CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE RADIO SWITCHED ABRUPTLY THEN, a static ensuing as the channel broadcast was interrupted. Elias Dupont fingered the dials, his expert focus fixed on the device he had silently taken charge of.

"Shouldn't someone feed that boy?" Brigette Monet's voice was an inquisitive whisper, as she glanced at the platinum haired boy still sprawled on the floor in a far corner, moonlight washing over his muddied face.

The bodies of the witches and wizards present—pulsing with life yet giving rise to occasional yawns and catlike mewls—much to everyone's surprise at Yordanka Hristova—had all lounged themselves on the ground, taking respite in resting heads on laps and makeshift pillows. The cackling and sputtering of the wireless radio in Elias Dupont's care was the only other sound, as the boy was seemingly the only one to not give much precedence in allowing sleep to overcome him, like everyone else.

"I suppose he'll die otherwise," Bridgette concluded when no one had responded. Her light brown irises settled on me, a questioning twinge dancing in them.

She had shifted her head on Zubair's lap slightly, just to make sure she got her message across to me, without employing much of her energy. Zubair himself had apparently dozed off, his eyes half shut as his head rested unmoving on his makeshift pillow pressed between his back and the wall, the pillow which was basically a rumpled contortion of Elias Dupont's discarded London suit.

I turned my head to look at Draco Malfoy's form, being careful not to disturb Viktor Krum's resting head on my own lap with any abrupt movements. Krum had been the first to nod off, having yawned audibly and announced his sign off by the time Bartemius Crouch's news was being broadcasted. I had assumed the junior Crouch's death would please him, for it had certainly pleased me.

Voldemort had handled the situation I had left him in cleverly. He had disposed of the nearest death eater he had at hand, making it seem as though it was on his command that Albus Dumbledore had died. The mere act of it spoke volumes. The evil wizard didn't want the world to know of my existence unless he was the one to expose it. He could do it when he had me in his grasp, drained of all my power, his own veins bursting with the stolen heuristics. That was the time for exposure, was it not?

The dwarf witch, Flora Fischer, had trudged off to a different corner, no longer keeping an eye on the motionless boy as she had been asked to do.

"Fischer," I whispered at her, my voice though quiet, still reverberating in the castle ruin like a gust of trapped air.

The witch jumped, her scattered self psyche arranging as she looked at me.

"Remove that spell off of the boy," I instructed, keeping my voice low. "Have him eat something."

"Why did you bring him in the first place?" Gabriel Chevrolet scrunched up his face, folding his arms across his chest as he lay on the ground, the boy's biceps bulging out in his frustration. He eyed the platinum haired boy as the German dwarf witch bent over the form, trying to undo the binding spell she had cast.

I glanced at Harry Potter, the boy leaned against a wall still, refusing to lie down when I had asked him to. His eyes were fixed on the mountains outside in a trance, or perhaps he looked at Vaduz—the town a bright pulsating heart, full of life and obliviousness, sitting in the distance.

"Je n'avais pas de choix. He saw me with Flora," I managed, my eyes meeting Gabriel's. "He pointed his wand at us. He was bent on not letting us escape Hogwarts."

"There are rumors about that boy," Elias Dupont spoke, briefly looking at me before focusing on the wireless dials again. "C'est bizarre et probablement juste des commérages, but those Weasley twins at Hogwarts seemed to think that the boy's family were death eaters. They think he's in training to become one too. Although I think all that was said does seem to have some weight now, given that he threatened you."

"Well," I glanced at Fischer at work, her attempts at reviving the boy seemed to be accomplishing little. "He did support his audacity by claiming that the dark lord must not find the castle empty if he arrives."

"There you have it then," Bridget yawned, "Anybody who calls Voldemort the dark lord, must be a sympathizer or a follower."

"That is the whole gist of it," Gabriel let out, raising a dark brow at Bridgette. "If you are being sarcastic, in which case, I cannot fathom the extent of your stupidity."

