Voldemort sat back in the armchair, the coin moving slowly between his fingers. Months ago Bathael had dropped it into his palm with all the ceremony of a man handing over loose change, and yet it held what remained of Nagini's Horcrux. He'd waited... let the fragment settle, strengthen, fuse. And Bathael had made good on his word. The ritual had stitched the cracks in his soul.
Footsteps sounded. Marauder strolled in with a glass of something amber.
"Well?" he asked, grinning. "How's our patient?"
Voldemort looked up. "I can feel it. Power moving cleanly. Stronger than before. I'm already near my peak."
He felt powerful. Properly powerful. Not the thin, brittle thing he'd been since resurrection.
Years ago, when he'd first uncovered Horcrux theory, he thought he'd found the pinnacle of magical brilliance. Harpo the Foul had carved a loophole into death itself. A way to grip life with both hands and refuse to let go. Voldemort had dreamt of invincibility.
After he'd come back... and realised he'd carved himself thin. His soul had been stretched like old cloth. Fragile. Leaking.
Too late to take it back.
Joining the Covenant had been humiliating, but it confirmed everything he'd suspected. His version of immortality was crude. Amateur. There were older arts, better ways to survive. And at least fate, or Bathael, had thrown him a rope before he wasted away completely.
Marauder hummed. "Good. We'll need you ready for the final plan."
Voldemort nodded, fingers tightening round the coin. Bathael had fed him a tantalising thread of advice before leaving... he could grow stronger still. Repair was step one. Nourishment was step two.
Nourishment. Such a harmless word for what Bathael meant, immortal lifespans. Hoarded and fattened over centuries. Bathael had killed Kaed Thorn and drunk down every year the witch had clung to. Voldemort could do the same. A few such meals and he'd live long enough to outlast whatever world Marauder wanted to build from the ruins.
But first, he needed what he'd hunted before his fall.
The Elder Wand.
He'd traced it to Grindelwald years ago. He hadn't been strong enough then. He was now. But he needed a way in.
He looked up at Marauder. "Before anything else, I need an item."
Marauder raised a brow. "Oh? Something nice?"
"Something personal," Voldemort said. He didn't elaborate. "Will you help me or not?"
Marauder laughed, delighted. "Of course. Where are we going?"
Voldemort let the coin rest against his palm, weighing it as though deciding where to begin.
"Grindelwald stole something from my bloodline. Something that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. I intend to reclaim it."
The story was believable, built on the sort of arrogance people expected from him. An heir slighted. A legacy stolen. Most would swallow it whole.
Marauder hummed, clearly amused. He knew the truth, of course. He invited Voldemort precisely for that reason. The Slytherin connection wasn't a myth, and certain members had found that lineage far too useful to pass up. Voldemort didn't notice the shift in the man's posture, but Marauder's thoughts drifted, Slytherin's line mattered to the Covenant's older designs, and Voldemort had walked straight into their fold without realising how many doors his blood opened.
Marauder set his glass down, "Grindelwald," he said, almost fondly. "Haven't heard that name in a while. He was an old acquaintance, you know. Briefly part of our little circle. Didn't last."
Voldemort nodded. Already knowing the man's temporary allegiance.
"Then Dumbledore took him down and everything went sideways. Nearly dragged the Keepers and the Covenant into a war." Marauder waved a hand. "Messy time. People choosing sides for all the wrong reasons, countries twitching over borders, politics frothing like bad stew."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "And it didn't erupt because...?"
Marauder grinned wide. "Because it wasn't political. It was personal. Turns out those two were rather close back in the day."
He gave a light laugh, as though the greatest magical clash of the century had been nothing more than a lovers' spat that got out of hand.
Voldemort didn't laugh. He leaned back. Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Personal.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
***
Cassian stepped into the office and stopped halfway. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking like someone had stolen his sweets.
Cassian frowned at him. "Alright. Who died?"
Dumbledore lifted a hand and pointed at the chair opposite.
Cassian dropped into it. "If it's me, it was overdue."
Dumbledore let out a long breath. "No one's dead. Yet."
He folded his hands, gaze drifting toward the window before coming back. "Master Flamel believes it's time we paid a visit to an old friend of mine. Gellert Grindelwald. He may have information we need."
Cassian stared. "Really?"
Dumbledore gave a nod with a sigh. "He was briefly tied to the Covenant, long before everything soured. When I confronted him, Marauder was one of the loudest voices accusing me of breaking the verbal accord between Covenant and the Keepers."
Cassian rubbed his jaw. "And now we're going to knock on his door because... what? He might've overheard something ancient before you blasted him off a mountainside?"
"That," Dumbledore said, "and because he may have information on Marauder's plans."
Cassian drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. "So Nicolas thinks Marauder kicked up a fuss over your 'interference' because he and Grindelwald were in each other's pockets?"
Dumbledore nodded with a sigh. "That's the theory. Grindelwald's ambitions weren't small, pursuing matters well beyond Europe, and he was heading toward Mesoamerica before I stopped him in the States. Master Flamel suspects he was chasing a lead while Marauder was in Greece."
Cassian frowned. "But Marauder told me he didn't know about Yucatan until after we sealed the temple in Greece."
"He may not have known what was there," Dumbledore said, "but he could've had the geography. A hint. A rumour. Enough to point him toward the region without understanding the importance of it."
Cassian leaned back in the chair. "So Grindelwald and Marauder were digging in opposite halves of the map, both after pieces of the same horror, and neither one bothered to inform anyone else."
Dumbledore hummed. "Precisely."
Cassian let out a whistle. "Brilliant. So now we're going to ask the former Dark Lord of Europe what he remembers from his gap year in Ancient Calamity Studies."
