The French Ministry of Magic lay in ruins, its marble halls cracked, columns toppled, and windows shattered, letting in cold wind that stirred the dust and blood staining the floor, where injured wizards and witches sat against walls, groaning, their wounds bandaged with torn robes, while bodies lay under bloodied cloths, their faces hidden, their wands clutched in stiff hands. Mediwizards moved through the chaos, shouting spells to stabilize the dying, their voices hoarse, their faces smeared with soot, and clerks scrambled to salvage scorched parchments, piling them on broken desks, their hands shaking as they worked.
In a meeting room, its oak table split, chairs overturned, and walls scarred by spellfire, a group of officials gathered, their robes torn, their faces drawn, arguing over the news that had shattered their fragile hope: Louis Delacour, their Minister, was dead, his family kidnapped, and Harry Potter, the young wizard who'd driven back Grindelwald's forces for months, was gone, killed in the same attack. Jean Lecoust, Senior Auror, stood by a cracked window, his wand gripped tightly, his jaw clenched as he stared at the bodies outside. Minister Rossi of the Belgian Ministry sat on a splintered chair, his hands folded, his eyes darting between speakers, his face pale with exhaustion. Claude Beaumont, Deputy Minister now thrust into leadership, stood at the table's head, his robes stained with ash, his hands braced on the broken wood, trying to hold the room together as voices rose, shouting over each other, their fear and anger spilling into every word.
Beaumont raised his hands, his voice loud, and shouted, "Enough, listen to me, we can't lose hope now!" He stepped forward, his boots crunching glass, and looked at the officials, his eyes bloodshot, his face lined with strain. "This is a blow, oui, a terrible one, with Louis gone, his family taken, and Potter... dead, but we still have reinforcements coming from Britain, and we must hold on, plan our next move, fight!"
Jean turned from the window, his wand slamming against his thigh, and said, "Those Brits were coming for Potter, Claude, not for us, not for France!" He stepped closer, his voice sharp, his hands gesturing wildly. "He was the only reason they bothered, the kid who kept Grindelwald's lot on their heels, and now he's dead, merde, so's any chance of them showing up to save our arses!"
Beaumont shook his head, stepped around the table, and said, "Only the people in this room know Potter's dead, Jean, and that's how it stays for now." He looked at each official, his voice firm, his hands clenching as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing to silence any protest.
Rossi leaned forward, his chair creaking, and said, "You're saying we lie to them? You won't tell our allies the truth, Monsieur Ministre?" His voice trembled, and he adjusted his glasses, his hands shaking, his face showing disbelief as he stared at Beaumont.
Beaumont stood straight, his voice steady, and said, "Not yet, Rossi, we can't risk it, can't let that news turn our allies away when we need them most." He walked to the table's edge, his hands gripping the broken wood, his eyes scanning the room, waiting for the inevitable pushback.
A wiry official, Madame Claire Dubois, stood, her wand clutched, and shouted, "That's deceit, Claude, and you know it, playing games with our allies when we're already broken!" She stepped forward, her boots kicking debris, her voice rising, her face flushed with anger. "We're hiding the truth to trick them into dying for a lost cause, c'est scandaleux!"
Another official, Monsieur Henri Moreau, nodded, his voice low, and said, "She's right, Beaumont, this is wrong, and what's the point of lying when we've already lost everything?" He leaned against the wall, his robes torn, his hands gesturing as he spoke, his eyes heavy with defeat.
Beaumont slammed his fist on the table, his voice booming, and shouted, "We've lost, do you hear me? The war is over, and all that's left is for Grindelwald to march in and finish us off!" He stepped back, his chest heaving, his eyes wild, and pointed at the room, his voice raw. "We're not fighting to win anymore, we're fighting, to make him pay for every inch he takes!"
Dubois crossed her arms, stepped closer, and said, "Then why are we here, Claude? Why bother with reinforcements if it's just to delay the inevitable, to throw more lives into his grinder?" Her voice shook, and she gestured at the bodies outside, her hands trembling, her face pale with fear.
Beaumont took a breath, his voice steady, and said, "The plan is to hit Grindelwald where he lives, to assault Nurmengard Castle, his fortress, and take the fight to him before he comes for us." He walked to the center, his boots crunching, his hands spread, his eyes meeting each official's, his face set with determination.