The Beauxbatons Papillionlisse boy had himself to himself, his hands folded across his chest tightly, his legs straight and away from any possible contact with Zubair Dimitrova's own sprawled legs, Viktor Krum's occasionally stirring ones, and Yordanka Hristova's ramrod straight ones in his periphery. The Durmstrangs, it seemed, weren't much scared to take up space. Their body languages, though different from each other, still had a sort of resemblance in the way that mirrored their boldness and firmness.

Chevrolet's demeanor had, for a while now, taken to being frustrated and annoyed with everything he had been pulled into. The castle ruin that sheltered him, the much too sugary pretzels Flora Fischer had brought, the hard ground he was to sleep on—all of that tied into his dilemma of not wanting to be thought of as a wimp, were he to answer the call to return to France. His was a strange circumstance—wanting to share a possible glory but not wanting to go through the hurdles of acquiring it.

"Fermez-la, I am not being sarcastic," Bridgette narrowed her eyes at the boy, before exhaling and shutting her eyes. "And please Gabriel, go to sleep, will you? Give us some respite."

"Sleep," The boy scoffed, his dark features hardening as he adjusted the linen bag in which Elias and my store bought clothes had come in, under his head. "What a time to sleep this is."

"Yeah, alright," Yordanka Hristova's blunt English words barged into our senses then, as she stirred from her position and lifted herself on her elbows, taking those of us awake by surprise for we had assumed she had nodded off a while ago.

"As long as we're all here in each other's presence, you guys best resort to speaking English to each other," She eyed us all, her face surprisingly alert, making me believe she hadn't been sleeping at all. "Lest I start to believe you all have more to hide than you let on, and I prefer to be aware of such things."

"Are you sure?" Bridgette yawned, switching to English, a brow raised in amusement as she looked at The Durmstrang witch. "What do they say about familiarity in English, Elias?"

Elias grinned, his eyes still on the wireless as he had now opened up a section of it and was now inspecting wires. "They say it breeds contempt."

"Contempt," Bridgette repeated. "Why, I wouldn't want that to be between us at all."

"Rest assured, Yordanka," I glanced at the witch. "We're mostly honest, are we not Gabriel?"

Gabriel Chevrolet smirked in after what seemed to me to be the longest while. He turned his eyes pointedly to look at The Durmstrang. "Are you worried we're planning to shed you Durmstrangs off somewhere? Because I don't know about the girls, and Dupont is indecisive on such matters at best, but I would've by now if I wanted to."

"Oh," Yordanka's features twisted in mock pleasure. "Does that mean you like to have me around? How flattering, it is precisely all that I could ever have hoped for."

Much to my own, Elias' and Bridgette's pure astonishment, Chevrolet reddened in a way that was entirely unorthodox on the boy's dark features. His thick lips parted as his frantic black eyes searched for a coherent comeback to the Durmstrang girl's blatant sarcasm. It looked as though he would burst, if words did not come to him quick enough.

"Get bent," The boy blurted out then, resorting to use the same phrase I had used multiple times on him in response to his vexing schemes back at Beauxbatons.

Yordanka Hristova scrunched up her face. "Eager, are we?"

Elias Dupont choked on a laugh then, as Bridgette gaped open mouthed at the scene. The Durmstrang witch shifted to her left, resting her head back on the ground with her back to us—indicating her swift sign off from the conversation.

I looked at Gabriel, the boy's face was bewildered, and flustered. His dark skin tinged red at the higher points of his face, and his eyes refused to meet any of ours as he shifted to his other side and shut his eyes silently.

"Mon dieu," I managed softly, meeting Elias and Bridgette's gazes in shock. Have we ever seen Chevrolet like this before?

"Get off me!" A loud shriek rattled our senses then, and we turned to look at a frantic Draco Malfoy scurrying away from Flora Fischer as he dragged himself on the ground. "How dare you touch me?"

