Restlessness
Nurmengard was nothing short of a veritable fortress.
Grindelwald had built something simply magnificent without the need of wardens or even guards to watch over the prisoner he’d kept here, and better yet for the man, the protections were powered by the magic of the captives.
Harry would not pretend to know how he’d achieved something so brilliant, but he did wish he’d taken the time to discuss it with the man before ultimately granting him his final wish to be allowed to die on his own terms.
Even so, he was making considerable headway in bringing it under his control; something he did not doubt was only possible because Grindelwald no longer breathed, and maybe, just maybe because of the sacrificial magic he’d absorbed into his own from the man.
During his first visit here to inform the former Dark Lord of Dumbledore’s death, Harry had felt the magic he did now only much less so. It had been muted and out of reach, but that had changed.
Although it did not seem to be willing to cooperate with him fully, piece by piece, it was yielding to him.
Still, there was much work to do before it would be ready to hold his prisoners, but not so much that he needed to do personally. No, more than anything else, it was a matter of ensuring Nurmengard remained hidden whilst it was occupied, which he would complete before returning to see Ariana once more.
“Dobby, Winky,” he called.
The two elves appeared, offering him a bow.
“Harry Potter, sir, called for Dobby and Winky?”
The little elf that had once been the bane of his existence was wearing a selection of hats stacked on top of one another, and mismatched socks. Winky, on the other hand, wore only her Hogwarts apron, which still bore the stains of her unfortunate addiction to Butterbeer.
Ever since Harry had tasked the two of them with watching over the prison, she had not touched another drop, to his knowledge, and was eager to serve a purpose once more outside of the castle.
“I will be away for a while, but I would like the two of you to check on the place every day to make sure everything is as it should be.”
“Of course, Headmaster,” Winky replied, bowing once more.
Harry nodded appreciatively.
It had been a rather brilliant idea on his part to employ the two for this particular task, and even more so to instruct the rest of the elves within the castle to watch over the students with Tonks.
Between them, he expected that no harm would come to any, and if it did, he would be primed to deal with it swiftly.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t have the perfect place at his disposal to ensure such transgressions wouldn’t be punished suitably.
Riddle might think that Hogwarts belonged to him, but that wasn’t so.
No, Hogwarts was Harry’s, a small but vital victory in the war against the Dark Lord.
Nodding appreciatively, he bade Dobby and Winky farewell before activating his portkey.
For now, all seemed to be quiet whilst Thicknesse was busy implementing the Magical Registration Act, but that would not remain so soon enough, and come September, Harry suspected he would be even busier.
Already, he was pondering a way he could help those who would inevitably find themselves persecuted by the current establishment, but thus far, he’d drawn a blank.
Still, he would find a way he could help those in need, and when he set his own plans into motion, it would be him giving Tom Riddle much to consider.
He was tired of merely reacting to the moves of the Dark Lord, and before the man knew it, he would be receiving some much-needed pushback that had been lacking since long before Harry had even been born.
Riddle would not simply take Britain for himself.
How could he when he’d be dead?
That very outcome was at the very top of the list of Harry’s priorities. Inevitably, there would be considerable fallout after it was done, an incomprehensible amount of work to put everything right, and many other things he would need to contend with that he’d yet to consider, but none of it mattered.
So long as Tom Marvolo Riddle was dead, and that Harry was the one to see it done, he could live with whatever consequences followed.
(Break)
With her things already moved into the castle, and the term not starting for a number of weeks yet, she saw no reason not to continue her observations within the Ministry of Magic in the hopes that she might see or overhear anything that might be useful.
It was a longshot at best. It wasn’t as though the Death Eaters were going to be milling about the building discussing the Dark Lord’s plans, but being here and feeling productive was better than nothing, and Nymphadora was one of the very few people who could manage it.
Using her wand to guide the mop across the floor, she paused as Dolores Umbridge and a retinue of people she did not recognise passed her by, and she followed discreetly.
