Triumph

April 10, 1993, 10:00 PM, Ministry Of Magic, London

Lord Voldemort

Voldemort slid the two-way mirror into a hidden pocket within the folds of his dark robes. The glass felt cool against his skin. He turned, his movement purposeful, to face the assembly of witches and wizards who had been assigned to his command.

Beside him stood Jethro, now reduced to little more than a puppet. Under the influence of Imperius Curse, Jethro’s eyes gleamed with artificial confidence as he nodded approvingly at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord allowed himself a moment of satisfaction; having a second-in-command under his complete control proved invaluable in cultivating an aura of unquestionable authority over the past week.

His gaze swept over the gathered followers, noting with pleasure how quickly they had fallen into line. These may not have been his Death Eaters, true, and yet they hung on his every word, ready to carry out any command he issued— so long as it didn’t overtly betray their supposed master. Little did they know that their very presence here, under his command, was already a betrayal of sorts.

A cold smile played at the corners of his lips as he began to speak, his voice soft yet commanding, weaving a tapestry of half-truths and manipulations that would set his own machinations into motion under the guise of Grindelwald’s grand assault.

“My friends.” He began. “You have shown remarkable progress these past few days. Your dedication to our cause is… commendable.”

He paced before them, his movements predatory yet graceful. “The time has come for you to put your skills to the test. What we do today, we do not for ourselves, but for the greater good of our kind.”

Pausing for effect, Voldemort spread his arms wide, a gesture both welcoming and commanding. “Today, you fight not just for Grindelwald, but for the glory of all wizardkind. Your names will be etched in the annals of magical history.”

The last sentence nearly made him choke, but he maintained his composure, watching as the assembled witches and wizards straightened with pride.

“Are you ready to claim your destiny?” He asked, his voice rising with false fervor.

A chorus of affirmatives rang out, and Voldemort allowed himself a small, cold smile. These fools were so easily manipulated, so eager to believe they were part of something greater. Little did they know they were merely stepping stones in his path to true power.

“Then let us begin.” He concluded, his eyes glinting with malicious anticipation. “For the greater good.”

The irony of using Grindelwald’s own slogan was not lost on him, but it served his purpose. Voldemort watched with cold calculation as the first of his pawns stepped into the battered red phone booth. The door closed with a soft click, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sudden lurch, the booth began to descend, disappearing into the ground as if swallowed by the earth itself.

One by one, the scouts vanished into the makeshift elevator. Voldemort waited, his impatience masked by an outward calm. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he received the all-clear signal. With a curt nod to the remaining group, he strode forward, his long robes billowing behind him as he entered the booth.

The descent was smooth, almost imperceptible, save for the faint whoosh of air. As they plummeted deeper beneath London’s streets, Voldemort felt a familiar tingle of anticipation. The booth came to a halt, and the door slid open, revealing the vast expanse of the Ministry’s atrium.

The sight that greeted them was one of eerie abandonment. The usually bustling atrium lay silent and still, the polished dark marble floors reflecting the dim emergency lighting. The Fountain of Magical Brethren stood as a lone sentinel, its golden figures gleaming dully in the low light. Rows of empty fireplaces lined the walls, their cold grates a testament to the absence of the usual flood of ministry workers.

The Ministry, heart of magical Britain’s government, left virtually undefended. It was almost too easy. The coordinated attacks orchestrated by Grindelwald had drawn away the Ministry’s forces, leaving their seat of power vulnerable.

For a fleeting moment, Voldemort allowed himself to imagine this plan as his own. How sweet it would be to claim the prizes in the Department of Mysteries for himself, to see the fear in their eyes as they realized he, Lord Voldemort, had outsmarted them all. But no, that time would come. For now, he had to play his part in Grindelwald’s grand scheme and stay here.

Shaking off his reverie, Voldemort turned to the group. With swift, precise instructions, he dispatched the scouts to their assigned locations. Possible guard positions, communication channels, and strategic choke points— nothing would be left to chance.

As the last of the scouts melted into the shadows, Voldemort gestured to the remaining followers.