"Put a sock in it," Bridgette hissed in anger, the girl's English accent ruthless, eyes sharp on Malfoy. "Some of us are sleeping."

"Why am I here?" The boy ignored Bridgette's plea, his eyes searching the space around him until they landed on me and darkened. "You! What did you do to me? My father will hear about this."

"Malfoy," Harry Potter approached his peer, the boy's voice relaxed as he tried to calm Draco. "It's alright, just eat something."

"Potter," The platinum haired boy seethed. "Why is it that I always find you behind every fucking problem?"

My hand touched Viktor Krum's forehead lightly, a respite for my restless fingers as my eyes fixed on the arguing boys. Krum was sound asleep, and his head was satisfyingly heavy and warm in my lap, the mere presence of it offering me unfathomable comfort.

They bickered back and forth in hissed tones, before the platinum haired boy, after threatening to report to his father—was forced to resort to plant himself down defeatedly and put a bite of leftover food into his mouth. Harry Potter had had the last convincing argument, and because it was uttered in a menacing low and hushed tone, I could not really make out what it had been, and I found that I didn't care at present as long as it had gotten the job done.

Viktor Krum's head stirred in my lap slightly, as he resumed his slumber. Only two hours ago he had emphasized that I needed to rest, and here he was, sleeping the sleep of my share. I smiled shyly at his oblivious nature, my eyes fixed on the upside down position of his face in a fondness that seemed to make my heart full with not much effort at all.

Bridgette Monet had now dozed off as well, her silky auburn tresses a mess on Zubair Dimitrova's lap, leaving only Elias Dupont awake—the boy seemingly immersed in figuring out the internal wiring system of the wireless.

"Wasn't it working just fine?" I offered softly, keeping to conversing in English. Harry Potter and the Malfoy boy were in hearing distance, and Yordanka's words rang true in a way. People tended to trust you more when they heard and understood you—regardless of who you were conversing with.

"This location makes it harder to catch signals, I'd assume. You didn't have to open the device up."

"True," The boy hummed, keeping to English and raising his face to meet my eyes. "Though I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to know how something works, just so I could pull it apart and put it back together for the mere fun of it."

"Considering it keeps me occupied," He added quietly, returning his attention to the wireless.

I exhaled, a tightness forming in my chest. Elias was correct in a way, presently, keeping occupied was the way to go. I glanced at Harry. The Hogwarts boy was now leaning against a wall, facing Draco Malfoy with plain eyes sparkling behind his glasses, thin arms folded across his chest. Flora Fischer held herself away, her own back against a far wall, her eyes—small sharp green orbs in the semi darkness from this distance—pinned in my direction.

Harry Potter was in no mood to sleep, it was clear from the manner he held himself with. It was as though he disapproved of the mere act entirely, considering the circumstances we were in.

I glanced back at Krum's head on my lap. I was in no mood for sleep either. My limbs had needed rest, and I had somehow gotten enough of it without sleep. The fleeting act of having food, changing out of my uncomfortable dress—just sitting and conversing, had given me the rest I needed. If I were to put my head down, restlessness would swarm me like a plague, biting away at my energy.

I reached for my wand, which was tucked at my side in my dress. I would be needing it alot, from now onwards. The thought struck me with clarity. If I were to disguise my heuristics better and more efficiently, I needed to appear like a normal witch. A normal witch who reached for her wand when she needed something to be done. A witch who didn't consider her wand an accessory—a witch who knew her wand to be a weapon.

"Wingardium leviosa," I softly whispered, the tip of my wand pointed at Viktor Krum's head.

The Durmstrang's head lifted, and cold air swarmed the warmth on my lap left in his wake. I moved myself away from underneath him, careful to not force the spell too much and wake him. Then I gently let his head lower itself on the makeshift pillow I had formed from my discarded burlesque dress.

Krum stirred once his head came in contact with it, but only slightly as he shifted to his side and didn't wake up.

