March 26, 1993, 3:30 AM, Outskirts of Little Hangleton, England
Adam Clarke
My legs felt like lead weights as Snape and I finally stopped running, collapsing onto a park bench in a secluded corner of Little Hangleton’s humble village green.
Gulps of the late night air burned in my lungs, each ragged breath forming misty clouds in front of my face.
Despite the chill, sweat poured freely down my brow, stinging my eyes and causing my robes to cling uncomfortably to my skin.
I risked a glance over at Snape. The Potions Master’s cheeks were also flushed and glistening with perspiration. A few errant strands of his customarily lank black hair stuck to his forehead as he hunched over, hands braced on his knees.
Surprisingly, Snape looked just as disheveled and winded as I felt.
Fumbling within my robes, I withdrew the small box we’d acquired. I could see the thick film of magic over it; numerous powerful enchantments warded the box, concealing and protecting the Horcrux we assumed was contained inside.
I turned it over slowly, examining the box for any potential weak points, but it seemed that Voldemort had done a great job of it.
Would he really ward this box so heavily if there was nothing inside?
No, no, this thing had to hold the Resurrection Stone.
We’d gone through too much for it to have been for nothing. I took a few steadying breaths, trying to calm my racing heart as the adrenaline slowly drained from my system.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Snape doing the same, his shoulders rising and falling.
After a moment, he straightened up and began meticulously inspecting the both of us for injuries with a series of silent diagnostic spells.
Seemingly satisfied with the results, he reached into the folds of his robes and produced a trio of vials— one containing a red, smoke-like substance and the others filled with a familiar sludgy green liquid.
“Wiggenweld Potion.” He said flatly, holding up the green vials. “And Pepper-Up. Here.”
I gave a small shake of the head.
“I’ve prepared for this as well.” Digging into my own pouch, I retrieved matching vials that I always made sure to carry, just in case.
Snape gave me a look of appraisal.
“You appear largely unscathed, albeit winded. But see that you take the requisite potions to restore your strength.” It wasn’t a request.
“I could say the same to you, Snape.” I replied, unstopping the vials with a small flourish before downing the contents.
The Wiggenweld was a brew I’d grown used to, so it wasn’t too difficult to down, but the acrid Pepper-Up made my nostrils burn; however, I could already feel its invigorating effects taking hold, banishing away the cold in an instant.
We sat in silence for a stretched moment, simply existing side-by-side as we recovered from our arduous hunt. It went unspoken, but I knew Snape was quietly ruminating on what came next, just as I was.
Finally, I broke the stillness, unable to contain myself any longer as I looked down at the enchanted box once more. “We’ve recovered it… that was tougher than I thought.”
Snape’s gaze lingered pointedly on the innocent-looking container.
“Indeed, though the game is far from over. But this…” He paused, seeming to weigh his next words carefully. “You have held up your end of the bargain and have proven trustworthy, thus far, Clarke.”
High praise, coming from Severus Snape. I inclined my head, recognizing the significance of his grudging admission.
We rested in silence a while longer, the only sounds the chirping of early birds and the gentle rustling of the trees around us.
Finally, Snape rose stiffly to his feet and extended his arm towards me in a businesslike manner. I knew it was time— he meant for us to Apparate back to the outskirts of Hogwarts grounds.
Placing a hand on his proffered forearm, I gave a tight nod. With a sharp crack, the scenery compressed tightly around us before expanding back out into the gloomy, foreboding boughs of the Forbidden Forest. We had returned to the very spot we’d departed from.
Feels like ages have passed.
I glanced around warily, half expecting one of the tournament’s security forces to materialize and demand an explanation for our absence. Turning back to Snape, I murmured. “How do you intend to account for where we’ve been?”
Rather than respond verbally, Snape simply reached into one of the inner pockets of his robes and withdrew a small bundle of freshly picked herbs and plants. He extended them towards me wordlessly.
