The Wandering Devil
Chapter: 49
Disclaimer: I don't own High School DxD or any other universe used in this story.
(Nurmenguard)
-{Zephyrion Gremory}-
The ritual circle's red glow faded, leaving only the flickering light that came from a nearby set of brightly glowing candles. It was that quiet noise that filled the momentary silence.
Then Clint was on his feet before I could take a breath.
"My Lord!" He dropped to one knee, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "You've returned! We've been waiting, everything is going according to plan and more!"
Reginald rose more slowly, his movements controlled and precise. The aristocratic bearing remained, but I caught the flash of genuine relief in his eyes before it was masked behind propriety.
"Lord Gremory." He inclined his head respectfully. "We are honoured by your return."
"Clint, Reginald, it's good to see you. How's it been going?" I asked smoothly, stepping out of the ritual circle.
Clint's grin could have lit the underground chamber on its own.
"Better than expected, my Lord." He was practically, obviously eager for this particular report. "The recruitment has exploded. Word spread after the incident at the Ministry gala. Half-bloods, Muggle-borns, even a few pure-blood families seem interested."
I tilted my head.
It had been a while, hadn't it?
Reginald finally spoke up.
"That last part is due to your actions with Theodric Abbott," Reginald said with a small smile. "It's not every day a Lord, Light or Dark genuinely shows up for one of their followers, in time at least. The action has been noticed and thoroughly spoken about."
I blinked.
Really… I hadn't planned that more than securing Reginald's loyalty.
How interesting.
I raised an eyebrow. "So the recruitment process has 'exploded'? I'm guessing that little encounter with the dark Lord also helped."
Reginald nodded slowly, while Clint was more vocal.
"Yes," Clint said once more. "Over a thousand have flocked to us."
"…"
Excuse me?
"We've had to establish secondary meeting locations," Reginald added, his tone measured. "The original safehouse became... insufficient for our growing numbers."
Clint nodded eagerly. "And the training programs you outlined? We've implemented the basics. Nothing flashy, but the basic schooling that had been so kept from the public has been given. It's sufficiently boosted morale and the 'opportunity' that we present has spread even further."
"And here I thought my absence was going to weaken us," I said with a hint of amusement, sitting down.
This was good…
A world I could fall back upon and it seems finding someone to come back with me wouldn't be too hard.
"No, my Lord," Clint replied hurriedly.
"In fact," Reginald said. "I believe it's almost made your image stronger."
Sebas watched this all carefully and his presence hadn't eluded the two wizards in front of me.
"So that's helped? How is this massive amount of recruits being managed?" I asked, leaning back.
"We've begun building a ranking system, with a few captains arising and operating under us," Reginald replied calmly.
The Gremory luck.
How dangerous.
"What is it exactly that we are promoting?" I questioned curiously.
"My Lord?" Clint asked.
"I mean our goals beyond growing," I questioned.
"T-there isn't really one besides a new forming order," Clint replied hesitantly.
I nodded.
"Good."
I didn't need my words getting twisted… like Satomi had, though I imagine it was a harder situation with a quasi-kingdom of powerful monsters.
Reginald's eyes finally drifted to Sebas, who stood silently at my shoulder.
"If I may inquire, my Lord," the noble began carefully, "who is the gentleman accompanying you?"
"My butler," I replied casually. "In a sense."
Both of them stared at Sebas, then back at me, confusion evident in their expressions. Sebas inclined his head politely but offered no further explanation.
I moved on before they could ask further.
"Any problems? And more importantly, have you been keeping a low profile?"
Clint's expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious.
"The Ministry hasn't caught wind of anything concrete," he said. "They're too busy chasing shadows. Right now, the minister is more concerned with maintaining appearances than actually investigating new threats. The Auror Office is being overworked but with the Death Eaters becoming more active their attention is being sorely overwhelmed. And our silence is making them nervous."
"On that subject, what are the Death Eaters up to?"
"They are… compensating." Reginald's jaw tightened. "It would seem that the beat at Lord Abbot's residence has made them feel the need to conduct a great many raids. But they're still focused on consolidating their own power base."
Clint snorted. "They've got bigger problems than us right now. The old families are scrambling to distance themselves from You-Know-Who as he goes on a rampage."
"Indeed, I heard he's rather… uncontrollable when enraged."
"So Volde is throwing a tantrum." I mused.
They both flinched slightly at my usage of his name, but soon Clint smirked.
I drummed my fingers against the armrest.
My mind turned over the situation.
I only had a few days here before I needed to return. Artemis was waiting, and the quest she'd brought couldn't be delayed indefinitely. In truth, it would have been simpler to handle her problem first, but I had no reliable way to contact my people in the wizarding world from Orario.
Next time, I'd bring Hestia. We could spend longer here, exploring what this world has to offer properly. The wizarding world was rich with potential, but I was constantly operating on borrowed time. I'd gained followers here and I wasn't about to abandon them.
"So," I said, leaning forward. "What have you got me on Nurmengard?"
Clint's eyes lit up, his mouth opening.
Good, they hadn't forgotten my last order.
"It's a magical fortress located in the Austrian Alps," Reginald cut in smoothly, earning an irritated glance from Clint. "Those who have looked on it have described it as a jet-black structure built by Grindelwald himself during his rise to power. Originally used to hold his opponents, it now serves as his prison."
Reginald said with a hint of fascination.
"The entrance bears his old slogan. 'For the Greater Good,' carved into the stone. After Dumbledore defeated him in 1945, Grindelwald was confined to the topmost cell of the highest tower."
"And Grindelwald himself is entrapped there, correct?" I asked for confirmation.
"He's been there for decades," Reginald affirmed.
"Then I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's pretty well defended," I replied thoughtfully.
"Yes, by many different groups of Aurors in fact. It's considered one of the biggest multi-Ministry collaborations. The number isn't known and it's all very obscure but I know the French Ministry, the American Ministry and the British Ministry are involved."
"What about the other forms of security?"
Perhaps the most dangerous aspect.
"Heavy." Reginald's expression grew thoughtful. "The fortress was enchanted by Grindelwald personally over the course of his entire campaign. The International Confederation of Wizards added their own protections after his imprisonment, but by all accounts, the original enchantments remain the primary defence. Grindelwald was considered one of the greatest magical minds of his era. His wards reflect that."
Clint leaned forward eagerly.
