Chapter 322: Chapter 322: "The Dark Lords Unite"
Deep within an ancient fortress nestled in the forested hills of Central Europe, Gellert Grindelwald stood by a tall, arched window, watching storm clouds gather over distant peaks. Weeks had passed since his liberation from Nurmengard, and his body was still reacclimating to freedom. Decades of confinement had left their mark—his once-imposing frame had withered, and he now relied on a cane for support. Yet his mind remained razor-sharp, dissecting the world around him with the same cunning that had once terrorized Europe.
What intrigued him most was the Dark Lord who had orchestrated his escape. Voldemort was nothing like Grindelwald had imagined based on whispers that had reached even Nurmengard's depths. Those stories had spoken of a madman—volatile, paranoid, and consumed by cruelty. Instead, Grindelwald found himself face-to-face with a calculating strategist, whose crimson eyes gleamed with unsettling clarity.
The soft sound of footsteps broke his reverie. Voldemort approached, his black robes sweeping silently over the cold stone floor.
"You seem troubled, Grindelwald," Voldemort observed, his voice smooth, carrying that peculiar blend of courtesy and threat that seemed intrinsic to him.
Grindelwald turned slightly, leaning on his cane. "Not troubled. Curious." His sharp eyes assessed Voldemort. "You're different from the tales I've heard. They spoke of instability, madness. Yet I see none of that in you."
Something akin to amusement flickered across Voldemort's serpentine face. "Since my resurrection, I have found myself... steadier. The reason is unclear, but I do not question it. Clarity serves my purpose better."
Grindelwald tilted his head. "And what purposes might those be? Why do you fight? What compels you to gather the dark forces under your banner?"
Voldemort turned his gaze to the stormy horizon outside. For a moment, he was silent, then he spoke, his voice cold with conviction. "The wizarding world has grown weak, cowering in shadows while Muggles spread across the earth like a plague. They believe themselves the rulers of the world, sowing destruction unchecked. I intend to end their rule and put them beneath us, as they should be. Wizards are the powerful ones. We should not hide like vermin in the dark." His crimson eyes burned with intensity. "Britain is only the beginning. Through it, we will reshape the world into what it should be."
Grindelwald nodded slowly, Voldemort's words echoing his own beliefs from decades past. "For the Greater Good of the wizarding world," he murmured, the old motto rolling off his tongue like a ghost of his former self.
Voldemort's lips twisted into a smirk. "Your old motto. Dumbledore seems fond of it now, or so I hear. You two share an intriguing history, it seems."
Grindelwald's expression darkened briefly. "We go far back," he said curtly. "But I have no interest in discussing Albus Dumbledore. Let us move on. What do you want from me, Voldemort?"
Voldemort inclined his head, accepting the change of topic. "Though our methods differ, our core belief remains the same: wizards should not hide their power. I want you to join me."
They stood in silence, the weight of Voldemort's words hanging between them as lightning illuminated the stormy sky. Finally, Grindelwald spoke, his voice soft but resolute. "You know I cannot kneel to you. My pride would not survive it, even if my body could."
The tension thickened for a moment before Voldemort's smooth reply broke it. "It was worth asking. I'd have thought less of you if you'd agreed so easily. But I do not need your subservience. Your influence and the loyalty of your followers are what I require. The new generation needs fresh leadership."
Grindelwald's lips curled into a wry smile. "Good. Age and imprisonment have taught me to recognize my limitations. I am not the man I once was—not yet. My recovery will take time." He straightened slightly, dignity evident despite his frailty. "But I will assist your cause. My followers will heed your call, and my experience is yours to draw upon."
They stood by the window, silent once more, as the storm raged outside, its lightning illuminating the shadows within.
---
The alliance solidified around this understanding. In the days that followed, the fortress hummed with activity. Magnus Blutreich of the Schwarzwald Zirkel, convinced by Grindelwald, coordinated efforts with Grindelwald's old supporters, integrating them into Voldemort's existing network with ruthless efficiency.
Vladimir Dracul XII, still nursing both physical wounds and his pride after his defeat by the Knight, worked tirelessly to rebuild his shattered vampire covenant. Confidence swelled within him, bolstered by the knowledge that their alliance now boasted two of the fiercest dark lords of the last century.
Their initial target was clear: Britain. Voldemort's influence there remained potent, with corrupt Ministry officials, compromised departments, and a population divided by fear and uncertainty. Most importantly, Dumbledore had been conspicuously absent from public life for weeks, suggesting that the aging headmaster might finally be weakening. He was, after all, just as old as Grindelwald.
As for the mysterious strong enemies who had emerged to oppose him, Voldemort dismissed them. They hid in the shadows, unwilling to reveal themselves. To him, they were cowards who posed no real threat. Once he controlled the Ministry, he would draw them out and eliminate them at his leisure.