Jean laughed, a harsh sound, and said, "Nurmengard? Are you mad, Claude? That place is a bloody fortress, impregnable, and we'll either die smashing against its barriers or get slaughtered by Grindelwald himself!"
Moreau nodded, his voice sharp, and said, "He's right, it's suicide, and you know it, sending us to die in some fool's charge when we could hold here, fortify, wait him out!" He pushed off the wall, his hands gesturing, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Beaumont, his voice thick with frustration.
A younger official, Monsieur Paul Gauthier, stood, his voice loud, and shouted, "We can't just sit here, waiting for Grindelwald to waltz in and crown himself lord, merde, we're wizards, not cowards!"
Dubois turned to Gauthier, her voice biting, and said, "And what, Paul, you think charging Nurmengard makes us brave? It makes us dead, and for what, to prove a point?" She stepped closer, her hands on her hips.
Rossi leaned back, his voice quiet, and said, "Maybe we should sue for peace, offer terms, see if Grindelwald will show mercy, spare what's left of us." He looked at the floor, his voice barely audible, his face pale with shame.
Jean spun to Rossi, his voice roaring, and shouted, "Mercy? From that monstre? You're an idiot, Rossi, and you're dishonoring everyone who's died, like Louis, like Potter, who fought for France, bled for it!" He stepped toward Rossi, his face twisted with rage. "Surrendering spits on their graves, makes their deaths mean nothing, merde!"
Gauthier nodded, his voice loud, and said, "Jean's right, we can't kneel to Grindelwald, not after everything, not after Louis and Potter gave their lives to keep us fighting!" He stepped beside Jean.
Moreau stepped forward, his voice sharp, and shouted, "And how does us dying honor them, Jean? How does throwing ourselves at Numenburg make their deaths mean anything?" He pointed at Jean. "You're a fool, chasing glory when we should be saving what's left, begging for peace if we have to!"
Dubois joined Moreau, her voice rising, and said, "Exactly, Henri's got it, we should be at Grindelwald's feet, pleading for mercy, not charging into certain death like idiots, c'est insensé!"
Jean turned to Dubois, his voice booming, and shouted, "Mercy? You think Grindelwald knows the word? He'll burn us all, Claire, and you're deluded if you think groveling saves anyone!" L
Gauthier shoved between them, his voice loud, and said, "Enough, both of you, fighting here won't help, but Jean's right, we can't surrender, not after what they did to Louis and Potter!" He looked at Beaumont, his hands gesturing, his eyes pleading for direction, his voice cracking.
Beaumont raised his hands, his voice thundering, and shouted, "Quiet, all of you, shut up!" He stepped forward, his boots crunching glass, and shouted again, "I said quiet, now!" He waited, his chest heaving, and looked at the room, his eyes narrowing as the voices died down, leaving only the sound of distant moans from the injured outside.
Beaumont sighed, walked to a chair by the broken table, and sat, his hands trembling as he summoned a glass with his wand, then grabbed a cracked bottle of wine, its label burned, and poured the last dregs, the red liquid sloshing. He looked at the glass, his voice low, and said, "I know you're scared, every one of you, and don't think I'm not, because I'm terrified, I'm shaking in my damn boots." He stood, his chair scraping, and raised the glass, his eyes scanning the room. "You all know me, Claude Beaumont, not a warrior, not some powerful wizard like Louis was, just a politician, always have been and always will be, me and Louis clashed a lot, argued over budgets, policies, everything."
He chuckled, a dry sound, and said, "Hell, I was planning to run against him in the next election, thought he was too soft, too hopeful, like he didn't get how the world really works." He raised the glass higher, his voice steady, and said, "To Louis Delacour, one of the best wizards France ever had, and one of the best men I ever knew." He drank, the wine spilling down his chin, and smashed the glass on the floor, the shards scattering, his eyes burning as he looked at the room.
Beaumont stepped forward, his voice rising, and said, "I'm a coward, always have been, I've dodged every fight I could in my life, I've never even fired a spell at someone outside a classroom, but I'm done running, and I'll fight Grindelwald now, for Louis's family, for France, for every soul we've lost." He walked to the table, his hands spread, and looked at each official, his voice raw. "I know you're afraid, and I'm not going to lie, that fear's real, so let it fuel you, let it push you, because we're not fighting to live, we're fighting to make sure Grindelwald pays."
