The Tale
"Sirius, are you there?" Harry asked, waving his hand in front of his godfather's face.
The man nodded, and Harry revelled in the shock of the man.
"When? How?" Sirius asked dumbly.
"Does that matter?"
"No, I'm just surprised. You never mentioned you were seeing someone."
"I didn't realise I was," Harry sighed. "We met a couple of years ago, and things have just kind of become what they are without me even knowing it was happening."
Sirius chuckled as he shook his head.
"You really are a clueless little prat, aren't you?"
Harry nodded.
"That's fair."
He had been, and now that he'd realised it, Harry finally felt as though he had something worth holding onto, something he'd never thought he'd needed.
With Katie, it had been undeniably different. They'd grown close and enjoyed each other's company, but they had been children, fumbling their way through things neither understood.
His realisation didn't demean what they'd shared. If anything, it only made it more special.
Katie had given him something he'd sorely needed; the experience having seen him grow past the final vestiges of timidness he'd developed from living a life of being unwanted by what was supposed to be his own family.
For the first time he could remember, he'd been wanted by someone, and now, he'd found another.
To Harry, that was truly invaluable, and he was in no doubt that Isabella felt the same way.
"Are you alright?" Sirius asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
Harry nodded.
"I am," he answered honestly.
"Good," Sirius said with a smile. "I'm in shock, but I'm happy for you. If this is what you want, you have my full support, always."
"Thanks, Sirius."
The man grinned.
"So, what is she like? You know it's going to cause quite a stir, given who her father is."
"She's great," Harry answered. "She's going to be a Healer. She's patched me up a few times," he added amusedly. "Honestly, Isabella isn't like anyone else. She's not interested in my fame or anything else. As for who her father is, does that matter?"
"Not for you," Sirius assured him. "I can't think of anyone who would kick up a fuss. Even if they did, I'd tell them to bugger off. What do the rest of her family think?"
The memory of the conversation he'd had with Nott came to the forefront of Harry's mind, eliciting a grin from him.
Flashback
As much as I'd like to just stand here with you, I should probably speak with your brother," Harry sighed.
Isabella nodded.
"I'll come with you," she decided. "It will be interesting to see his reaction."
"And your mother's," Harry pointed out, leading the woman towards the house.
"Are you really certain this is what you want?"
"Not regretting it already, are you?"
Isabella rolled her eyes at him.
"Not at all."
"Good," Harry declared. "Now, I suppose I'll find out what your brother is going to want from me."
Isabella smirked at him and shook her head.
"You have no idea how this works, do you?"
"Not a clue," Harry answered as they entered the kitchen to find Violetta and Theo sitting at the table. "Alright, Nott, I'm here to negotiate a trade for your sister," he announced. "What is it going to cost me, two cows and a box of turnips?"
Theo was utterly dumbfounded by the statement whilst Violetta's mouth fell agape.
Isabella tutted, swatting Harry on the arm whilst she laughed.
"That's not how it works," she huffed, "and I like to think I'd be worth more to my brother than a couple of cows and a box of turnips."
"I don't understand," Theo said confusedly. "Am I missing something here?"
"Lord Potter would like to negotiate an agreement so that he and Isabella can get married," Violetta informed him, her eyes widening at the realisation. "Is this real?"
Harry nodded.
"it is."
Violetta positively beamed, and Theo remained thoroughly confused, though he managed to shake himself from his stupor.
"Bloody hell," he grumbled. "Alright, Potter, name your terms. I have no use for livestock or vegetables."
It was Harry's turn to experience confusion.
He had no idea what terms were typically negotiated, so he turned towards Isabella for some assistance.
She grinned at him amusedly.
"You just have to tell him what you want from this," she explained. "Is there a number of children you have in mind, or is there any compensation you'd like? That kind of thing."
"We have to negotiate how many children we have?"
"We don't have to, but Theo may ask for a minimum number."
"Two," Theo broke in. "Your own heir, and one for my family if I don't have children of my own."
"That sounds reasonable," Harry agreed. "We can have more though?"
Theo grimaced as he nodded.
"As many as you like."
"Sounds good to me," Harry replied with a grin, enjoying watching the other man squirm.
"Compensation," Theo continued after he'd managed to rid himself of the thoughts he'd rather be without. "I suggest a total dowry of fifty-thousand galleons, payable over ten years at five thousand galleons per payment."