The prophecy in the Department of Mysteries remained Voldemort's immediate priority. He wanted to rid himself of its looming presence, free his mind of the burden, and destroy Charles Potter.
Carefully reviewing intelligence reports, he avoided risks, determined not to repeat past mistakes. The presence of Order guards and the vigilance of The Auror forces under Sirius Black and Amelia Bones complicated matters, but Voldemort's patience would reveal the perfect moment to strike. With attacks coordinated from within and without, the Ministry would fall.
While Voldemort meticulously planned the Ministry infiltration, the Dark Alliance expanded its reach. The Carpathian vampires forged pacts with smaller undead covens, strengthening their numbers. The Schwarzwald Zirkel, emboldened by Grindelwald's return, reconnected with dark wizarding families across Europe. Greyback's werewolves established hidden dens along Britain's borders, awaiting their signal to strike. Each passing day brought new pledges of loyalty, resources, and opportunities.
Azkaban became the alliance's first goal. A mass breakout would swell their ranks with freed Death Eaters and other dark wizards while potentially turning the Dementors to their cause. The prison assault would serve as their declaration—a resounding announcement that the Dark Alliance was ready to seize power.
Grindelwald, meanwhile, spent his days in the fortress library, alternating between rest and research. Though no longer a commander of armies, his tactical insights proved invaluable. He observed how Voldemort had evolved, shedding the recklessness of earlier years in favor of patience and precision. Grindelwald felt a quiet satisfaction—this dark lord had the potential to succeed where he had failed. Yet, he could not deny a flicker of worry over Dumbledore's absence. The old man's continued silence unsettled him.
Elsewhere, the wizarding world remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the shadows. Few even knew of Grindelwald's escape, and those who did were too fearful of the backlash to make it public. Attempts to contact Dumbledore with the news went unanswered. Voldemort, preferring to work from the shadows, kept his movements discreet, ensuring the world dismissed the unusual activity across Europe as routine dark wizard mischief.
Even Harry was unaware of the brewing chaos. His network of informants, largely composed of Arcturus Black's people and Sirius's updates from the Order and Ministry, had turned up nothing. With no news of Voldemort's movements, Harry focused on enjoying his school life, unaware of the war drums beating softly in the distance.
The storm clouds gathered over Britain's unsuspecting shores. And soon—very soon—the first strike would fall.
Chapter 323: Chapter 323: "The Warrior’s Interlude"
While dark lords plotted in distant fortresses, Harry Potter was in no particular hurry. Such was the confidence that came with his strength—he felt no pressing need to chase after Voldemort and his followers. After all, when you've destroyed all your enemy's Horcruxes and delivered a crushing blow to their vampire allies, you can afford to take things at your own pace.
That didn't mean he was idle, though. The unusual quiet from the dark forces had prompted him to take preemptive measures. He'd gone to Arcturus Black, shamelessly requesting help in gathering intelligence on Voldemort's movements. The old lord had agreed, activating his extensive network of informants. Now, Harry was content to wait for results before deciding his next move.
His seeming nonchalance wasn't entirely due to strategy, though. Hogwarts itself had provided ample distractions lately.
In a surprising move, Umbridge had lifted her ban on student groups—at least as far as Quidditch was concerned. Perhaps she hoped to reduce the student body's anger towards her, or maybe she thought giving them something to focus on would reduce the constant pranks. Either way, it had worked remarkably well. The school was so excited about Quidditch that they barely noticed Umbridge anymore, except during her dreary DADA classes.
Harry found himself caught up in the excitement too, though not entirely by choice. Years ago, he'd promised Roger Davies that he'd join the Ravenclaw team when Roger became captain, helping him win the Quidditch Cup. Now Roger had come to collect on that promise, pursuing Harry with relentless determination until he agreed.
On a crisp November morning, Harry adjusted his blue-and-bronze Ravenclaw robes in the locker room. The wind outside whipped across the Quidditch pitch, sending leaves spiraling through the air and rustling the house banners strung high above. Around him, his teammates chatted excitedly, their anticipation building as the match drew closer.
Harry had insisted on playing Chaser rather than Seeker, a compromise Roger had reluctantly accepted. The team's Seeker position was already filled, and Harry had no desire to take it away from Cho Chang, who had worked hard to earn her place.
Today was the second game of the season. Gryffindor had already beaten Slytherin in a hard-fought match few days back, leaving the school buzzing with anticipation for the next showdown: Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff.
"Alright, team, gather 'round!" Roger called, his captain's badge gleaming as he addressed the Ravenclaw players. "First match of the season, and we're up against Hufflepuff. They've got a strong lineup this year—Cedric's managed to keep most of his championship team from the previous season."
Through the window, Harry caught Cedric's eye and gave him a small wave. Cedric grinned back, mouthing what looked like, You're going down, Potter.