"Is that why you want to go there, my Lord? Is it something to do with the old Dark Lord?" Clint asked eagerly, his tone slightly wicked.
I smiled. "Something like that."
Three things I wanted from this trip. Grindelwald himself, the Elder Wand, and a selection of wizards to bring back with me to Orario. The first two were in the same location. Convenient.
I guess I could add beating back Voldemort onto the list… such pointless raids for the sake of merely spreading fear rubbed me the wrong way.
"What do you know about the specific protections?" I asked.
Reginald hesitated.
"Truthfully? Very little concrete information exists outside the ICW's inner circles. What we do know is that no one has ever escaped Nurmengard. No one has even attempted it. The enchantments are layered, self-reinforcing, and supposedly lethal to anyone who tries to tamper with them."
"There are rumours," Clint added, "that ICW enchanters who tried to 'improve' the wards ended up dead. The protections don't discriminate."
I hummed thoughtfully.
Grindelwald had been stronger than me just a few weeks ago. The protections he'd created to hold the enemies of a wizard of that calibre weren't something to take lightly.
Then again, I wasn't the same as I'd been a few weeks ago either and I had access to perhaps my strongest weapon.
My mutated power of destruction.
Clint approached the desk I had liberally taken charge of
"Do you want us to assemble the forces, my Lord?"
Clint looked eager, beyond eager to the point I had a feeling he would become upset if I said no.
"How many are available?"
I remembered when I had left it had been in the realm of fifty wizards and witches.
That had grown at least tenfold in my absence.
"How many do we have exactly?" I asked, thinking over the thought of invading an incredibly powerful magical prison.
And the fact that I apparently had a magical army.
"The total number is one thousand and sixty-eight within our ranks. Out of them only eight hundred and twenty-eight would be available." Clint informed me eagerly.
I thought about my next move.
"Give me a day, in that time gather everyone you can. And get me some books on wards." I ordered, observing them curiously.
I had waited long enough and I wasn't against going for it straight away.
"Of course, my Lord and it'll be done right away." Clint nodded.
"Also, make sure our… people go in with the intent to stun them if we encounter anyone not on our side."
"May I ask why?" Clint questioned curiously.
"Think of it as a show of force." I smiled innocently. "We don't need to kill them to get what we want and I'm sure it'll make it harder to spin the headlines."
Ah, acting the dark Lord wasn't so bad, especially with the advanced magical books Reginald soon dumped on my newly acquired desk.
-{Clint}-
Clint left the room, attempting to hide the excitement.
One thousand and sixty-eight.
The number burned in Clint's mind like a brand as he strode through the underground corridors, his boots echoing against the stone.
One thousand and sixty-eight witches and wizards who had answered the call. Who had seen something worth following in their Lord. And that number was still growing.
He found Ana Blackwell exactly where he expected her, hunched over a table covered in parchment, quill scratching furiously as she updated the recruitment ledgers.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her eyes flicked up the moment he entered.
"He's back," Clint said without preamble.
Ana straightened immediately. "The Lord?"
"In the flesh. And he's planning something big." Clint couldn't keep the grin from his face. "Get everyone up. I want the inner circle ready within the hour and the rest on standby."
Ana was already moving, gathering her parchments with practised efficiency. "All of them?"
"Everyone ready." Clint nodded.
She paused, something flickering in her expression. That look Clint had seen more and more often lately, especially when their Lord was mentioned.
"He's really here?" Ana asked quietly. "The Dark Lord?"
Clint noted the way she said the name with a slight smirk.
It was to be expected.
Even if they hadn't seen the way he had been gifted power, the significance of a third option, one that wasn't stocked up with Purebloods and at worst half-bloods, which the second option only desired talent, was a big deal.
It had only grown bigger when more rumours spread and the lack of… rabid hate that the other Dark Lord presented became far too hard for the Daily Prophet to try to cover up.
He of all people had known this and was a great sign for all his old associates, a once weak wizard acting as a thief in Knockturn Alley to make ends meet.
Clint liked to think of himself as the poster boy of it all in a sense.
"In person." Clint nodded, enjoying the flash of enthusiasm that went through her face. "Along with someone new. A butler, apparently."
That… was probably the biggest surprise.
He knew there were many mysteries around his Lord, even more so the closer he was to him. He hadn't ignored them in the slightest. The strange magic that was used, the fact that he had to use some sort of contract to summon him.
Just where did he go that he could not simply call them? They could merely Apparate if it was such a far distance, unless it was another country, which would make more sense… but Clint felt like it was something beyond that.
And now he had returned with a butler, a sign of a noble lineage which was to be expected.
Reginald seemed to have the answer, which was comforting in some ways… he had grown to trust Reginald's intuition as they braved creating an entire faction under the name of an immensely powerful wizard…
Though, Clint had certainly noticed his Lord had come back with some changes. His eyes and ears seemed different, he almost seemed even more ethereal than before.
Ana's brow furrowed. "A butler?"
"Don't ask. I don't understand half of what our Lord does." Clint waved a hand dismissively. "But what I know is the time to move is now, he's back and it seems like he is moving on with his plans."
"Nurmenguard?" Ana asked, referring to the only true task given by Lord Zephyrion before he had left.
"Precisely," Clint replied with a grin.
"Not wasting any time huh?" Ana commented with a smile. "Then again, we've been waiting in hiding for long enough, I suspect it might have started to prove adverse in the effect we wanted if we kept hiding for so long."
"We would have made it work." Clint shrugged. "They can hardly complain. But I do agree, it was rather disheartening when I came with everyone only to find everyone beaten… I mean, there's displays of power and then there's freezing an entire town in a layer of ice"
Ana laughed. "Perhaps coming back and instantly ordering an attack on the strongest magical prison in the wizarding world should be expected."
Clint chuckled. "In any case, we've got five hours, Reginald is getting some advanced books on warding he can read over while we assemble everyone."
She nodded, but didn't leave immediately. Her fingers traced the edge of the recruitment ledger.
"Clint... what's he like? Up close, I mean. I came a bit after the spree the inner circle went on…" Ana asked nervously.
Clint considered the question.
What was Lord Zephyrion like?
Terrifying but oddly relaxed unless provoked… relaxed in the sense he wouldn't kill you if you just didn't try. And he was calm in the face of basically everyone.
"He's confident," Clint replied finally.
"Confident?" Ana asked, looking confused at the choice.