“Now, we wait.”

And so they did. Minutes passed, and Voldemort watched as his retinue fidgeted at the slightest of sounds, but he wasn’t bothered. He had been in this building many times in the past— to say nothing of the times he’d walked its in the minds of those who’d been captured by his men— and so he wasn’t particularly perturbed by the wait.

They would be back soon.

Not long after, the first scout returned, and then another. Voldemort listened intently as the scouts reported back, their voices hushed yet eager. A cold smile played across his lips as he processed the information. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

He turned to address the group, his voice low and commanding. “Mr. Rafiq is nearly ready, which means it’s time for us to begin. Our first target is the Improper Use of Magic Office. Once we make our move, we will likely draw the attention of whatever forces remain here. Be prepared for swift and potent resistance. The Ministry guards its secrets jealously, and we may soon face their most formidable defenders.”

With a curt nod, he led the way, his followers falling into step behind him. They moved swiftly through the deserted corridors, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence.

As they approached the Improper Use of Magic Office, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with tension. The department’s entrance was marked by a heavy, featureless wooden door. A few spells showed no protective measures whatsoever.

Such incompetence; then again, this office is not particularly important, especially given what’s happening right now.

Pushing it open, they entered a vast, circular room. The walls were lined with towering filing cabinets, each labeled meticulously with dates and categories of magical infractions. In the center of the room stood a massive, glowing orb— the Trace Detector. It hummed with a low, constant energy, monitoring underage magic across Britain.

Scattered throughout the room were various magical instruments: quills that wrote by themselves, recording infractions in real-time; enchanted maps that pinpointed the locations of magical disturbances; and a large, antiquated switchboard that crackled with magical energy, ready to dispatch owls with official warnings.

Voldemort’s glamoured eyes gleamed as he took in the sight. This room held the key to monitoring and controlling the use of magic throughout the country— a powerful tool in the right hands, but a nuisance in the hands of his enemies.

He turned to his followers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Secure the room. We have work to do.”

A minute later, everything was gathered in the center of the room. Voldemort approached the Trace Detector, his long fingers reaching out to caress its glowing surface.

He could definitely detect a single spell on it, but it was a warning charm, meant to alert any to the tampering or destruction of this artifact. He would have disabled it, had his mission involved stealth beyond this point.

Instead, he took a step back and, with a wave of his wand, set it all ablaze. The enchanted papers, tools and artifacts creaked and groaned as the magical fire overwhelmed them, but a few seconds later, the deed was done.

Almost on cue, they began to hear the sound of pops in the distance.

“You hear that?”

“I think so, they must have— Protego!” The voice behind him called out, a barrier raising just in time to take on no less than five spells and causing the wizard to cry out in distress.

Voldemort spun on his heel, his wand a blur as he reinforced the shield charm with his own. The air crackled with magical energy as more spells ricocheted off the shimmering barrier. His followers, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of the attack, quickly rallied at his barked commands.

“Jethro! Left side! Mulligan, Liam, cover our rear!” Voldemort’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. “The rest of you, defend us as needed. Let’s move.”

The narrow hallway erupted into a dazzling display of light and sound. Jets of red stunners crisscrossed with sickly green killing curses. Voldemort ducked a particularly nasty-looking purple hex, retaliating with a whip-like motion of his wand that sent three wizards flying backwards.

“Press forward!” He commanded, leading the charge. His wand danced in intricate patterns, conjuring a swarm of razor-sharp ice shards that hurtled towards their attackers.

A Ministry officer with a scarred face managed to transfigure the ice into harmless vapor, but Voldemort was already following up. With a slash of his wand, he sent a wave of concussive force down the hallway, forcing their opponents to conjure hasty shield charms.

“Liam, smoke screen!” Voldemort ordered. Thick, acrid smoke billowed from Liam’s wand, filling the corridor and providing momentary cover.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Voldemort directed his group to keep going forward. They moved in a tight formation, shields interlocking as they advanced. Spells continued to fly through the smoke, most missing their marks but some finding flesh. Cries of pain echoed from both sides.