"That's a considerable sum, Theo," Violetta interjected.
"As will be expected," Theo returned. "If it were any other family, I'd half it. I can't be seen to be trying to take advantage."
"Take advantage? Fifty thousand will be worth paying every Knut."
Theo frowned confusedly.
"Harry, Theo is going to be paying that gold to you," Violetta explained.
"Wait, what?"
"It's a dowry to ensure your and Isabella's future. It's tradition."
"But I don't need it."
"It's not about needing it, Harry," Violetta chuckled. "Think of it as a gift for you both."
Harry did not like it, but he could see neither would budge.
"Okay," he agreed, "but it will be used to fund a charity in both our family names. I will match the donation, and we can put it towards helping students who don't have the means to buy school equipment. We can even set up some summer programmes for those that don't have homes or don't want to go home."
"That's a good idea," Theo replied. "It will show that we are tied together by more than just a marriage between the two of you and that we are looking to better society."
"Any other terms?" Harry asked.
"Not any that I can think of," Theo answered. "We can always revisit the conversation. Given my current position, I think it is best that you find a lawyer to draw up the contract. We can look it over together and add and change anything from there."
End Flashback
It had been Cedric who'd come to Harry's rescue by recommending Ted Tonks to draw up the necessary documents, ensuring that the wedding would be kept out of the public eye.
'I encouraged you to start dating, Harry, not marry the girl straight away. Nymphadora is pregnant, and she hasn't agreed to marry me."
"Have you asked?"
"Kind of."
"So, that's a no."
"I mentioned it, and she said she wanted a proper proposal."
Harry smirked at the man.
"Best you get to it," he suggested. "The longer you wait, the more she's going to expect. I don't know much about pregnant women, but I hear they can be quite irrational."
"How did you propose?"
Harry shrugged.
"It just kind of happened in the moment."
"You're a great help to me, Harry," Cedric huffed. "Never mind, it's not me that all eyes will be on."
"We're not telling anyone outside of those being invited yet, not until the war is over."
"That's smart," Cedric replied thoughtfully.
It was.
Harry and Isabella intended to keep it a small affair.
With the Notts still in hiding, it would not do to draw any unwanted attention to them, though Harry had insisted on marrying in the church at Godric's Hollow.
That was one tradition he would gladly honour.
Isabella had readily agreed to that one stipulation, and even Theo could find no fault in it. As such, the negotiations had, much to Harry's relief, been minimal, with all involved pleased by the outcome.
Harry was pulled from his thoughts by Sirius's laughter.
"I forget how clueless you are," he mocked.
"Up yours," Harry muttered.
Sirius grasped him by the shoulder and offered him a smile.
"For what it is worth, I'm happy for you, Harry. Merlin knows we could all do with some good news."
"Any sign of him?"
Sirius shook his head.
"Not a bloody thing," he huffed irritably. "You'd think that a gangly pale prick with no nose and red eyes wouldn't be hard to miss."
"He knows how to hide," Harry pointed out. "He's had a tonne of practice."
Sirius nodded his agreement.
"He's up to something," he murmured. "Whenever it went quiet last time, he was up to something."
"Then we have to make sure we're ready for whatever he can throw at us."
"I don't like it," Sirius sighed. "I just don't like it."
"Me either," Harry agreed.
Sirius shook his head.
"We will face it when it comes," he said comfortingly. "Anyway, when do I get to meet the future Lady Potter?"
"You really want to meet her?"
"Of course," Sirius snorted. "She must be quite something if you chose her over the chance to be with a Veela."
Harry cursed under his breath.
"Well, if you really want to meet her, I'll take you now."
Sirius smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Lead the way, Harry, my boy," he urged. "It'll certainly be more fun than meeting with the ICW later."
"Why are you meeting with them?"
Sirius shrugged.
"Who knows what that bunch of old fossils want," sighed. "Come on, let's meet your lady."
Harry frowned at the man.
"You're not going to try to embarrass me, are you?"
"You mean by telling her about the time Lily was changing your nappy, and you peed in her face?"
"Those are the kind of things I want you to keep to yourself."
"My lips are sealed," Sirius promised, though the smirk he wore made Harry already regret his decision to take him to meet Isabella.
(Break)
Nicholas grinned as he added the finish touches to his work, nodding appreciatively at the craftmanship. He was no expert, but his years of diligence had paid dividends, and the hours spent on this proving to be worth it.