He paused, drew his wand, and burned a line into the floor, the wood sizzling, his voice steady. "Let me alleviate you of your fear, soon we'll fight, and we'll die, that's the truth, so the question is, will you step into death's jaws with me, will you fight for France one last time?" He stepped back, his wand lowered, and stood by the line, his eyes meeting each official's, his face set, waiting for their choice.
The room fell silent, the air heavy, and Jean shifted, his boots scuffing, his voice low. "I've been ready to die since this war started," he said, and he stepped over the line, his wand in hand, his eyes fixed on Beaumont, his face hard with resolve.
Gauthier took a breath, stepped forward, and said, "Louis Delacour sacked me when he took office, found out I'd been skimming funds meant for first-generation wizard charities, and I hated him, called him a tyrant for breaking the system I'd profited from." He paused, his voice loud, and looked at the room, his hands gesturing. "These past months, I've seen real tyranny, Grindelwald's kind, and I know now Louis just wanted a fairer world, and I regret fighting his efforts on doing that, so I'll die now, for his memory, to bring his family home." He stepped over the line, his wand raised, his eyes steady, his voice firm.
Rossi stood, his voice shaky, and said, "Louis was my friend, pushed me to be better, I could've never asked for a better friend, and I can't let his death be for nothing, so I'm ready to die, Monsieur Ministre." He stepped over the line, his glasses slipping, his hands trembling, his face pale but set.
A stocky official, Madame Elise Fournier, stood, her voice clear, and said, "Louis gave my daughter a chance, got her into Beauxbatons when no one else would, and I owe him everything, so I'll die, for him, for my family, for France." She stepped over the line, her wand clutched, her eyes wet, her voice breaking.
More followed, their voices overlapping, and a grizzled Auror, Monsieur Luc Martin, said, "Louis trusted me to lead my own Auror squad, believed in me when I doubted myself, I'll die before I let Grindelwald get away with his death." He crossed the line, his boots heavy, his wand raised, his face grim.
Another official, Madame Sophie Laurent, stepped forward, her voice loud, and said, "Louis rebuilt many services that had been abandoned over the years, gave kids like mine a future, and I'll die to keep that alive." She stepped over, her hands steady, her eyes fierce, her voice strong.
Dubois hesitated, her hands twisting, and said, "I'm sorry, Claude, I can't face him, not Grindelwald." She turned, walked to the door, her boots echoing, her voice quiet, and left, her head bowed, her wand dangling.
Moreau followed, his voice low, and said, "I've got kids, Beaumont, I can't leave them for a lost cause, je suis désolé." He walked out, his shoulders slumped, his hands shaking, his voice barely audible.
Three others left, muttering apologies, their voices fading, and Beaumont looked at the remaining officials, his voice steady. "Those who stay, we spare no expense, empty the vaults, buy everything we can to improve our odds against them," he said.
Jean nodded, his voice firm, and said, "Agreed, Monsieur Ministre, let's arm ourselves to the teeth and hit Numenburg with everything we've got." He stepped forward, his wand raised, his eyes burning, his voice loud.
Rossi adjusted his glasses, his voice steady, and said, "I'll send word to Brussels, pull every resource we have, get us what we need."
Fournier stepped closer, her voice clear, and said, "I'll coordinate with Beauxbatons, get their professors, their older students, anyone who can fight." She looked at Beaumont, her wand steady, her eyes sharp, her voice strong.
Beaumont nodded, walked to the door, and said, "Meeting's over, get to work, and don't stop until we're ready to march on Numenburg." He stepped out, his boots crunching glass, his wand in hand, his voice echoing as the officials dispersed, their resolve hardened, their fear channeled into action, knowing the fight ahead would likely be their last.
___________________________
Arcturus Black sat at his oak desk in the dimly lit office of Grimmauld Place, his fingers tracing the edges of a parchment letter, its words heavy with the news that Harry Potter, was dead. He breathed heavily, stood from his leather chair, and walked to the fireplace, where flames crackled low, casting shadows on the walls, which were lined with ancient tomes and family crests. He tossed the letter into the fire, watching the parchment curl and blacken, his hands steady as he ensured no trace remained, knowing he couldn't let this secret reach his family, especially Bellatrix, whose volatile temper would unravel their plans if she learned the truth now. He decided to bury the information, to tell her later, when the time was right, and walked to a side table, where a crystal decanter of firewhisky sat, its amber liquid glinting. He poured a glass, the liquid splashing, and stood over the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the flames, his mind racing with the war's next steps, until a sharp crack broke the silence, and Kreacher, the Black family house-elf, appeared, his ragged cloth flapping, his ears drooping.
