A/N: We Have officially hit 6,174 views on this story. Thank you once again for all the support, it means so much to me! Without further delay, please enjoy!
Harry and Hermione sat in the quiet confines of the Ministry office, their heads bent together over a stack of parchment, reports, and intelligence on Gábor Vérhomály. The dark wizard's rise was beginning to send tremors through the wizarding world, and they needed to understand him if they were to stand a chance at combating him.
"His power..." Harry trailed off, looking at the reports detailing Vérhomály's ability to dual wield wands. "It's extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it."
Hermione nodded, her brows furrowing in concern. "Not just extraordinary, Harry. It's unprecedented. The kind of power it would take to wield two wands effectively...it's beyond comprehension."
"But is it possible?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione. "Could there be a magical reason behind it, something we're missing?"
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "There's no known law or principle in magic that explicitly prohibits dual wielding. But the complexity and effort it would take to split your focus, to control and direct two wands simultaneously...it's simply beyond most witches and wizards."
A silence fell over them as they pondered this new development. Then Harry spoke, shifting the focus of the conversation slightly. "There's something else. This Gábor Vérhomály...he's not like Voldemort."
Hermione looked at him, intrigued. "What do you mean?"
Harry shuffled the parchments, revealing an interrogation report of one of Vérhomály's followers. "He talks about Voldemort with...disgust. Almost like he's offended by him."
Hermione read through the report, her eyes widening slightly. "That's unusual. Most dark wizards we've encountered at least respect Voldemort's power and influence, even if they don't align with his ideals."
"But not Vérhomály," Harry finished, his gaze hardening. "Whatever his plans are, they're different from Voldemort's. And that makes him a very dangerous unknown."
As the gravity of the situation sank in, they both knew their work was cut out for them. Understanding Gábor Vérhomály was paramount.
"So, how did you manage to find out his identity?" Harry asked Hermione, his gaze steady on her face.
Hermione didn't meet his eyes immediately. Instead, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope. She passed it over to Harry who took it, his curiosity piqued.
"I didn't," Hermione finally said. "He did."
Harry's eyes widened as he unfolded the letter from inside the envelope. It was penned in crisp, meticulous handwriting. As his eyes scanned the contents of the letter, he felt a shiver of surprise crawl up his spine.
The letter outlined a detailed account of Gábor Vérhomály's background, his rise to power, and even his apparent disdain for Voldemort. It was surreal to read, the words seemingly taunting them with their audacity and candor.
As Harry looked up from the letter, his eyes met Hermione's. "Why would he do this?" Harry questioned, his mind racing. "Why would he reveal himself to us?"
"I wish I knew, Harry," Hermione replied, a note of weariness slipping into her voice. "But what I find more disturbing is the note he added."
Harry glanced back at the letter, his eyes catching the small piece of parchment attached at the bottom of the letter. It read simply: "Good luck."
Harry felt his heart rate accelerate as the implications of the note sank in. This wasn't just a declaration of identity; it was a challenge. A taunt from a dark wizard who seemed to be playing a game only he understood the rules of.
"He's confident," Harry stated, his voice hardened. "Arrogant even. He's telling us he doesn't fear us."
Hermione nodded in agreement; her brow furrowed in thought. "Or he's trying to provoke us, make us act rashly."
Either way, the message was clear: Gábor Vérhomály wasn't just a new dark wizard on the scene. He was a force to be reckoned with, a new threat that seemed to thrive on his own audacity and secrecy. Harry sat there, grappling with the knowledge of Gábor Vérhomály's identity, when Hermione procured a dusty, aged folder from her desk. It was emblazoned with the insignia of the Department of Mysteries, a series of intricate symbols that hid innumerable secrets within them.
"Harry," she said, her voice carrying a weight that made the air in the room thick with tension. "There's more."
She passed the folder to him, and he carefully opened it, revealing brittle pages of parchment, densely filled with information. As he began reading, Hermione started explaining.
"Vérhomály was not just a dark wizard," Hermione began, her eyes flickering with a potent mix of fear and resolve. "He was Gellert Grindelwald's personal assassin."
Harry's heart seemed to skip a beat at her words. "Grindelwald's… assassin?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," Hermione nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Not just that, he was trained by Grindelwald himself."
Harry's hands trembled as he leafed through the records. Page after page, each one filled with accounts of brutal killings, political assassinations, and displays of dark magic that curdled his blood.
"But why haven't we heard of him before?" Harry questioned, his gaze meeting Hermione's. "Why was his existence kept a secret?"
Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair. "His identity was kept a closely guarded secret by Grindelwald. Even among his closest followers, only a few knew of Vérhomály. He was like a... a ghost, a specter of the night. He would appear, do his bloody work, and then vanish."
"That's why he was nicknamed 'Blood Shadow', right?" Harry asked, flipping to a page that detailed the mysterious nickname.