“I do not care if the ICW doesn’t like it. It is not as though they will do anything except complain anyway,” Umbridge said dismissively. “I want this done, Scabior. The aurors will not obey when we need them to.”
“You cannot just form a militia group,” the man, Scabior whispered.
“It is not a militia group if it is ministry sanctioned. I will handle the documentation, you just need to find the people to form the group.”
“How many?”
“As many as you can get!” Umbridge hissed as she stalked away, followed by the others flanking her.
“That’s not good,” Nymphadora murmured to herself as she watched the retreating group.
With a separate group loyal to whoever was in charge of them operating outside of the aurors, law and order in Britain would be a thing of the past. She could only imagine the type of men and women that would be recruited, and Nymphadora could not help but think that things would only get worse when this group was introduced.
“Bloody hell,” she sighed as all of the pieces began falling into place.
This group that Umbridge was intent on forming wasn’t exactly going to be filling the void left behind by the aurors who had decided to leave whilst they could.
No, this was exactly as Scabior had described; little more than a militia group to enforce whatever unpleasant laws were introduced by the compromised Wizengamot.
(Break)
She slammed the book shut and shook her head irritably.
It appeared that the Blacks were not as interested in the intricacies of time travel as they were finding new ways to inflict suffering upon their enemies. No, what she had found in the library was little more than she already knew, which wasn’t much.
Truthfully, she didn’t think anyone outside of the Unspeakables knew much about it, and it wasn’t as though she could find on of them to help her.
Hermione wasn’t even certain what Harry was able to do was time travel at all.
If it was, surely whatever he’d done in the other place, as he referred to it, would have instigated considerable changes here, but evidently, it had not. If it wasn’t time travel he was experiencing, then what was it?
Hermione liked to think of herself as a rather intelligent young woman, but she could not even begin to comprehend what it was she was looking into, and Harry wasn’t much help.
Outside of knowing that it was the odd figure she’d seen within the churchyard of Godric’s Hollow facilitating his movements, he didn’t seem to be as interested in how or what it was that was happening to him.
She shook her head as she left the library, no closer to figuring anything out.
There was nothing here pertaining to Death or even Fate, nothing absolute explaining prophecies, and certainly nothing that could explain the phenomena that was Harry Potter.
Hermione had seen the changes within her friend this past year, experienced the differences in his magic, and how he’d grown. Other than the rather lame explanation of magic itself, there was no answer to any of the plethora of questions she had.
“You’re leaving.”
Harry nodded.
“Everything is in hand for the time being. I will be gone for maybe a couple of weeks or so. The house is safe, and Kreacher is here to get anything you need. Things will be changing soon, Hermione. We won’t just be sitting here waiting for him to make his next move. We will be making some of our own. I’ll be back.”
She threw her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his cheek.
“Be careful, Harry,” she urged.
“I always am,” he replied with a grin.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
He’d always been reckless, and though for the most part it had served him well thus far, one day, it would inevitably not be so. Still, it wasn’t as though he’d be dissuaded.
Once upon a time, she may have been able to sway him, even curb the more reckless tendencies he’d been cursed with, but those days were long gone now.
It was Harry leading the charge in the war, and if nothing else, what had happened at Bill and Fleur’s disastrous wedding had proved that.
(Break)
She watched as Ariana read beneath an old oak tree in the garden. It was something she had hoped she might see one day but had not expected it to happen. Only a couple of years prior her daughter had been a terrified, broken mess that Kendra could not even fathom just how she would put back together, and though Ariana still struggled from time to time, the differences were remarkable.
“It truly is exceptional, isn’t it?”
Kendra nodded and took a sip of her tea.
The quirky woman had become a regular visitor over the years when she remembered to leave her house. Bathilda had a habit of getting caught up in her work for several days at a time, but there had never been a time that a week had gone by that she hadn’t been here.
“It was all Harry again.”
“He’s back?”