"Master, your guest has arrived," Kreacher said, his voice gravelly, and he bowed low, his knobby hands clasped, waiting for Arcturus's command, his eyes darting to the floor.
Arcturus turned, set the glass down, and said, "Let him in, Kreacher, and be quick about it." He walked back to his desk, his robes brushing the floor, and sat, his hands folding, his face composed as he prepared for the meeting.
"Yes, Master," Kreacher said, and he vanished with another crack, his absence leaving the room silent, the fire's glow the only movement until the door creaked open moments later, revealing Neville Longbottom, who stepped inside, his boots scuffing the rug, his worn jacket patched, his face showing curiosity.
Arcturus stood, walked around the desk, and said, "Mr. Longbottom, I'm pleased you've come." He gestured to the chair across from his desk, his hand steady, and sat, leaning back, his eyes fixed on Neville, assessing the boy who carried the Heavenly Restriction, his body nearly devoid of magic, a trait that made him perfect for the job.
Neville shrugged, slouched into the chair, and said, "Call me Neville, yeah? Don't want nothing to do with the Longbottom name." He crossed his arms, his legs stretching out, his voice casual, carrying an edge of disrespect that Arcturus noted but ignored.
Arcturus nodded, steepled his fingers, and said, "Very well, Neville, I'm glad you accepted my invitation, and I trust the terms I offered were sufficient to bring you here." He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and watched Neville.
Neville snorted, leaned back, and said, "When you're waving that much gold and a shot at getting stronger, how am I supposed to say no? But let's not kid ourselves, it's gotta be a hell of a job for that price."
Arcturus leaned back, his hands resting on the desk, and said, "I'm not one to mince words, Neville, so I'll get to it: if you're agreeable, I have a job for you, one that suits your particular... talents, and I'm prepared to pay handsomely for its completion."
Neville raised an eyebrow, gripped the chair's arms, and said, "Must be proper dangerous, then, if you're throwing a hundred thousand Galleons at it, so what's the catch?"
Arcturus stood, walked to the window, and said, "It is dangerous, Neville, no question, but I believe someone with your unique condition, can pull it off where others would fail."
Neville leaned forward, his hands gripping the chair, and said, "Alright, old man, spit it out, what do you want me to do? I ain't here for riddles." His voice was rough, his disrespect clear, but his eyes showed interest.
Arcturus walked back to the desk, sat, and said, "Soon, a group of us will travel to France to join the war effort against Grindelwald, and we're planning a direct attack on Numenburg Castle, his stronghold, to hit him where he feels safest."
Neville snorted, leaned back, and said, "You're paying way too little to get me to fight Grindelwald himself, mate, a hundred thousand Galleons ain't worth that kind of suicide."
Arcturus shook his head, his voice steady, and said, "I don't expect you to fight Grindelwald, Neville, not a boy with barely any magic, no, your task is simpler."
Neville's hands tightened, cracking the chair's arms, and he said, "Watch it, old man, I ain't some useless squib, so don't talk to me like one, and just tell me what you need done." His voice rose, his knuckles white, his anger flaring at the jab, but his eyes stayed locked on Arcturus, demanding answers.
Arcturus leaned back, his hands resting on the desk, and said, "Numenburg Castle is protected by heavy wards, Neville, powerful ones that lock onto the magic in a person's body, which is how they block entry, even detecting the faint magic in muggles." He stood, walked to a cabinet, and continued. "But you're different, your Heavenly Restriction leaves you with no magic, so you might slip through those wards undetected... your job is to plant a device, that'll disrupt the wards and bring the whole system down."
Neville leaned forward, his voice sharp, and said, "Hate to ruin your plan, Black, but I've got some magic in me, not much, but enough, so those wards'll probably still catch me."
Arcturus walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and said, "I'm well aware of your magic, Neville, small as it is, and I've accounted for it." He pulled out a small black-and-gold device, its surface etched with runes, and set it on the desk, his fingers brushing its edge, his voice steady. "This is a rare artefact, one that drains every trace of magic from a person's body, leaving none behind, originally used as a torture device, even an execution method, as stripping a wizard's magic was seen as worse than death, it was banned centuries ago for its cruelty."