Roger continued, undeterred. "But we've got something they don't—we've got the Triwizard champion playing Chaser." He clapped Harry on the shoulder with a wide grin. "Though try not to accidentally hex anyone, mate."
"No promises," Harry replied with a smirk, earning laughs from his teammates.
The whistle blew, summoning both teams to the pitch. The players marched out to a roaring stadium, house banners rippling in the wind. Madam Hooch stood at the center of the field, her sharp yellow eyes scanning the players. "Captains, shake hands!"
Roger and Cedric met in the middle, their handshake firm but friendly. Harry glanced at the teacher's stands, spotting Umbridge sitting stiffly among the other professors. Her sour expression stood out amidst the cheerful crowd. Though restarting Quidditch had brought joy to the school, it was clear Umbridge disliked the collective happiness.
"Mount your brooms!" Hooch commanded. Harry swung his leg over his Firebolt, gripping the handle tightly. The shriek of the whistle pierced the air, and the game began.
"And they're off!" Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice drifted across the stadium. "Harry Potter has the Quaffle—he's flying quite well, though he might want to watch out for the Wrackspurts gathering near the goal posts. They're particularly active today, probably drawn by all the excitement..."
On the pitch, Harry weaved through two Hufflepuff defenders, the Quaffle tucked securely under his arm. Years of combat training translated surprisingly well to Quidditch, enabling him to pull off sharp turns and evasive maneuvers with ease. Spotting an incoming Bludger, he barrel-rolled just in time and then see his chance took the shot and scored.
Professor McGonagall, sitting beside Luna, cleared her throat. "Miss Lovegood, the score?"
"Oh yes, Harry Potter just scored. Ten points to Ravenclaw. It's quite interesting how the Quaffle sailed through the hoop. Rather like how Nargles steal things, very smooth and sneaky..."
The match continued.
"Susan Bones has the Quaffle now," Luna announced serenely. "She's Harry Potter's sister, you know. You can tell by the way the Blibbering Humdingers circle around them both. Very family-oriented creatures, Blibbering Humdingers..."
"The match, Miss Lovegood?" McGonagall prompted again.
"Oh right. Harry just took the Quaffle back. It's quite sweet really, like a brother letting his sister think she almost had him. Twenty-zero to Ravenclaw. The clouds are looking particularly fluffy today, don't you think? Perfect weather for Quidditch, though the Thestrals circling above might disagree..."
Several students in the stands were laughing now, thoroughly enjoying Luna's unique commentary style. Even Harry found himself grinning as he soared past the commentator's box. The combination of intense gameplay and Luna's whimsical observations made for a thoroughly enjoyable match.
Cedric called something to his team, and their formation tightened. Susan Bones took the lead position, a determined grin on her face as she faced off against Harry.
"Ready to lose, big brother?" she called out cheekily, expertly catching the Quaffle from her teammate.
Harry laughed. "Is that any way to talk to your big brother, Sue?" He swooped near her broom, deliberately leaving an obvious opening.
Susan, having trained with Harry over summers at Black Castle, recognized the trap but played along. She darted forward, only to have Harry spin his broom in a lazy loop around her, plucking the Quaffle from her grasp mid-rotation.
"Not fair!" she protested, though she was laughing. "Using those fancy moves in Quidditch!"
"All's fair in love and Quidditch, little sis!" Harry called back, zipping away with the Quaffle. Behind him, he could hear her laughter fade into the roar of the crowd as she gave chase, her competitive spirit fully ignited.
The next few plays became a friendly duel between the two, with Susan showing off moves Harry had helped her practice over the years. She managed to intercept one of his passes, earning appreciative cheers from both houses.
"Susan Bones has the Quaffle again," Luna observed dreamily. "She's doing quite well avoiding the Wrackspurts—I suspect Harry taught her that. Oh, but Harry's spinning around her like a Heliopath in a dance. It's quite pretty, really. Someone should paint it. Though they'd need special paint to capture all the magical creatures watching..."
"The score, Miss Lovegood?" McGonagall's measured tone interjected, the faintest trace of exasperation in her voice.
"Oh, still the same, Professor," Luna replied serenely. "Though the numbers might look different to the Nargles."
Harry swooped past Susan again, ruffling her hair as he stole the Quaffle. "Keep up, Sue!"
"Just you wait!" she shouted, giving chase with determination that would have made her aunt proud. "I've been practicing!"
The crowd was loving the playful sibling rivalry, with laughter and cheers echoing through the stadium.
A Bludger screamed past Harry's ear, but he didn't flinch. He feinted left, drew the Keeper out, then hurled the Quaffle through the right hoop.
"ANOTHER GOAL! Thirty-zero, Ravenclaw!" Luna announced, her voice cutting through the cheers. "That was a particularly graceful throw. Very reminiscent of the Snorcack mating dive—"
"Thank you, Miss Lovegood," McGonagall said quickly, bringing the commentary back to the match.