Taking a seat to admire the final product, his grin widened.
"FIRE!" he commanded, whooping in joy as his trebuchets unleashed a barrage of projectiles at his to-scale replica of the Beauxbatons palace. "And down it goes!" he added as the outer walls collapsed under the barrage.
"Nicholas?" Perenelle called as she entered the room, her lips tugging in an amused grin as she took in the scene before her. "What is that on your head?"
Nicholas removed it and smiled sheepishly, placing the knight's helm on the table.
"Protection," he murmured.
Perenelle shook her head.
"You will clean up this mess," she sighed. "Do you not have other things to do to occupy your time?"
"No," Nicholas returned stubbornly.
"Boys and their toys. Will you never grow up?"
"No man ever grows up, not really," Nicholas chuckled.
"I know. I've lived with you for more than six centuries now, and you haven't changed," she said fondly. "The reason I am disturbing your most important work is this."
Nicholas accepted the piece of parchment she'd handed him, scanning the contents quickly.
"He's getting married," he whispered. "It only seems like yesterday I brought him home."
"It does," Perenelle agreed.
It was hard to imagine Harry as a grown man, even if they'd watched him grow from the small boy to who he was now.
They'd remained close since Nicholas had made Harry's acquaintance. The young man visited when he was able to, and he never failed to send birthday cards and gifts, and barely a week would go by that he didn't write to them.
"He's a good boy," the philosopher murmured. "I suppose we will have to buy you a new dress."
"That's a lovely suggestion, Nicholas," Perenelle said approvingly. "I will fetch my coat and bag."
"Now?" Nicholas groaned.
Perenelle quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Unless your toys are more important than your devoted wife?" she asked before taking her leave of the room.
Nicholas could only shake his head, shooting the remains of the palace a wistful look.
"I'll be back to finish you off," he muttered. "I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for, Harry. Maybe his wife won't interfere in his work," he added thoughtfully.
(Break)
She still found it difficult to believe that she was planning her own wedding and that it was Harry she would be marrying. Isabella often pinched herself whilst perusing the various catalogues the man had acquired for her, just to be certain she wasn't dreaming.
The experience they'd shared by the shore whilst watching the sunset was a surreal one, but it certainly hadn't displeased her.
Isabella had been concerned that it was all so sudden and that Harry may have been having an existential crisis of sorts.
Her fears, however, had been put to rest when she'd discussed it with him.
For more than two years, he'd skirted around his growing feelings for her, unable to acknowledge them through the trials and tribulations he'd faced and the emotional upheaval he'd endured.
Still, maybe they were rushing into marriage, though given Harry's whirlwind life and undeniably spontaneous nature, it was rather fitting.
It was an intrusive thought, that they were indeed rushing things, but one that Isabella couldn't ignore. Nonetheless, she knew Harry well enough to know that he would care for her and perhaps even love her.
Isabella cared deeply for him, and the prospect of marrying him was something that filled her with something she couldn't explain, but it was a feeling she wouldn't be without.
"Any luck?"
Isabella shook her head as her mother entered the room.
"No, I still can't find the right one," she sighed, pushing the bridal magazine away from her.
"You'll get there," her mother comforted. "It's never easy choosing a dress."
Isabella nodded.
"The dress is only the beginning," she pointed out. "We still have to choose flowers and all the other things."
"Breathe, girl. You're stressing over things that don't need to be stressed over. You have me to help you."
Isabella released a deep breath as she nodded, smiling as she caught sight of Harry walking towards the house from the beach.
"He's here, and there's someone else with him," she added with a frown.
The man was unfamiliar, but as they entered, her mother certainly recognised him.
"Well, if it isn't little Sirius Black," she greeted the stranger. "Or should I call you Minister?"
"Violetta," Sirius greeted her with a smirk.
"You know each other?" Harry asked.
"Violetta was three years ahead of me at Hogwarts," Sirius explained. "Of course, she was a snake."
"That didn't stop you trying to put your moves on me when you were second year," Violetta said amusedly.
"Bloody hell," Harry cursed. "You didn't?"
"Oh no, I was wise to his little games. Even as a little thirteen-year-old, he'd already garnered quite the reputation for himself."
Sirius nodded proudly, and Harry looked as though he wished the ground would swallow him up.