"A force of confidence in a sense, he just inspires it with the way he moves. Everything that follows with that is mostly because of his confidence I believe." Clint replied hesitantly.
Ana looked thoughtful, then her eyes gleamed. "They say he can grant power. Real power. That he elevated you personally."
Clint flexed his fingers, feeling the magic thrumming beneath his skin. Stronger than it had ever been before his Lord's gift, taken from another undeserving wizard who had gone against them.
"He can. And he will, for those who prove themselves worthy." He met her gaze. "Now go. We have work to do."
Ana nodded sharply and swept out of the room, her robes billowing behind her.
Clint watched her go, then turned to survey the chamber.
What had started in a cramped safehouse with a handful of desperate outcasts had grown into something substantial. They had multiple locations now.
And resources flowing in from noble families who saw which way the wind was blowing.
Clint smiled.
This was only the beginning.
-{Albus Dumbledore}-
The fire in Dumbledore's office crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the portraits of former headmasters, most of whom feigned sleep at this late hour.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat in his chair, fingers steepled before him, his half-moon spectacles reflecting the flames as he gazed into nothing.
His mind once again found itself wandering on a certain and most troubled subject.
The months of silence, perhaps worse than Tom's recent rampage in the unpredictable manner it presented.
It wasn't a rare occurrence for his thoughts to wander on this subject. The sheer power that had been displayed was most worrying and that strange red power… the potential it showed to be vastly more destructive than even Fiendfyre itself.
The new player had emerged like a thunderclap in the wizarding world, made his presence known in a display that had sent ripples through every major faction in Britain, and then... vanished.
As if he had never existed at all.
Dumbledore found that deeply troubling.
Tom Riddle, for all his cunning, was predictable in his ambition. He wanted power, fear, and immortality. His methods were brutal but followed patterns Dumbledore had spent years learning to anticipate.
This Zephyrion Gremory followed no pattern at all.
The reports were contradictory.
Some claimed he was a pureblood from an ancient line no one had heard of. Others insisted he had appeared from nowhere, fully formed, with power that shouldn't have come from an unknown source.
The Ministry's investigation had turned up nothing.
The only thing everyone knew was that Zephyrion Gremory had first been spotted in the middle of the Ministry, on a floor that he shouldn't have been on and somehow simply appeared there.
Even Albus's own inquiries through less official channels had yielded frustratingly little.
He had sent messages to each of the other countries' Ministries, trying to find just who had come into Britain and from which magical school they had hailed from.
His suspicions had been either Mahoutokoro or Uagadou, the wandless magic had been the main driving part of that theory. But no, the new Dark Lord Gremory hadn't been heard of.
What they did know was concerning enough.
He had recruited heavily from those the wizarding world had discarded. Purebloods and weak-blooded wizards, Muggle-borns denied opportunity, half-bloods overlooked by the great families.
The very people are most vulnerable to promises of power and belonging.
And somehow, impossibly, he was delivering on those promises.
The rumours of magical enhancement were too consistent to dismiss. People who had been barely able to light a wand were now casting at levels that should have taken decades to achieve.
It wasn't confirmed but it also hadn't been denied by his source.
Whatever Gremory was doing, it worked.
That alone would have been enough to warrant serious attention.
But it was the silence that worried Dumbledore most.
Voldemort announced himself through terror. Through dark marks burned into the sky and bodies left as messages. He wanted the world to know his name and tremble.
Gremory had made one appearance, then retreated into shadow.
For what?
Was this a prelude to a large plan that was in the making or did the Dark Lord feel content on sitting back, amassing power in the smartest way one could?
Dumbledore leant back.
Two dark lords.
The thought was almost amusing in its absurdity.
Almost.
Dumbledore reached for a lemon drop, more out of habit than hunger.
Two dark Lords, another young man with magic even he hadn't witnessed… Perhaps a message to the Flamels was in order. Surely in all their time on this plane, they would have some much-needed insight.
Dumbledore relaxed slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips as he felt a boundary being passed, the signature of someone approaching his office gently chiming in his mind.
He had managed one small victory, at least. A spy, carefully placed among Gremory's growing ranks. One that had realised the importance of a third Dark Lord and the quick defeat that would need to be struck before it could grow out of control.
The information had been sparse.
Gremory was nowhere to be seen. His inner circle was managing things and quickly going from a novice level to something much more experienced. But every thread helped weave the larger picture.
Dumbledore would have to see what he could do before the leadership grew too much, a process reportedly Lord Greengrass had been speeding up considerably.
Speaking of which.
A soft chime drew his attention.
The silver instrument on his desk, attuned to receive emergency communications from his network, glowed faintly.
A small scroll materialised beside it, sealed with a simple wax stamp.
Dumbledore broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
One word.
Nurmengard.
The lemon drop turned to ash in his mouth.
He read the word again, as if it might change upon second viewing. It did not.
Nurmengard.
His aged mind didn't need any added context as to what this meant.
Why would Gremory have any interest in a prison fortress in the Austrian Alps? A place that held only one prisoner of note.
One man, locked away for over two decades, left to rot in the very tower he had built to hold his enemies.
It wasn't a hard connection.
Gellert.
Dumbledore set the parchment down with a hand that did not quite tremble.
What possible reason could this new dark lord have for seeking out Gellert Grindelwald?
The fire crackled.
And Albus Dumbledore sat alone with a name he had not allowed himself to think of in a very long time…
He stood up.
If the message had been sent so urgently he would need to intervene.
-{Zephyrion Gremory}-
I turned another page of the warding book, my eyes scanning the diagrams and explanations under them. The binding of certain symbols allowed for a better flow of magic and the symbols acted as a written language for magic.
Had Reginald seriously given me some sort of family book?
The book was old, bound in leather that had once belonged to something not entirely mundane. Reginald had procured it from… somewhere and had handed it to me.
It detailed ward-breaking techniques. Counter-curses. The theory behind layered defensive enchantments and how to unravel them without triggering the inevitable backlash.
I closed the book and set it aside with the others.
It was funny how things escalated.
What had started as an accidental arrival in the Ministry's restricted area, followed by an attempted robbery from the very man who now stood as one of my two commanders, had grown into something far larger than I'd anticipated.
One thousand sixty-eight witches and wizards are looking to me for guidance. Some noble houses are showing the signs of bending the knee. A faction is forming in the shadows of a world already torn between two other dark lords.