I arched an eyebrow, but quickly understood his meaning. This bundle would provide him with an alibi— he’d simply been collecting potion ingredients in the forest, as Snape was wont to do on occasion for his private stores.
It was a simple ruse, but one that would likely hold up to scrutiny if need be.
Pocketing the plants, Snape gave me a nod. We could breathe slightly easier now that we were back on semi-friendly territory. But there was still work to do— retrieving the Resurrection Stone from the enchanted box and using it to make good on my weighty promise to the dour Potions Master.
With a quick wave of my wand, I cast the Disillusionment Charm and got ready for the trip back.
I fell into step behind Snape, treading as lightly as possible to avoid drawing any undue attention.
My heart hammered in my chest as we made our way across the grounds towards the castle’s looming silhouette. The Pepper-Up Potion restoring my physical vigor did nothing to settle my anxious nerves.
If anything… I thought. It’s made it worse.
Every flickering shadow or snapping twig had me fighting the urge to freeze in place, irrationally fearing that an Auror or magical security officer would somehow see me trailing behind the Professor.
If Auror Turner could do it, then I imagined many others were just as capable. He hadn’t been a particularly good Auror, all things considered, but he still was able to see me, after a fashion.
Before I knew it, we managed to make it all the way back to the relative safety of the dungeons unmolested. Snape ushered me into his shadowy office with a curt “Inside,” not needing to raise his voice thanks to my invisible proximity.
I allowed the Disillusionment to dissipate as I crossed over the threshold, closing the door softly behind me with a wave of my wand.
Snape was already standing behind his desk, staring at me with an inscrutable expression, a silence settling between us.
I broke it by reaching into my robes to withdraw the box we’d risked our lives to obtain. Placing it on Snape’s desk with a dull thunk, I pursed my lips.
“Well…” He said simply. “It’s here, now. It falls to us to decide how to proceed.”
I drummed the box, and we both couldn’t help but stare at it intently for a long moment. So much effort, so many risks taken, all leading to this unassuming container.
Finally, I tore my gaze away to look at Snape. “We should focus on opening it. Right now.”
Snape raised one questioning eyebrow, his silent prompt for me to explain my insistence.
I gave a small sigh. “We can’t be certain the Resurrection Stone— the Gaunt Ring— is actually inside this box. For all we know, its owner could have placed the real artifact elsewhere as an added layer of misdirection. This entire box could be an elaborate decoy, however improbable that may seem given the defenses we had to bypass.”
Snape was motionless for a beat, clearly contemplating my words. At last, he gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “A wise perspective. The Dark Lord’s penchant for multiple layers of trickery and contingencies is… legendarily perverse.”
His lip curled ever so slightly on the last word, making his distaste plain.
“Yes, precisely.” I pressed on. “Which is why we have to be certain and verify the contents before allowing ourselves to make too many plans. If this is indeed a feint, well…”
My words hung heavily in the air.
For all our efforts, for all the close calls and risks endured, it could all amount to nothing if the true prize remained maddeningly out of reach. I forced myself to tamp down the rising sense of dread. There would be time enough for that later if necessary.
Make sure the damn thing is in there before going crazy.
Snape sat down and leaned back, his dark eyes narrowing as he carefully analyzed the box through the lens of several diagnostic spells.
His eyes unfocused for a moment as he dissected the layered enchantments woven into the container’s very fibers.
After several long moments, he gave a stiff nod, apparently having reached some internal conclusion.
“Your counsel is well-advised.” He said in a low baritone. “As you said when we found it, the box possesses no less than five interlinked concealment and protective enchantments— the layering is reminiscent of other spells I’ve seen, ones emplaced by the Dark Lord himself.”
“So we have confirmation that it was his doing, at least.” I said, nodding. “Not that I doubted it for a second.”
My knowledge of canon, though unreliable for future events, was still quite good for past ones, especially considering that Voldemort was in no real position to do anything about it— that’s, if he even suspected that any of his Horcruxes were in any danger.
