Several dozen miles from Nurmengard Castle, a hidden war camp stood cloaked in the best wards goblin gold could buy, ensuring no trace of its existence reached Grindelwald's forces. The camp sat within short-range Apparition distance of the castle, poised for a full-scale attack when the time came. Tents and makeshift shelters sprawled across a clearing, surrounded by dense forest, with enchanted barriers shimmering faintly at the edges, keeping the camp invisible to prying eyes. Torches burned low, casting dim light over dirt paths where wizards moved. The air carried the scent of woodsmoke and sweat, mingling with the faint hum of magic.
Inside the largest tent, a canvas structure reinforced with ironwood beams, Claude Beaumont stood at a long table, his hands braced on its surface, studying blueprints of Nurmengard Castle spread out before him. The blueprints, acquired at great cost, detailed a fortress as vast as Hogwarts, with towering stone walls, multiple courtyards paved with flagstones, and a dense forest enclosed within an inner rampart. The castle's layout showed spiraling towers, underground dungeons, and a central keep where Grindelwald's office sat, its walls marked with runes indicating heavy warding. Around the table, key figures from the French resistance gathered, their faces etched with exhaustion but hardened with resolve. Jean Lecoust leaned against a tent pole, his wand tapping his thigh, his eyes scanning the blueprints. Elise Fournier sat on a stool, her hands folded, her wand resting on the table. Paul Gauthier stood beside her, pointing at the map, his voice low as he traced a courtyard. Sophie Laurent paced behind them, her boots scuffing the dirt floor. Luc Martin, the grizzled Auror, cleaned his wand with a cloth, listening silently.
Claude cleared his throat, straightened, and spoke, his voice carrying over the tent's murmurs. "We've got one shot at this, so listen up. Once we're inside Nurmengard, we split into three groups. First group hits the main courtyard here." He pointed at the largest courtyard on the blueprint, its open space marked with barracks. "That's where most of Grindelwald's acolytes are stationed. We use the golems to draw their spells. We bought dozens of them, transmuted steel, reinforced with runic matrices. They cost a fortune, but they'll take a beating and keep fighting. This group's job is to cause chaos, destroy as many of Grindelwald's forces as possible, and hold that courtyard."
Jean nodded, stepped forward, and pointed at a narrow corridor on the blueprint. "Second group goes through here, the eastern passage. It leads to the dungeons. That's where we think the Delacours—Fleur, Gabrielle, Apolline—and the others are held. We move fast, neutralize any guards, and get them out. We'll need at least two skilled ward-breakers to handle the cell locks."
Elise raised her hand, leaned forward, and said, "I'll lead that group. I've cracked dungeon wards before. We'll need a Healer with us, someone who can stabilize them if they're injured."
Claude nodded, turned to Sophie, and said, "You're on healing duty. Take your kit and stick with Elise. Third group's the distraction. They head for Grindelwald's office, here." He tapped the central keep on the blueprint. "We don't engage him directly. Nobody in this room can take him one-on-one. The goal is to make him think we're after something. We use the golems again, send them charging through the upper halls. They won't hold him long, but they'll buy us time to get the Delacours out and cripple his forces."
Paul traced a courtyard with his finger, looked up, and said, "What about his inner circle? Aurelius, Lyra, the others. They'll be guarding key points. We need a plan for them."
Luc stopped cleaning his wand, stood, and said, "Macduff is a duelist, likes to show off. We bait him into the main courtyard, let the golems swarm him. Lyra's trickier, sticks close to Grindelwald. If we can keep her pinned in the office with him, she's out of our way. The rest—Aurelius, Carrow, Zabini—we hit hard and fast, no duels, just overwhelming force."
Claude nodded, folded his arms, and said, "Good. We've got the numbers to outmaneuver them, but it's all about timing. First group draws the acolytes, second frees the prisoners, third keeps Grindelwald busy. We move like clockwork, or we're dead."
Jean stepped closer, studied the blueprint, and said, "The plan's solid, Claude, but there's one problem. Getting into the castle is impossible. Nurmengard's wards are powerfully. How do we even get past them?"