“I’m not sure,” Kendra answered honestly. “I don’t know what it is he is caught up in, but it keeps him away for long periods of time. Sometimes, it’s as though he as the weight of the world on his shoulders, but when he’s here, he’s here.”
“With her.”
Kendra smiled.
It had been Albus and Aberforth he’d met first, but the moment he’d walked inti Ariana’s room, the girl’s life had changed for the better and had only improved more and more.
“He cares about her, not like that,” she added pointedly, “but you can’t fake all he has done for her.”
“There will still be those worried about his presence. The stories I have uncovered about them.”
“Them, not him.”
“Indeed, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of the very same things if he chooses to be.”
Kendra nodded.
She was not so naïve to the ways of the magical world. She may be a muggleborn, but she had seen how it functioned, how the law only went so far to protect certain members of society, and how the purebloods, despite somewhat co-existing, were deeply paranoid of one another, their motives and ambitions.
It made for a rather false sense of harmony that did not truly exist.
“He has looked out for her. That’s all that matters to me.”
Bathilda nodded and smiled as Ariana offered them a wave.
“Then when you do see him, you should warn him that Nott, Black, and Potter have not lost interest in him, for their own reasons. Cantankerus merely wants to interview him for one of his books or other. Black will undoubtedly want to get a measure of him to see if he could be a threat, and Potter, I’m still unsure of. Of course, there is something of a familial relationship, but not for close to one thousand years ago.”
Kendra could only shake her head.
Harry would not appreciate being intruded upon. Despite having opened himself up somewhat to Ariana, and even the rest of the family, he was a private person by nature.
“I will warn him,” she murmured, returning the wave to her daughter.
(Break)
It was no longer so easy to unburden himself of everything he’d left behind whilst crossing over. Although he expected it would take some time for Riddle to implement everything he intended to, it was not lost on Harry that he was now very much in the midst of a war, and one that he wasn’t winning.
Of course, he was determined to change the trajectory, to take the fight to the Dark Lord and his supporters and put them on the backfoot, but that was much easier said than done.
Nonetheless, he had plans within plans, and ensuring Nurmengard was functional was only one of them.
For now, however, he knew that he needed to shift his focus to where he was now, and as he read the first of the pile of letters waiting for him on his kitchen, he rubbed his eyes tiredly.
He’d barely ventured out of Godric’s Hollow since he’d been making this journey. He’d visited Diagon Alley a couple of times, and even Sherwood Forest unwittingly, but already, he’d garnered considerable interest from some rather concerning people.
Having looked into Orion Black, who proved to be Sirius’s grandfather, according to the tapestry within Grimmauld Place, Harry was not so keen to make his acquaintance again.
He was not a pleasant or affable man to those he deemed to be an enemy, and yet, he knew he could not exactly ignore him entirely.
He would need to ponder the best way to reply to the letter requesting a meeting without causing offence or provoking the man’s ire.
Cantankerus Nott was another matter entirely.
Although he was not the head of his family, nor so overtly as dangerous as Black, he presented another challenge, one that needed to be treated just as delicately.
Nott was a well-known man, and though he was yet to complete his work on the prominent pureblood families in wizarding Britain, already, he was a popular, knowledgeable man who was as cunning as he was ruthless.
Harry would need to tread carefully around him.
Perhaps a conversation with Bathilda Bagshot would not go amiss.
The one letter that troubled him the least because of the potential ramifications of a fallout was the one he’d received from Henry Potter, and yet, it was the one he was most nervous about.
This man was family, no matter how distant, and although he’d only invited Harry to dinner with his wife and son, Harry’s great grandfather, he did not doubt the man had his reasons for doing so.
Perhaps he was merely curious by the sudden arrival of a family though tot be extinct, one that had been absorbed by his known, or maybe there was an ulterior motive, after all.
Harry did not know any of the Potters personally, so could not speak to their ways outside what little he’d been told by Sirius in the brief time he’d known the man.
No, as much as he wanted to be curious, and even a little excited, he knew he needed to be equally cautious.
Still, he saw no reason to decline the invitation, not when he had been given, as far as he was aware, in good faith.