“Breaking through such potent, interwoven defenses will require considerable magical power and artifice.” Snape continued frankly. “Fortunately, those are areas in which I have… substantial expertise.”
For his part, Snape’s lips twisted in a knowing smirk at the reference to his adeptness with the Dark Arts. I did not doubt his boast— Snape’s skills were as formidable as they were underrated.
Being able to fight the Marauders while outnumbered was proof enough of his ability.
“However.” He added, eyes flicking up to meet my gaze with uncharacteristic directness. “I will require your assistance, as before. You have proven… adequate, when the need arises.”
It wasn’t quite a compliment, not from Severus Snape, but I recognized the weight behind his measured words. A tacit acknowledgment of my own skills and usefulness.
The fact that he was meeting my eyes again was another point I was definitely paying attention to. Did he trust me, now?
It was hard to read him, even with my own ability to view his soul thread. It did not seem to writhe in any sort of agitation beyond the obvious aftermath of our recent ordeal.
If anything, he seemed almost excited; eager. Happy, even.
No kidding, he’s going to be speaking with the love of his life, if this works.
“Of course.” I responded with a smirk of my own. “You have but to instruct me, and I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”
A muscle twitched in Snape’s jaw, whether in approval or disgruntlement I couldn’t say. But his next words brooked no argument.
“Very well. Let us begin unraveling these accursed layers…”
With wands raised in a unified stance, Snape and I set to work meticulously unpicking the tangle of sinister enchantments coiled around the box.
We moved with agonizing slowness and precision, knowing that even the slightest mistake in the unraveling could last to catastrophe.
If an unraveling did go wrong, the volatile magic would undoubtedly explode outward, and quite violently so.
We’d, of course, be dead in an instant.
Snape’s face was a mask of grim focus as he deftly isolated and dismantled the outermost defensive ward with a complex series of spells and charms I could scarcely understand.
As the final tendril of magic began to dissipate, he kept the box contained with a quick Shield Charm.
Neat trick. I thought, watching the man closely. I’ll have to see about replicating these spells— specific spells for unraveling and brute forcing as opposed to how I’ve been going about it…
Spellbreaking was a little more complicated than I’d initially thought.
“Brace yourself, Clarke. This next part falls to you to contain the mental backlash. It will awaken within the next few seconds.”
I steeled myself. Snape opened a rift in his Shield charm, allowing me to delve into the fabric of the enchantment. The probing tendril of the roused defensive curse touched me, and my surroundings immediately shifted, placing me in a familiar elevator.
I was within my own mindscape.
This had never happened before, I thought as I examined the control board. It looked much the same as before, with one exception— a new button which glowed red and was composed of characters I could not read.
“I suppose that’s as good a hint as any.” I pushed the button and waited for the elevator take me where I needed to go. It lurched as it moved diagonally downwards at ridiculous speeds, forcing me to be stuck in the corner for a few seconds.
Eventually, it stopped and the doors opened with a pleasant chime. Gathering myself, I stepped out of the elevator into the unknown. I had expected something grand or eye-catching, but instead I was in a featureless gray space.
“Uninspired…” I said as a grotesque, five-headed serpent, each fang-filled maw dripping with corrosive venom manifested itself before me. My surroundings began to shift into a massive cave system as the curse’s influence struck towards the core of my psyche.
Gritting my teeth, I raised a quick mental barrier, absorbing and turning aside each venomous psychic assault through sheer force of will. Steadily, the cave began to turn gray once again.
The serpentine curse recoiled, hissing furiously as it recognized the active opposition to its purpose. It reared back, preparing to renew its frenzied onslaught with redoubled ferocity.
Sweat began to bead on my brow from the exertion of containing such malignant magic.
I was starting to realize that I may have bitten off more than I could chew, but I couldn’t falter, couldn’t afford even a moment’s distraction. Focusing every iota of my concentration, I girded myself and prepared to endure the serpent’s next inevitable strike.