Claude sighed, looked down at the table, and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped back, gestured to the blueprints, and said, "Let's go over the wards. Nurmengard's got dozens, all lethal. There's the Blood Ward, which flays intruders alive if they cross the outer perimeter. The Bone-Shatterer, which crushes every bone in your body if you trigger it. The Soul-Siphon, which drains your magic and leaves you a husk. Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey charms blanket the entire castle, so we can't jump in. There's a Firestorm Ward that incinerates anything moving too fast, and a Mind-Breaker that drives you mad if you linger too long. That's just the outer layer. Inside, there are more, tied to the ward stone, which powers the whole system. The castle's near impregnable."
Elise leaned forward, tapped the blueprint, and said, "What if we use a decoy? Send a small team to trigger the outer wards, draw out their response, then slip through while they're distracted?"
Jean shook his head, crossed his arms, and said, "Won't work. The wards don't deactivate when triggered. They just keep killing until the intruder's dead or the ward stone's shut off. You'd lose the decoy team for nothing."
Paul raised a hand, stepped forward, and said, "How about tunneling? We dig under the wards, come up inside the courtyard."
Luc snorted, leaned back, and said, "The castle's foundation has seismic wards. Anything digging within a mile sets off tremors that collapse the tunnel. You'd be crushed before you got halfway."
Sophie stopped pacing, turned, and said, "What about flying? We use brooms, approach from above, bypass the ground wards."
Jean shook his head again, pointed at the blueprint, and said, "Airspace wards. Anything flying gets hit with lightning charms strong enough to fry a dragon. Plus, the Firestorm Ward would burn us to ash before we landed."
Claude raised his hands, stepped to the table's edge, and said, "Enough. We're going in circles. Let's take a break, clear our heads, and come back to this." He walked to the tent flap, pushed it open, and stepped outside, the others following, their voices low as they muttered about the plan.
A young wizard, ran up to Claude, saluted, and said, "Monsieur Beaumont, our allies from Britain are here. They've just arrived at the camp's edge."
Claude nodded, turned to the others, and said, "Jean, Elise, Sophie, Luc, with me. Let's greet them." He strode through the camp, his boots kicking up dirt, passing tents where wizards sharpened wands or repaired gear. Jean walked beside him, while Elise and Sophie followed, their faces tense. Luc trailed behind, his eyes scanning the camp.
At the camp's center, Arcturus Black led the way, his black robes with silver trim brushing the dirt as he walked, his cane tapping the ground with each step. His face stayed stern, his eyes scanning the tents and wizards around him. Bellatrix followed close behind, her dark hair tangled from the journey, her wand twitching in her hand as she glanced around, her gaze sharp and restless, like she was searching for someone. Andromeda walked next to her, her robes neat despite the long trip, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her lips pressed thin, showing she wasn't thrilled to be here but keeping her thoughts to herself. Nymphadora Tonks strode at Andromeda's side, her hair a bright purple that stood out against the camp's muted colors, her boots scuffing the dirt, her face blank but her eyes flickering with worry, betraying the nerves she tried to hide.
Neville Longbottom kept pace on Arcturus's right, looking slightly different. His frame had filled out, muscles straining under new dragonhide robes that must've cost a fortune, and a large sword hung sheathed across his back, its hilt catching the torchlight. He walked with a swagger and a cocky grin. Behind them came the others who had volunteered. Alastor Moody limped forward, his magical eye spinning to take in every detail of the camp, his wand clutched in his hand, ready for trouble. Kingsley Shacklebolt walked beside him, his robes crisp even after travel, his eyes sweeping the area. Remus Lupin trailed them, his face pale from exhaustion, his patched robes hanging loosely, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he kept his head down. Hagrid towered at the back, his massive bulk making the ground shake with each step, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. James Hawkthorne, the seventh-year, walked next to Charlie Weasley, both gripping their wands, their voices low as they talked, sizing up the camp's defenses.
Claude stepped forward, extended his hand, and said, "Lord Black, welcome to our camp. We're grateful you've come to join us." He shook Arcturus's hand, his grip firm, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest.
