Albus rubbed the tired rings around his eyes. For a man who was considered ancient by even the middle aged, he couldn't complain much. Lacking sleep may make him look his age, but he always felt it. These early mornings only proved that he was over the hump of 100. He sighed as the looked at the stacks of parchment on his desk. There were in fact six different stacks of parchment around, with each stack being relevant to one of his many positions. Three alone were for his ICW related role. However, the stack that had his attention now was the smallest of the six. This stack was dedicated to the readiness of the next academic year.
The booklist for next year, specifically for his Defense Against the Dark Arts. Well, it was supposed to be the booklist. Instead it was a proposal from his newest Professor. With a flick of his wand, the other stacks rapidly moved, reorganizing themselves, and slipping into a corner room as he stood and strolled towards his fire.
A dash of floo powder and a few spoken words had him in a dark, yet warm living area. Dark woods, deep blues and soft cushions on each piece of furniture made an inviting atmosphere. A single lantern on a side table provided the light of the room, its glow unnaturally bright. On the couch beside the table sat the wizard Albus was seeking. Dressed in a dark green turtle neck sweater and a pair of black trousers the wizard could have belonged in a wizard's wear magazine.
Nicolas Flamel sat drinking a cup of tea as he read a text that was worth more than most magical's homes. Without looking up from this reading he spoke, "Next time do call ahead. My wife would have skinned you. Again. This time I wouldn't put you back together either." His voice was calm; serene even as Albus frowned at him. "Drop the frown Wulfric. I didn't stay awake to take your inevitable call to see it. Speak."
"I read your proposal-" The headmaster started before he was interrupted by his former mentor.
"Obviously, otherwise you would not be here at 3 am." The caustic remark made Albus flinch. Nicholas' eyes, hard and stubborn softened slightly. "I am sorry Wulfric. I should not have snapped."
"It's fine. You must be under quite a high amount of stress at the moment." Albus allowed. Since the reappearance of Voldemort a mere two months ago, Flamel and his company, Immortal Protections, was under heavy scrutiny after it was revealed that Voldemort had already released his most vicious followers. It was Immortal Protections that was supposed to ensure that such a thing was impossible, according to the Ministry. Both men in the house knew that the law said otherwise, but legality was never the most important thing to governments. Every magical that lived long enough saw that.
"True Wulfric. However, it was still wrong of me to snap at you for doing your duty. Come and sit old pupil and tell me your concerns." Nicolas gestured towards the seat beside him, which Dumbledore gladly took.
"You propose to change the class into Magical Defense and Combat, and have a modified curriculum to create, in your own words, 'competent spellcasters'. Your curriculum emphasis seems to be designed over a seven-part system, one per year." Albus left his question unasked.
"Yes Wulfric, I will likely stay longer than this year. And this proposal is to guarantee that." Nicholas took another sip of tea. "You understand that there is a curse on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Yes, I am aware. I was also informed that the curse should be weak enough now that such a thing doesn't matter." Albus' frowned in confusion. Perenelle told him that would be the case and on matters such as that, she was rarely wrong.
"That would be the case if it were a standard curse. However, we cannot be certain on if the curse was tied to the lifeforce of Voldemort. If that is the case, it could be strengthened. I cannot take the chance of such a thing." Nicolas spoke softly as he pointed to his text. For the first time Albus looked at the title, Zǔzhòu hé fànguī mófǎ. The oldest written text that the British Ministry of Magic recognized as Dark.
"You believe that it is an ancient curse?" Albus asked as he rubbed his face tiredly.
"Believe? No. I know it is. It is a variant of an Identity Curse. Anyone who takes on the identity of the Professor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts is cursed as soon as the first feast of the term." Nicolas swiftly turned the pages of the book before finding the correct page and held it under Albus' nose. The symbols made no sense to the Headmaster, but he nodded anyway receiving a snort and a knowing look from the Immortal.
"Basically, this gives instructions on how one would cast a curse like that and the resulting effects. It matches extremely well with the Positionary Curse that you are suffering from. Hence my proposal." Nicolas shut the book with a firm snap and with a gesture of his fingers, sent it flying to its home on the shelves on the far wall.