The game intensified as Hufflepuff rallied. Their Chasers executed a perfect Hawkshead Formation, breaking through Ravenclaw's defense to score. But Harry and his fellow Chasers responded with their own scoring drive, maintaining their lead.
"Ninety-forty to Ravenclaw!" Luna declared, her tone filled with whimsical excitement.
Cedric called a timeout, gathering his team into a tight huddle. The Hufflepuff captain spoke in low tones, his intense gaze sweeping across the pitch as he strategized. When play resumed, it was clear their tactics had shifted—Harry found himself aggressively marked by two defenders, the Quaffle almost out of reach.
"Nice try, Ced!" Harry shouted as he spun between two defenders. "But I've faced worse!"
"Show-off!" Cedric yelled back good-naturedly, though Harry could see the competitive fire in his eyes.
The match continued in a nail-biting deadlock. Above the fray, Cedric and Cho, the two Seekers—and lovers—circled overhead, eyes sharp as they scanned for the elusive Snitch. Meanwhile, the scoring battle raged below with both teams vying for dominance. Harry, mid-dash toward the Hufflepuff goalposts, suddenly noticed a ripple of excitement in the crowd. Both Seekers had gone into a steep dive.
"Both Seekers are diving now," Luna announced in her signature dreamy tone. "Though they might just be avoiding the Wrackspurt swarm that's been following them. Oh, Harry's changed course. Have the Nargles finally affected his thinking?"
"Miss Lovegood," McGonagall sighed, her patience clearly being tested, "please focus on the match."
"I am focused, Professor," Luna replied serenely. "Oh, look, Diggory is about to reach the Snitch first."
But before Cedric could close the gap, Harry made his move. With a gust of speed, he shot past Cedric. He didn't touch him, but the suddenness of his maneuver caused Cedric to wobble, losing precious balance and time. Cho, momentarily stunned, recovered quickly and surged forward, her focus unbroken.
"And it's a great move by Harry!" Luna's voice rose with genuine excitement. "Without breaking any rules, he disrupted Diggory's chance. Cho Chang seizes the opportunity to catch something! I do hope it's the Snitch and not a Wrackspurt… Yes! It's definitely the Snitch. How lovely! Ravenclaw wins, though I suspect the Hufflepuff team might have been distracted by all the Nargles around Harry's broom…"
The stadium erupted in cheers. Ravenclaw banners waved wildly, and students stomped their feet in celebration. Harry found himself at the center of his ecstatic teammates, all piling into a mid-air group hug. Even the Hufflepuffs, though disappointed, were smiling—it had been a clean, well-fought match.
As the players descended, Susan was the first to reach Harry, tackling him in an enthusiastic hug despite being on the losing side. "That was brilliant! Though it's completely unfair, using all those fancy moves you never taught me!"
"Got to keep some secrets, Sue," Harry laughed, ruffling her hair. "Can't have my little sister beating me in my own game, can I?"
Cedric approached next, extending a hand and grinning. "I thought we had it in the bag. Didn't think you'd ruin it at the end like that. Never stood a chance, did we?"
"Maybe not," Harry admitted with a smirk. "But this way, it was more fun. Good game, Ced. You were the better Seeker. Just… don't tell Cho I said that. Oh, and you've got a fantastic Chaser here," he added, giving Susan's shoulder a proud squeeze.
"Don't I know it," Cedric replied, glancing fondly at Susan. "Though I suspect you've had a hand in her training."
Harry adopted an innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Pure natural talent, obviously."
"Obviously," Susan quipped, rolling her eyes but clearly glowing at the praise.
The Ravenclaw common room was alive with celebration that evening. Laughter and cheers echoed as teammates and friends reveled in their victory. Harry, however, couldn't fully relax. He'd noticed something during the match—a faint vibration from the communication mirror in his locker.
Excusing himself politely, Harry slipped away to his private room. Closing the door, he activated the mirror. Sirius's face appeared, unusually grave.
"Harry," Sirius began, his tone heavy, "I heard it was a great game, but we've got trouble. Arcturus needs to see us at the Black Castle immediately. He's received some disturbing information."
Harry's good mood evaporated. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
Quickly changing out of his Quidditch robes, Harry grabbed his wand and ensured his gear was secure. Slipping out of the castle undetected, he made his way to the secret passage that would lead him off Hogwarts grounds.
As he prepared to leave, Harry paused for a moment, glancing through a window at his teammates still celebrating. For a fleeting moment, he'd been just another student, basking in the joy of Quidditch. But that moment had passed. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders again.
"Time to go be a warrior," he muttered, stepping into the cold night air. The cheers of victory faded behind him as he disappeared into the gathering darkness.
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