Arcturus nodded, released his hand, and said, "Monsieur Beaumont, we're here to end this war. My family and I, along with these volunteers, are ready to fight." He gestured to the group behind him, his cane resting at his side.
Before Claude could respond, Bellatrix pushed forward, her wand raised, her voice almost manic. "Where's Harry? I want to see him. Where is he?" She stepped closer, her eyes wild, her hands trembling. "I said, where is he?"
Claude froze, his mouth opening, but no words came out. Bellatrix's reputation had crossed the Channel—her power was famous, but her volatile temper was infamous. He swallowed, his hands twitching, unsure how to answer without revealing Harry's death.
Arcturus stepped forward, raised his cane, and said, "Bellatrix, I didn't want to tell you this earlier, but it seems I must now."
Claude's heart raced, his eyes widening, fearing Arcturus knew the truth about Harry's death. Someone in the camp must have leaked it, despite his orders to keep it secret. He clenched his fists, bracing for Bellatrix's reaction.
Bellatrix's eyes flashed, her voice rising, and she shouted, "What? Where's Harry? What happened to him?" She stepped toward Arcturus, her wand sparking, her face twisted with panic.
Andromeda reached for her arm, her voice soft, and said, "Bella, calm down. Let him explain."
Bellatrix yanked her arm away, spun to Andromeda, and shouted, "I won't calm down until I see my godson, until I have him in my arms!" Her voice cracked, her eyes wet, her wand trembling as she glared at Arcturus.
Arcturus's expression stayed passive, his cane tapping once, and he said, "Harry has been captured, along with Louis Delacour's family. As of now, he's in Nurmengard Castle."
Claude exhaled, his shoulders easing, relieved Arcturus hadn't revealed Harry's death. He wiped sweat from his brow, his hands steadying, grateful the truth remained hidden.
Bellatrix's face reddened, her voice booming, and she shouted, "You kept this from me? Harry's in that fortress, and you didn't tell me? We have to get him out now!" She stepped toward Arcturus, her wand raised, her eyes blazing with fury.
Neville snorted, leaned against a tent pole, and said, "Geez, is she always so loud?" He ducked as Bellatrix flicked her wand, a red curse streaking past his head, singeing the canvas.
Arcturus slammed his cane down, his voice thundering, and shouted, "Enough! I kept this secret because it didn't change our plan. We're launching an attack on Nurmengard, and when we do, we'll free Harry. I don't want to hear another word about it. Am I clear?" He looked at Bellatrix, then the others, his eyes narrowing, his cane raised.
No one spoke. Bellatrix lowered her wand, her hands shaking, her jaw clenched. Andromeda stepped back, her hands clasped, her face tense. Tonks crossed her arms, her hair flickering to blue, her lips tight. Neville smirked, his sword shifting as he straightened, his eyes on Arcturus.
Arcturus nodded, turned to Claude, and said, "Good. Now let's go inside and discuss the plan."
Claude nodded, gestured to the tent, and said, "This way, Lord Black." He led them inside, holding the flap open as Arcturus, Bellatrix, Andromeda, Tonks, Neville, and the British volunteers filed in. Moody, Kingsley, Lupin, Hagrid, James, and Charlie took seats or leaned against poles, their wands ready, their eyes on Claude.
Claude stood at the table, spread the blueprints again, and said, "Here's the plan. Once we're inside Nurmengard, we split into three groups. First group hits the main courtyard, uses golems to wipe out Grindelwald's acolytes. Second group heads to the dungeons, frees the Delacours and other prisoners. Third group distracts Grindelwald, keeps him pinned with more golems. We move fast, hit hard, and get out." He pointed at the blueprint, tracing each location, his voice steady. "The castle's huge, like Hogwarts, with courtyards, a forest inside its walls, and a central keep. We've got the golems—steel, runic-enhanced, expensive as hell—to take the brunt of the fighting."
Moody leaned forward, his eye swiveling, and said, "Sounds workable, but how do you deal with Grindelwald himself? Those golems won't hold him long."