"You wish to eliminate the Defense Against the Dark Arts class and professorship, ensuring the breaking of the curse." Albus' mind raced through the ramifications of such a simple and elegant solution.
"Precisely. At the same time, I would use the shift to modify the curriculum so that it prepares the students for the reality of the magical world, not that pathetic level that you have been allowing to scrap by." A glare was sent towards the headmaster as Nicolas stood from the couch. As he walked towards the kitchen area he continued to speak. "Of the students at your school, your champion was a 14 year old child. Not even a seventh year. While Potter was phenomenal, that was due to the efforts of his tutors and his familial based magic. The Goblet picked the one student it believed would give the best show and dying swiftly is not good entertainment. Tell me Wulfric, why is that?"
"I haven't had a consistent Defense teacher and getting solid replacements every year is a troublesome endeavor." Dumbledore admitted with a sigh. Flamel was right. Harry was chosen because he was the most qualified to survive and put on the best show. A 14 year old was more qualified than his seventh years because of his curriculum.
"In regards to Potter, you will wish to have sessions with him correct?" Nicolas spoke above the sound of running water as he washed his cup thoroughly.
"I am.. I am unsure." Albus looked down at his fingers.
"I see Wulfric. You are uncertain of his scar and if it is somehow anchoring the Dark Fool." Nicolas nearly smirked as Dumbledore shot up and pointed a wand at his head. "Put that away before I take it. There are only a few ways for a dead dark wizard to cling to life and to reappear. To answer your unasked question, he isn't an anchor. Otherwise you would be dealing with a different Voldemort right now."
"You believe he did not use Horcruxes to survive?"
"Oh, he used them, and it was likely he intended to make Potter one. However his manner of revival is very telling. He used a horcrux to revive himself." Nicolas smiled darkly. "He shouldn't have done that. He clearly didn't know the results of that."
Albus was slightly confused, yet allowed his oldest friend to continue to talk.
"You know, I am the authority on Immortality. Horcruxes were known even before my Stone, yet I chose not to use them for multiple reasons, the biggest being their foul creation. However, it isn't true immortality, just as my Stone isn't…. no Wulfric, the other issue was that the resurrection process. If you use one to resurrect, it removes the anchoring effect of the spell." Nicolas laughed at Dumbledore's shock. He quickly went through the mental gymnastics required to ask a question after such a revelation.
"You said that the anchoring effect should be gone. Why?" Albus stood and started to pace the room as his mentor slipped into lecture mode.
"To create a horcrux you must separate your soul, with the intention of it staying separate to anchor oneself. To resurrect, you are-" Nicolas began only to get cut off by the headmaster as the connections were made immediately.
"You are violating the creation principle. It would destroy the horcrux, because there is no soul piece to keep it as a horcrux. But when you make multiple…" Nicolas took up the thought.
"When multiple are created they don't serve as anchors anymore. That has been supported historically. Not only that, it is in the spell to create a horcrux. 'My soul, split to anchor, harbored forever in it's purpose.' That is the direct translation from Harpo himself." Nicolas smiled darkly once more as he took a copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art from a shelf. "This has an incorrect translation. And magic, especially dealing with the soul is similar to that dealing with Identity. It must be precise. The fact that the Fool even managed to resurrect from one of his multiples is incredible."
Albus nodded as he compartmentalized the information. Swiftly, he rethought dozens of plans, as they all hinged on Voldemort having Horcruxes active. He took a pinch of floo powder and made to leave, his thoughts swirling.
"Wulfric, just because they aren't anchors, does not mean they aren't connected still. I will tutor him personally. Good night." In a flash of green fire, Albus returned to the castle he called home.
Harry was walking down a hallway, following a line of torches. Any door that he passed was locked, chains and locks barring entry. He walked for what seemed like hours, the hallway never changing. It was always a door, with a torch on either side, with a blank area of wall before a torch and then more wall before the next door.
Finally, he reached the end of the hall, a door that was different in that it had no locks on it at all. In fact, there wasn't a door handle or anything that would signify it as a door, except its location in a doorway. Formed of a solid piece of wood, the door slowly creaked open as Harry walked towards it. Inside, a small parlor like sitting room with a raging fire in a fire place not unlike those found at Hogwarts. Two large stuffed chairs sat facing the fire, a table with two wine glasses between them.