Neville leaned closer, looked at the device, and said, "Why the hell do you have something like that, then? Bit dodgy for a lord, ain't it?"
Arcturus sat, his hands folding, and said, "I'm Lord of House Black, Neville, that's reason enough, and I keep what I need to protect my family's interests."
Arcturus pushed the device closer, his voice steady, and said, "If you use this, Neville, it'll strip the magic you have left, every last spark, and you'll never cast a spell again, not even a Lumos, but it'll make you invisible to Numenburg's wards, letting you plant the device without triggering them."
Neville leaned back, his hands on the chair, and said, "What's that gonna do to me, If I'm out of magic completely, what happens?"
Arcturus looked at him and said, "You'd be undetectable by most magical means, Neville, wards, tracking spells, all of it, you'd have no magical signature left to trace." He paused, leaned forward, and continued, his words deliberate. "And yes, it'd make you stronger, much stronger, your Heavenly Restriction would reach its full potential, your body unhindered by even the trace of magic you carry now."
Neville stared at the device, his fingers tapping the chair, and said, "Alright, Black, you've got a deal, I'm in, but you better not be shorting me on those Galleons."
Arcturus nodded, stood, and said, "Good, Neville, I'll have the contract drawn up, and we'll prepare you for the trip to France, but understand, this job is no game, and failure means death, for you and everyone counting on you."
Neville stood, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, yeah, I get it, old man, I don't fail, and I don't die easy, so let's get this show moving." His voice carried a cocky edge, his hands in his pockets, but his eyes showed a glint of determination, ready to prove himself in the war's last battle. Neville would never turn down the chance to show wizards they weren't as good as him.
___________________________
Apolline paced a lavish room in Nurmengard Castle, its walls hung with silk tapestries, chandeliers gleaming over gilded chairs, and a four-poster bed draped in velvet, where she stood, wearing a silver and sapphire dress, its fabric catching the light as she moved. She wrung her hands, her thoughts on her daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle, whom she hadn't seen since Grindelwald locked her here six days ago, her worry gnawing at her, her chest tight as she pictured Fleur's sharp eyes and Gabrielle's soft voice, both trapped somewhere in this fortress. She stopped, her mind flashing to her husband, Louis, screaming as Grindelwald's flames burned him alive, and Harry Potter, struck by the Killing Curse, his body crumpling before her eyes. She shook her head, clenched her fists, and muttered, "I cannot zink of zat now, I must save my girls, get zem to safety." She walked to the door, traced its glowing runes, and pushed, trying to break the wards again, her hands pressing, but a jolt threw her back, her shoulders slamming the wall, and she tried again, pounding the wood, only to be repelled, her frustration surging until she screamed, her Veela fire erupting, blue flames engulfing the bed, charring the velvet, smoke rising. The door opened, and Grindelwald stepped inside, his wand raised, his robes crisp, his face calm.
Apolline spun, her voice piercing, and shouted, "Where are my daughters, you fils de pute? Tell me now, or I swear I'll burn zis place down!" She flung blue fire at him, her hands slashing, the flames roaring toward his chest.
Grindelwald flicked his wand, and every flame in the room died, the bed smoldering, smoke curling, his voice steady. "I would appreciate your calm, Apolline, this display helps no one, least of all your daughters."
Apolline charged, her hands reaching for his throat, her voice raw, and shouted, "You dare speak of zem, after what you've done? Give zem back, you monstre!" He thrust his wand forward, throwing her back, and summoned a chair behind her, its wood creaking as ropes bound her arms and legs, pinning her, her chest heaving, her struggle useless.
Grindelwald lowered his wand, his voice even, and said, "I understand your hatred, Apolline, and it was regrettable that I had to kill Louis, a powerful wizard, a respected leader, but his death was necessary for the world I'm building."
Apolline jerked against the ropes, her voice venomous, and shouted, "You call zat necessary? You burned my 'usband, destroyed our 'ome, killed 'Arry, and you zink I'll ever forgive you, you chien?"
Grindelwald breathed heavily, his voice low, and said, "I did not want to kill Harry, Apolline, believe me, he had the potential to be my heir, to lead our kind into a new era, but he was too strong, too dangerous to my cause."
Apolline leaned forward, her voice shrill, and shouted, "'E was a child, a child, you bâtard, and you struck 'im down like nothing!"