I clenched my jaw, straining to maintain the barriers holding the ferocious serpentine manifestation at bay. Each frenzied lash of its five heads chipped away at my defenses as viscous venom splashed against my mental fortifications, filling the ‘air’ with the sound of sizzling and the stench of decay.
Snape’s voice cut through the metaphysical maelstrom, low but urgent. “Steady… I’ve nearly isolated the final layer. Get ready to counterattack on my mark.”
A few tense seconds ticked by in total silence but for the snake’s enraged hissing. Then… “Now! Unleash everything you’ve got!”
Not wasting a moment, I dropped my defensive stance and went on the offensive. Raising my ‘wand’, I unleashed a torrent of Severing Charms directly at the ophidian monstrosity, slashing it apart with concentrated blades of magic.
The first two heads disintegrated into foul-smelling smoke. The third jerked back, serpentine neck spraying viscous venom before being neatly decapitated. I brought the wand slashing down in a vicious arc, bifurcating the fourth head vertically with a sickening crunch of etheric bone and hide.
Finally, the battered fifth head made one last lunge, fangs bared, only to be abruptly severed inches from my face. It hung suspended for an endless instant before dissolving into quickly dissipating vapor.
I allowed myself a grim smile of satisfaction as the eldritch serpent’s manifestation collapsed into itself. A distant scream of denial and frustration echoed through my mindscape before winking out of existence entirely.
Snape’s voice shook me from my reverie, and I found myself back in his office, a haze of black slowly disappearing into thin air— the remnants of the curse, I would later realize.
“Well struck, Clarke. My tampering seems to have successfully disrupted the wards, allowing you to end the battle.” He paused, gaze inscrutable. “Now… Let us see what lies within, shall we?”
I nodded numbly in response to Snape, still feeling somewhat dazed and disoriented from the arduous mental battle. Beads of sweat trickled down my temples as I swiped an arm across my brow, trying to regain my bearings.
Snape seemed to understand he needed to allow me a moment. His eyes remained fixed on me, utterly impassive, as I steadied my breathing and made an effort to still my psyche’s reverberations.
Only once I had recomposed myself somewhat did he turn his attention towards the box once again. With a flick of his wand, the lid creaked upwards on its tiny hinges.
I quickly moved to stand beside Snape, craning my neck to peer inside the open container. My mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ of surprise and awe at the sight awaiting us.
There, nestled amidst a plush velvet interior, sat a heavy-looking golden ring. But this was no ordinary piece of jewelry— it seemed to exude an almost palpable aura of magic.
At least, to my modified eyes, it did— I’d recognize the touch of the void anywhere, and this thing was swimming in it, just like Harry’s cloak.
The ring itself was gold, an ugly thing that seemed almost clumsily made. Set into it was an inky black stone, roughly the size of a sickle, that seemed to shimmer and shift hypnotically despite the static lighting.
“There it is.” I said, pointing out its characteristics. “The triangle, circle and line— that is the Resurrection Stone.”
The legendary Peverell heirloom and one of the fabled Deathly Hallows; we had actually found it, after all our tribulations. I could scarcely believe my eyes.
“The Gaunt Ring.” Snape intoned solemnly beside me, seemingly sharing my sense of incredulous wonder despite his carefully neutral countenance. “And within it… the key to summoning the departed.”
My eyes were instantly drawn to the severed, writhing soul thread bound to the metal band of the ring— unmistakable evidence of the vile Horcrux. But strangely, the inky black stone itself seemed untouched, almost… repelling the fragmented soul shard with its own powerful aura.
Before I could make any comment, Snape began reaching a pale hand towards the innocent-looking container, doubtlessly intent on grasping the long-sought relic.
A spike of panic lanced through me at the thought of him touching the cursed object so recklessly. All sense of restraint or decorum fled as I grabbed his wrist and blurted. “Are you completely insane?!”