Harry noticed the walls were covered in frames for pictures, yet the pictures were all static like Dudley's television that he kicked too hard. He sat in an armchair, not even realizing he was still moving towards it until he sat down and his vision was blocked by the wings of the chair. It was only this position that allowed him to see the other seat's occupant.
His face was exposed by the flickering flames, showing the flawless skin, high cheek bones and smooth lips that most would use to label him beautiful. His dark hair was uncombed, strands going over his face as if he hadn't bothered to move it from its position when he woke. A dark green sweater and dark trousers covered his body, yet showcased the defined musculature underneath.
"Welcome Harry." Voldemort's voice was smooth, cultured and hid a malice that made Harry shiver.
Harry tried to stand to leave, but found his butt seemingly glued to the seat. He watched Voldemort's eyes light up slightly in amusement.
"What am I doing here Voldemort?" Harry hissed angrily.
"We are here to talk you and I. You did something at the Triwizard Final that I did not expect. You won." Voldemort leaned forward, his hands folding under his chin as he stared at the youngest victor of the Triwizard Tournament ever.
Harry continued to struggle slightly, trying a nonverbal finite to escape only to not feel any magic release at all. He sighed before resigning himself to the conversation. "Fine, you want to talk, talk."
"I suppose I should start at where we are. We are in my mind Harry." Voldemort smiled at the shocked look on Harry's face. The facial expression looked to practiced to be natural Harry thought.
"Yes Harry. You are in my mind. That is why your magic isn't working as it should. And I shall be honest as well. You are protected Harry by being the victor the Triwizard Tournament. None may harm you for a full year. Even here, the Goblet protects you." Voldemort gestured towards the fire in the fireplace. Deep in the embers black fire sat, waiting for the opportunity to burn Voldemort alive.
"So you can't touch me. Good. Let me out." Harry spat.
"Not until we talk. I know you have questions. Questions you can ask right now without any repercussions. Questions that even Dumbledore wouldn't answer. Ask Harry, it's not a sin to have curiosity." Voldemort sat back, pouring himself a glass of wine as he waited for Harry.
Dozens of questions flashed through Harry's head. He asked a question that he asked Dumbledore before the end of term, that Dumbledore couldn't answer. His exact words were, "If I knew for certain, you would be one of the first told. But alas I only house speculations in my mind."
"How did you come back?" The question was whispered, so that it was nearly lost in the sound of the fire.
Voldemort laughed; a sound rich in depth. On the surface it was musical, beautiful even. However, underneath that was an insane quality, as if it was only heard by those about to feel the deepest of pain, humiliation or defeat.
"You certainly don't hold back. That is quite a question. You saw me your first year. A vaporous, specter forced to cling to another wizard to survive. That was… a terrible experience. However, it gave some unique advantages. For example, I learned anything that the host body knew. Academically, Quirrell was a fabulous choice by Dumbledore. Knew niche things about the Dark Arts and its Defense that I had only theorized. In his mind, was a hint. A clue to a ritual that was lost in time. It was only with that hint, that I knew to search where I did. I found the ritual Harry, and I spent the next year and a half rebuilding my body, piece by piece. It was agonizing."
Harry nodded along as he processed the information. While he knew it was true, as he would view any lie as an attempt to harm him, he also knew that Voldemort knew that and knowledge was power.
"I will ask a question this time. Why did you grab the cup?" Voldemort's question cut through Harry's thoughts.
"I didn't even realize I grabbed it. But I knew as soon as I did that the task was over. As soon as that happened you had to leave." Harry admitted softly, his cheeks flashing pink. Voldemort nodded softly, his face carefully blank.
"I suspected as much, but to be certain… good." He gave his full attention to the teen across from him.
"You know, Harry, that there is no real reason for us to fight?"
"Other than you being completely and utterly insane, wanting to kill me and the fact that you are the reason I am an orphan, right?" Harry snapped, his eyes flashing.