As they neared the junction leading to their next target, Voldemort sensed a buildup of magical energy.

“Down!” He roared, dropping to one knee. A massive fireball roared over their heads, crashing through the wall behind them and superheating the air.

Rising, Voldemort responded by seizing the remnants of the fire spell behind him and adding his own, directing it forward as a massive snake, forcing the officer and his compatriots to desperately defend. In the ensuing chaos, he gestured sharply to his group.

“This way! Quickly!”

They rounded the corner at a run, spells still flying. Voldemort brought up the rear, his wand a blur as he cast Shield Charms, conjured obstacles, and fired off curses in rapid succession. The air hummed with the intensity of the magical duel.

As they approached their second target, Voldemort allowed himself a grim smile. that had only been the first response, so it made sense that they were unprepared for the full extent of his power. The real test was yet to come, and he relished the challenge.

“Prepare yourselves.” He called to his followers as they neared their destination. “The true battle begins now. Reinforcements will be waiting for us.”

“Sir.” A few of them acknowledged as they reached the atrium, which exploded into a maelstrom of magical warfare as Voldemort and his followers burst in. In the chaos, Voldemort concentrated on those who seemed to be having the easiest time, focusing his attention on them and, with a spell, separating them from the others.

“Jethro. You’re in charge of the fight against the officers.” He said as he turned his attentions to the three Aurors before him. “I will take these men on.”

The Aurors said nothing as the group split off from Voldemort.

His wand slashed through the air, and a tidal wave of obsidian flames roared towards the Aurors. They responded in unison, their wands weaving complex patterns that transmuted the dark fire into a golden one, composed of a flock of golden phoenixes. The fiery birds wheeled in the air before diving at Voldemort.

With a snarl, he swept his wand in a wide arc, conjuring a whirlwind that caught the phoenixes and hurled them back at their creators. The Aurors dove apart, narrowly avoiding their own transfigured spell.

The lead Auror, a grizzled veteran with steely eyes, retaliated with a blast of pure magical force that shattered the marble floor beneath Voldemort’s feet. But the Dark Lord was already moving, apparating with a crack to reappear behind his opponents.

A flurry of spells erupted from his wand— cutting curses, bone-breakers, and worse. The Aurors’ shields flared brilliant white under the assault, but held. Their shock at facing such power was evident in their wide eyes and gritted teeth.

The second Auror, a lithe woman with close-cropped hair, roared as a large circle of magic burst into life around Voldemort. The air itself seemed to solidify, as the gravity threatened to crush him into a paste. With a roar of his own, Voldemort expanded his magical aura, shattering the impromptu prison in an explosion of raw power that sent tremors through the entire atrium.

Seizing the initiative, Voldemort thrust his wand skyward. The enchanted ceiling of the atrium, normally showing a peaceful night sky, now roiled with storm clouds. Lightning arced down, striking at the Aurors with deadly precision. They deflected the bolts, sending them crashing into the walls and floor, leaving scorch marks and craters in their wake.

The third Auror, a young man with fierce determination in his eyes, managed to flank Voldemort. With a complex wand movement, he transfigured the debris around them into a pack of stone wolves that lunged at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort’s response was swift and terrible. With a flick of his wand, he transmuted the air around the stone beasts into acid, melting them mid-leap. Another gesture, and the acidic mist coalesced into razor-sharp icicles that hurtled towards the young Auror.

The veteran Auror managed to vanish the icicles just in time, but Voldemort was already following up. He summoned the golden statues from the fountain, animating them into massive golems that engaged the Aurors in close combat.

As the battle raged on, the Aurors’ faces showed a mix of determination and growing fear. They fought with everything they had, unleashing spells of incredible power and complexity, yet their opponent seemed to shrug off their best efforts with ease.

Voldemort reveled in the chaos, his laughter echoing through the atrium as he matched the Aurors spell for spell, slowly but surely gaining the upper hand. The full extent of his power was on display, and even these elite warriors were finding themselves outmatched.