"Harry," I spoke, pushing to my feet, and tucking my wand back in the side of my dress.

I pivoted to face the boy, who eyed me inquisitively.

"It is time for the Occlumency lesson I promised you," I folded my arms across my chest, ignoring the gaping look of Draco Malfoy. "If you're up for it right now, of course."

"Yeah," The boy straightened himself, alertness taking control of his features, an awkward attempt at promptness. "Yeah I am."

I gestured to a corner then—a distance away from the sleeping form of the wizards and witches strapped along for I wasn't sure how much of my journey, and a distance away from Draco Malfoy's bewildered presence.

"Close your eyes," I instructed as we had both settled, with Harry Potter seated himself on the edge of a short wall and me taking the spot a distance beside him.

"Take a breath," I followed, keeping my voice slow as I eyed the young boy's tense form. "Relax your muscles, you're too tense."

The boy's brows furrowed as he struggled to keep his eyes closed. "I thought you were supposed to stay alert—have all your senses focused—when performing Occlumency. That is what Professor Dumbledore said."

There was no mistaking the small crack in his tone when his late headmaster's name was spoken, and for a moment I thought the boy would give in to the weakness and cry. The idea of it was not disconcerting for me, instead, I wished the boy would cry. Just so that I could see someone mourn for someone lost. It wasn't that I cared deeply enough for Dumbledore, or even knew him at all for me to share Potter's sentiments, it was just that I hadn't seen anyone mourn someone in such a while, and it had stopped me from mourning anyone too.

My great uncle, a powerful yet evil wizard who had been selfish all his life, gave me everything he had got left in the end. Did that make him deserve my sadness over him? In my eyes, it did. It did. After all, Albus Dumbledore had been a powerful wizard too, had he given anything of his to anyone else? I had dueled him for the Elder Wand. And to the orphan boy Dumbledore had meticulously sheltered and to some extent used, he had left nothing. Not even words. Would Voldemort, another powerful yet evil wizard, leave something of his to someone else too, were he to be conquered finally? I didn't believe so.

"Yes that is true," I exhaled, relaxing my form. "But you need to muster your strength during the act, else you will be wasting it."

The boy's brows furrowed some more as he struggled to understand.

"Alright," I touched the back of my neck briefly. "Picture this in your mind's eye. You are seated somewhere, and a wind blows a delicate feather towards you. You know it will get stuck in your hair or on your shirt and you want to look presentable for something, so you attempt to blow it away. You are out of Hogwarts premises so you cannot use your wand. What is the ideal time to blow the feather away, as soon as you spot it coming towards you regardless of how far away it is, or the second it gets close enough for you to overpower it?"

"The second it gets close enough," Harry responded without missing a beat, keeping his eyes still closed.

"Why?"

"Because if I aim before it gets close, I could miss," The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I could miss and the feather could ride a different wind towards me. From the distance my effort would be in the same line as the winds—if not indistinguishable."

"Yes, and that is exactly the case with Occlumency," I glanced briefly at Flora Fischer as the dwarf nudged closer to us, her eyes keen as she took in the scene. I couldn't decipher anything else other than her oozing curiosity at the fact that I was teaching Harry Potter Occlumency. I couldn't tell what she made of it, apparently her inquisitiveness overpowered all other emotions in her face.

"Open your eyes now," I spoke to Harry, turning to face him. "The difficult part is the waiting, and the knowing of the precise moment when to build up the barricades when faced with Legilimency."

The boy's eyes sparkled with eagerness and curiosity, mirroring that of the dwarf witch's.

"The mistake most wizards make is to attempt to build their barricades beforehand. And then the effort of keeping them up even before someone intrudes their memories, drains them quickly and entirely."

"That makes.. a lot of sense," The boy murmured, and I could almost see the bolts inside my mind turning. "But what of the element of surprise? How do you recover from it so quickly?"