Snape’s eyes snapped towards me, previously glazed over with morbid fascination but now sharpening to icy points at my uncharacteristic outburst. He opened his mouth, doubtlessly to deliver a blistering set-down, but I barreled on.
“That ring is a bloody Horcrux, you absolute clown!” I snarled. “You can’t just grab it like that unless you fancy dying in three seconds flat— that’s how powerful that curse is supposed to be!”
For an endless moment, Snape simply stared at me, those black pools boring into me with undisguised loathing. I could almost see the vitriolic retort building up behind his clenched jaw.
Then, suddenly, the fire in his gaze sputtered out, replaced by dawning realization. He realized that his hand had been stopped mere inches from the ring, frozen in place as he reassessed what he’d almost done.
With perceptible effort, Snape slowly leaned back in his chair, and I let go, watching his hand falling away from the perilous lure of the Gaunt ring. He closed his eyes, seemingly reining in his infamous temper through sheer force of will.
When he spoke again, his voice was tight but measuring. “… You are correct, of course. My… eagerness overcame my caution for a moment.”
I couldn’t quite tell if that admission pained him more than my insult had. But for now, the danger seemed averted thanks to my timely intervention.
I shook my head slowly. “This goes beyond mere susceptibility, Snape. Your… understandable preoccupation with the ring’s promise is powerful indeed, and Horcruxes themselves have the ability to whisper in others’ minds, besides. But we have to be smart about this. We must.”
His obsidian eyes flicked to the ring and then back towards me with a hint of their customary sharpness. “What manner of curse is it afflicted with?”
“I’m not entirely certain.” I admitted frankly. “The Horcrux itself may have spawned or integrated the curse into the ring’s defenses. But from the magical resonances, it seems tied to the ring’s physical form— an affliction that begins with the hand and rapidly turns the entire body necrotic until death. A swift, but very painful death.”
Snape’s nostrils flared slightly at my stark assessment, but he showed no other outward reaction. We both knew the Dark Lord’s penchant for such grotesquely sadistic failsafes.
“Then our path forward remains blocked.” Snape said at last, steepling his long fingers contemplatively. “Safely separating the Resurrection Stone from its…contaminated setting will require the utmost care and skill. Otherwise, fulfilling this task could come at the cost of my life.”
I heard the unspoken addition— or yours. Snape was wholly focused on the prize, the tantalizing promise of communing with Lily Potter’s spirit once more. But I knew we could not allow that desperate desire to blind us to the very real dangers still obstructing our path.
I carefully closed the lid on the box with a dull snap, sealing away the damning evidence of our success for the moment. With a wave of my wand, I enveloped it in a thorough locking charm, securing it against any further inappropriate attempts to breach its contents.
“I’m going to take this somewhere secure for now.” I stated firmly, meeting Snape’s inscrutable gaze directly. “Until we can properly research methods to safely extract and destroy the Horcrux aspect from the ring itself.”
A flicker of displeasure crossed Snape’s features and he opened his mouth, doubtlessly to argue against removing such a hard-won prize from his custody. But I pressed on before he could object.
“I can’t risk you being tempted again while the defenses remain active.” I said, keeping my tone respectful but allowing no room for dispute. “It’s simply too dangerous until we can nullify the curses and Horcrux influence. I, for one, did not notice anything coming from it, which means I have a better immunity to its effects than you do.”
Snape’s jaw clenched mulishly, but after a pregnant pause he gave a tight nod of assent. Clearly he wasn’t happy about relinquishing the box from his possession, but he couldn’t refute my pragmatic reasoning.
“Very well.” He ground out. “I shall devote my efforts to uncovering a method to effectively destroy the… essence within while leaving the stone and ring intact.”
“I do have a few suggestions.”
“Very well.”
“Basilisk venom, for one, though I understand that’s not exactly cheap.” I offered. “As would any goblin-wrought steel weapon that could be impregnated with the venom— an even more costly endeavor. Those are really the only ways I know of to unmake a Horcrux, though I’m not sure if the venom would destroy the Stone.”
