for. He knew that it would happen here, on British soil.

However, what eluded him was the timeline for Grindelwald’s plan. While he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, he knew he needed to be prepared— whether it was in the coming months or further down the line. Flexibility was key; opportunities in their world were as volatile as the magic that governed it.

He needed to be ready to execute the final stages of his own plan, and for that, he needed all the preparation he could get.

With a sense of purpose, Voldemort continued his stride through the corridors of Phoenix’ Roost, his mind already whirling with plans and contingencies. He would be ready— poised to seize the moment and milk it for all it was worth. After all, in the game of power and ambition, victory favored the cunning.

And Lord Voldemort was nothing if not the embodiment of that one trait.

He exchanged further courteous nods and brief pleasantries with the guards stationed outside Grindelwald’s solar.

“Ah, Marco.” One of them said rather casually. Were he not under disguise, Voldemort would have punished this fool for his lack of decorum. “You’re here early.”

Voldemort smiled, showing nothing of the contempt he felt inside. “Hello, Bert. Yes, I finished training my charge early, and so I came here.”

“Of course, of course.” The guard named Bert said. “Say, would you be interested in joining me and a few friends later for a game or two?”

Voldemort’s keen intuition instantly recognized the underlying motive. He knew that one of Bert’s friends, Angela by name, seemed to be interested in him. He could see this invitation for what it was— a subtle attempt to facilitate his interactions with this woman. Voldemort, in response, maintained his composed demeanor, offering a polite smile.

“I’m afraid I must decline tonight.” Voldemort replied smoothly. “It’s already been a very long day, and I’m looking forward to a good rest.”

“Well, all right, then, but if you change your mind…”

“I appreciate that, Bert. Thank you.” Voldemort said, faking a nod of gratitude. “Would you like to switch now? Maybe get a headstart for your dinner.”

“Generous of you.” Bert said, grinning and giving his partner a look. “See you there?”

“Sure.” His partner said, and went back to staring at the wall.

“Good, good.” Bert said, turned to leave, before stopping and turning back to Voldemort.

“Is there something else?”

“Maybe.” Bert said, nodding towards the closed door of Grindelwald’s solar, where the faint, garbled noise of voices could be heard. “They’ve been arguing in there for the better part of an hour.”

“Oh?” Voldemort said, eyes widening slightly with interest. “Any idea what they’re talking about?”

“None.” He said, shaking his head before giving Voldemort a serious look. “But they’re definitely on edge. Mind telling me if you find out?”

“Of course.” Voldemort said, not at all intending on keeping a promise to this imbecile. “I’ll be sure to let you know, and thank you for the warning.”

With a final nod of farewell, Bert went on his merry way, leaving Voldemort alone with the silent guard.

As Guffries arrived and took over his counterpart’s duty, seamlessly blending into his role with practiced ease, Voldemort remained deep in thought, his mind consumed by the intricate strategies and contingencies that lay ahead.

Time seemed to slip away unnoticed as he delved into his plans for the future. There would be a lot he needed to accomplish before he was ready, but he wasn’t going to fail.

It was only when thirty minutes had passed that Voldemort was jolted from his reverie by the door opening, and the sight of Rafiq emerging from the solar.

An unmistakable excitement radiated from the man’s demeanor. Voldemort’s curiosity was piqued, but before he could dwell on the matter further, Grindelwald’s voice cut through the air.

“Mr. Marco, would you come in for a moment?” Grindelwald said, beckoning him to enter the solar.

With a composed expression, Voldemort gave Guffries a nod, squared his shoulders and made his way inside, the door closing behind him.

Voldemort’s eyes flickered briefly to the Mirror of Erised as he entered the solar, its presence a constant reminder of the failure he’d endured in the last summer. However, his attention quickly returned to Grindelwald as he approached, his demeanor composed and respectful.

“Is there anything I can assist you with, Mr. Grindelwald?” Voldemort inquired, his voice measured.

Grindelwald nodded thoughtfully as he regarded Voldemort with a hint of approval.

“Indeed, there is, Mr. Marco.” He replied. “I wished to take the time to commend you on your dedication to your work, and your handling of young Mr. Guffries. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.”

Voldemort inclined his head in gratitude, his mask of composure slipping slightly to reveal another mask of slight satisfaction.

“Thank you.” He replied, his voice tinged with false appreciation. “I am honored by your praise. But… I don’t think you called me in here simply to tell me that.”

Grindelwald’s laughter filled the solar, a sudden burst of mirth in the otherwise serious atmosphere.

“Ah, Mr. Marco.” He chuckled, his tone still tinged with amusement. “Always appreciated an honest colleague. But no, I indeed did not call you in here just to congratulate you.”

Voldemort, his expression a mask of calm composure, moved his gaze towards Matthias, who was staring at him without blinking before turning back towards Grindelwald with keen interest, waiting for whatever revelation he had in store.

“You’ve been handpicked for an operation— a mission.” Grindelwald continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “It’s due to take place in a few weeks.”

“A mission.” Voldemort repeated as he absorbed the information, his gaze turning calculating. On the inside, however, he was relieved; he was getting bored of beating down a hapless student, and truly needed to go out into the world and battle strong opponents, again.

To see them pit their might against mine and fall… He thought, with his foolish host trembling in fear as he felt Voldemort’s lust for blood.

Oblivious to this inner exchange, Grindelwald leaned forward, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

“The details have not been ironed out yet.” He explained. “And, for security reasons, you and your squad will be given the target’s name and destination on the same day of the mission— you understand.”

“Of course, sir.” Voldemort nodded, though he still wanted to fish for details. “Could I know the mission parameters, at least? So I know how to prepare.”

Grindelwald shared a look with Auer for a moment, before the younger man shrugged.

“I don’t see how it could hurt.” Matthias said.

“True.” Grindelwald agreed with a nod before turning his attention to Voldemort. “Very well, Mr. Marco. The parameters are thus— theft, and sabotage. It will be a mission based on your ability to be stealthy, so prepare accordingly.”

“I see.” Voldemort nodded.

“You have been chosen because you have demonstrated a great aptitude with stealth.” Grindelwald said, and Voldemort couldn’t help but think that there was far more meaning behind the man’s words, there. He didn’t get enough time to ponder this, as Grindelwald continued. “As well as formidable dueling ability. Your priority will be to complete the objectives of the mission as stealthily as you possibly can. However, in the event that your squad is compromised, I expect you to battle your way out of there and keep yourself and your comrades from being captured.”

“Understood, sir.” Voldemort gave the man a false smile, which Grindelwald returned.

“You may go.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, Voldemort took his leave of the solar, closing the door behind him and leaving him and his new pupil.

“Well?” Guffries’ voice came, impatient and insistent. “What did they want?”

“Nothing important.” Voldemort’s reply was smooth, master of falsehoods and half-truths that he was. “They were only commending me for the dedication I’ve shown with all of the tasks set to me.”

“Oh, was that all?”

Voldemort only nodded, mildly amused at the noise of disappointment Guffries made in response. Soon enough, the silence of his line of work returned, and Voldemort found his thoughts consumed by the mission ahead.

He still wasn’t sure what exactly it was that Grindelwald’s plan for the world entailed. It could have been anything from fomenting rebellions, encouraging revolutions to outright annihilations of the existing bodies of government.

With the supposed magical power of a location like Stonehenge, the amount of havoc which could be wreaked was untold. Whatever the man’s plans were, they had to be monumental in scope, however. Voldemort would need to step up his surveillance and perhaps target one of the higher ups in the order’s chain of command.

He couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Not when he was so close to his own mission’s success.