"There should be no such element where Legilimency is concerned," I reiterated. "In your case Harry, you should know what a wizard intends of you as soon as they come near. I know it's such a brutal thing, especially for a boy your age who shouldn't be worrying about these things in the first place."

Harry didn't say anything, his eyes only searching mine for every bit of knowledge I could spare.

"But you aren't to be like any boy your age," I swallowed. "At least not at present."

"You cannot afford the element of surprise, because even if you master its recovery, it will still cost you time and energy."

"The most simplified way to go about it is to know that the wizard or witch standing in front of you is dangerous and is a threat to you, and that he or she may infiltrate your mind. It starts with the knowing, so that you can prepare your mind, water your flower beds if you will."

"The barricades are to be set up next as soon as you feel the opposition near your mind. The key is to be quick, and you can be quick because you're not surprised. You have been expecting the intrusion, and expectation eases you in smoothly."

"I understand," The boy nodded, his dark eyes sharp in this dim light of the moon.

"The element of surprise only hurts you, even if you're powerful enough to conquer it and take efficient control afterwards."

"Have you ever..," Harry Potter trailed off then, his eyes nervous as he looked at me. "Have you ever battled that element of surprise?"

He knew what he was asking, referring to when Viktor Krum had sifted through my brain. I had told the boy of the Durmstrang's act, and coupled with the fact that Potter had stumbled upon the very Durmstrang under the Imperius curse, it all made the Bulgarian seeker appear a sort of hoax—something you couldn't decipher or even believe at first. But that was what Viktor Krum was, I felt.

"I have," I answered simply, not wanting to think of Krum infiltrating my brain.

It was a memory I refused to dwell on now. Maybe sometime in the future when I had no hope of anything else, maybe then that memory would rise to the surface again, begging to be explored. But that day was not today.

I stood up then, exhaling a breath. "We are done for today I suppose."

"What?" Harry stammered, bewildered. "But we just started, and you haven't yet started on how I can—"

"I know," I broke him off, an intense look on my face as I emphasized my words. "We just started. And we started with the basics. You do not want to jump in Harry, you need to have a strong understanding before you even attempt Occlumency."

"Dumbledore was rushing you because he had no time left," My eyes searched the boy's. "And perhaps, he assumed neither did you."

"The Hogwarts headmaster assumed there would be no one left to teach you once he was gone, but I am here now. I promised to teach you, didn't I?"

"Well," I shrugged before he could respond. "I don't suppose I promised exactly but in my country when you claim you will do something, it is as good as a vow."

"Look Harry," I briefly glanced at the sleeping form of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons wizards and witches, they were out cold, fast asleep in each their own land of unconscious thoughts.

"I know you feel alone, and I cannot even begin to understand how losing a support system like Professor Dumbledore has been for you. I understand you knew and trusted him more than you did anyone else, and you just met me."

The boy blinked, his eyes flashing melancholy.

"But you and I are not much different from each other," I lowered my voice. "There's a dark wizard after me as much as he is after you—the boy he couldn't kill. We both have things he wants, and we cannot begin to understand the depths of all those things. But we have to stick together alright?"

"I have to protect you from that wizard," I swallowed, taking his limp hand and pressing it tightly once. "I will do it by teaching you Occlumency, using my own heuristics, and by everything else I can offer you."

"I just need you to trust me and listen to me alright?" The boy's eyes sparkled in curiosity and understanding, and I saw the melancholy in him deflate a little.

"Everyone else with us here," I shook my head. "Viktor, my friends, the other Durmstrangs, they might not stick around. I need you to expect that. They might leave if they decide to. When it gets hard, they might back away and retreat to something else."

"And they are not wrong to do so, because it isn't their fight in the first place."

"But me?" I looked hard at the boy in front of me. "I'm not leaving. I'm not quitting. Quitting would mean handing myself over to Voldemort. I'm not doing that, ever. And I will make sure you don't do that ever too. That is part of the reason I wanted you here with me, instead of with your friends. I know I can protect you. I have The Elder Wand now too."