I paused contemplatively before adding. “There are… Other potential options that come with excessive risk. Fiendfyre, certainly, but that’s an uncontrolled devastation we can ill-afford. And the Killing Curse itself may work in theory, but as you know, the Killing Curse tends to obliterate objects it collides with…”
I trailed off, silently debating whether to voice one other possibility that had crossed my mind. In the end, I stayed my tongue— summoning the Void to obliterate the soul fragment entirely was a desperation move I hoped wouldn’t be needed.
The void was an unreliable force I still did not quite understand, despite the ‘answers’ the Elder Thestral had led me to. All that experience resulted in were more questions.
“We shall pursue more methodical approaches first.” Snape said as I tucked the warded box securely into my robes. “With any luck, those will prove sufficient. For now, head back to your dorm, Clarke. We will speak of this later.”
“When?”
“You will know.”
Not liking his answer, I gave Snape a nod of farewell. Withdrawing my wand once more, I swiftly cast the Disillusionment Charm over myself, feeling that familiar frigid trickle as the concealment magic took hold.
Ensuring the box remained tightly stowed away in my robes, I turned on my heel and slipped silently from Snape’s shadowy office. My footsteps made no sound as I navigated the corridors of the dungeons and ascended towards the Room of Requirement.
Alef, I need a place to hide things— not the Room of Hidden things. Let’s use my room instead, this time. I can’t risk having one Horcrux so close to another. Who knows what might happen?
Alef was only too happy to accommodate me, the door to the Room materializing and offering me sanctuary.
I staggered slightly upon entering the room, feeling a weariness reaching deep into my bones and mind. I took in the cozy amenities Alef had prepared— a roaring fire, plush accommodations, and reassuringly solid defenses. Stowing the box in a secure chamber warded against its insidious influences, I finally allowed myself to fully relax.
My head had no sooner hit the pillows than exhaustion dragged me down into blessed, dreamless slumber. The Horcrux’s sinister presence could wait until I had regained my strength. For now, I needed to restore my mind and body before we attempted to wrest free its deadly, ensnaring grasp on the Resurrection Stone.
oooo
March 26, 1993, 3:00 PM, Phoenix’ Roost
Lord Voldemort
He moved with a calculated grace through the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the admittedly unpleasant scent of various potions bubbling away. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with vials and jars containing ingredients both rare and common, some shimmering with a sickly glow.
His crimson eyes were fixed on a specific cauldron, its contents simmering softly.
Lord Voldemort approached the cauldron and peered into it, noting the rich, deep golden color of the potion inside. A satisfied smirk curled his lip. It was finally ready. He carefully ladled the potion into a goblet, the liquid swirling with an almost hypnotic viscosity.
Holding the goblet to the faint light, Voldemort inspected the potion for a few seconds. The ache in his body had become a constant companion, a dull reminder of his incomplete return to power.
He had Quirrell to thank for this idea. The bumbling fool had at least served one useful purpose in his otherwise pitiful existence.
“To think… I considered drinking the blood of unicorns to alleviate this pain.” Voldemort muttered to himself, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The idea had been appealing in his desperation, but he knew now that it would have been a fool’s path, a half-measure that would have only served to curse him even further.
With a decisive tilt of his wrist, Voldemort downed the contents of the goblet in one gulp. The potion burned as it went down, a searing heat that spread through his veins. He stood still, his eyes closed, as the transformation began. The dull ache that had pervaded his body for so long started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of vitality and strength.
His fingers flexed, feeling the strength return to them. The pain was gone, replaced by a sensation of power that surged through him. Voldemort opened his eyes, a satisfied gleam within them. The potion had worked perfectly.
“It was a good suggestion, Quirinus.” Voldemort mused aloud, though the name dripped with disdain. “It’s a shame that your usefulness was so fleeting.”
He moved away from the cauldron, recasting the illusion over his eyes with but a thought. The resurgence of his strength meant he could accelerate his plans.