Voldemort laughed, his voice echoing around the face. "You just described one of my lieutenants Harry. Anton has said that same exact sentence to me before. So, let me ask you this. If you believe all of that to be true and I admit that I am the reason you are an orphan, have you ever thought about how that happened? How did your parents find themselves in a situation that had a target on their backs? Let's go even further back. You know of the war, the first one? How did that start? Why did it start?"
"You started it! You attacked a village in 1969, and killed every single person in the village!" Harry gasped as the room changed into a black mist around him as soon as the sentence ended. Looking at Voldemort's stony face, he knew he went too far with his response.
"No, let me show you exactly what happened."
The mist swirled around the pair, quickly forming into a village nestled into a mountain valley. Snow was covering the ground and the houses. A younger Voldemort was huddled deep in a black cloak as he walked towards the village. He was stopped by a young man in a blue uniform as he tried to enter.
"Stop, I am sorry, but I cannot let you into the village. We are having an outbreak of Dragon Pox. You cannot enter here."
"Sir, if I don't, I will freeze out here." Voldemort's voice rang true, as the hit wizard scanned the sky. A blizzard was about to come through. Even he, from the sunnier coasts near Plymouth could see it. His superior's orders however made him take out his wand.
"Citizen, if you take a step forward, we duel and when I win, I will arrest you. Please." The young man pleaded with the stranger who took a step forward.
In a flash, the hit wizard was down, his wand having only twitched upwards before Voldemort put him to sleep with a Sleeping spell.
As Voldemort stepped into the village, the rest of the hit wizard squad appeared and attacked the "intruder". In flashes of light, each was dispatched with ease; their forms falling to the earth like puppets with their strings cut. One however crushed an emergency gem calling in a team of aurors.
Harry watched beside the contemporary Voldemort as waves of aurors and hitwizards attacked the memory version of Voldemort. Soon, two squads of aurors and thirteen hit wizard squads were unconscious or injured around, with another four squads holding Voldemort at wandpoint. With a snarl, Voldemort fled towards a house. In a moment, he had floo'd away using the fireplace.
The memory swirled and reformed into the parlor, with the two sitting in their chairs.
"You see Harry. The war started because of a misunderstanding. I admit that I used that moment to propel my agenda, but it was not a slaughter as it was reported. The only ones that died in that village were those that were already dying of Dragon Pox." Voldemort frowned. He could see that while his story effected Harry, it did nothing to change his opinion. Those eyes were clearly still burning in hatred for him.
"You still did terrible things Voldemort."
"War is Terrible Harry. That is one thing that wizards and muggles have in common. We wage war too well. It is late Harry, sleep." Voldemort stood and walked from the parlor. As soon as the door shut, Harry vanished from Voldemort's mind and was within a dream.
Harry awoke to a dog slobbering on his face. With a gentle push, he moved his godfather and stood from bed. He stretched as he carefully kept his mind blank. Using a mental exercise that Professor Snape taught him, he engaged in some flowing movements while steadily strengthening his mental defenses. The massive dog on the bed followed his movements carefully with his eyes. Anytime an appendage was out of position, a soft growl would shudder from his frame correcting the boy. The movements steadily got more difficult; incorporating flexibility and muscle control into the fine flow of the dance-like work out.
The final stages of the First Dance were the most difficult that he was allowed to do. With a twist, Harry locked his arms above his head, finger tips woven together to form a platform. Slowly, the boy bent backward, his hands touching the floorboards of the room. With a small kick, Harry slipped into a handstand. Holding the position for a second, the Gryffindor lowered himself down to his forearms. It was this position that Harry slid into a pushup position, and started on his Sirius given morning routine.
Thirty push-ups then thirty bicycle curls. Followed by a run around Little Whinging with his canine formed Godfather. It was lighter work than the workout that Sirius and he created during his training in the Tournament, as it was his vacation. At least that is what Sirius said. Running on concrete hurt a bit more than running on the soft sands of the lake, even if it was harder work. It was early morning when the duo returned to the house on Private Drive, Harry running up the steps to shower before his family awoke.
His days had a rhythm to them. Each day he would make breakfast for himself and Sirius. Sirius for some reason was capable of burning anything that wasn't steak shrimp or fish. Even salad. Harry still smiled whenever he thought of that incident. After breakfast he would engage in homework and magical work with Sirius who would transform in the comfort of his room. Those were some of the best moments of his summer where he would hear stories about his parents as he worked on the work assigned to him by his professors. Sirius was even able to help him through his essays, recommending things to edit after reading.