With a final, devastating combination of spells— a barrage of piercing hexes followed by a shockwave of pure force— Voldemort sent the Aurors flying across the atrium. They crashed into the far wall, slumping to the ground, battered and bewildered by the sheer might they had faced.

As the dust settled, Voldemort surveyed the scene of destruction around him. The atrium lay in ruins, testament to the ferocity of the battle. His followers, having overcome the officers, gathered around him, their eyes wide with awe and fear at the display of their leader’s true power.

I suppose they have impressed me enough to live, for now.

Voldemort allowed himself a cold smile of satisfaction. The Ministry’s best had given their all, and it hadn’t been nearly enough. As sirens wailed in the distance, signaling the approach of reinforcements, he knew it was time to make their exit. They had what they came for, and had left a message that would not soon be forgotten.

oooo

Around the Same Time…

Rafiq Rahman

The silence in the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries was almost palpable. Rafiq stood alert, his wand at the ready as he placed a small, inconspicuous rock on the ground behind him. With a murmured incantation, the air shimmered and a large circle appeared on the floor.

Moments later, the circle flared with a pale blue light, and figures began to materialize. Matthias stepped forward first, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. Then came Grindelwald himself, his presence commanding and electric. Five of their most capable officers followed, each radiating an aura of lethal competence.

Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes swept the area before settling on Rafiq.

“Are the preparations complete?” He asked, his voice low and expectant.

Rafiq nodded, his posture straightening under Grindelwald’s gaze. “Yes, Mr. Grindelwald. Everything is in place. We’re merely awaiting the signal to—”

His words were cut short as a tremor ran through the floor beneath their feet. The distant sound of explosions and magical combat reached their ears, muffled but unmistakable.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Grindelwald’s face, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

Rafiq’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What in blazes is going on up there?” He asked, a mix of confusion and excitement in his voice.

Grindelwald didn’t answer directly. Instead, he gestured towards the ominous black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. “That, my friend, is the cue given to us by Mr. Marco. Lead on.”

“As far as cues go, that was impressive; didn’t think he had it in him.” With a nod, Rafiq turned and approached the door. It swung open silently, revealing the circular room beyond, its black walls lined with identical, handleless doors. As the group entered, the wall began to rotate, a dizzying blur of movement.

Once it stopped, Grindelwald spoke again, his voice filled with purpose. “Remember our objectives. The Time Turners and the Veil of Death. Let nothing stand in our way.”

The assembled witches and wizards nodded in unison, their faces set with determination. As another distant explosion shook the floor, Rafiq pointed his wand at one of the doors. 

“This way to the Time Room.” He said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. 

As they moved forward, the sounds of battle above grew louder. Whatever diversion was taking place in the upper levels, it was providing them with the perfect cover for their true mission.

As they entered the Time Room, the group paused momentarily, taking in the sight of countless Time Turners glinting on shelves that stretched impossibly high. Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

“Carefully now.” He instructed, his voice barely above a whisper. “We cannot afford any mistakes.”

One by one, they began the painstaking process of collecting the Time Turners. Each delicate instrument was levitated with utmost care into specially prepared containers. The work was slow and meticulous, the tension in the room palpable as they gathered their precious cargo.

After what seemed like hours, hundreds of Time Turners had been secured. Grindelwald nodded, satisfied.

“Destroy the rest.” He ordered coldly. “Leave nothing for them to salvage.”

With controlled bursts of magic, the remaining Time Turners shattered, their enchanted sand spilling uselessly to the floor. The destruction complete, they made their way back to the circular room.

As they approached the entrance, three figures in the distinctive robes of Unspeakables suddenly appeared before them. For a split second, time seemed to freeze as both groups registered each other’s presence.

One of the Unspeakables disappeared with a crack of Apparition before anyone could react. The other two attempted to follow, but Grindelwald’s reflexes were faster. With a slash of his wand, he erected an anti-Apparition jinx, trapping the remaining Unspeakables.

Rafiq let out a frustrated curse. “Damn it! The Aurors will be on their way here, now.”

Grindelwald, however, remained unruffled. A cold smile played on his lips as he regarded the trapped Unspeakables. With two swift, almost lazy flicks of his wand, both opponents crumpled to the ground, dead.