"Exactly," Hermione confirmed. "He left a trail of bloodshed in his wake and disappeared into the shadows just as fast. An apparition of death, untraceable and unstoppable."
Harry could barely believe what he was hearing. Gábor Vérhomály, the enigmatic dark wizard who'd boldly declared his identity, was far more dangerous than they could have imagined.
As the gravity of the situation sank in, Harry felt a surge of determination. They were dealing with a deadly adversary, a relic of an era that was supposed to be long gone. But as daunting as the challenge was, they had faced worse before.
"We'll stop him, Hermione," Harry vowed, clenching his fist around the parchment. "No matter what it takes."
The room fell silent as Hermione put away the ancient records of Gábor Vérhomály. A moment later, Harry changed the subject, turning to a matter that had been weighing heavily on his mind.
"Why did you give James the visitation pass?" he asked, his voice holding an edge of accusation.
Hermione sighed, her expression softening. "Harry, we can't just keep them apart," she said, her tone firm but compassionate.
"Yes, we can," Harry retorted, his gaze hard. "You're the Minister for Magic. You could have denied him."
Hermione shook her head slowly. "And what good would that have done, Harry? It would only push James away, maybe even make him resent us."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione held up her hand, forestalling him.
"Harry," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "what would you have done if someone tried to keep you away from Ginny when you were James's age?"
Harry faltered, caught off guard by the question. He thought back to those years, the tumultuous period of the second wizarding war when he and Ginny had first fallen in love. Would he have stayed away from Ginny if someone had ordered him to do so? Harry knew the answer without hesitation.
"No," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I wouldn't have stayed away."
Hermione gave him a pointed look. "Then how can we expect James to do something we wouldn't have done ourselves?"
Harry fell silent, his argument deflated. He understood Hermione's point, but that didn't make the reality any easier to accept. His son was involved with a woman he believed was dangerous, a woman with a dark past.
But as he looked at Hermione, his best friend who'd stood by him through all their trials and tribulations, he knew that he had to trust her judgement, even if he didn't agree with it entirely.
"I just... I just want him to be safe, Hermione," he finally said, his voice filled with concern.
"I know, Harry," Hermione replied softly. "We all do. But sometimes, the best way to protect our loved ones is by supporting them, not by controlling them."
With that, their conversation ended, leaving Harry with much to think about. Despite his fears and reservations, he knew that Hermione was right. As hard as it was, he needed to trust James's decisions, even if they didn't align with his own.
With the early morning sun illuminating the dreary stone walls of Azkaban, James Potter found himself standing in front of a cell, a permanent visitation pass securely tucked in his pocket. As he looked through the iron bars, he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face as he saw Delphi. Even in her prison uniform, she was radiant.
"Hey, Riddle," James greeted playfully, leaning against the bars nonchalantly. "You're looking...well, as good as one can in Azkaban gray."
Delphi chuckled, her eyes dancing with mirth as she approached the bars, coming as close as the restrictive cell would allow. "You're looking sharp, Potter. Still keeping up the Auror physique even though you're not on field duty anymore?"
James shrugged, feigning indifference. "Well, you know, just trying to look good for my girlfriend who's unfortunately locked up in a wizarding prison."
Delphi laughed again, and the sound echoed around the otherwise silent prison, softening its cold, unforgiving ambiance. "Well, aren't I lucky?"
They continued to banter, their conversation filled with the effortless comfort and playful teasing that came from truly knowing and caring for each other. Despite their dire circumstances, it was clear that the bond between them was unbroken, perhaps even stronger.
As they talked, their laughter filled the cold prison, their hands reaching out to touch through the cold metal bars. It was a peculiar sight, a juxtaposition of the despairing backdrop of Azkaban and the hopeful love blossoming between them.
Throughout their conversation, they managed to make light of their situation, their shared humor an antidote to the harsh reality. However, underneath the jokes and laughter, the seriousness of their predicament wasn't lost on either of them.
"You know, Delphi," James said softly, his gaze serious as he looked at her, "I don't know what's going to happen in the future, but I promise you, I'll be here for you, no matter what."
Delphi smiled at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And I for you, James," she replied sincerely.
Their playful banter and heartfelt promises were a testament to the bond they shared. They were two individuals caught in a complex web of past sins and future uncertainties, but their feelings for each other remained a steadfast beacon in the tumultuous sea of their lives. As they continued their conversation, it was clear that the love between them was an enduring flame, burning brightly amidst the darkness of their circumstance.
In the comforting privacy of the Potter home, Ginny Weasley found herself sitting across from her son, James. The tension in the air was palpable, but the silence was eventually broken by Ginny's soft voice.
"James," she began, her voice laced with a motherly tenderness, "I owe you an apology."