His routine changed after the third week at the Dursley's however. Instead of working on his last essay for Charms, Sirius told him to start packing.
It was time to move into a different and equally safe location.
Ron sighed as he flicked a galleon into the air as he laid in bed. The room he was in was nothing like his room at the Burrow; with its dark wallpapers, snake motifs and silver instruments. While the Burrow was chaotic, cozy and lived in, Grimmauld Place was an ordered, dark and unyielding place. Even the dust, grime and dirt of the last decade refused to be removed without extreme effort. At least that would be the case if Sirius and Harry hadn't arrived earlier today.
Harry was the object of the redhead's thoughts at the moment. He was a totally different person than the last time the two spoke in person. Where the Harry he remembered was struggling with the return of Voldemort, this Harry had a look in his eyes like he wanted to go to war. He spoke with a conviction that made Ron straighten his spine. He moved with a fluidity of a predator. The way he used magic was even different.
He walked in on Harry using magic to clean his new room, which used to belong to a guy named Regulus. He watched as Harry gave casual flicks and the room effortlessly flowed into the desired shape and color as if eager to please. All the clippings, the posters and everything that hung on the walls before he entered was placed in a box with such gentle care, Ron could have sworn it was done by hand. When it was done, Harry tapped the box, which closed itself and levitated towards the door. With a smooth turn, Harry headed out of the room, giving Ron a smile as he passed. He never spoke a word.
Ron shook the thoughts from his head as his brothers, Fred and George cracked into the room. "Hey guys."
"Little brother! Have you been down stairs recently? That house elf is actually cleaning! It's wonderful isn't brother of mine?" One twin spoke and the second twin nodded. Before he could open his mouth though, a voice shook through the whole house.
"KREACHER! GET YOUR ARSE HERE NOW!"
Harry was not very impressed with the atmosphere of Grimmauld Place. It was dirty, it was dark, it had no feeling of openness that he associated with Sirius. It felt as if Voldemort would be comfortable living in its walls. It would not do.
Sirius saw his expression and immediately called for his house elf. "Kreacher." With a pop, the oldest house elf Harry had ever seen appeared. It tugged softly on the grey ear hair from its left ear before speaking in a hoarse voice.
"Bad master called for Kreacher. Kreacher was forced to answer. What does bad master want with Kreacher?" The house elf bowed in the most mocking fashion Harry had ever seen.
"I want this place cleaned, top to bottom. I want it so clean my mother could eat off of any surface. I also order you to report to me after the house is complete. As of now, you answer only to my call, and my godson Harry Potter." Sirius pulled out a piece of parchment and read what was written on it. "You are not to use the following words aloud, mudblood, blood traitor, filth, half-blood, pure-blood or the phrase family disgrace. You are forbidden from taking any item from any location and moving it without it being required for your assigned task. Do you understand the orders as given?"
Kreacher grit his teeth in anger. "Kreacher understands."
"Good. You have one day. Clean the house." Sirius dismissed his house elf as he looked towards Harry. "Dumbledore took a look into his mind for me. We wrote this up as a response. It was a condition to using this house as a safe house for the war effort."
"He seems..." Harry spoke softly, searching for the word to describe what kind of elf he just saw.
"Mad? Kreacher has been alive longer than I have, with at least a decade with only my mother's portrait and this dark house to keep him company." Sirius spoke as softly as the two continued down the hall way. As he mentioned a portrait of his mother, he pointed towards a pair of curtains.
"You hated her. Why is that portrait still on the wall?" Harry asked.
"It can't be removed. Its stuck to the wall." Sirius frowned at the look on Harry's face.
Harry sighed and pointed his wand at the wall. With four precise flicks, cutting curses slammed into the wall on each side of the portrait. As soon as the first curse slammed into the wall, the curtains opened and the woman started to scream.
"Filth in the house! My traitorous son and some half-blood spawn! How dare you scum walk in the halls of my ancestors! Better than you on even their worst of days! Filthy mudbloods the lot of you!"
