บท 5: Without standing still
The Dark Lord was incensed. Nay, he was enraged beyond measure. He was consumed by an unparalleled fury. And all because of that accursed Grimm.
Had Voldemort once regarded Albus Dumbledore as his primary adversary, and later the young Potter, now he sought to add a third to this list — an alien sorcerer who had somehow managed to ally himself with him.
He still could not determine who the Grimm truly was. A harbinger of the Everlasting Maiden, a visionary, or simply a cunning wizard, but his prophecies always proved to be true.
No, Robert did not obstruct the process, nor did he attempt to thwart the most powerful dark wizard. However, while Quirrell rushed to execute the Lord's command upon hearing it, barely wagging its tail, Grimm disassembled the situation into its constituent parts, simultaneously challenging the Lord's authority, and elucidating the consequences of each potential course of action. This caused Voldemort to become even more enraged, but one cannot deny the truth, and his plans had to be reconsidered. Thus, it transpired this time.
"What if there is a Philosopher's Stone in the jar?" One could use it to create the Elixir of Life, but whom would we use it for, Quirrell? Perhaps we should revive you first, then consider immortality. One must not leap ahead of the train.
Quirinus, who initially embraced the idea, objected: "I cannot afford the resources," but Grimm would not be silenced.
"You're proposing to rob a bank! A bank! One that belongs to goblins!" Robert was pacing the room like a caged tiger. "Do you have any idea of the consequences? Not only would our accounts be seized, but we would also become their sworn enemies. Gringotts is the goblin nation's brainchild. If we violate its security, we violate the goblin people's honor. The result will be fierce hatred, an irrevocable breach of trust, and goodbye to goblin artifacts. Is that what we want?"
Grimm had to consider the second aspect of the magical stone. Reckless conversion of all around into gold, followed by its sale on the market, could attract unwanted attention or cause a decline in the value of gold, necessitating a gradual approach.
"We need to goad the headmaster into taking the stone out of the vault. If he believes that the bank is no longer a secure location, he will seek to keep it closer to hand. And then we shall be like fish in the water at Hogwarts," said Quirrell.
"My Lord, you are far more familiar with Dumbledore than anyone else. He is certain that you are not deceased, but merely absent. Do you have any ideas on how we might cause ripples in the pond so that he alone will notice, and not the ministry?"
"The ministry will not perceive anything. They have become complacent in their ten years of tranquility. The current head lives by the philosophy of 'If I see no evil, hear no evil, and speak of no evil, then I shall be protected from it'."
"That is fortunate for us, my Lord. There is little time remaining before the commencement of the school term, and there is still much to be done."
The assault on the Ministry proceeded smoothly. Armed with a pre-acquired Polyjuice potion and a wand for safety, Grimmaud set out for the MMV under the leadership of the Dark Lord. After ascertaining the location of the entrance to the main edifice, Robert emitted a whistle. He had been anticipating that the public lavatory was merely an eccentric jest perpetrated by an English author, but alas! Having ensnared one hapless sorcerer with a Confundus charm and subsequently administering a soporific, the wizard meticulously replicated the incursion of the fabled Boy-Who-Lived, fortuitously Grimmaud's memory was bolstered not only by books but also by excerpts from cinematic adaptations, enabling him to visualize numerous moments with clarity.
The atrium of the Ministry, adorned with a golden fountain at its center, failed to leave a lasting impression. Emerging from the fireplace in disguise, Grimmaud discreetly shifted his position, feigning the need to dust the mantle, while surreptitiously affixing a diminutive metallic sphere to the side of the ornate stucco work. With a nod of his head, he commenced his search for the elevator.
"What have you done, Grimm?" the Dark Lord inquired curiously as they stepped into the cabin.
Grimm responded, "I have installed a fixed portal. It will allow us to access the MMV during the night, when there will be no one around." He fumbled in his pocket for another orb. "For such an imperceptible action, two identical objects are required. One at point A, the other at point B. Unlike your portkeys, which tear through the fabric of space at the point of exit, activating the wards, here, the twin objects merely switch places, leaving the magical background unchanged."
Voldemort listened intently, uninterrupted, about this novel technique. He thought it would be beneficial to learn more about it himself. Once they arrived at the International Cooperation Office, Grimm searched for the Chief's office. Upon reaching the correct door, he glanced at the desk of the secretary and knocked on the door.
"Mr. Crouch, are you engaged?" There have been some issues with — Grimm craned his neck and caught the heading of the document in his field of vision — Protocol No. 21-AF.
"Enter," came a voice from within the office. Grimm twisted the doorknob and, stepping into the room, was immediately struck by a non-verbal Confoundus. The elderly man in the chair gave a slight jerk and went limp.
"How much time do we have? Will we be able to depart in time?"
"Do not speak aloud," Voldemort, having taken control of his body, swiftly approached the desk and began to peruse the mental images. Weary minutes of waiting dragged on. Eventually, he vacated the head of the departmental mind and, having corrected his memory, swiftly departed the office.