And now I was planning to break into one of the most heavily protected prisons in magical history.
To make a contract with the dark lord imprisoned within and hopefully steal everything he knew
I had slowed down vastly with my absorption of memories and other such things, but gaining what could be considered a master-level of knowledge in wizarding magic would be handy.
Even if I couldn't, if I could at least gain some of the top-tier spells he had they could be used to a devastating effect. Tiered magic was good but too limited.
The notorious cursed fire he used on the other hand would be a good offensive skill to have.
All of it, potentially mine. If I could make him sign.
After that, I'd have to start my plans on trying to get the Elder Wand. Which was sure to be a lot harder considering who was attached to it, but Sebas was here and I was far more powerful than last time.
I stretched, feeling the pleasant burn of muscles that had been still too long.
"My Lord."
Sebas's voice was calm and measured, as always.
He stood near the door, hands clasped behind his back, as he had since I had begun reading despite my offer for him to take a seat nearby or even explore the mansion we found ourselves in.
"If I may be so bold as to inquire, what is our objective for this excursion?" Sebas asked curiously.
I turned to face him fully.
"Two things." I held up two fingers as I counted. "First, is the former Dark Lord himself. From what you've heard I'm sure you've deduced the wizarding world is quite peculiar with multiple magical governments all over the world."
Sebas nodded.
"And these magical governments consider you one of these… Dark Lords?" Sebas questioned slowly.
"In a sense."
I proceeded to give the dragonoid butler a small crash-course on just what had happened and he seemed to come to his own revelation, a glint in his eyes.
"As expected of a Supreme Being." He replied simply with a nod.
Right…
"This all leads to my current objective and something I want to get done straight away. The former Dark Lord is being held in Nurmenguard, I intend to obtain all his knowledge regarding the wizarding world's way of magic." I informed him easily.
"This wizarding magic is truly so powerful?" Sebas asked, not as a real question but more in the wonder of it all.
"I used some of its spells to combine the magic that broke the world-class items' effect on Shalltear, so I'd say so."
Sebas digested the information.
"The second task is the Elder Wand. A powerful magical booster, we will probably have to get that another time considering just who the wand is attached to." I said with a sigh.
I wasn't going to be able to get that this time around, but I wasn't too bothered.
If the trip to Nurmenguard went well I'd be walking away with a lot of power.
"If I may, you intend to extract his knowledge through the contract?" Sebas asked.
"Precisely."
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite surprised, but close to it.
"Then this Grindelwald... he was truly formidable? Comparable to threats Nazarick has faced?" Sebas asked carefully, his fist tightening and a grin forming.
"Not quite a Nazarick-level threat but a few weeks ago, in his prime he would have been stronger than me," I admitted truthfully. "That's changed now considerably."
Sebas calmed down slightly at that. "A human with such power… would he be able to beat you now?"
"Perhaps not in raw power, but in skill and experience? Probably. He conquered half of magical Europe. He created wards that have held for decades without maintenance." I said, attempting to explain the importance.
Sebas inclined his head slowly, and I could see the calculations happening behind those sharp eyes.
"What do you think such wards could add to Nazarick's defences? An actual magical repellent that could probably be boosted with materials not accessible in this world." I suggested.
Sebas's sharp eyes widened slightly and I saw the significance dawn on him.
A knock at the door interrupted us.
"Enter."
Reginald stepped inside, his aristocratic bearing firmly in place despite the late hour.
"My Lord. The forces have been informed, readied and assembled for your arrival" Reginald informed me, shifting slightly and assessing me with a slight shine in his eyes.
"Reginald," I said, looking up. "It's good you're here, before we start that. Do you have a moment?"
He straightened slightly, attentive.
"How is your family?" I asked, looking at him with a smile. "There's been no more trouble I hope?"
The question caught him off guard. A flicker of confusion crossed his features before he masked it.
"Well enough, my Lord. My wife has warmed up to your presence after tales of your saving of the Abbotts." Reginald said, once more referencing my 'heroic' arrival.
"Good." I let the silence stretch. "And the Abbotts?"
"Recovering. The attack shook them, but Lord Abbott has proven resilient. He speaks highly of you." Reginald said, adding praise presumably to get me to favour him. "He has even joined the cause and is awaiting to repay the kindness of saving his family from a certain death."
I hummed thoughtfully. "That's good, I can't say I expected such a reaction."
Reginald chuckled. "I think it's the lack of reaction that makes him nervous, he wants to repay it some way before you ask for anything in a political sense but he is genuinely ingratiated."
"And where do you see yourself when the dust settles Reginald?" I asked curiously.
Visibly my answer was causing his mind to race.
Reginald's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Beside you, my Lord. I thought I had made that clear." Reginald replied warily.
"You have and relax, I'm not questioning that." I stepped closer, holding his gaze. "I'm merely curious as to what you gain from this."
"My Lord?" Reginald asked.
"Clint will lead the forces here. He's proven himself capable, and he has the loyalty of the people we've gathered." I commented with a nod. "But I need someone else. Someone to stand at my side in a different capacity."
His eyes widened slightly, I could see him run through what I was saying.
"I guess I should stop dancing around it, what I'm offering you is a choice to further raise your house in a sense, Reginald. I want you and your family. Along with a handful of others to come with me, back to where I call my primary home to serve me in a closer manner." I informed him, letting him process my words.
Reginald was a good choice.
His family had potential and as a wizard he was strong. A low mid-class, not great but a bigger base than I had started with. The Falna was a path to power, a long one for most, but still, he would grow.
"You wish us to... follow you? Elsewhere?" Reginald asked, digesting my words audibly.
"I'm asking if you would be willing to." I turned away, giving him space to think. "It's not a demand. Your service here has been valuable, and I won't force you to abandon everything you know. But I'm building something larger than this world, Reginald. And I need people I can trust."
Sebas shifted and I saw him watch the scene intensely, as if he had a deeper meaning to my words than even myself.
The silence stretched.
"I... would need time to consider, my Lord. To speak with my family." Reginald said, his eyes flickered and settled into the air, as if his thoughts had consumed him so much that he couldn't focus.
"Of course. That's all I ask." I moved toward the door, deciding I had already set out the bait and I didn't need to enforce that. "Think about it. We'll speak more after tonight."
Reginald bowed deeply.
I swept past him, Sebas falling into step behind me.