"Why didn't you tell me you knew her?"
"I didn't think she'd remember," Sirius murmured.
Harry shook his head.
"You know, I think Azkaban was probably the best thing to happen to you. How many of your offspring do you think would be running around now?"
"I wasn't that bad."
"I very vividly remember you being caught with more than one girl in broom cupboards," Violetta interjected. "Unless you were practising your cleaning skills."
"Perish the thought," Sirius returned with a grin. "No, Harry, I do not have any illegitimate children running around, so stop looking at me like that. Besides, I didn't come here to be ridiculed. I came to meet your future wife. You must be Isabella."
"I am," Isabella confirmed with a smile as the man kissed the back of her hand.
"Well, I would certainly say Harry is punching above his weight," Sirius declared. "I always said the same when anyone showed interest in your mother."
"Alright, that's enough of that, you git," Harry huffed. "You're supposed to be the Minister of Magic! Show a little decorum."
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your mother; I do not lack decorum, just the urge to implement it. Besides, we are going to be family. Do we really have to go through all of the blasted pleasantries? I have to do that every day when someone wants to kiss my arse. I'm tired of it."
"You sound like a petulant baby," Harry pointed out, eliciting a laugh from Isabella and Violetta.
"No, he's quite right," her mother said dismissively. "I think when you've had someone produce a bunch of roses through the zip on his trousers to you in the middle of the Great Hall, we can do away with pleasantries."
"It gets worse," Harry groaned. "What the hell were you thinking doing that?"
"You'd be surprised how often it worked," Sirius replied with a grin, "and it was daffodils, Violetta. I tried it with roses once, and the thorns were not so friendly."
Harry looked horrified, and Isabella stood. Linking her arm through his own, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"I can only imagine how much of a degenerate you would have been if he raised you."
Harry winced, and Isabella smirked at him amusedly.
"Would you care for some tea, Minister? I'm afraid I don't have any of Slughorn's finest stolen mead to hand."
"Tea will be perfectly fine," Sirius replied.
"He was a womanizer and a thief," Harry muttered. "What else did he get up to?"
"Harry, that really is not a question you want the answer to," Sirius answered. "Let's just say I'm a changed man and leave it at that."
"I think that would be for the best," Violetta commented.
(Break)
It seemed that almost every prison across the wizarding world didn't take their security as seriously as they should. Of the eleven he'd visited in the past thirty days, each relied too heavily on their chosen guards, most of whom were underpaid or retired Aurors who did not wish to die for the thankless jobs they had.
As such, most were willing to tell the Dark Lord all he needed to know to access the prisoners of interest, especially when they realised the threat before them.
Those prisons that did not rely on men either kept their less savoury elements of society within their walls using magic, and the Dark Lord doubted there was any alive as skilled as he'd become.
Regardless of what measures were in place, he'd left each establishment with exactly what he'd been seeking.
It didn't matter that the guards reported the losses the moment he left.
Lord Voldemort had no intention of returning.
He just needed to secure a handful more loyal men, and then he'd be set to return to Britain.
The next prison on his list was one that had piqued his interest when he'd heard about it during his time at Hogwarts. It had been built by another Dark Lord, one with ambitions that proved to be much to grand to see accomplished, and as he'd peered across the landscape at the imposing structure, Voldemort had nodded to himself.
Nurmengard.
Little was known of this place.
It was said that the Dark Lord had built the prison himself, that every brick and every cell was cursed with the man's own magic.
According to the rumours, it was where Grindelwald housed his strongest opposition, where they would be tortured until they perished or simply lost their minds.
Now, it was used by the German Ministry, who had decided it was an incredibly useful fortress to house some of their own criminals.
Not that such a detail mattered.
There were four men and two women whom Lord Voldemort wished to make the acquaintance of within these walls.
Oddly, entering the prison had been as simple as walking through the front door. There were seemingly no guards on duty, a realisation that left him on edge.
The magic he could feel here was different, but there was a chilling familiarity with it, subtle but undoubtedly present.
As he made his way through the halls, he found that most of the cells were empty, but for those that were not, the occupants were mostly unresponsive. Only two he came upon on the lower responded to him, though only one with any semblance of coherence.
The woman spoke in German, and the Dark Lord cast a translation spell.
"Are you here to release me?" she asked.
Her eyes were sunken and her skin pale from the lack of light.