He released a deep breath as he pushed the letters aside. It was late, and crossing through the gateway to come here was a tiring experience, so, they could wait until the morning at the very least.
Besides, he had still not shaken everything else from his thoughts, least of all, the prospect of what awaited him here in the form of Gellert Grindelwald, and Albus Dumbledore as a combination of foes he might just have to find a way of overcoming.
The very thought was almost laughable to Harry, and yet, he had not come so far in life to simply give in even before he’d truly begun such an undertaking.
No, from what he knew of both, they would be just as dangerous as Voldemort and his followers, and truthfully, Hary wasn’t even certain of what it as he would be facing.
Much to his chagrin, any book he could find about the former Dark Lord was lacking in what had occurred during his rise to power. There had been a mention or two of a period of time he’d spent in America, but there was no promise that he would do the same this time around with Albus at his side.
Even with that kernel of information, the specific details were lacking, and Harry wasn’t sure there was anyone who could or would be willing to fill him in in the details.
Maybe that was something he would need to look into away from here, even if doing so would prove to be for nothing.
No, Harry needed to be prepared for a potential set of different circumstances altogether, and with Dumbledore at his side, Grindelwald might just prove to be even more dangerous.
It was a most troubling thought to be plagued with, and more so knowing that he was the only one aware of what was on the horizon.
“Bloody hell,” he sighed, once more feeling another burden outside of Riddle coming to rest on his shoulders. “One step at a time.”
It was the mantra he’d given to Ariana to use when he’d been helping her leave her room, and even the Dumbledore home, and it was more apt now than ever for him.
All that awaited him, here, and back home, seemed as though it was nothing short of impossible to overcome, and yet, he was expected to do just that; overcome odds stacked against him that most would balk at.
Harry did not have such luxury.
His entire life had been spent overcoming the impossible, and he would not balk, even when the going would inevitably get tougher than he could begin to anticipate.
“One step at a time,” he repeated to himself.
(Break)
“That is nine uses for dragon’s blood so far,” Nicholas declared, nodding appreciatively.
“With none of them being of much significant use,” Albus said amusedly.
Nicholas smiled as he nodded his agreement.
He would not pretend that their work was as groundbreaking as he may have once thought, but as an alchemist with all the time in the world, it was good to be reminded that not all of his theories and efforts would amount to anything considerable.
Well, not so obviously, at least.
What he had learned over the many decades he’d been alive was that even failures were successes in their own way. At worst, the work they were undertaking here would demonstrate to the world that dragon’s blood was not a liquid miracle, or truthfully, even much use outside of being a cleaner, or an alternative in some already established brews.
Their efforts here would ensure that no other felt the need to invest the time into exploring something as expensive, and seemingly as useless as it was, for the most part.
Nonetheless, finding nine uses for it was indeed quite the achievement, and Nicholas suspected their work wasn’t done yet.
“Is something on your mind, Albie? You seem distracted.”
It had been this way for weeks now, and despite his prompts, Nicholas was no closer to figuring out what was bothering his apprentice. Of course, he wasn’t obligated to share anything pertaining to his personal life, but he liked to think the two of them had grown close enough that he would.
“There are always things on my mind, Nicholas, but nothing so easily solved.”
Before he could offer a response, a small burst of fire illuminated the room, and the two of them were treated to the arrival of the phoenix Albus had made the acquaintance of.
In all his years, Nicholas had never seen such a magnificent creature, nor had he heard of one bonding with a person the way he was slowly witnessing with the duo in front of him.
Albus insisted this wasn’t an anomaly of sorts, but it was certainly rare enough that Nicholas, nor anyone else he’d mentioned it to had seen or heard of it.
“Are things with Gellert going well?”
Albus’s eyes immediately lit up at the mention of the man. Nicholas had yet to meet him, but it was clear that Albus was utterly enthralled by him. Were it not for his certainty that Albus was of sound mind, he would perhaps suspect he’d been ensnared by a potion or even spell.