Claude nodded, pointed at the keep, and said, "We don't fight him. The third group's job is to make him think we're after something. The golems buy us time, nothing more."
Kingsley crossed his arms, stepped forward, and said, "And the prisoners? Any intel on their condition or exact location?"
Elise raised her hand, leaned forward, and said, "We know they're in the eastern dungeons, likely warded cells. I'll lead the rescue, break the wards, and Sophie's on healing. We'll get them out, but we need to move before Grindelwald reinforces the guards."
Claude nodded, looked at the group, and said, "That's the plan, but there's one problem. We can't break through Nurmengard's outer defenses. The wards are lethal—Blood Ward, Bone-Shatterer, Soul-Siphon, Firestorm, Mind-Breaker, you name it. Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey charms block any quick entry. We've tried every idea, and nothing works."
Arcturus stood, his cane tapping, and said, "I have a solution for that, Monsieur Beaumont." He gestured to Neville, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce Neville Longbottom, one of the rare wizards with a Heavenly Restriction, and recently, a perfect one. He has no magic left in his body."
The room stirred. Jean grimaced, his wand tightening, his face showing disgust. Elise leaned back, her eyes wide, her mouth open in amazement. Sophie whispered to Luc, her voice low, her hands gesturing. Paul stared, his face a mix of awe and unease.
Arcturus raised his hand, continued, and said, "Neville can bypass Nurmengard's wards. He'll carry a device I've acquired, one that can destroy the defensive wards by targeting the ward stone. It'll bring the whole system down, letting us inside."
Claude's eyes lit up, he stepped forward, and said, "That could work, Lord Black, but he'll need to find where the wards are tied. He needs to locate the ward stone itself."
Arcturus nodded, leaned on his cane, and said, "Is there any information on where the ward stone might be?"
Claude shook his head, spread his hands, and said, "I'm afraid not. The blueprints don't mark it, and our spies couldn't get close enough to find out."
Bellatrix stepped forward, her wand twitching, and said, "It's probably in Grindelwald's office. It's the obvious place, where he'd keep something that important."
James Hawkthorne nodded, leaned forward, and said, "Maybe a bit too obvious, wouldn't he expect people to look there first."
Andromeda crossed her arms, looked at Bellatrix, and said, "But who'd be foolish enough to try stealing from Grindelwald's office?"
Luc raised a hand, pointed at Neville, and said, "Is the boy up to it?"
Neville's eyes flashed, he stepped forward, and said, "The boy'll do fine. I don't need magic to get the job done." His hand rested on his sword.
Arcturus turned to Neville, his cane tapping, and said, "You'll need to find the ward stone for the device to work, Neville. We'll do everything we can to buy you time, draw Grindelwald out of his office, and keep his forces occupied."
Neville nodded, adjusted his sword, and said, "I'll do it, Old Man. I'll find that stone."
Arcturus looked at the room, his voice firm, and said, "We start the attack at dawn. Everyone, get some rest. You'll need it for what's coming." He turned, walked to the tent flap, and stepped outside, his cane tapping, the others following, their voices low as they prepared for the battle ahead.
...
Neville slipped out of the tent, his patience worn thin by the endless talk of troop movements and logistics, which dragged on like a lecture from Binns. He wandered through the war camp, his boots kicking up dirt as he passed tents lit by flickering torches, their shadows dancing on the canvas. He had no intention of sticking around after his job was done; he wasn't daft enough to face Grindelwald's wrath. The dark wizard's power was no secret, and Neville knew better than to test it. Once he planted the device to shatter Nurmengard's wards, he'd be back across the Channel, 100,000 Galleons richer. People thought the Longbottom name meant he swam in gold, but they couldn't be more wrong. His grandmother, Augusta, branded him the shame of the House, doling out just enough coin to keep him alive, nothing more, despite his status as heir. "That's if the old cow doesn't disown me first," he muttered, settling onto a barrel near a supply tent, pulling his new sword from its sheath.