Voldemort left his chamber and walked the corridors of Grindelwald’s headquarters. He nodded to the guards as he passed, their silent acknowledgments affirming his growing status within the organization.
Posing as Marco, one of Grindelwald’s guards, had proven to be a masterstroke. ‘Marco’ had swiftly risen through the ranks, his quick actions during the mission to wipe out Grindelwald’s rivals in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding France earning him recognition and respect. Several other assignments, handled with equal efficiency, had solidified his reputation.
With the impending plans for Britain, Voldemort was certain Grindelwald would include him in the more difficult missions; perhaps even his inner circle.
He made his way toward the training grounds, where he was supposed to meet his charge, Guffries, a young wizard with potential but in need of guidance. The training grounds were a vast, open space, dotted with targets and dueling platforms. As he approached, a fellow wizard intercepted him, his expression serious.
“Marco, Grindelwald requests your presence in his office. A few others have already been called. You’re the last.”
Voldemort nodded, masking his curiosity. “Thank you. I’ll head there immediately.”
He turned and retraced his steps, moving through the corridors with practiced ease. The summons was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was a chance to further embed himself within Grindelwald’s plans, to gain deeper insight into the inner workings of the organization.
Reaching Grindelwald’s office, Voldemort paused at the door, collecting his thoughts. The room beyond was a testament to Grindelwald’s power and ambition, with walls lined with dark tapestries and shelves filled with ancient tomes. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes immediately taking in the scene.
Grindelwald sat behind his desk, flanked on both sides by a few select members of his inner circle. Their expressions ranged from solemn to eager, each aware of the significance of this meeting. Grindelwald’s piercing gaze met Voldemort’s as he entered, a flicker of something— approval, perhaps?— crossing his features.
“Mr. Marco. You made it.” Grindelwald said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Join us. We have important matters to discuss.”
Voldemort inclined his head and took his place in the lineup. The others shifted slightly, making room for him. He recognized a few of them from previous missions, though he could not recall their names.
It was not important for him to know, at the time; he had, however, committed everyone’s face to memory.
Grindelwald’s piercing gaze swept over the assembled wizards and witches. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, everyone aware that they were about to hear the next phase of Grindelwald’s plan. Voldemort stood among them, his outward demeanor calm but inwardly alert.
“The day which marks a pivotal moment in our campaign is fast approaching.” Grindelwald began, his voice carrying authority and confidence. “You have all proven yourselves capable and loyal. The time has come to move forward with our operations in Britain.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the room. Eyes flickered with curiosity and determination, eager to hear the specifics of their next mission.
However, Grindelwald’s next words brought a hint of frustration. “Details of the mission itself will be disclosed on the day of its execution. Today, I gather you here to emphasize the importance of readiness and unity. This is not a time for individual actions but for cohesive teamwork.”
A few exchanged looks of uncertainty, but no one voiced their concerns until the highest-ranking member among them, the guard whom Voldemort had imperiused, spoke up. His voice was respectful but edged with urgency.
“Mr. Grindelwald, with all due respect, how can we adequately prepare without knowing the specifics of the mission?”
Grindelwald’s gaze lingered on the guard for a moment, assessing the question carefully.
“Trust in my judgment, as you have done thus far.” He replied evenly. “The plan is designed to unfold with precision. Each of you has been selected for your skills and loyalty. Today’s meeting serves to remind you of the importance of discipline and cooperation.”
There was a tense pause before Grindelwald continued, his voice firm. “Begin training as a team. Sharpen your skills, refine your spells. Prepare for any eventuality. The success of our mission depends on each of you fulfilling your roles flawlessly.”
Voldemort, observing the exchange keenly, noted the controlled frustration among the ranks. Grindelwald’s strategic withholding of information was a testament to his leadership style— keeping his followers both eager and dependent on his guidance.
“Assemble in your teams.” Grindelwald instructed, his tone dismissing any further questions. “The time for action approaches. We will meet again when the hour is upon us.”