What greeted me were lush hallways, eventually leading to Clint… who was wearing some sort of battle cloak.
Clint stepped forward, offering his arm.
"The distance is too far for a single jump, my Lord. I've established waypoints along the route. We'll need to make four stops before we reach the perimeter." He paused. "The others are already in position."
I took his arm. Sebas placed a gloved hand on my shoulder.
"Let's continue in that case."
The world compressed, the uncomfortable feeling of apparition sweeping over me. We appeared in a forest clearing, snow dusting the ground. Before I could take a breath, we were moving again.
A mountain village.
Then the sensation came back after Clint gave it one look over, while Sebas managed to keep his composure over what was a very disorienting experience.
Again.
A frozen lake, the ice groaning beneath invisible weight.
Then we were at a rocky outcropping overlooking a vast alpine valley.
And then, finally, we stopped.
The cold hit immediately. Bitter, biting wind that cut through robes and chilled to the bone for any normal person at least.
But it wasn't the cold that caught my attention.
It was the army.
They stood in formation across the ridge, dark robes whipping in the alpine wind. Witches and wizards, wands drawn, faces half-hidden by hoods. Easily eight hundred of them, arranged in neat rows that spoke of the discipline Clint had been drilling into them.
The moment I appeared, every head turned.
Silence fell, quickly covered by the cold blasting winds that assaulted the area.
Then, as one, they dropped to their knees.
The gesture rippled across the formation like a wave, starting from those closest and spreading outward until every single one of them knelt on the frozen stone.
Hundreds of witches and wizards, bowing before me on a mountainside in the Austrian Alps.
I smiled awkwardly.
I wasn't quite set on the whole messiah thing going on.
Why was Sebas nodding?
Well… It was safe to say the operation had grown massive.
One thousand and sixty-eight. That was the current count. Not all of them were here, of course. But the hundreds here were still an impressive showing for what amounted to a prison break.
Clint moved to the front, practically vibrating with excitement. Beside him stood a woman with dark hair pulled back severely, her eyes fixed on me with an intensity that bordered on uncomfortable.
"Rise," I said, gesturing impatiently. "We have work to do."
Clint echoed my orders with some sort of voice-boosting charm.
They obeyed instantly, the rustle of robes and clink of equipment filling the air as they returned to their feet.
"Good. Clint, you're with me. Bring a team of ten. The rest remain on standby."
Clint grinned fiercely and gestured to those he'd already selected. I noticed Ana was among them, her expression hungry. And besides Reginald, I found a wizard I had met before, who shook his hand.
Theodore Abbot.
Even masked, I remembered him. He was in his Mid-forties, broad-shouldered with wheat-blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. He wore what could only be called a battle robe.
The Pureblood turned to me, eyes shining as he quickly bowed.
I focused on the towering structure in the distance, barely visible through the swirling snow...
Nurmengard.
Even from here, I could feel it.
The fortress rose from the mountainside like a blade thrust toward the heavens. Jet-black stone, impossibly tall, with a single tower stretching higher than the rest. Snow and ice clung to its walls, briefly showing shimmers of magic that ran down its walls.
"This is the edge of the wards," Clint said quietly, his earlier excitement tempered by the sight before us. "We can't get any closer without triggering them."
I stepped forward, extending my senses.
The barriers hit me like a wall of ice water.
Layers upon layers of enchantments, woven together with a skill that bordered on artistry. I couldn't identify most of them.
Wizarding magic was still largely foreign to me, its structures different from anything I'd encountered in my home world or DanMachi. But I could feel their intent.
Malice, baked into every rune and every ward-line.
These weren't defensive enchantments. They were death traps.
Anyone who tried to dismantle them, who so much as cast a spell in their direction, would be hit with a cascade of curses. The backlash alone would kill most wizards instantly. And for those strong enough to survive that, there were secondary measures.
Layers upon layers of lethal countermeasures.
Grindelwald had been paranoid. And brilliant.
"My Lord?" Clint moved to stand beside me, Ana trailing close behind. "What's the plan? Shall we begin a bombardment? With enough wands firing simultaneously, we could potentially overwhelm the rebound effect. The Aurors stationed inside will notice us regardless, so we might as well hit hard and fast."
I noticed Ana watching me, her lips slightly parted, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"The Aurors will know the moment we cross the threshold," I said, addressing the group. "Prepare yourselves for a fight."
"You intend on speaking with Grindelwald?" Ana asked.
"So how are we getting through? Should we start the bombardment now? With the wands we have, we could maybe, maybe punch a hole if we coordinate properly."
"No need."
I stepped forward, away from the group, and raised my hand.
Power gathered at my fingertips, it manifested as black-crimson energy, crackling and writhing in the air. The air around my hand warped and bolts lingered in the air.
I aimed at the distant fortress.
And fired.
The bolt screamed across the valley, a lance of absolute destruction that left afterimages burned into the retinas of everyone watching. It struck the ward boundary with a crack.
Then light exploded outward.
The barriers, those masterwork enchantments that had held for decades, that had resisted every attempt at dismantling, that had killed the enchanters foolish enough to try, shattered like glass.
I would have liked to have studied them… but I suppose with Grindelwald's memories it wouldn't matter.
The cascade of countercurses is activated. Killing curses, torture hexes, flesh-rotting jinxes, all of them launched toward the source of the intrusion. Hundreds of lethal spells, enough to annihilate an army.
My forces moved back in a hurry, some casting shielding charms while others panicked.
I watched them for a moment curiously.
I had the numbers and some of them even looked pretty skilled, but most of them flinched back in panic at what would be the end of their lives.
That didn't include Sebas, Clint or Reginald who all stared curiously. Lord Abbott summoned a powerful shielding charm before seeing the reaction of Reginald and hesitantly lowering it.
My hand flicked.
The Power of Destruction ate them all.
Black-crimson energy consumed every curse, every hex, every ward remnant, leaving nothing but empty air in its wake. The very magic was unmade, reduced to nothing by the absolute negation of my bloodline ability.
In the sky was a massive arc of destruction energy that lingered, sparks of static destruction lashing out randomly and forming smaller branches that ate at the air.
Silence fell.
The path to Nurmengard lay open.
I lowered my hand and turned to face my followers.
They stared at me with expressions ranging from shock to awe to something approaching religious ecstasy.
Ana had actually dropped to her knees at some point. Even Clint, who had seen glimpses of my power before, looked like he'd just witnessed the sun rise for the first time.