James looked at his mother, his eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Ginny took a deep breath before continuing.
"I've said things I shouldn't have...about Delphi. I've questioned your feelings, your relationship, even the nature of your love," Ginny confessed, her gaze unwavering as she admitted her missteps. "I was wrong, James. I let my fear and worry cloud my judgment."
James stayed quiet, taking in his mother's words. He had been so sure that his parents would never understand his relationship with Delphi. He was taken aback by Ginny's apology but waited for her to finish.
"I know you're a grown man, James," Ginny continued, her voice shaky with emotion. "You can make your own choices, live your own life. But in my eyes, you'll always be my baby boy, my firstborn. I can't help but want to protect you."
James's gaze softened as he listened to his mother's heartfelt confession. It was a side of her he had forgotten about amidst the ongoing conflict.
Ginny let out a soft sigh before adding, "I promised you, James. I promised I'd accept your girlfriend when you were ready to introduce her. I want to honor that promise. I don't want you to ever think I don't care about your feelings or your happiness."
James was silent for a moment, absorbing his mother's words. Finally, he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, a small smile forming on his lips. "Thanks, Mum," he said softly.
Ginny gave him a tender smile, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. This was a crucial step in their relationship - a step towards understanding and acceptance. And while the road ahead was far from easy, they were willing to navigate it, together. For love, after all, was about such sacrifices and compromises.
In the heart of their secret hideout, Gábor Vérhomály stood before his new soldiers, his eyes sweeping over their faces. Umbridge, Greyback, Augustus, Antonin, and Rodolphus - five wizards and witches who had dedicated their lives to Voldemort's cause, were now under his leadership.
"Your education begins now," Gábor announced, his voice echoing throughout the room. "We are beginning a new era."
The group shared anxious glances but remained silent. They were accustomed to Tom Riddle's teachings, his doctrines that had shaped their outlook for years. But now, they stood before a new master, a new teacher.
Gábor clicked a button, and a large screen flickered to life. On it, a series of images and videos began to play - images of Muggle technology, Muggle warfare, Muggle progress.
"Riddle taught you that Muggles are inferior to us," Gábor said, his gaze not leaving the screen. "He was right. We have magic, they don't. But where Riddle was wrong, was when he underestimated them."
Images of fighter jets soared across the screen, followed by footage of massive aircraft carriers cutting through ocean waves. Helicopters swept over vast landscapes, dropping payloads that exploded with devastating force. Tanks rumbled over rough terrains, their turrets turning to unleash destructive power. Rockets shot up into the sky, their trails blazing bright against the dark void.
The five recruits watched the display in silent fascination. The display of Muggle warfare, their technology, their ability to create and destroy, was a far cry from their previous beliefs. These were not the 'savage beasts' that Voldemort had painted them to be.
And then, the ultimate symbol of Muggle power erupted on screen - a nuclear missile test. The sight of the colossal mushroom cloud, the sheer destructive force of the explosion, left the group in awestruck silence.
"Muggles are not insects," Gábor continued, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. "They are a force to be reckoned with. Their weapons may be different from ours, but they are no less powerful. We are not just dealing with wizarding world; we are dealing with their world too."
Gábor Vérhomály stood tall in the darkness, a grim expression marking his features. His recruits, new to the reality of the muggle world's horrors, watched him intently.
"You all considered Voldemort a monster," Gábor began, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "And, indeed, he was. A monster with magic at his disposal. But let me tell you, the muggle world has seen monsters too. Monsters who didn't need magic to enact their dark deeds."
The screen sprang back to life, displaying black and white footage, the grim imagery from a time of war, of devastation, of a muggle monster in action.
Adolf Hitler, the man whose voice rallied a nation, whose deeds led to the systematic extermination of six million innocent lives. The video showed speeches, rallies, concentration camps, the horrors of the Holocaust. All orchestrated by a single man, a single muggle.
A collective gasp echoed in the room. Some looked away, others stared at the screen in horrified fascination. Voldemort's reign of terror suddenly seemed small, inconsequential even, in the face of Hitler's atrocities.
"Voldemort could only dream of wielding such influence, such power over the masses," Gábor's voice echoed in the room. "But that's not all."
The footage shifted to another man, another time, yet the horror remained the same. Joseph Stalin, the dictator who ruled with an iron fist, a man responsible for the deaths of 20 million people during his regime.
The grim reality of muggle monstrosity unfolded before their eyes. Scenes of labor camps, of famines, of purges painted a picture of a leader as ruthless and brutal as any dark wizard.
Gábor Vérhomály paused the footage, allowing the grim reality to sink in. He turned to face his recruits, their faces pale in the flickering light of the projector.
"Your precious Dark Lord never even came close," Gábor concluded, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it echoed through the room, louder than any of the horrific images they had just witnessed. "Monstrosity is not exclusive to our world. And if we underestimate the muggles, we risk facing monsters far worse than Voldemort."