Arcturus had given him the blade, saying its rare metal held anti-magic properties, perfect for bypassing Nurmengard's wards without setting them off. He'd even claimed it could deflect spells, though Neville hadn't tried that yet. He turned the sword in his hands, its steel catching the torchlight. He didn't know where Arcturus got it or why he'd handed it to him, some nobody, but he didn't care much either. The Galleons and the chance to prove himself were what mattered, not the old man's reasons. He ran his finger along the edge, lost in thought, until a voice snapped him out of it.
"Neville Longbottom?" someone said from behind.
Neville turned, his eyes narrowing at a face he vaguely recognized—someone he'd seen at Hogwarts, maybe on the journey here. The older boy stepped closer, his robes slightly creased, his wand tucked into his belt. "That's your name, right?" he asked, his voice friendly but cautious, like he was testing the waters.
"Just Neville," Neville said, leaning back on the barrel, the sword resting across his knees. "What do you want?" His tone was sharp, his patience already frayed, not in the mood for chitchat with some stranger.
The boy extended his hand, a faint smile on his face, and said, "I'm James Hawkthorne, seventh year at Hogwarts. Just wanted to say hi, put a name to the face."
Neville stared at the hand, didn't move to shake it, and said, "What do you want?" He kept his gaze steady, his fingers tightening on the sword's hilt, his voice flat.
James lowered his hand, scratched the back of his head, and said, "Not much, just checking if you're holding up okay. This mission's dangerous, and I wanted to make sure you're not being pushed into something you don't want." He shifted his weight, his boots scuffing the dirt, his face showing real concern, like he genuinely cared. "If you want to back out, no one's going to judge you."
Neville's chest flared with anger, his jaw clenching at the way James talked down to him, like he was some scared kid who needed a pat on the head. He stood, gripping the sword, and snapped, "I'll be fine. I don't need magic to get this done. Now bugger off." His voice cut through the night air, his eyes glaring, daring James to push further.
James raised his hands, stepping back, and said, "I didn't mean it like that, Neville. It's not about magic. This mission's tough for all of us, me included." He tried to soften his tone, offering a small smile, hoping to calm things down, but Neville wasn't buying it.
Neville took a step closer, the sword still in hand, and said, "Then it'll be all the more humiliating when I finish it." He turned, stalking off toward the camp's edge, his boots crunching, leaving James standing there, his shoulders slumping as he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
James watched Neville disappear between the tents, his stomach knotting with unease. He didn't understand how Neville could be so nonchalant about tomorrow's battle. James was terrified, a fear that gripped him like it hadn't since Halloween, when he'd faced that Special Grade cursed spirit in Hogwarts' corridors, its power crushing him, leaving him feeling small and helpless. He hadn't felt that weak since his first year, trapped in a cursed vault, cleaning up after his older brothers mistakes. Tomorrow, people would die—loads of them—and he might be one. Being Hogwarts' top student meant nothing against Grindelwald's army. There were a dozen wizards that could take him out in a second, or a stray spell from some nobody could end him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his wand heavy against his side, and headed back to his tent, the fear shared by the whole camp pressing down on him.
---
Late at night, the camp lay still, most of its wizards asleep, but sleep dodged some, their minds too restless for rest. Nymphadora Tonks sat alone by a small campfire, its flames crackling as she polished her wand with a rag, her hands moving slowly, like the act might somehow boost her chances in the morning's fight. She'd just come from her mother's tent, where they'd had another row, Andromeda pleading with her to go home, calling the Nurmengard attack a death sentence. Tonks gritted her teeth, her hair fading to a dull gray, her frustration spilling over. Her mother didn't get it. This was about Harry, her friend, and she'd do anything to save him. Halloween had stolen too many, faces she'd never see again, their deaths weighing on her because she couldn't save them. Now, she had a shot to fight, maybe make up for it, but Andromeda only wanted to drag her back to safety. "Why's my life worth more than theirs?" Tonks muttered, her voice low, her fingers tightening around her wand.