Voldemort, disguised as Marco, stepped forward respectfully before the meeting began to disperse.
“Mr. Grindelwald.” Voldemort addressed Grindelwald this time, choosing his words carefully. “Far be it from me to impose my will upon yourself and your adjutants, but Officer Jethro is right. Knowing where to direct our efforts will ensure we are fully prepared for this mission.”
Grindelwald regarded Voldemort and then Jethro with a measured gaze, considering the question thoughtfully. After a moment, he nodded in agreement. “You’ve both raised a valid point. Very well, then. I will say this much. As we prepare for the mission, I want each of you on this team to concentrate on two essential areas: sabotage and combat.”
Voldemort took note of the strategic significance behind Grindelwald’s directives. Sabotage would involve disrupting enemy operations and infrastructure, while combat readiness ensured they could handle any confrontations effectively.
“Train diligently in these disciplines.” Grindelwald continued, his voice resonating with authority. “Stealth and strength will be our greatest assets. Precision and coordination are vital for achieving our objectives. I will say no more on the matter.”
“Thank you, sir. Your advice is most welcome.” Jethro said and nodded solemnly, committing Grindelwald’s instructions to memory. “We will commence immediately.”
Grindelwald acknowledged the group with a nod, dismissing them without words. As the meeting concluded, Voldemort followed his new team, his mind already strategizing the training regimens and drills that would sharpen their skills.
This mission was not just a step toward their collective goals but also an opportunity for him to further ingrain himself within Grindelwald’s order, gathering allies as he went. With each passing day, he moved closer to his ultimate ambition— the domination of the Wizarding World and the eradication of all who stood in his path.
Once outside of Headquarters proper, the assembled group of wizards and witches exchanged uncertain glances. They were a mix of experienced operatives and newer recruits, brought together for a mission that promised to be pivotal in Grindelwald’s campaign. Tension hung in the air, mingled with a tentative sense of camaraderie.
“First things first, does anyone have any objections with me, as the leader?” Jethro said and got shakes of the head in response. He smiled.
“Then, in that case…” He said, satisfied. “We should start meeting regularly for training.”
Voldemort seized the opportunity to assert his place within the group. He nodded decisively, and in full agreement with his commanding officer. “Agreed. Training together will ensure we’re fully prepared for whatever challenges we may face on the mission.”
“What do you think we’ll be doing?” A witch asked, and Voldemort recognized her as one of the newer recruits.
“Our mission parameters don’t matter.” Jethro said, shooting her down before she got any ideas. “While your curiosity is understandable, we cannot afford any security leaks, as Mr. Grindelwald has said.”
“But surely we could theorize.”
“We could.” Voldemort said, though he shook his head. “But that time would be wasted. We are better off using it to coordinate and train.”
“Well said.” “Hear, hear!” The suggestion was met with nods and murmurs of approval from the others. They began to discuss potential training regimens and exercises animatedly, their voices filled with a mix of determination and eagerness. Voldemort, wearing a false smile and exuding false kindness, played his part well, encouraging their enthusiasm.
“Let’s start tomorrow morning.” One of them suggested eagerly.
“Perfect.” Voldemort replied smoothly, his tone reassuring as he looked towards their ‘leader’. “What do you think, Mr. Jethro? Shall we meet here, at dawn?”
“Of course.” Jethro agreed immediately, as was to be expected. The fool had a singularly weak will, and would agree to anything Voldemort would suggest.
The group nodded enthusiastically, buoyed by Jethro’s apparent confidence and leadership. They dispersed, already discussing ideas for training and preparations amongst themselves as they left him and Jethro be.
As Voldemort watched them go, his smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. These wizards and witches were naive, easily swayed by the illusion of camaraderie and leadership. Their trust and loyalty could be exploited to further his own agenda within Grindelwald’s ranks.
“Such fools…” Voldemort thought to himself, his mind already plotting the next steps.
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