“Let them come.” Grindelwald said, his voice filled with dark anticipation. “We’ve already completed the first step, and we knew that we would find ourselves in sight of our enemies soon enough.”

They re-entered the rotating room, the black doors spinning around them once more. As the room settled, Grindelwald pointed to one of the doors. “The Death Chamber lies beyond. We must move quickly now.”

The distant sounds of battle, which had been a constant background noise, were beginning to intensify. The Aurors were clearly fighting their way down to the Department of Mysteries.

Grindelwald’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Rafiq, lead half our force to secure our exit. The rest of you, with me. The Veil awaits.”

As the group split, tension hung heavy in the air. They were now in a race against time, with the prize of death itself within their grasp and the full might of the Ministry bearing down upon them.

Grindelwald stepped into the Death Chamber, his eyes immediately drawn to the centerpiece of the room— the Veil. Just as his visions had shown him, it stood there, a massive stone archway that seemed to exude an aura of ancient, terrifying power.

The tattered black curtain that hung from the arch swayed gently, as if stirred by an unfelt breeze. Grindelwald’s keen eyes could make out the intricate patterns within the fabric— all soul threads. Countless souls, woven together so tightly that they had lost all individual identity, forming a collective consciousness that bridged the gap between life and death.

The sight was both beautiful and horrifying. The Veil seemed to whisper, a soft susurration that tickled at the edge of hearing, promising secrets and power beyond mortal comprehension. Grindelwald found himself drawn towards it, mesmerized by its otherworldly presence.

Beside him, Matthias spoke, his voice tinged with awe and a hint of fear. “It’s exactly as you described, sir. The size… it’s a perfect match for the depression at our other site.”

Grindelwald blinked, snapping out of his trance. He tore his gaze away from the hypnotic sway of the curtain and focused on the base of the archway. His eyes narrowed as he assessed its dimensions, comparing them to the mental image he held of their prepared location.

“Indeed.” He murmured, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face. “A perfect fit. Our preparations were indeed not in vain.”

He turned to face his followers, his eyes blazing with triumph and barely contained excitement. “Prepare for extraction. We must move swiftly now. The prize we’ve sought for so long is finally within our grasp.”

As his team began to mobilize, setting up the complex magical apparatus required to move the Veil, Grindelwald cast one last look at the archway. The whispers seemed to grow louder, more insistent, as if the souls trapped within sensed their impending relocation.

The distant sounds of battle were growing closer. Time was running short, but Grindelwald felt no fear.

The tension in the Death Chamber reached a fever pitch as the sounds of battle drew ever closer. Grindelwald stood tall, his wand moving in intricate patterns as he cast powerful Shield Charms around his team working on the Veil.

“Focus on your task.” He commanded, his voice steady and resolute. “I will ensure our defense. Whatever you do, you must complete the extraction at all costs. All will be riding on you four.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than the chamber doors exploded inward in a shower of splinters and magical energy. Rafiq and his men burst through the opening, their faces etched with determination and fear. Hot on their heels came a wave of wizards— Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Unspeakables— at least thirty strong.

The chamber erupted into chaos. Spells crisscrossed the air, a dazzling and deadly light show. Rafiq and his team took up defensive positions, buying time for those working on the Veil.

Grindelwald stood at the fore, his presence radiating power. Five Aurors, the elite of the elite, converged on him. The air crackled with magical energy as the titans clashed.

The lead Auror, a man who looked like an old lion, didn’t bother speaking. He opened with a barrage of multicolor spells that Grindelwald deflected with a step back. Another Auror sent a wave of force that sent a few of his men stumbling back, their faces ashen.

A necromantic curse? He thought as they desperately tried to undo the damage.

A fiery-haired Auror conjured ropes of pure light that sought to bind Grindelwald. With a snarl, he transmuted the chains into venomous serpents that turned on their caster. The Auror barely managed to vanish them before they struck.