Harry Potter nodded then, his eyes falling to the ground before he slowly raised them to meet my gray irises.

"Alright," He managed, an efficient determination taking over his features. "Alright."

"Fischer," I called out then, keeping my voice low as I summoned the dwarf witch and she sauntered over quickly.

I followed her arrival, watching her leave behind a silent yet squirming Draco Malfoy. The boy's pale skin was pinched red as he tossed and turned, but was bound with invisible ropes, his mouth parting to shout but no words coming out.

"He wouldn't shut it, my lady," Flora Fischer hurried to defend herself, her German thick and rushed. "He had eaten but he kept talking about his father and it wasn't until he called you—uh, something offensive, that I shut him up."

"Das ist in ordnung," I shook my head once, my eyes glancing over the Malfoy boy's form plainly. "Er ist mir im moment egal."

"I called you," I started, switching to English so that Harry could understand. "To tell you that Harry Potter is going to be with us permanently from now onwards. You are to help me protect him—all the other acolytes are too."

The German dwarf witch looked appalled then, bewilderment rushing to cover her blatant surprise.

"But my lady, Voldemort, is after this boy. We endanger ourselves just by association. But now you want us to—"

"Yes," The word was hard on my tongue. "I want exactly what I asked of you and the other acolytes right now. Do you think it is only this boy Voldemort is after?"

"Do not tell me you were as stupid as to assume that we would not have to face that evil wizard ourselves, with or without Harry?"

"No, I—," The dwarf continued in German, refusing to switch to English. "I assumed that we could—that you would settle with Voldemort eventually. Before overtaking him entirely. It was what Grindelwald would've done."

I ground my teeth hard at the suggestion. Settle with Voldemort. Flora Fischer was entirely off her rocker if she assumed I would ever force myself to accept someone like Voldemort and his reign of terror when I hadn't accepted my own great uncle with the same honors.

"There will be no settling, Fischer," I seethed at her, my mind grabbing at the tendrils of her mark as I furiously yanked at it.

The dwarf witch let out a subdued shrill as she fell to her knees, clutching her marked arm. A small fresh rune glowed at my side, before I let go of her mark and it vanished. I swallowed, my knees suddenly weak as I realized that I had no memory of drawing that rune. Is this what my fury had extended to? From visions that seemed completely blinding and overtaking to immediate runes drawn at my side ready for action?

Grindelwald had had nothing to do with those visions. He had just given them to me, and it had been me entirely who had given those things the power. And now, they were this strong. This strong that I could immediately take someone's life and realize it later only when I see the rune my consciousness had used, glowing at my side.

Flora Fischer dragged herself up to her feet, clutching her arm as her head bowed in front of me.

"As you wish, my lady," Was her simple response, as I saw the drops of dark blood drip down from her arm and into the dark stone floor.

I exhaled, letting my anger seep out of me. It was not something I could deal with, it had become far from something I had ever been able to deal with.

"Take me to the acolytes," I said then, my tone leveled. "Harry potter is coming with me."

Harry looked at me, surprised and nervous. I understood him entirely then, but in order to make him understand me too, I needed him at my side. I needed him to know just how much protection I could offer him, and maybe in turn find out what exactly it was about him that made an evil wizard set on his chase for fourteen years.

─── ☾ ───

It was a godforsaken tavern in the middle of the town of Vaduz, with an iron chandelier burdened with dozens of yellow flickering candles lighting up and causing shadows in the entire wooden room. The air smelled of hot butterbeer, cocoa and yeast, with a faint hint of wet wood underlining the mixture of scents.

I couldn't help but think back to the last time I had been in a tavern. It was with Viktor Krum, in Hamburg, Germany. The memory startled me, it seemed like it had been such a long time ago.