No, he was simply drawn to his companion organically, a young fool in love.
Not that it was Nicholas’s place to judge. In most societies, such a relationship would be frowned upon at best, but that wasn’t his business or his concern. So long as Albus was happy, that was all that mattered.
“He’s amazing, Nick, at everything he does.”
Nicholas returned the smile.
He was no closer to figuring out what it was that was bothering the young man, but whatever it was seemed to be remedied at the mention of the companion he’d taken up residence with in New York, so, he saw no reason to pry further.
Maybe Albus would decide to bring Gellert along one of these days, or maybe it was up to Nicholas to learn more about him. From what little he’d heard, he was a curious fellow indeed.
Perhaps he would make some discreet enquiries to see what he could discover but for now, the alchemist was rather content in watching the back and forth between the young man and magnificent phoenix that was perched on his shoulder.
(Break)
“They are restless, my lord. All of us are.”
He had been toying with the idea of unleashing his Death Eaters once more, allowing them to vent their frustrations at being cooped up, but thus far, he had resisted doing so.
Already, Britain was gripped by a sense of uncertainty, an undercurrent of fear at the deaths of Rufus Scrimgeour and the old fool, but the Dark Lord was not naïve enough to believe that it had fully quashed those that would rebel against him.
No, although his enemies were lesser, they were still out there, would still be a burden despite him now holding all the cards.
Perhaps Bellatrix was right, after all.
Maybe another show of strength was required to remind those foolish enough to continue fighting against him that their efforts were futile.
He hummed thoughtfully as he pondered his options, smiling to himself.
“Unleash the giants on them, Bella. You know where. If we cannot get to him using magic, maybe we can tear it away by force.”
Grimmauld Place had been watched closely for months now with no sign of the Black family manor even existing, but Lord Voldemort knew it was there, he just simply could not find it.
The woman’s grin was just the sinister response he expected.
“What of Greyback?”
The Dark Lord shook his head.
“He will wait his turn. Send for Macnair. He will know what to do.”
“And the rest of us?”
“I see no harm in you joining them. I myself may do so if there is a chance that Potter will be lured out of cowering in his little hole. The boy more than any other should be reminded of the power I wield, but we must be cautious. Without knowing the contents of the prophecy, we cannot afford any mistakes. Go.”
She left the room, and the Dark Lord shifted his attention to the woman dangling haphazardly above the dining table within Malfoy Manor. She was already on the cusp of death and would likely pass within the next moment or so.
Still, he knew that his faithful companion would lose interest in a meal if it no longer lived, and with merely a gesture of his hand, he watched as Nagini began consuming Charity Burbage.
He had no use for the woman at Hogwarts, but there was one other he was keen to make the acquaintance of.
With Severus in charge of Hogwarts, it would not be so difficult to get his hands on Sybil Trelawney, the very same woman who’d spoken those fateful words which had led to his downfall some fifteen years prior.
It was only a shame that the man could not hand her to him personally due to his obligation to keep the woman safe to the best of his ability.
Still, soon enough, Trelawney would be in the Dark Lord’s hands.
(Break)
“I do not know how you did it, Graves, but there is no doubt in my mind that you have the right man. A few drops of veritaserum will confirm it.”
Gellert nodded.
Were it not for his inclination to better the wizarding world on a much grander scale, being an auror could have been his calling in life. The work itself was interesting, and he liked the challenge of hunting down wanted fugitives.
He was certainly talented enough to do so.
Having only been at the job for around a month now, he’d personally apprehended three of the ten most wanted men in the United States of America, single-handedly.
It was quite the achievement, and something he’d received three separate commendations for.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, Graves. You’ve not been a bad auror by any stretch, but recently, you’ve gone above and beyond each day you’ve been here. Keep it up, and you’ll have quite the career in this department.”
Gellert offered the head of department a smart salute before leaving the office, pleased his day was over and his reputation continued to grow.