"I could," Voldemort responded. "That depends on what you can do for me. What is your name?"
"Alison Becker."
She was one of the potential recruits on his list.
"Why are the others as they are, have they been given potions?"
Becker shook her head.
"It is the prison," she whispered. "It slowly makes you lose your mind. Can you not feel it clawing at you? It is magic that none should be exposed to."
Voldemort nodded.
She was speaking of that familiar chill that probed at the back of the consciousness, almost like a parasite slowly burrowing under the flesh.
"Imagine living with it," Becker urged. "It will eventually drive any mad, except for maybe the man who lives at the top."
"What man?"
"No one knows who he is, but he is the only one who gets a visitor. He used to get two, but that was before my time. Now, only one comes to see him."
"How do you know this?"
"The guard that brings in the prisoners told me. He said that the man at the top has been here for decades and is unaffected by the magic. He said he doesn't like speaking to him, that the man up there is dangerous."
The Dark Lord frowned.
He'd read nothing on the admittedly few notes on the prison he'd managed to come across. Much of his knowledge had come from old newspaper articles.
There had been no mention of such a man residing here.
Of course, he wished to meet him, to shed some light on the tale he'd heard.
"I will return shortly," he assured the woman. "For your freedom, you will pledge yourself to my service."
"If it gets me out of here, you have a deal. I would not dawdle. The prison has a way of swallowing people up."
She hadn't been jesting.
The further he climbed, the more the corridors became a labyrinth, and the Dark Lord was certain he had passed through the same hall three or four times before he realised that the walls themselves were not what they appeared to be in some places.
Drawing his wand, he used to get an understanding of the magic at work here, of how it was woven together to conceal what it was designed to keep hidden.
When that was done, the prison was not so difficult to navigate, and he quickly found a staircase that led him upwards.
The cells here were fewer, but the magic was undeniably stronger, and as he approached the end of the last corridor he reached, it peaked exponentially.
Within the final cell was indeed a man, an old and frail man who seemed to be mere inches from death.
"More than one visit in a year, aren't I lucky? What do you want now?"
He frowned as he turned to look towards the Dark Lord, his icy blue eyes showing more life and intelligence than expected.
"Well, you are not who I was expecting unless you've had a considerable mishap," he chuckled humourlessly. "No, you would never delve into such magicks that would leave you in such a way. Who are you?"
"I could ask the same of you."
"Ah, another Brit," the old man murmured. "Let me see, a British man who has clearly experimented with magic he does not understand. You found your way to me rather admirably, to boot. Only two of such calibre have been brought to my attention, and you are far from young enough to be the other. I suppose that makes you one Tom Riddle. Ah, I can see by the glare you are sporting that I am correct. Have you finally managed to kill Albus?"
"You know Dumbledore?"
"My boy, I know Albus Dumbledore better than any other."
The accent he spoke with was not British, though the Dark Lord could not fathom whom it was he was speaking with.
"You are confused," the man said amusedly. "I expect you wouldn't be alone if others knew of my continued existence. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Gellert Grindelwald."
It wasn't often the Dark Lord found himself shocked.
Living in the muggle world as a boy and experiencing the magical one was as shocked as he'd ever been but learning that Grindelwald was still alive left him taken aback.
"Grindelwald?" he chuckled when the shock began to wear off. "The world thinks you dead."
"For the best," the man replied. "If they thought me alive, they would insist upon killing me. I'm almost ready for that eventuality, but I would see another few years."
"Dumbledore locked you away?"
"He did," Grindelwald confirmed. "Despite knowing that killing me would be the right thing to do, he could not bring himself to. He is a man of morals."
His words were spoken with something akin to fondness.
"You do not hate him?"
Grindelwald shook his head.
"No, I do not," he sighed. "Albus did what he thought was right, and he bested me when it mattered. Perhaps if you are granted a spell in a place like this, you will have time to reflect on your own choices, though, from what I have heard, I think it unlikely. Your enemy is not Albus Dumbledore, and certainly not so forgiving."
"Potter will die."
"And it is admirable that you believe that, but then what happens? Another will come for you, and then another, and another until you are bested, just as I was. You are too dismissive of the boy. If he is anything like his grandfather, you would not be so."
"His grandfather?"
"Charlus," Grindelwald confirmed. "Maybe he could have defeated me if it came to a fight between us. He gave me this souvenir," he added, pointing to a scar on his cheek. "You should not underestimate your foes, especially one who hails from such a line."