Sebas, of course, merely inclined his head in approval.
"Let's proceed then," I said simply.
And walked toward the fortress that had once held the most dangerous dark lord in European history.
-{Auror Heinrich Vogler}-
The wards screamed, alarms set up long ago activating for the first time.
Heinrich had been stationed at Nurmengard for three years.
Three years of bitter cold, endless monotony, and the constant oppressive weight of the fortress pressing down on his soul. He'd requested a transfer twice.
Both times denied.
The only reason he didn't outright quit was the sheer pay and how easy the job was, and was meant to be.
Nurmengard was a punishment detail. Everyone knew it. You didn't get sent here because you were good at your job. You got sent here because someone in the ICW wanted you forgotten.
But in three years, nothing had ever happened.
The wards had never so much as flickered.
Now they are gone.
Not breached. Not weakened. Gone. Annihilated in a single instant, a wave of destruction that had washed over decades of layered enchantments like they were nothing.
He looked outside a window, watching the massive dome fall from the sky.
Heinrich was running before his mind fully processed what had happened, his boots pounding against the stone corridors as alarm bells began to ring throughout the fortress.
"Vogler!" Senior Auror Brandt's voice cut through the chaos. The older man was already at the main gate, wand drawn, face pale. "What in Merlin's name was that?"
"The outer wards are down," Heinrich reported, slightly out of breath. "All of them. I've never seen anything like it. We must be under a massive assault."
"That's impossible," Brandt replied, the older man looking genuinely astonished, quickly looking out of the window. "Those wards were designed by Grindelwald himself. It would take an army of curse-breakers days with protective artefacts to even begin..."
He trailed off as they both looked through the gate.
Figures were approaching through the snow. Dozens of them. Then hundreds. Dark robes billowing in the alpine wind, wands drawn, moving in formation toward the fortress like a black tide sweeping down the mountainside.
"Death eaters?" Another Auror said, his body shaking.
"No… they aren't wearing the masks and You-Know-who's mark isn't within the sky yet," Bandt said.
"Then who?"
Heinrich's blood turned to ice.
"How many..." Brandt started.
"Hundreds," Heinrich heard himself say, his trained eye counting even as his mind rejected the number. "Maybe more. They're still coming over the ridge."
"Sound the general alarm," Brandt said quietly. "Wake everyone. And someone send a message to the Ministry."
"Which one?"
"All of them." He shouted.
Heinrich didn't need to be told twice.
The battle began three minutes later.
Heinrich found himself on the eastern rampart with four other Aurors, facing a wave of attackers that seemed to materialise from the swirling snow.
There were so many of them.
Far more than the under one hundred Aurors stationed at Nurmengard could hope to handle.
"What should we do?" Heinrich cursed.
"We need to hold them back," Brandt stated firmly.
Another Auror laughed humourlessly.
"Well, thank you for the suggestion. But do we have a fuckin plan for that?"
"Right," Bandt said. "Don't let the enemy's numbers distract us from our duty. If we give up, we die. It's that simple and don't forget reinforcements will arrive. This ain't about winning. It's about holding off and doing damage to these numbers."
Heinrich scoffed, but restrained himself.
"I want twenty of you staying up here and raining down explosion charms on the gating area as we attempt to keep them back," Bandt commanded seriously.
"Right… and who's going down?"
The question brought about a pause.
The following and the brief argument were only stopped by a shouting Bandt.
Forty-three Aurors of different Ministries quickly followed the path down, wands in hand and enchanted robes fitted snuggly around their muscled forms.
They exploded out of the doors.
"Push them back," Bandt commanded. "Use the gate as a death zone."
"Stupefy!" Heinrich shouted, sending a bolt of red light at the nearest attacker.
The witch raised a hasty shield. "Protego!"
His spell deflected, but weakly. The shield shattered on impact, and the follow-up stunner from Auror Kelley caught her in the chest. She dropped.
A bombardment of spellfire followed.
Heinrich swatted one, then another and was forced to throw up a shielding charm.
"Fire." Bandt roared.
Twenty orange flashes of light burned through the sky above and rained down on the gate, causing massive explosions that halted most of the spell fire.
Heinrich cast a silent 'Stupefy.' Catching a recovering witch off guard and stunning her.
"Move forward," Bandt commanded.
"They're not trained," Kelley observed, already pivoting to the next target. "Sloppy wand work. No coordination."
It was true.
The attackers were firing spells with more enthusiasm than skill, their formations loose, their timing off. A proper Auror squad would have cut through them in minutes.
But there were so damned many of them.
"Reducto!" An attacker's curse exploded against the rampart, sending chunks of stone flying. Heinrich threw himself aside, feeling shrapnel tear at his robes.
"Impedimenta!" He fired back, catching the wizard mid-stride. The man froze, suspended in place, and two more stunners from Heinrich's colleagues put him down.
Heinrich ducked, missing a stunner and sending a power shield-breaker in turn, followed by a stunner that caught another in the chest. He sent a powerful 'Expulso' at another.
The courtyard had become a warzone.
Attackers poured through breaches in the outer wall, climbing over each other in their eagerness to advance.
Spells flew in every direction, red and blue and purple, a chaotic light show that would have been beautiful if it wasn't so terrifying. Heinrich watched a group of twenty overwhelm two Aurors through sheer numbers, stunning spells coming from so many angles that no shield could block them all.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
The attackers were using non-lethal spells almost exclusively.
That was strange. In a real assault, you'd expect killing curses, dark magic, the kind of brutality that came with genuine warfare.
Instead, they were trying to incapacitate.
It should have been reassuring. It wasn't.
Because for every attacker they dropped, three more seemed to take their place. The snow was alive with dark shapes, pressing in from every direction, overwhelming through sheer weight of numbers.
A cluster of thirty attackers focused fire on the western tower.
Heinrich watched in horror as the Aurors stationed there disappeared under a barrage of stunners, their shields collapsing one after another until the red light consumed them entirely.
"Western tower is down!" someone screamed.
"Eastern wall breached!"
"They're inside the barracks!"
They had taken well over a hundred down.
A good showing considering the number was reaching almost double theirs.
It didn't help that they were probably being woken up due to the lack of any lethal.
"Fall back to the inner courtyard!" Brandt's magically amplified voice echoed across the fortress. "Defensive positions! Fall back!"