Soon enough, he would begin operating outside of the identity he’d stolen, garnering the support he and Albus would need in the years to come. For now, however, Gellert was rather content to be just a regular man, learning all he could about magical law whilst enforcing it along the way, and meeting some of the more interesting men and women on the fringes of wizarding society that may prove to be useful to him with their many talents.
(Break)
“Come Death, come,” Harry murmured, calming the magic itching to escape him.
He wasn’t sure why he’d waken up almost brimming with it today, but it was as though it was warning him, comforting him, or even preparing. Maybe it was a combination of all three.
What he did know for certain was that his magic was making itself known, and he had learned not to ignore it.
He had felt it the day of the wedding and had put it down to feeling rather on edge about being around so many people. Even before the ceremony, Harry had believed it to be a damned foolish idea, and though he had no intention of telling anyone he’d been right, he had been. He needed only to remind himself of the fallout that had followed, and all he now needed to overcome.
Still, he took some comfort in the aftermath of the disaster knowing that those close to him would undoubtedly be all the more vigilant. He was just frustrated and saddened that it had taken such a disaster to provoke such a response.
With a shake of his head, he murmured his mantra once more, unable to calm his magic fully, leaving him wondering what it was on the horizon he needed to be ready for.
Truthfully, it could be anything, and with that in mind, he set to work responding to the letters he’d received, having taken the time to consider each reply carefully.
What Harry did know was that it wasn’t the prospect of meeting any of those that had written him that was making him feel unsettled. No, it was something else, something much more overtly threatening, something impending.
“What is it?” he sighed.
No answer came to him, and as he finished his last reply, he pocketed the letters with the intent on posting them later. For now, however, he wished to speak with Bathilda Bagshot about Cantankerus Nott and what he could expect from meeting with the man.
With everything else on his mind, it was something he could do without, as was drawing attention from the Blacks, and even the Potters, but Harry would rather be in a position where he held something of an advantage whilst navigating such delicate situations.
Still, he could not deny that his mind was on Voldemort and all he was up to, and Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and what was to come from them working together here.
Truthfully, it was all just a little overwhelming, and yet, he knew the only way he could hope to contend with all he faced was to be proactive.
Watching and waiting had not served him well thus far, after all.
“Bagshot,” he decided.
Maybe he’d even be able to get some more information about Grindelwald whilst he was looking into Cantankerus Nott.
(Break)
She didn’t like being at Grimmauld Place alone.
Even without the severed house-elf heads, cursed objects, and all the other unpleasant things Hermione did not doubt were within the walls, she simply felt most unwelcome here, almost as though the spirits of the Blacks passed on did not approve of her presence.
When Harry was here, it wasn’t so apparent, but without him, and despite Kreacher ensuring she had everything she could need, there was something most unsettling about the house, so much so, it seemed she could not rest easily.
Hermione had gone to bed at her usual time after showering, had not disrupted her routine in any way, and yet, here she was awake at three am, anxious, nervous, and aware of every creak of the stately home.
Something, though she did not know what, was amiss; something that only became more apparent when Kreacher appeared in her room to peer out of the window.
“What is it, Kreacher?” she asked.
Even in the dim light pouring in from the window outside, she could see the elf was concerned.
“Kreacher doesn’t know, Miss, but there is something out there.”
“Something out there?”
She wrapped herself in her gown as she got out of bed to take a look for herself, and not seeing anything concerning, she shook her head.
“I don’t see anything,” she whispered.
“It is below us, Miss.”
“Below us?”
As though she was receiving an answer to her question, the ground began to tremble beneath her feet, and outside of the house itself. The entirety of Grimmauld Place began to shake violently, and Hermione’s eyes widened as a large fissure formed in the ground outside, and the first of several enormous humanoid creatures emerged from the trench, followed by many more cloaked and masked figures.
“My god,” Hermione choked.
Immediately, the giants and Death Eaters set about tearing the street asunder, the former tearing at buildings with their bare hands, whilst the latter drew their wands.