"The Potters?" Voldemort asked confusedly.
Before venturing to Godric's Hollow, he had investigated the family pedigree thoroughly, and had found no cause for concern. Was there something he'd missed.
Judging by the smug smile of Grindelwald, it appeared he had.
"Not the Potters," the older man said dismissively. "The Peverells."
"The Peverells?"
"You do not know of the Peverells?"
"I have read the name, I believe."
"But you know nothing of the family?"
The man unleashed a bark of laughter, his eyes alight in amusement as he shook his head.
"Then you cannot fathom what it is you are facing," he continued gleefully. "You do not know it yet, but you are already dead."
The Dark Lord felt a wave of anger wash over him at the mocking tone.
"I would not do that if I were you," Grindelwald warned. "The protections here are of my own creation. I may longer possess my wand, but the magic will keep me safe, especially against you, I expect. It will recognise its enemy. It is his magic, after all. You've faced the boy. You must recognise it."
"What is it?" Voldemort growled.
Grindelwald smirked at him.
"Tell me, Riddle, have you heard the tale of The Three Brothers?"
Voldemort frowned.
"I have no time for stories," he said dismissively.
"Ah, but this is one you should be concerned with," Grindelwald chided as though he was speaking to a child.
He turned towards a bookshelf in the corner of the room and retrieved a thin volume. Handing it to him, he nodded.
"Page fifty-four," he informed him. "Read it."
The Dark Lord did so.
It was not a long tale, but the more he read it, the more preposterous it became, though he could not deny that it instilled a feeling of unease within him.
"Death," he snorted derisively. "You expect me to believe this drivel."
Grindelwald leaned forward with a leer.
"You are free to believe what you will, but I would urge you not to be so dismissive of this. I have experienced the power of the Hallows for myself. I possessed the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick, or the Elder Wand, if you please. It is an instrument of incredible power, a power that I could not fully access. I lost the wand to the only man who has bested me."
"Dumbledore," Voldemort whispered.
Grindelwald nodded as he retreated.
"Albus," he confirmed. "Even the wand was not enough of an advantage for me to defeat him. He always was the better of us."
"Dumbledore has the wand," the Dark Lord whispered in realisation. "That is why he has been able to survive against me."
"Had the wand," Grindelwald returned, "and no. Dumbledore does not have the means for the wand to work as intended. He has survived because he is a brilliant wizard, even if he lacks the conviction to conclude a fight truly. Potter, on the other hand, does possess what is required. He has the blood of the Peverells flowing through his veins and at least two of the Hallows. The wand alone would see you to your grave. You see, the Peverell line married into the Potter one, bringing, I strongly suspect, one of the Hallows with them. That would either be the Resurrection Stone, or the Cloak of Invisibility. Maybe, somehow, he possesses the third. Already, you face insurmountable odds; Death's Champion answers to only Death, the very thing you flee from. You cannot escape it, Riddle. You are under the assumption you have been hunting Harry Potter, but you have inadvertently been seeking the very thing you fear. Death comes for us all, even those who do all they can to avoid their Fate."
The Dark Lord felt it once more, that cold, cruel magic probing at every fibre of his being, and he unwittingly shivered, fighting the urge to run from this place.
"What can I do?"
Grindelwald chuckled humourlessly.
"Nothing," he answered simply. "If Death wishes to claim you, it shall be so. Run if you wish, but there is nowhere you can hide from it."
"Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?" Voldemort whispered. "He expects me to be fearful of a children's tale, to fear Potter. I fear no man!"
"It is no man you are facing," Grindelwald returned with a shrug. "Convince yourself all you like. I have given you only the truth as I believe it. I must tell you, I am scarcely wrong."
Voldemort shook his head.
"You lie!" he spat as he took a step back. "I am going to kill Potter, and then I will come back for you. I will tear down every brick of this place and bury you both under it."
Grindelwald shrugged.
"This is to be my final resting place already," he said carelessly. "I look forward to hearing of your demise, Tom Riddle. There is nowhere to flee from Death. You, like all others before you, will find their way into his cold embrace."
With that, he turned away, and the Dark Lord followed suit, unable to rid himself of the feeling of unease that plagued him.
Could Grindelwald be telling the truth?