Heinrich retreated, firing stunners over his shoulder, watching Keller take a body-bind curse to the legs and go down hard. He grabbed the man's collar and dragged him along, ducking under a volley of red light that crackled overhead.
The courtyard below was chaos.
Attackers flooded through every entrance, overwhelming defenders through attrition.
Heinrich saw Auror Müller go down fighting, taking out six attackers before a stunner from behind dropped her. Auror Schafer managed to erect a shield wall that held for nearly thirty seconds before the sheer volume of spellfire shattered it.
They reached the courtyard gates just as another wave of attackers crested the walls. Fifty of them at least, moving in something resembling coordination now.
"Protego Maxima!" Senior Auror Brandt's shield erupted across the entrance, a shimmering barrier that deflected a dozen incoming spells. "Inside! Everyone inside!"
Heinrich stumbled through, pulling Keller with him. Other Aurors were flooding in from different positions, some wounded, all of them wild-eyed with disbelief.
Eight.
There were only eight of them left standing.
"Where are they all coming from?" someone shouted.
"Doesn't matter!" Brandt was already sealing the gates with a series of rapid enchantments. "Colloportus! Protego! We hold the interior. Reinforcements will come when the ICW realises the wards are down."
Outside, Heinrich could hear the attackers regrouping. Hundreds of footsteps. Hundreds of voices. The sound of an army preparing for the final push.
Heinrich wanted to believe reinforcements would come.
He really did.
Then the gates exploded inward.
A wave of black-crimson energy tore through Brandt's hastily erected defences like they were tissue paper. Just before it could tear through the Senior Auror it paused, only to be replaced by a powerful knockback jinx.
The Senior Auror was thrown backwards, slamming into the far wall with a crack.
Through the ruined gateway stepped three figures.
The one in front was young. Impossibly young, with crimson hair and mismatched eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. He walked through the chaos like he was strolling through a garden, utterly unconcerned by the carnage around him.
He recognised those eyes…
Behind him, the army parted. Hundreds of witches and wizards drew back to let their leader pass, their faces filled with something between reverence and awe.
Behind him came two older wizards. One noble and composed, moving with the practised grace that instantly labelled him a Pureblood. The other practically vibrated with excitement, grinning like a child at Christmas.
Both of them were masked.
"Stupefy!" Heinrich shouted, putting everything he had into the spell.
The crimson-haired figure didn't even raise a wand.
He simply caught the stunner in his bare hand, the red light dissolving into nothing against his palm.
"I like your spirit." Was the reply he got.
The Dark Lord nodded, smiling.
The excited one was already moving. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!"
Three spells in rapid succession, fired with a speed that shouldn't have been possible. Two Aurors went down before they could react. Heinrich managed to get his shield up, but the impact sent him skidding backwards.
"Reducto!" He fired at the ceiling above the attackers, bringing down a shower of stone.
The noble one waved his wand almost lazily. "Arresto Momentum."
The debris froze in midair, then drifted harmlessly to the ground.
Heinrich's blood ran cold.
"Confringo!" Another Auror tried a blasting curse.
The Noble moved. "Protego, stupefy, confringo, stupefy."
The spell deflected, a powerful red bolt slammed into the Auror's chest, Heinrich attempted to block only for a massive explosion to erupt from the spell, staggering him. Then the Auror next to him was stunned.
He stepped forward, and the shadows seemed to deepen around him.
"We're not here to kill anyone," he announced, his voice carrying easily over the sounds of battle. "Surrender now and you'll wake up with nothing worse than a headache. Continue fighting..."
He let the sentence hang.
Sebas' attire was certainly unique compared to all the robed wizards around them.
The remaining Aurors exchanged glances. There were perhaps six of them still standing, facing an army of eight hundred outside and these three monsters inside.
"We're Aurors," one of them said, raising his wand defiantly. "We don't surrender to dark wizards."
The crimson-haired figure smiled. It wasn't a cruel smile, exactly.
More... amused.
"I respect that."
Then he moved.
Heinrich didn't even see it happen. One moment the young man was standing ten feet away. Next, he was among them, moving with a speed that made apparition look sluggish. His hands touched wrists, shoulders, necks. Aurors crumpled around him like puppets with cut strings.
In less than three seconds, Heinrich was the only one left standing.
He raised his wand with trembling hands, knowing it was pointless, knowing he was about to die.
The crimson-haired figure stopped in front of him.
"You dragged your colleague to safety even when you were retreating," he observed.
He touched Heinrich's forehead with one finger.
The world went dark.
-{Zephyrion Gremory}-
I watched my forces sweep through the outer defences with something approaching satisfaction.
The Aurors were better. Significantly better. Their spellwork was crisp and precise, their defensive formations textbook perfect. In a fair fight, fifteen of them could have held off three times their number.
But this wasn't a fair fight.
My people just kept coming. Wave after wave, wearing down the defenders through sheer attrition. For every stunner an Auror landed, three more attackers were already moving into position.
It was a start.
"The outer courtyard is secured, my Lord," Ana reported, appearing at my side with snow in her dark hair and excitement blazing in her eyes. "Minimal casualties on our side. Mostly stunning spells and body-binds. They should recover within the hour."
"And the Aurors?"
"Incapacitated." She hesitated. "They fought well. Better than our people, honestly. But there were just too many of us."
I nodded. "Good. Keep the perimeter secure. I'm going inside."
"My Lord." She bowed and vanished back into the swirling snow.
I turned to find Reginald and Clint waiting.
Reginald looked composed as always, his face hidden behind a plain white mask.
Clint, by contrast, was ecstatic.
We entered the fortress proper.
The interior of Nurmengard was exactly as oppressive as I'd expected.
Black stone walls pressed in from every side, the architecture designed to crush hope and breed despair. Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows that seemed almost alive.
The remnants of battle littered the corridors. Unconscious Aurors slumped against walls or sprawled across the floor. My people had been thorough.
We climbed.
The stairs wound upward in a tight spiral, passing cell blocks and guard stations and rooms whose purpose I didn't want to contemplate.
I ignored them.
They weren't why I was here. Two floors up, we encountered resistance. A pair of Aurors had barricaded themselves behind an overturned table, wands trained on the stairwell.
"Stupefy!" they shouted in unison.
I didn't bother dodging.
The stunners splashed against my raised hand, their magic unravelling on contact with my demonic power.
Clint and Reginald were already moving.