Everything they did, they were doing with purpose, almost as though they were searching for something.
It did not take Hermione long to figure out what that was, and she could only look on as the square below became a quickly climbing pile of rubble.
The one, small positive she could take from this thus far was that none of them seemed to be paying attention to number twelve, which meant that, for now, at least, it remained out of reach to them.
Even so, there was no promise that would remain, and the Death Eaters and giants remained unrelenting in their efforts, but it was the sight of who stood in the centre of the destruction she found herself fixated on; a pale figure with red eyes she could see in the darkness, his own gaze seemingly burning into hers.
“My god,” she reiterated. “Kreacher, what should we do?”
The elf was trembling fearfully on the bedroom floor, his knees pulled up to his chest as he rocked backwards and forwards as though he was reliving the most horrific of things.
“Kreacher,” Hermione pressed gently as an explosion sounded from outside.
One of the cars which had caught fire was sent smashing into one of neighbouring houses, setting it ablaze.
“Kreacher!”
Hermione frowned as she looked at the elf once more to see that he had still, a smirk now tugging at his lips.
“He’s here,” he whispered.
Her frown deepened but as the sudden wave of icy coldness washed over her, she understood why the elf was no longer so terrified.
(Break)
All was going as expected, though the Dark Lord remained quietly cautious of the magic he could feel permeating the air. The Blacks were infamous for their ability to keep themselves hidden from any they did not wish to find them, and more so for the repercussions set upon those that managed such a feat.
For now, that warning was subtle, but more than enough to tell him that he was indeed in the right place, that Bellatrix had not steered him wrong, that Potter was undoubtedly nearby.
He looked on as the giants tore houses down brick by brick, how his followers cursed the muggles attempting to flee a threat that could not even begin to understand, and revelled in their screams as their bodies were added to the mounting debris.
He listened as the sirens approached from the distance, the blue lights illuminating the surrounding streets only to be snuffed as they rounded the corner, the first of the cars bursting into flames before it was hurled into a nearby house as though it was an empty can being kicked along the road.
The very sight brought a smile to his lips, and he felt his gaze suddenly drawn to a part of Grimmauld Place that was being ignored by his followers and the giants; a stretch of five terraced houses that remained untouched.
From within one of them, he could feel a pair of eyes on him, could almost smell the fear within them, but it wasn’t Potter who was hidden.
No, it was another magical, one who knew what it was they were witnessing, but one not so familiar to the Dark Lord. Nonetheless, he relished the fear.
He had spent decades building his reputation, and it never failed to bring him a sense of accomplishment, a reminder that all he’d done provoked such a reaction from those he’d not even met.
He continued to watch as his followers went about their work, reducing the street around him to little more than piles of rubble, smouldering wood, and demolished pathways.
Come the morning, the muggles would simply believe that a bomb had been detonated here, but those within the magic community would know better.
Still, it did not hurt to add to the fear, and with the simple gesture of raising his arms, he felt the approach of the dementors, though the chill that accompanied them was different; no less familiar than he’d become accustomed to over the years, only colder.
He watched curiously as the very streets began to freeze over, as a frost formed on the twisted metal of the lampposts, remains of cars, and even the bent fences of the communal garden in the centre of the square.
It grew colder still, and the Dark Lord quickly realised that the dementors were no longer approaching, but something much more oppressive had arrived, and he was not the only one to notice.
The Death Eaters had ceased their efforts, and even the giants were looking towards the sky, growling, their grips tightening around the weapons they had brought along or fashioned from what they’d destroyed.
Silence.
Only the whistling of the wind that had swept in could be heard, and the cold grew colder still, until slow, thudding footsteps could be heard, the ice crunching beneath them.
“Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord whispered excitedly as a lone, cloaked figure emerged, only to frown as he met a pair of eyes of a stark whiteness.
There was no fear in them, only an odd expectation, and as the young man smiled, a guttural roar of agony filled the air, but before Lord Voldemort could respond, Potter was gone.
Or so he thought.