Lord Voldemort could not bring himself to believe it, and yet, he could not dismiss it entirely.
Magic worked in mysterious ways, and if there was even a kernel of truth to what he'd been told, it was a most concerning revelation.
Thinking back on all the times he'd encountered Potter, the very same feeling he was experiencing within these walls had been present, though so much stronger.
Potter had seemingly been able to summon the dead to fight on his behalf.
"The Stone," he murmured.
The wand, he couldn't be so sure of, but he could imagine Dumbledore bestowing it upon him to give him a perceived advantage.
The cloak.
He paused as he remembered something Wormtail had told him before he'd visited Godric's Hollow.
'James has an Invisibility Cloak. It is big enough to hide them both under. He says that it has been in his family for generations. Just because you may not be able to see them, it doesn't mean they're not there.'
The Dark Lord had not pondered the possibility, seeing as the Potters had not been hiding under such a garment, but his admittedly limited knowledge on invisibility cloaks was that the magic would eventually wear off.
For one to be in the family for generations was an absurd notion.
Not if it is the cloak gifted to the Peverells by Death.
He shook his head of that intrusive thought, not wanting to dwell on such foolery as truth.
No, it could not be true.
The entire tale was ludicrous, though the Dark Lord could not deny that he had witnessed and experienced many things that most would find all but impossible to believe, and yet, they were indeed very real.
It was another thought that only bolstered the unease he already felt, and Lord Voldemort knew he could not dismiss what he'd heard entirely.
As much as he wished to, he'd seen much of what Grindelwald had said for himself, and that brought him no further comfort in the fight that was inevitably coming.
(Break)
It wasn't often that Sirius found himself within the chambers of the ICW, something he was grateful for. His experiences thus far had left a rather sour taste in his mouth, the body of men and women proving to be just like the Wizengamot, just on a grander stage, a group of influential wizards who wished only to serve themselves.
They had little interest in the affairs of individual countries, though as he found himself being looked upon by each representative and Dumbledore in his capacity as the Supreme Mugwump, he could not ignore they were being exceedingly attentive towards him.
"Minister Black, you have been asked here today as it appears that one of you citizens is responsible for a spate of unacceptable crimes across several of the countries represented within this very room. If you will kindly consult the stack of parchment in front of you, I'm sure you will find yourself enlightened. We have taken the liberty of summarising our problem on page two."
It was the French representative who had addressed him, and Sirius did not appreciate the condescending tone with which he had.
With a nod, he read the page and looked towards the man expectantly.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Sirius looked towards Dumbledore, who offered him a look of apology and chuckled.
"So, your prisons have been broken into?" he asked.
"Several of them in only a matter of weeks by a citizen of your country!"
Sirius nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, the description provided seems to describe Voldemort," he conceded. "However," he continued, meeting the gaze of the Frenchman, "I will tell you the very same thing this body has told us for the past decades: your domestic issues are yours to settle unless they infringe upon the men and women of other countries. My question to you is, what do you want me to do about it?"
"We want you to fix it!"
Sirius snorted amusedly.
"What do you think we have been doing?" he returned. "Our men and women have been slaughtered in droves by him and his ilk. We have been fighting him for decades, but now you want to take an interest because he's decided to help himself to some of your prisoners. You are wasting my time. Do not dare tell me to handle my affairs if you are making no offer of assistance. If he is operating in your countries, then he is your problem, and that will be so until he darkens Britain once more. Now, if there is nothing else?"
Evidently, they had not expected such hostility from Sirius, but he did not have time for political flexing.
When none offered a response, he turned and stalked from the room, irked by the audacity to call him here in the first place for something so frivolous.
Nonetheless, the revelation that the Dark lord had been freeing prisoners, likely the most unpleasant housed in each of the several countries he'd visited, was not a welcome development.
If the report he'd read was indeed correct, it appeared as though the man had added around two hundred people to his cause, two hundred more enemies that would need to be defeated.
The Ministry resources were already stretched thin, and with a large wolf pack at his disposal already, such an addition for the Dark Lord could tip the scale in his favour, though only if he intended to use them for a final push.
Sirius nodded to himself.
That was likely Voldemort's intention, and with that thought becoming immediately urgent, his pace quickened, eager to return home to begin the necessary preparations.
The war would likely be concluded soon, a prospect that Sirius looked forward to, though equally dreaded if they failed to stop the Dark Lord.