Grindelwald looked at her, his voice calm, and said, "A child who killed thousands of my soldiers, Apolline, who cut through my forces like a lnife through butter, so do not pretend he was harmless."
Grindelwald stepped closer, his voice steady, and said, "I'm not here to speak of Harry, I'm here to talk about you, Apolline, because the war is over, France and its allies are spent, their armies broken, and all I need do is clear the remnants, which I will, swiftly."
Apolline glared, her voice sharp, and shouted, "You expect me to care about your plans, your victoire? You've taken everyzing, and I'll give you nothing!"
Grindelwald shook his head, his voice even, and said, "I want a peaceful transition to my rule, Apolline, less blood, less death, and as the wife of Louis, a figure of influence, your support would convince others to lay down their wands, to accept my leadership without a fight."
Apolline thrashed, her voice booming, and shouted, "I'll never 'elp you, never, you deserve to die, and someone will end you, I know it, you'll fall!" She pulled at the ropes, her hands straining, her eyes burning with defiance.
Grindelwald stepped back, his voice calm, and said, "Think carefully, Apolline, your husband is dead, but Fleur and Gabrielle are not, and their safety depends on your choices now." He walked to the door, his wand lowering, his steps measured.
Apolline screamed, her voice breaking, and shouted, "Touch my girls, and I'll tear you apart, I'll burn every stone of zis castle, I swear it on my life!" She leaned forward, her ropes creaking, her face twisted with fury.
Grindelwald opened the door, his voice steady, and said, "I won't touch them, Apolline, but my men are less restrained, so consider that." He closed the door, the lock snapping shut, leaving her bound, her screams echoing.
...
In a stone cell deeper in Nurmengard, its walls slick with damp, its iron bars rusted, and a single window letting in faint moonlight, Yennefer, Ciri, Gabrielle, and Fleur sat, the air cold, the floor hard. Ciri and Gabrielle lay asleep on a thin mattress, curled together, their faces streaked with dried tears, having cried themselves out for the third night, their breaths soft. Yennefer stood by the bars, her hands bloody, carving runes into the stone with a jagged shard, her blood magic flaring as she traced symbols, but the wards pulsed, blocking her spells, and she cursed, slamming her fist against the bars, her knuckles splitting. She turned to Fleur, who lay on a cot, her eyes red, her hands clutching a torn blanket, and said, "Fleur, get off that bed and help me, we need to break these wards, find a way out before they come for us!"
Fleur stayed still, her voice flat, and said, "Zere's no point, Yennefer, Papa is gone, 'Arry is dead, zere's nothing left to fight for." She turned away, her shoulders shaking, her voice breaking as tears fell, her fingers twisting the blanket.
Yennefer walked over, grabbed Fleur's shoulders, and shouted, "You're not dead yet, Fleur, so get up, we can still get out, save Gabrielle, save Ciri!" She shook her, her hands gripping, but Fleur shoved her away, her voice sharp, and said, "Leave me, Yennefer, it's over, just let me be!" Yennefer stepped back, her fists clenching, and returned to the bars, carving runes again, her blood dripping, her voice muttering curses as she worked, while Fleur stayed on the cot, crying silently, her hope shattered, her grief consuming her.
Yennefer paused, looked at Fleur, and said, "You think Harry would want this, Fleur, you giving up, letting Grindelwald win? He fought till the end, and you're just lying there, pathetic!" She slammed the shard into the stone, her voice rising, her eyes on Fleur, trying to spark a reaction.
Fleur sat up, her voice trembling, and shouted, "Don't you dare use 'Arry against me, Yennefer!" She stood, her hands shaking, and walked to the wall, her voice breaking. "I can't do zis, I can't lose anyone else, so stop pushing me!"
Yennefer walked to her, her voice softer, and said, "I'm pushing because we're still alive, Fleur, and Gabrielle needs you, Ciri needs you, so snap out of it, help me break these wards, or we're all dead!" She grabbed Fleur's arm, her voice urgent, her eyes pleading, but Fleur pulled away, her voice low, and said, "I'm sorry, Yennefer, I just can't, not anymore." She sank back to the cot, her face in her hands, her sobs quiet, her strength gone.
Yennefer turned, her voice muttering, and said, "Fine, I'll do it myself, but you're not giving up on me yet." She knelt by the bars, resumed carving, her blood pooling, her determination unbroken, her hands steady despite the pain, her mind on escape, on saving them all.
...