"Your mother is charming Sirius." Harry spoke coldly as he cast a silencing spell on the portrait that failed to do anything. Harry frowned and started to walk towards the portrait. A piece of porcelain appeared on his brow and a fire ball started to form in front of his wand. "Now, Madam Black. You will listen, silently, or you will burn. Nod if you understand."
The woman nodded so harshly her hair wobbled, the flames of the fireball never leaving her sight.
"Good. From now on, you are silent. Your views are not currently appreciated. You are not the mistress of this house anymore. You are not the head of the Blacks. Nor are you even close to being in control of me. If you speak that language again, I will destroy this portrait, blast any reference of you from the Black histories, and make it so you never existed. Am I clear?" As Harry spoke, the porcelain on his forehead slowly started to expand, and his voice slowly rose in pitch. A madness slowly appeared in his eyes as Nero started to emerge.
"Harry."
The teen turned on his heel and locked eyes with Albus Dumbledore. The man was tense in his blue and purple robes. His wand wasn't pointing at Harry, yet held ready by his side.
"Dumbledore. Can I ask to what I have the pleasure?" The mask slowly kept spreading as Nero exerted his control. Just as it stretched down after covering Harry's forehead it cracked and started to shatter.
"Oh good show! As you wish Harry. I'll take a nice nap… until next time Dumbledore."
The mask slowly disintegrated leaving Harry heaving as he grasped his knees.
"Sorry, that hasn't happened before. One second it was fine and the next he took control. It was like being pushed aside." Harry heaved several times before he straightened.
"I recommend not utilizing your family magic if that is the reaction Harry." Dumbledore frowned. The old man gestured for them to follow as he started to walk into the kitchen. "There is a meeting about to occur, and I would like you both to be there."
With a sigh the teen followed his Godfather and Headmaster into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
The meeting was boring. Basically an informational brokering session, Harry learned absolutely nothing of interest to him. Voldemort was using guerrilla tactics to hit auror points, which were locations that had high interest to the Ministry of Magic. These locations were places like London, Glasgow and Belfast; places with large muggle populations and stronger than average concentrations of magical energy or magical beasts nearby.
However, after the meeting, Harry was in for a shock. The fireplace flashed green and out came tumbling out a woman who was holding her arm as if it were broken. As Harry looked closer, he saw a flash of white bone protruding from the skin. She glanced around the room, her gaze cautious. As soon as she recognized Dumbledore, she relaxed slightly. She swiftly crossed the room speaking softly, "Headmaster! The battle was a rout. He appeared, and instantly the enemy was much more vicious and he attacked as well. I believe myself and two others are the only survivors! Base Grend has fallen."
Dumbledore frowned, the lines on his face deepening into canyons. He spoke with a grave voice, his eyes flashes of steel. "Consider the Netherlands lost."
"But Headmaster, the Northern portions of the country are still ours! We have forces aplenty, we can hold-" The woman attempted to argue before the aged man cut her off a twitch of the beard showing his feelings.
"They fell for the distraction. There is nothing in the Netherlands that my old friend would find useful, unlike last time. This time, the most northern point, Cuxhaven, is highly protected yet holds no real value."
The woman's eyes bugged as she sputtered. "You are giving him the country?! There are millions of people there!"
"He will not harm them. Fawkes." In a flash of bright fire, the phoenix appeared. With a trill of song that lifted the spirits of everyone in the room, he alighted onto the mantle of the fireplace.
"Hello old friend. Can you send this message?" Dumbledore walked towards the bird and gently held up a piece of parchment. With a nod, Fawkes took the parchment in his beak, sang a few notes and flashed away.
"That order is from the ICW, stating that the Dutch Ministry should evacuate immediately. It is not the first time such an order has left my hands." Dumbledore stroked his beard as he returned to his chair.
"Okay, can you now explain what is going on Albus?" Sirius spoke with barely contained anger. As far as he knew, Voldemort had not moved militarily outside of Britain. This entire situation screamed danger and secrets, which during the Last War, always resulted in death.
Dumbledore sighed as he settled into his chair. His mind was racing; calculating hundreds of different scenarios and consequences of what he said in response of that question. Finally he settled for a response.