"Expelliarmus!" Clint's disarming charm ripped one Auror's wand from his grip.
"Petrificus Totalus." Reginald's body-bind caught the other mid-spell.
The wandless Auror tried to flee.
Clint hit him with a stunner before he'd taken three steps.
Someone had been training.
Was it wrong that I was enjoying not doing everything myself? Then again, I did like fighting.
We continued climbing.
Three more floors.
Two more small groups of Aurors, dispatched with similar efficiency. Reginald was proving surprisingly capable in combat, his spellwork elegant and precise. Clint was rawer but faster, compensating for finesse with sheer speed and aggression.
And then we reached the final door.
It was massive. Iron-bound oak, covered in runes that pulsed with faint light. The kind of door designed to hold back armies.
In front of it stood ten Aurors.
These weren't like the ones we'd faced below. They wore different robes, marked with insignia I didn't recognise. Their wands were already raised, their formations perfect, their eyes cold and professional.
Elite guards.
The best the ICW had to offer for protecting their most dangerous prisoner.
And here I had thought they had gotten complacent with the lack of attacks.
"That's far enough," the lead Auror said. A woman, middle-aged, with iron-grey hair and a scar running down her left cheek.
I stopped, studying them.
Ten against three.
Lord Abbot quickly approached from behind, pausing.
Make that ten against four.
"You're hiding a certain prisoner from me, mind stepping aside?"
"Gellert Grindelwald is not receiving visitors. By order of the International Confederation of Wizards, he is to remain in isolation until such time as..."
"We weren't asking for permission," Clint replied for me.
"Take them."
The lead Auror's wand was moving before Clint finished speaking.
Three spells in the time it took most wizards to cast one. The woman was fast.
Clint threw himself sideways, the stunners missing him by inches. The blasting curse hit the wall behind him and detonated, showering the corridor with stone fragments.
Reginald's shield snapped into place just in time to catch a barrage from three other Aurors. The impacts drove him back a step, then another. "These aren't ordinary guards!"
"Noticed that!" Clint snarled, returning fire.
An Auror batted his curse aside with a contemptuous flick.
Ropes erupted from nowhere, wrapping around Clint's legs. He went down hard, already slashing his wand to sever them.
Lord Abbott stepped into the fray, his wand tracing precise patterns.
The jinx caught one Auror mid-stride, freezing him in place. But the body-bind was deflected by a shield that materialised from nowhere, and suddenly Abbott was facing three wands at once.
Abbott dove, the spells screaming over his head. The wall behind him exploded outward, revealing open air and a dizzying drop to the mountainside below.
I watched from the stairwell, arms crossed, observing.
The elite guards were good.
They moved in perfect coordination, covering each other's blind spots, rotating between offence and defence with the kind of seamless teamwork that only came from years of training together.
Their spellwork was crisp, powerful, and relentless.
My three were struggling.
Reginald had managed to incapacitate one guard with a clever feint and follow-up stunner, but he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead and his shield was flickering under sustained assault.
Clint had freed himself from the ropes only to find himself pinned behind a chunk of rubble, unable to advance without exposing himself to crossfire. Abbott was holding his own but barely, his face pale with exertion.
The lead Auror's blasting curse screamed toward Reginald. Who couldn't block it? Not completely. His shield was already failing. So he deflected it instead.
The curse ricocheted off his angled shield and shot sideways, punching through the reinforced stone wall like it was parchment. It kept going, out into the night air, and struck one of the smaller guard towers on the fortress's eastern face.
The explosion was spectacular.
Stone and fire erupted into the sky, the entire tower disintegrating in a thunderous roar that shook the corridor. Debris rained down on the mountainside below, and for a moment, everyone froze.
Reginald sent me a flat look as he ducked for cover, to which I sent him an amused smile.
I swatted away the spells sent towards me, visibly making the opposing force distressed.
The corridor itself began to come apart. Reinforced magical walls, designed to withstand siege warfare, crumbled under the sustained assault. The floor cracked. The ceiling groaned.
Clint went down, a stunner catching him in the shoulder. Reginald tried to reach him and had to back away from a body bind. While Abbott was driven back, until his shoulders hit the wall and there was nowhere left to go.
Sebas still stood beside me, mostly dodging any of the magical bolts that served as spells.
"Surrender," the lead Auror commanded, her wand aimed at Abbott's heart. "You've lost."
"No," I said, stepping forward.
They had done well.
Clint was the weakest link but the two Lords were powerful. No wonder Voldemort wanted all the Pureblood Lords.
The Aurors spun toward me, five wands rising in unison
I moved.
To them, I probably seemed to disappear. One moment I was ten feet away. The next I was among them, my hands finding pressure points, my fingers disrupting magical cores with surgical precision.
The first Auror dropped before she could scream.
The second managed a spell before joining her.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
The lead Auror was last.
She'd retreated to the massive door, her back pressed against the rune-covered oak, her wand shaking in her grip.
"I see." She said, lowering her head.
My finger pointed and she found herself stunned with a wandless stunner, a powerful shielding charm managed to block it, right up until I sent the stone below wrapping against her legs, then sending another even more powerful stunner in response.
She crumpled.
Silence fell over the corridor. Broken stone. Unconscious bodies.
The distant sound of wind howling through the hole where a tower used to be.
I turned my attention to the door.
The runes pulsed with warning light, ancient enchantments designed by one of the most powerful dark wizards in history. Protections meant to keep the world out and the prisoner in.
I placed my palm against the oak.
The runes flared bright, then brighter, then died entirely as my power consumed them. The door groaned, then swung open on hinges that hadn't moved in decades.
Beyond was darkness.
And within the darkness, a cell.
It was small. Spartan. A hard bed with a thin blanket. A bucket in the corner.
No windows, no light, no comfort of any kind.
On the bed sat a man.
He was old. Ancient, really. His hair had gone white long ago, and his face was a map of wrinkles carved by time and regret. His frame was gaunt, wasted by decades of imprisonment, his once-powerful body reduced to skin and bone.
But his eyes.
His eyes were alert.
He looked up as I entered, studying me with the same analytical gaze I imagined he'd once turned on the wizards he'd conquered and the world he'd tried to reshape.
"Well," he said, his voice rough from disuse but carrying an unmistakable note of amusement. "This is unexpected."
I stopped in the centre of the cell, letting him look his fill.
The door shut behind me.
"Grindlewald."
-END-
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