As the footage of devastation faded away, Gábor Vérhomály moved onto the next segment of their 'muggle education'. The dim room was momentarily bathed in darkness before the first scene of a muggle movie played out on the screen. "Lord of the Rings," he announced, a subtle hint of intrigue in his voice.
This was a complete shift in tone from the gruesome reality of the muggle world they had just witnessed. A film about a mystical land filled with elves, dwarves, orcs, and wizards. A depiction of a realm as rich in magic as their own, except this was a muggle creation, a testament to their imagination and creativity.
"Though muggles may be ignorant of the existence of real magic," Gábor Vérhomály began, his voice low and measured, "They've long been fans of folklore. The tales of wizards and witches, of magical creatures and enchanted objects. They've dreamed of such a world, crafted entire universes out of their fascination."
Augustus watched the screen, his eyes drawn to a particular character. An old wizard, wise and mighty, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Albus Dumbledore. A striking white beard, twinkling eyes, a tall, pointed hat. The figure of Gandalf was a mirror image of the Hogwarts headmaster they once knew.
"Look at that," Augustus murmured, pointing at the screen. "The muggle wizard. He looks just like Dumbledore."
A few chuckles echoed around the room as others noticed the resemblance. A wave of nostalgia passed over them, a gentle reminder of the world they came from, and how it intertwined with this foreign, muggle culture.
"So, while muggles may not possess magic," Gábor concluded, gesturing to the screen, "They have always been drawn to it. And many would be thrilled at the prospect of magic being real."
Gábor's words lingered in the air. If muggles could envision a world so similar to theirs, then perhaps they weren't as different as they'd always believed.
In the dimly lit room, the film ended, leaving Gábor Vérhomály's new recruits in a reflective silence. The flickering light from the film projector cut through the darkness, casting long, dancing shadows on their faces.
"Listen closely, all of you," Gábor began, his voice a calm and collected echo in the quiet room. "In this new world order, we are creating, we must cast aside the old prejudices that once dictated our thoughts and actions."
He paced in front of the screen, his gaze intensely scanning the five faces before him - Umbridge, Greyback, Augustus, Antonin, and Rodolphus. Their attention was firmly on him, each one trying to decipher what this lesson truly meant.
"I do not hate muggles," Gábor continued, his voice steady and unyielding. "Our fight is not born out of hate. It is driven by purpose. Muggles are merely ignorant, oblivious to our existence. We, as wizards and witches, have remained hidden for so long that they are completely unaware of us."
There was a pause as he let his words sink in. The room was filled with a tangible tension, the once loyal followers of Voldemort grappling with this new perspective.
"I want you to ask yourselves," Gábor said, piercing the silence, "Can you truly hate something that is not even aware of your existence?"
His question hung in the air like a thick fog, stirring a whirlwind of thoughts within each of them. The old biases they had clung onto were being challenged, a new understanding being forged. This was no longer a war between magic and no-magic, it was about co-existence, respect, and purpose.
And it was this purpose that Gábor Vérhomály aimed to embed within each of his new soldiers, each of his Blood Riders.
Gábor's gaze was unflinching as he looked at his newly revitalized soldiers, "We, as wizards and witches, have a duty. A duty to lead, to guide, to enlighten. Yes, we are superior in our abilities, but that does not diminish the value muggles bring to the table. They too serve a purpose."
His words resonated in the silence of the room, echoing off the cold, stone walls. He saw the flicker of contemplation in the eyes of each recruit. The wheels were turning, preconceived notions were being reevaluated, a new sense of purpose was beginning to take root.
"We will herald a new era," Gábor continued, his tone becoming more impassioned, "An era where all wizards - pureblood, half-blood, muggle-born - stand at the helm. We are not merely rulers, we are custodians. Our responsibility is to lead the world towards greater prosperity, a world free from the shackles of war and destruction."
The mention of war hit a nerve with his recruits. Each of them had witnessed the horror of war, had their lives irrevocably altered by it. They had seen firsthand the destruction it wrought, and the scars it left behind were still fresh.
"We have a duty to guide both the wizarding and muggle worlds into a new age of prosperity. We, with our magic, and them with their advancements in technology, can create a synergy like no other. Wizards will rule, not with an iron fist, but with wisdom and fairness. Yes, there will be casualties, there will be deaths along the way," Gábor paused for a moment, his gaze softening. "I take no pleasure in that. But remember, it is a small price to pay for the greater good."
The phrase 'for the greater good' hung in the air, a sobering reminder of their mission. This was not a quest for personal glory or power, it was a quest for unity, for harmony. It was a quest for a better world.
A/N: WOO! I had alot of fun writing Vérhomály. Hope you all enjoyed AND PLEASE leave reviews, i do not censor opinions.