Grindelwald’s wand was a blur. The stone floor beneath the Aurors’ feet transformed into quicksand, while the air above became superheated plasma. They countered with impressive skill, conjuring platforms of ice and shields of compressed air, but were clearly on the defensive.

Meanwhile, the battle raged around them. Rafiq dueled two opponents at once, his wand flashing as he wove between curses and hexes. Matthias and the others had transformed part of the chamber into a swamp, bogging down a group of Hit Wizards and keeping them from reaching the four around the Veil.

The Veil itself seemed to pulse with energy, the whispers growing to a fevered pitch as the battle raged around it. The team working on its extraction never faltered, protected by Grindelwald’s shields and their own determination.

Back at the center of the fray, Grindelwald was a force of nature. He conjured a cyclone of dark fire that roared through the chamber, forcing even his own men to dive for cover. The Aurors countered with a combined spell, a beam of pure white light that met Grindelwald’s fire in a cataclysmic explosion.

As the smoke cleared, Grindelwald stood unbowed, his eyes gleaming with manic intensity. With a complex gesture, he tore rifts in the air itself, sending out a flurry of wind blades so vicious it cleaved three Hit Wizards in a split second. The Aurors reacted as quickly as they could have, surrounding themselves in barriers as more and more pops began to sound all around them.

They were surrounded on all sides, but Grindelwald wasn’t done.

Protego Diabolica!

A wall of blue fire appeared all around them, attacking any and all who attempted to cross its threshold, feeding upon their magic to empower it further. Grindelwald’s eyes darkened, however, as he began to sense that the power of his spell was being drained.

“You didn’t think we’d fight you without preparing for the spells you’re known for, did you?” A familiar voice called out from ahead of him. The flames were beginning to dissipate, and Grindelwald was able to make out the face of one of Albus’ allies.

Alastor, he believed the man’s name was, continued barking out orders at his men. “Ready your spells, his barrier will be down in seconds!”

“What do we do?” Rafiq said as he moved to the side of his leader. “I can reinforce the barrier.”

Grindelwald pursed his lips. “Yes, we need to buy enough time for—”

Just as he was about to speak, a triumphant cry rose from the team at the Veil. “It’s ready!”

Grindelwald’s face split into a victorious grin. With a final, devastating spell that sent his opponents flying, he turned to the Veil.

“Nevermind. Now!” He roared as he moved to the Veil. “Activate the apparatus! Everyone, to me!”

His men came to him as the four around the veil let out a cry in unison, activating the spell, surrounding them all with a large circle of magic just as his wall of blue fire winked out of existence, a deluge of spells following in its wake. 

In a swirl of magic and a deafening crack, the Veil, Grindelwald, and his team vanished just in the nick of time, leaving behind a scene of destruction and disbelief. The remaining combatants lowered their wands, staring in shock at the empty space where the Veil of Death had stood for centuries.

The group rematerialized in a cavernous chamber deep beneath Stonehenge, the Veil of Death appearing with them in a swirl of otherworldly energy. 

Grindelwald wasted no time, turning to Rafiq. “Assess the men’s injuries. We will need to begin relief efforts and issue the general retreat.”

“That we do, but…” Rafiq said as he pointed at the base of the Veil. “What about this?”

Gellert turned his gaze down. The ancient stones of the chamber seemed to pulse with latent power, as if recognizing the arrival of the artifact they had been prepared to house. Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed with triumph as he surveyed the scene.

The depression in the chamber floor matched the base of the Veil perfectly, just as they had planned. He could feel the convergence of soul threads beneath them, amplifying the already potent magical energies of both the location and the Veil itself.

“It is as it should be. Excellent work, all of you.” Grindelwald said, his voice carrying a note of genuine praise. “We have what we need. Now, we wait for the appointed time.”

Matthias, who had been stuck here the entire time, stepped forward, already beginning to assess their team. “Shall I begin the healing, sir? Some of our men took heavy damage in the escape.”

Grindelwald nodded. “Yes, see to it, my friend. We’ll need everyone at full strength for what’s to come.”