Dumbledore looked pained. "It won't be pleasant."
Cassian shrugged. "What's the plan? You talk, I stand behind you and try not to get hexed by a man in a prison cardigan?"
Dumbledore got up, smoothing his robes.
"I'll speak with him," he said. "He's always had a way of slipping past people's guard. Mind yourself."
Cassian snorted. "My mind's impenetrable, Headmaster. No worries."
Dumbledore gave him a look. "I wasn't referring to Legilimency."
Cassian huffed. "I know. I'll be careful."
Dumbledore grabbed a book from his shelf. "Hold."
They twisted out of the world with a snap.
They reappeared beside the cliff path leading to Nurmengard, black stone, cold wind, and that strange quiet that always clung to old prisons. The place loomed above them, tall and thin, like someone had carved a tower out of a single shard of night.
Cassian opened his mouth to speak.
A surge of heat cracked through the air before he could.
Flame spiralled into existence ten paces ahead of them.
Marauder stepped out first.
Voldemort followed.
Cassian froze mid-breath.
Dumbledore stilled beside him.
Marauder blinked. "Oh."
Cassian lifted a hand. "Afternoon."
Voldemort stared at them. His gaze flicked from Cassian to Dumbledore.
Cassian cleared his throat, eyes flicking between the two men who definitely weren't supposed to be here. "So," he said, tone bright enough to be suspicious, "what exactly are you doing out here? Little sightseeing? Or is Grindelwald secretly your pen-pal? You bringing him biscuits? Friendship bracelets? Matching robes?"
Voldemort's glare could have peeled stone. If looks killed, Cassian would've been ash on the cliff.
Marauder, on the other hand, perked up as if Cassian had asked him about the weather. "Friend? Not quite," he said. "We're here because Tom needs something from Gellert."
Dumbledore's eyebrow climbed so high it nearly detached from his face.
Voldemort turned his head slowly toward Marauder, the way a snake might swivel to inspect which idiot had leaned on its tail.
Marauder winced, not apologetic, just amused. "Oops. Shouldn't have said that bit out loud, should I?"
Cassian blinked at him. "Tommy needs something from the big evil?"
Marauder held up a finger. "Meh, he lost that title."
Cassian gave him a flat stare. "That doesn't make it less bonkers."
Voldemort's jaw twitched. Whatever restraint he possessed was doing heavy lifting.
Marauder rocked back on his heels, casual as ever. "Anyway. Speaking of awkward truths, quick question." He pointed between Cassian and Dumbledore. "How many of Tom's Horcruxes have you lot destroyed?"
Cassian blinked. "His what?"
"Horcruxes," Marauder said, slower, as if Cassian might be hard of hearing. "You know, bits of soul in jars, jewellery, assorted bric-a-brac. You've smashed some by now, surely?"
Cassian frowned at him. "That doesn't sound real." He turned to Dumbledore, "Have you ever heard such a magical thing?"
Marauder laughed. "Rosier, please. You've got the look of a man who knows exactly how many he's broken. You probably keep a tally somewhere. Maybe a neat little list. Alphabetised."
Cassian spread his hands. "Never heard the word in my life."
Behind him, Dumbledore pressed two fingers to his temple.
Voldemort's stare slid from Marauder to Cassian, then down to Cassian's hands, as if he might spot evidence of crime under the fingernails. He hissed between his teeth.
"You are lying."
Cassian put on his most affronted expression. "I'd never. If you've hidden your soul in furniture, that's between you and your therapist."
Marauder barked a laugh. "See? This is why I like him, Tom. You can't intimidate him. He treats you like you're just another crazy person."
Voldemort looked moments away from hurling Marauder off the cliff.
Cassian stepped in before the Dark Lord committed murder. "Right then. You're here for a chat with Grindelwald. We're here for a chat with Grindelwald. Maybe we take turns? Grab a ticket?"
"Cassian," Dumbledore murmured.
"What? I'm making it efficient."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits. "You will not interfere."
Cassian tapped his chin. "Funny thing, that. Because you appearing here without an appointment looks remarkably like interfering."
Marauder cut between them before Voldemort's wand came out. "Enough posturing. We all want information. Gellert loves an audience. We can sort this out without firing hexes."
Cassian shrugged. "Fine by me. Though if anyone gets cursed, I vote we start with the bloke keeping spare souls in his sock drawer. Doesn't sound sane."
Voldemort inhaled through his partial nose like he was counting to ten.
Marauder grinned. "Right. Splendid. Now, shall we all go ruin the afternoon of a very old, very bored war-criminal?"
Dumbledore lifted his wand. The bone-white. Marauder's face dropped.
"Oh, come on," Marauder said, genuinely put out. "I thought we agreed you'd stop waving that thing at me."
He glanced at Cassian as if Cassian might referee. Cassian shrugged. "He's my boss. I don't get a vote."
Marauder sighed. "Tragic. I had hopes for you."
Dumbledore didn't so much as blink. "This fortress is under the Keepers' protection. Why, exactly, did you think you could stroll up and have a chat with Gellert?"
Marauder's eyes thinned. "Relax. We're not here to harm your old flame."
Cassian made a faint choking noise. Dumbledore ignored him entirely.
Marauder tipped his head at Voldemort. "Tom needs an answer. That's all. Quick visit, a question or two, nobody dies. Unless he's in a mood, but we'll handle it."
Voldemort did not look thrilled to be spoken for, but he didn't correct him either.
Cassian folded his arms. "Well. That's comforting."
The wind whipped round the ledge, tugging at cloaks.
Four men.
Two sets of intentions.
One very unfortunate accidental rendezvous.
(Check Here)
Couples counselor: So the connection is intense, but one party refuses to communicate?
Yes.
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