"You must understand the current and fairly recent past natures of the wizarding world. There has always been a strong influence for Muggleborn rights in Europe and Western Asia, where bloodlines are considered of highest importance. In 1932, this influence blossomed into a movement. A movement centered around 4 individuals; Ivory Johansbur, Randolf Crizcrag, Geneive Hosha and Gellert Grindlewald. Of them, only Grindlewald would still be leading any form of movement, as the others would be found dead or in the case of Geneive vanishing completely. Grindlewald proceeded to militarize the movement, turning it into an army." Dumbledore at that moment took a drink of water, wetting his throat before continuing.
"Grindlewald would wage war against anyone he deemed to be hindering the future of the movement. He desired the Greater Good; a concept that was birthed when we met in 1899 for a summer." He paused as the group absorbed this fact, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "We left on bad terms, however our friendship still existed in occasional letters and mutual tracking of each other's accomplishments. As you likely all know, in 1945, he was considered the most powerful wizard in the world. The ICW was scrambling to defend the Statute, Ministries all across Europe had either banded together to fight, or were subjugated. Gellert was a force on the battlefield, capable of decimating armies of wizards. He personally trained his lieutenants and each were more than competent. It wasn't until 1943, that his true ambitions were discovered by a covert operation that had found an inkling of intelligence in Berlin. He was designing and preparing ritual to raise a daemon to this plane."
Harry understood immediately why the room seemed to darken. His ancestors knew exactly what Dumbledore spoke of and the horrors that Grindlewald was willing to expose the world to.
"It was then that the war turned into the bloodbath of which much of the world still has nightmares. Gellert decided that the Statute did not matter, as his daemonic wish would be to subjugate all non-magical people. It was two years later, that I defeated him in open combat, forcing the ritual to fail. I then imprisoned him in his own prison as I could not bring myself to kill him."
Dumbledore bowed his head and waited for the outburst of his audience, an outburst that never came. Instead he heard a young voice state," Good, he deserves to rot." His eyes rose to meet Harry's as the boy continued to speak.
"Sometimes death is too easy for monsters Professor."
The old man nodded and gathered his courage for the last sentences. "I agree, however it is due to my decision that he was able to escape. He has been free for at least the last three months and I have utilized all the resources at my disposal to ensure such a war does not occur again."
The group was silent as they contemplated. Sirius scuffed his shoes and finally broke the silence with a gruff "So what is he doin'?"
"Currently, all intelligence states he is recruiting and gaining territory. It is likely that he will attempt another ritual like last time. He is also solidifying his block of support. Multiple Dark wizards and witches have disappeared, or have relocated towards locations that are outside of their normal movements. Multiple Dark Creatures are either becoming more active, or less. The world is gearing swiftly towards total war once more." Dumbledore looked around the room before landing back on the youngest member of the room.
Harry shook slightly, as his mind was nudged to the side, and Nero took over once again. The grin that Harry wore told the story of who was really running the show, as did the wisps of green magic that wafted from his eyes. "Old man, if Grindlewald is an idiot, he will attempt that ritual. It is likely he isn't. If he attempts it, that plan will kill him, with certainty. He failed the deal, and those things don't appreciate failure. Now, if I was a betting Potter, I would bet he is going to subjugate utilizing force." A cackle fell from the lips of the Potter heir, causing every wand in the room baring Albus and Sirius to be pointed at him.
"Why do you think that Nero?" Albus Dumbledore asked softly.
"Because that had to have been the original plan before he thought of demonic wishing. A few tens of thousands of people verses the killing of any muggle wizard or creature that rose against him in his pursuit of his goal. It would be an easy decision." Nero shrugged Harry's shoulder before a shudder ran through the boy's body. "Wow, he has some will… Good. I don't have long. Old Man, make sure you research splintered con-" with a heave, Nero was forced back by Harry deep into his mind. The youth panted at the effort required.
Sirius placed a hand cautiously on Harry's shoulder. "You okay kid? That looked like it wasn't as… nice as before."
Harry panted as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yeah sorry. I think I put him under for a bit. Nero's a twisted piece let me tell you."
"Can you control yourself around the students Harry?" Albus asked as he peered over his half-moon spectacles.