As Matthias moved among the injured, Grindelwald turned his attention to the broader picture. “Mr. Rafiq, send out the signal for a country-wide retreat. Our primary objective is complete. Let them think they’ve driven us back.”

Rafiq nodded and began to cast the necessary spells to communicate their orders. After a moment, he turned back to Grindelwald with a concerned expression. “Sir, I’ve received reports from most of our teams, but there’s no word from Marco. He wasn’t with the group when we regrouped after the Ministry assault.”

Grindelwald’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. Our friend ‘Marco’. Don’t concern yourself, Rafiq. His absence is… expected. All is proceeding as it should.”

Rafiq looked puzzled but didn’t press the issue. Grindelwald’s confidence was enough to assuage his concerns for now.

Grindelwald turned his attention back to the Veil, its tattered curtain swaying gently in a non-existent breeze. The whispers emanating from it seemed to have taken on a new quality here, as if the voices of the dead were singing in harmony with the ancient power of Stonehenge.

“We have all the pieces now.” Grindelwald murmured, more to himself than to his followers. “The Veil, the Time-Turners, this nexus of power… Soon, we will rewrite the very fabric of reality.”

He gazed around at his loyal followers, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. They had struck a blow against the magical world that would not soon be forgotten, and yet their true work was only beginning.

“Rest now.” Grindelwald commanded. “Heal, recover your strength. In the coming days, we will shake the foundations of magic itself.”

As his team began to settle in, Grindelwald’s thoughts turned to ‘Marco’ and his separate mission. A faint smile played on his lips. Let Voldemort think he was operating in secret. When the time came, all would fall into place, and Grindelwald would stand triumphant over a reborn magical world.

oooo

Same Time, Phoenix’ Roost

Lord Voldemort

Voldemort moved through Grindelwald’s headquarters like a shadow, his mastery of stealth magic rendering him virtually undetectable. The few guards left behind were oblivious to his presence, their attention unfocused as they were bored. These were the people who weren’t deemed fit enough to take part in the battles, so they posed no threat to him.

As he reached Grindelwald’s solar, a sense of anticipation built within him.

This was the moment he had been waiting for, the true purpose behind his elaborate deception.

With a series of quick, precise wand movements, he dismantled the protective spells guarding the drawer. It was intricate work, but nothing that could truly challenge him.

The drawer slid open silently, revealing the vial of elixir nestled within. Voldemort’s red eyes gleamed with triumph as he reached for his prize. Yet, as his fingers closed around the cool glass, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. For all the elaborate planning and subterfuge, this moment felt oddly… anticlimactic.

It was then that he noticed the small piece of parchment which had been tucked beside the vial. Curiosity piqued, he unfolded it and began to read. As his eyes scanned the elegant script, they widened almost imperceptibly.

The note was from Grindelwald himself, and its contents were unexpected, to say the least. It was not a trap or a taunt, as Voldemort might have anticipated. Instead, it was an offer— an invitation to alliance, couched in terms that spoke of mutual respect and shared ambition.

Voldemort found himself reassessing his opinion of Grindelwald. The man was clearly more perceptive and cunning than he had given him credit for. To have anticipated Voldemort’s move, to have left this message… it spoke of a level of strategic thinking that he hadn’t quite expected.

For a moment, Voldemort stood motionless, the vial in one hand and the note in the other. The implications of Grindelwald’s offer swirled through his mind, presenting both opportunities and potential pitfalls.

Shaking his head slightly, as if to clear away the unexpected thoughts, Voldemort tucked both the vial and the note securely into his robes. There would be time to consider Grindelwald’s proposition later, when he was safely away from this place.

With a final glance around the solar, Voldemort Disapparated, leaving no trace of his presence save for the empty drawer. As he reappeared in one of his secure locations, his mind was already racing, weighing the possibilities that had suddenly opened before him.

Perhaps, he mused, the game was not as straightforward as he had believed. Grindelwald had proven himself a worthy opponent— and now, potentially, a valuable ally. The coming days would require careful thought and planning. But for now, Voldemort allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. Whatever came next, he had achieved his immediate goal.

The Elixir of Life was his, and with it, new paths had opened.