The owner of the tavern, an unsuspecting acolyte, had dropped to his feet at the sight of me when Flora Fischer had brought Potter and me inside. I hadn't even lifted the hood of my cloak yet, and the man—looking to be in his thirties with prematurely balding hair and dark skin—had dropped to his knees, his lips tumbling phrases in Russian.

Then the man had efficiently emptied out his place of the remaining customers, ushering us to seats closest to the fire crackling in the hearth.

"Call them all," I looked at Fischer, my tone hard. "I didn't come here to drink."

The dwarf witch nodded, exchanging a glance with the tavern owner. The man kept glancing at me, his eyes fearful though I had long pulled down my hood. He was submissive, all acolytes were. They were all submissive to the name Grindelwald, regardless of how that Grindelwald looked. It was what Gellert Grindelwald had instilled in them, in the hopes that someday one of kin would lead his followers. My great uncle had gotten his wish.

The Russian acolyte knew no other language, so he communicated in hand gestures with Fischer, seemingly understanding her expressions and restraining from attempting to speak to me in order to not cause me the frustration. That simple consideration was enough to leave me on a thrilled edge. Was I to discover bit by bit how my great uncle felt, each step I took with the acolytes?

Harry Potter sat beside me, not a word crossing his lips as he observed everything happening around him in silent intrigue. I could sense a certain excitement emanating from him, perhaps he was looking forward to the prospect of looking at the acolytes—considering the fact that he had referred to them as an army against Voldemort back at the castle ruins.

The Russian acolyte, not understanding my earlier statement, had scurried off and come back with steaming butterbeers for Harry and me, alongside a plate of freshly made buns that smelled of butter and chicken.

Flora Fischer was alarmed at the overstep, she started to hiss at the acolyte, before I raised a hand to stop her. The dwarf witch swallowed obediently, her gaze falling back to her lap. She had called the other acolytes, and was now fiddling with her fingers anxiously as I motioned for Harry to help himself to the buns and the butterbeer if he wanted to. The boy obliged readily.

A minute later, the bell on top of the door of the tavern tinkled wildly as one after the other, men and women—wizards and witches previously loyal to Gellert Grindelwald—stepped in.

They were a sight. Most of them—the men—were dressed in work clothes and bore traces of labor on their attires. True to Flora Fischer's word, the acolytes had taken up professions to blend in with the town center of Vaduz. A wizard very clearly in his late twenties, had taken up blacksmithing, the muscles of his elbow and the apron he wore were both tinged with a certain blackness that could only emanate from burnt iron and ash.

The women were dressed modestly, in German female attires, their own professions and engagements not very obvious to ascertain.

Flora Fischer stood up to address them all, and again, true to her words, I could count twenty five acolytes including the Russian tavern owner and excluding Fischer herself, assembled in the tavern hall.

One of the acolytes in the back took out his wand and shut the door, murmuring a silencing charm to protect the conversations about to happen in the building.

"I have with me, Dominique Marie Grindelwald, the great niece of Gellert Grindelwald," The dwarf witch began, her words in English so that all acolytes could understand.

My great uncle's acolytes were a cacophony he had collected from various countries, with members predominantly French, German and Russian. But they all had the English language in common.

"She is our leader, and she has come to take control."

With that, Flora Fischer glanced at me. I pushed back my chair and got up, walking to the front to address the acolytes. I could read a dozen expressions swimming in most of their pairs of eyes if I had the time. But mostly, I could sense their fear. That instilled, pulsating fear that they were taught to harbor for any Grindelwald.

"I am Dominique Marie Grindelwald," I affirmed, my voice carrying over to every corner of the silent tavern hall as the acolytes gazed at me.

I recognized some of their faces from Fischer's party in Hamburg, Germany. Some of them had fawned over Viktor Krum in his disguise as the Durmstrang had pretended to bear a different name and had charmed those he had talked to.

"And you all follow my orders only going forwards," I stated, wanting to leave no room for hesitation. "Grindelwald is dead, as you would've heard by now."