Harry nodded in response. In reality he didn't trust his voice to hide the fact that he wasn't sure if he could control himself or not around the other students.
If Harry was looking into Albus' eyes he would see the same thoughts.
He paced around the room lit by dozens of candles with as many different color flames. The room was of creamy light wood, with furniture of the palest ash. Each piece was made of the same wood as the wand in the man's hand. A wand that was being tapped on his bicep as he kept his arms crossed, its tip releasing sparks with each contact. His teeth, pearly and white, were grit in a grimace as he processed the news that his subordinate had just communicated.
"So, in review, the Ministry is deserted, all documents that were dated before 1972 are currently burning via fiendfyre, the department of studies is already ash, and the fortress of Cuxhaven is surrounded by Frost Trolls and home to a dragon sanctuary?"
"Yes Lord Grindlewald." The man kneeling answered promptly.
"This is a setback. One that I should have anticipated." Grindlewald continued to pace. "Abandon the fortress. The only thing in there will be death for our forces."
The man nodded as he awaited further orders.
"Coordinate with Scarvosky. We will press into Russia over the course of the next days." Grindlewald continued as he finally finished his pacing. "Tell the forces that I will lead the charge into Moscow. Churnal still lives and requires… special attention due to the low man power we have. You have three minutes to gather all our assets."
"Yes my lord." With a snap, he saluted and was out of the room.
Grindlewald sighed before laughing. "The only one who could predict that would be you my old friend." With a flourish, his wand produced a bird of blue flame that he watched circle the room, catching the walls alight with its wingtips. He swept from the room, as the flames started to eat at the walls.
The summer passed swiftly for those living in Grimmauld Place. Harry and Sirius were the primary permanent residents, with Remus being a strong secondary squatter, at least according to Sirius who received a smack to the head for the comment. They studied, talked and thanks to the wards of the house, brutally dueled. But what Harry was most appreciative of were the conversations he could have with Ron and the Weasleys.
Due to the knowledge of the location of the Burrow, the Weasleys had effectively moved into Grimmauld Place. The second entire floor was dedicated to the family, and functioned as a large flat. It even contained a room with a kitchen, that used to be used for meals that would be served in the Parlor directly below.
Finally, able to bond with his first friend gave Harry a more positive outlook on the events over the last year. Ron's issues, at least the ones he focused on, were so minor in scope compared to the Dark Lord Voldemort wanting his head that it served as a safety outlet for the childhood that Harry could admit he had none of.
It was refreshing to say the least. However, as all good things do, it ended much too soon.
Before Harry and the rest of the Weasleys knew it, the day had come for the train ride back to Hogwarts. They hugged their loved ones good bye, was given advice (Sirius told him to stay in touch and kiss a witch or three) and they were off to another year at the finest Magical Institution.
The train ride was uneventful, mostly with Ron and Hermione attending a prefects meeting. The feast however had one final surprise.
A wizard with straw hair tied into a stylized braid that went down his back sat to the left of Dumbledore; a seat normally reserved for McGonagall who instead sat to the left of the man. The rest of the staff were unchanged, with Hagrid taking his usual seat. The Sorting went as normal as one could expect, with Gryffindor gaining 8 new lions. The feast was to Harry's expert opinion marvelous, and flew by as if on a Firebolt. Then Dumbledore stood and started his announcements.
"Welcome, and for those returning, Welcome back. This year is one of great change, as outside our walls, Darkness encroaches our lands once more. For your safety, a set of rules have been placed on each Common Room notice board. I recommend reviewing them, as the Professors will not be lenient. If you see anything suspicious, report it immediately to either a professor, a prefect, or the Head Boy or Girl. " Dumbledore took a deep breath before marching on.
"In the most momentous of news. As of today, there will be no more Defense Against the Dark Arts class." A snap, as if a bone was breaking, sounded throughout the castle and a rush of magic was felt throughout the body of the Great Hall. "Instead, those classes will be replaced with a new curriculum, approved by the Hogwarts Board of Governors called Magical Defense and Combat, led by our newest professor, Nicolas Flamel!"
AN: Well... that was difficult to write. But I gave you a Christmas update, so Merry Christmas! Next one will be out eventually, possibly before the New Year.