In Grindelwald's office, a stone chamber with high ceilings and a wide window overlooking jagged mountains, Grindelwald stood, his hands clasped, his eyes on the snow-dusted peaks, where clouds drifted, his thoughts on his conquest. Lyra Black stood behind him. Grindelwald turned, walked to his desk, and said, "Everything is ready for Europe's fall, Lyra, France is broken, its allies crumbling, and once we finish them, Britain is next, so do you look forward to going back?"
Lyra stepped forward, her voice firm, and said, "My home is here, my lord, with you, not Britain, not after all you've given me."
Grindelwald sat, his voice steady, and said, "I'm glad, Lyra, but Britain will need a ruler when we take it, and your name, your power, make you ideal, especially when your training's done, you'll be unstoppable." He leaned back, his hands folding, his eyes on her, his voice confident.
Lyra bowed, her voice low, and said, "I'm not worthy, my lord, but I'll serve as you ask, always." She stood, and Grindelwald rose, hugged her, his arms strong, which made her smile, her shoulders easing, her devotion clear.
Grindelwald stepped back, his voice calm, and said, "Something's troubling you, Lyra, what is it, speak plainly." He looked at her, his eyes narrowing, his voice direct, sensing her unease.
Lyra nodded, her voice hesitant, and said, "It's the prophecy, my lord, I know Harry Potter's dead, but I feel this weight, this sense that things aren't over, that something's still out there."
Grindelwald walked to her, his voice steady, and said, "You're worrying over nothing, Lyra, and when we reach Britain, we'll track down the prophecy's roots, end your doubts for good." He turned to the window, his voice firm, but the door burst open, and Aurelius rushed in, his wand raised, his voice urgent, saying, "My lord, a guest, but—"
Quirrell smashed through, his body decayed, skin flaking, eyes hollow, his voice a hiss, and shouted, "Heal me, Grindelwald, do it now!" His robes hung in shreds, his wand trembling, his flesh rotting.
Aurelius and Lyra drew their wands, stepping forward, but Grindelwald raised his hand, his voice calm, and said, "What happened, Quirrell, tell me everything." He walked closer.
Quirrell staggered, his voice rasping, and said, "Dumbledore, he tracked me, attacked, nearly destroyed me, but I got away." He clutched his side, his breath uneven.
Grindelwald raised his wand, sent blue flames over Quirrell, healing his skin, restoring his body, and Quirrell sighed, his voice low. "Thank you," he said, his wand lowering, his strength returning.
Grindelwald stepped back, his voice steady, and said, "How did Dumbledore find you, Quirrell, what mistake led him to you?" He sat at his desk.
Quirrell straightened, his voice hissing, and said, "I don't know, but he won't get the ward stone, I hid it in the Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts is still ours." He stepped forward.
Grindelwald nodded, his voice calm, and said, "Well done, and I've secured the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell, a tool that'll ensure our victory, cement our rule."
Quirrell's eyes gleamed, his voice sharp, and shouted, "Give it to me, Grindelwald, I need its power, hand it over now!" He stepped closer, his wand raising, his greed overtaking his restraint.
Grindelwald stood, his voice steady, and said, "Not yet, Quirrell, the war's still on, too many risks remain, so I'll keep the Stone until we've won, no discussion." He raised his wand, his eyes hardening, his voice a warning.
Quirrell hissed, cast a curse, his wand slashing, but Grindelwald flicked his wand, blocked it, and sent a force wave, slamming Quirrell against the wall, his voice cold. "I'll keep our deal, Quirrell, but try that again, and you're finished, understand?"
Quirrell stumbled, and walked out, his voice muttering, his robes trailing, his anger burning. Aurelius stepped forward, his voice low, and said, "He's trouble, my lord, we should eliminate him before he betrays us."
Grindelwald shook his head, his voice steady, and said, "Keep eyes on him, Aurelius, but no moves yet, we need his skills until the war's done." He walked to the window, his hands clasped, and looked at the mountains, his voice calm. "We're close to a new world, and no one, not Quirrell, not Dumbledore,"
(AN: So the battle will be starting next chapter. I seem to remember Toji being able to go through Tengens wards. Idk if that's accurate or if there was a reason for it it's been a while since I've read it but I'll just assume he can because of his heavenly restriction . This also works in bringing an important future character some more screen time. Anyway epic battles to come I hope you've enjoyed the chapter).
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