"Grimm, do you recall when you stated that we lack sufficient resources and will be constrained at school? Now we have the opportunity to regain one of my most loyal companions," the Dark Lord handed over to Robert the memories he had acquired from Bartemius.
He was silent for an extended period, lost in contemplation, and then inquired in an even tone, "My Lord, what time shall you grant me to prepare?"
If Voldemort were to be surprised, he did not betray it. He anticipated that Grimm would either express his reservations once again or attempt to dissuade him from his course of action, but on this occasion, Robert did not so much as raise an objection. However, the Dark Lord did not ponder the matter for long.
"As long as it takes, so long as everything proceeds smoothly," he mused.
In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, all went rather seamlessly. We entered, located what we sought, and departed. We did not venture to Madame Bones' office — luck, it seems, tends to run out sooner or later. Meanwhile, Voldemort continued to simmer with indignation.
"No, what sort of fools are these? There is no protection! Anyone can come in, take what they please. This will not happen to me!"
"Well, why should it be only fools?" Quirinus attempted to reason, but in vain. "The Department of Mysteries, for instance, is not open to outsiders, not even ministerial access is permitted. The Unspeakables stand apart from others."
Grimm suppressed a snort, recalling with amusement the exploits of some schoolboys who had caused the destruction of the most secure section and the robbery of a bank — their lives were certainly full of merriment.
After leaving the Ministry of Magic, they had apparated to several random locations before returning to Quirinus Quirrell's residence.
"So, any ideas what we are to do with Crouch Junior?" the Dark Lord inquired of Grimm a few days after their excursion.
"It is difficult to say," he mused, contemplatively leafing through a copy of a file taken from the archives of the Ministry. "A fanatical devotion verging on self-destruction. He was so keen to find you that he did not even attempt to hide his intentions from his father. One wonders what they were counting on, both the younger and the elder? You cannot keep him under the Imperius Curse for his entire life; it is a path leading nowhere," Robert heaved a deep sigh. "However, if Barty were to break free, one cannot predict what he might do... It is best if we remain vigilant. My Lord, it would be advantageous to meet with him and engage in conversation. The dog would calm down if it saw that its master had returned home."
***
The young man sat motionless in a chair, his gaze fixed on the flames in the hearth. His eyelids were drooping, his chest rose and fell steadily, only his fingers occasionally dug into the chair arm with all his strength, before relaxing.
I had no desire to think or do anything, to move or run anywhere. What was the point? I could just stay here, at home, where it was safe and calm. No, that was a lie. The Dark Lord was alive, I knew it. We had to find him and help him.
Barty's fingers twitched nervously once more as the steel band of the spell tightened around his head, seeming to squeeze out forbidden thoughts and replace them with mindless bliss, a lightness and joy that made all questions disappear.
Crouch had never partaken in the use of illicit substances, yet he imagined that the experience would be akin to a dream or nightmare on the brink of awakening, when one realizes that it is merely an illusion, a delusion, yet one is unable to break free. His mind raced within the confines of his own body, yet Barty found himself utterly helpless.
A loud noise echoed nearby, yet he did not even bother to turn his head.
"Young master," said the elf's reedy voice, "is there anything the young master requires?"
Does he require? How could he possess desires? It was futile. It was meaningless.
Futile.
He yearned to escape. Run, flee, depart!
"Winky, prepare dinner."
"It shall be done," the elf replied with a vigorous nod, then vanished.
How much time had passed? A minute? A decade? An hour? Crouch could not tell. Time had become a viscous substance, slowly enveloping everything around him.
Suddenly, there was a terrible crash in the kitchen, and Crouch's eyes flew open. He wanted to ask what had happened to Winky, but his tongue felt as if it were stuck to the roof of his mouth. He attempted to jump up but quickly realized he was completely paralysed, with only his eyes remaining mobile. His gaze frantically darted around the room and landed on the mantel clock, the second hand of which was twitching violently but unable to advance a single tick.
Before Barty could process what was happening, the lock on the door clicked, and he instantly tensed, listening intently. However, the house remained eerily quiet. Thus, when an unknown figure appeared before him, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. The stranger stood before him for an extended moment, silently gazing into his eyes before finally speaking.
"Well, hello, Barty. It's been a while," he said.
My heart gave a sudden lurch. No. Impossible. That voice. His voice. No! It cannot be true! This is an illusion, a product of his fevered imagination.
But as if to contradict this, the stranger's gray-blue eyes flashed scarlet, and in his hands appeared a painfully familiar wand, seemingly fashioned from bone. He waved it, and immediately the feeling of paralysis vanished.
"My Lord!" Barty leapt to his feet, only to collapse back to his knees. "My lord, is it truly you?" he asked, hardly daring to believe his own good fortune.
The wizard's lips parted in a grin, eerily reminiscent of their old acquaintance. "Yes, Barty," he said, "I have returned."
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