Murmurs floated around in the crowd of twenty five, as wizards and witches glanced at each other. They were aware of Grindelwald's death, they must've read the headlines, newspapers, or heard radio transmissions. But it seemed that they hadn't acknowledged the information and what it meant out loud.

Flora Fischer had borne no noticeable response to the news, but the acolytes present seemed to have bottled up reactions they wished to let out.

"Voldemort killed him, did he not?" A wizard spoke up, the same blacksmith I had noticed earlier. The man's voice was rough, abrupt.

The acolytes turned to me, their eyes impatient for the answer I had.

"No," I responded simply. "I did."

Gasps ensued amongst the crowd before those too died down quickly.

"Grindelwald was in Nurmengard," I started once silence had ensued, clasping my hands at the base of my stomach.

"In a highly dangerous and secure prison he himself had curated. There was no way of getting him out of his hell. It was his own end. I killed him, and now I am fully taking over his reign and possessions."

I couldn't tell them that my great uncle had begged to die by my hand. That would never come out, because if it did, it would not only harm his name, it would harm me. The acolytes could desert at such a weakness. They would consider it a weakness, regardless of Dumbledore calling it strength and trust. But I needed whatever the acolytes had to offer me, and Dumbledore was long rotting.

"Hail," One of the witches let out then, before she dropped to her knees.

All other acolytes followed suit, and I watched them all bend for me. Flora Fischer bowed too, and the Russian tavern owner dropped to his knees as hastily as he had before.

"I need two of you," I let out, not wanting to prolong this any more than I had to.

"Two of you to go to London, to a gentlemen's club. I need you to look for Angus, he is the Halmasti Jinn the Fischers kept," I broke off as I spotted a single dwarf amongst the acolyte crowd, a man who was clearly Flora's husband.

"One of them will let you know details about Angus if you need them."

"I will do it, my lady," The blacksmith stepped forward, his eyes briefly meeting mine before he bowed his head.

"So will I, my lady," One of the witches stepped forward, she was the dark elegant one I had seen at Fischer's party. She had talked to Viktor. At present, her expression didn't bear the natural ease she had worn then, at present, she was focused, her dark slender features determined.

"Your names," I prompted.

"Damian Evans, my lady," The blacksmith responded quickly. And his name matched with his accent then, the acolyte was a thoroughly Englishman, though I couldn't be sure from which part he could've been from.

"Lea Duval," The elegant witch spoke her own name, and I knew instantly that she was a French like me, through and through, someone who bore the distinct qualities of a Frenchwoman from the north of France.

I nodded. "Set off immediately, do not stand out. Find out what happened to Angus, and to the former Credence Barebone."

The two acolytes, along with the others behind them, shuffled in discomfort at the mention of the name, Damian Evans' and Lea Duval's eyes peering into mine in confusion.

"Angus and the former Barebone were there when I defeated Albus Dumbledore and took The Elder Wand," The acolytes needed to know I had that wand, it would strengthen their submission to me, and I could already see the instantly effects of that knowledge in their manner now.

"Voldemort got to Barebone, I merely need to know if he is still alive, dead, or better yet, taken."

Damian and Lea nodded obediently, dropping their eyes to the ground.

"Find out anything else you can about Voldemort's steps in the process. No information is useless information at this point. He must be reeling from his loss of The Elder Wand. The rest of you will all stay here in Vaduz until I have a need for you."

With that, I glanced at Harry Potter and met the boy's inquisitive eyes. I couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking, but I was glad that he was here, watching me take the steps that I was. Looking for Angus or finding out Aurelius Dumbledore's fate was not going to save us from Voldemort, but it was consolation still, in a strange way in this strange time, in which I had no immediate plan effective enough to rid us of Voldemort's threat. 

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A/N:
Hi, sorry for being so m.i.a with this book. I've been super busy, also I saw the barbie movie? <3 anywho, i hope you're doing well.