She pulled a photo from her robe pocket, her hands shaking, and stared at it: her, Harry, Cedric, Susan, and Hannah, laughing in the Hufflepuff common room after sneaking snacks from the kitchens, breaking curfew for a bit of fun. Her throat closed up, her eyes burning, and she whispered, "Harry, please be okay." Losing him, after everything, would break her. She wiped her face, tucked the photo away, and stood, brushing dirt from her robes. She couldn't face her mother again tonight, not after their fight, so she headed for Bellatrix's tent, hoping her aunt would let her stay. As she neared, soft sobs drifted from inside, quiet but piercing. Tonks paused, then slipped through the flap, moving carefully, and saw Bellatrix curled on her cot, clutching a photo, tears streaming down her cheeks. Not wanting to bother her, Tonks tiptoed to a small side room, sank onto a spare cot, and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, even just a sliver.
Bellatrix heard Tonks enter but stayed quiet, her hands gripping the photo tighter, her sobs muffled as she pressed her face into the pillow. She'd loved Harry since the moment he was born, sitting beside Lily as she brought him into the world, her heart bursting when they named her godmother. The memory of Godric's Hollow seared her mind—finding Lily and James dead, their bodies sprawled on the floor, her screams echoing as she scooped Harry into her arms, holding him tight. She'd refused to let him go, even when Hagrid and Dumbledore showed up, her grip fierce, protective. She hated Dumbledore, more than anyone, for convincing her to place Harry with the Dursleys, saying it was the safest choice. "It should've been me," she whispered, her voice cracking, her nails digging into the photo. She should've raised him, kept him close, honored Lily and James's wishes, but she'd failed them, and now Harry was trapped in Nurmengard's dungeons, suffering because of her.
She loosened her hold, looked at the photo of Lily and Harry, and traced Lily's face with her finger. Even after giving birth, Lily glowed, her red hair spilling over her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, her smile warm as she held her newborn son. Bellatrix had envied her beauty at Hogwarts, but Lily's kindness made it impossible to hate her—she treated everyone like they were family. "I promise, Lily, I'll do better," Bellatrix said, her voice trembling, her eyes wet. She should've given Harry the photo when she first saw him, let him have this piece of his mother, but she couldn't let it go, the only keepsake linking her to both of them. "When I get you back, Harry, I'll tell you everything," she vowed, setting the photo on the cot.
___________________________
Harry gasped for air as he dragged himself free from the muddy earth, his hands clawing at the slick ground, which glistened as if a storm had just passed. His clothes, already caked with dirt, clung to his skin, the grime smearing worse with every move. He turned, his eyes catching on a tombstone jutting from the soil where he'd been buried. The words carved into it hit him like a punch: Here Lies Harry James Potter, A Spark Extinguished Too Soon. He stared, his chest tightening, unsure whether to feel rage or confusion that Grindelwald, the man who'd tried to kill him, had left such a sentimental marker. He shook his head, muttering, "Doesn't matter." He had to focus—clean himself off, figure out how long he'd been out, and track down Grindelwald. Merlin's warning about revenge echoed in his mind, urging caution, but he shoved it aside. Killing Grindelwald wasn't just for him; it was for everyone the dark wizard had hurt. That's what he told himself, anyway, as he clenched his fists, ignoring the doubt creeping in.
He pushed himself to his feet, his legs wobbling, and collapsed back into the mud, his body numb like he hadn't moved in days. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, managing small, shaky steps toward the charred remains of the Delacour Chateau. His heart twisted as he looked at the blackened husk, once a warm home where he'd laughed with Louis, Fleur, and the others. Guilt settled heavy on his shoulders, knowing Grindelwald's attack had come because of him. "I have to find them," he said under his breath, his voice rough. He couldn't trust Grindelwald had kept his word to spare Fleur, Gabrielle, Apolline, Yennefer, and Ciri. The thought of them suffering drove him forward, his boots sinking into the wet ground.
Stumbling into the ruined chateau, he searched for something to drink, his throat dry as sand. He rummaged through the debris—broken furniture, shattered glass—but found nothing, the destruction too complete. His foot caught on a splintered beam, and he lurched forward, catching himself on a scorched sofa, its fabric crumbling under his grip. Desperate, he tried to summon a spark of magic to conjure water, but a searing pain exploded through his body, like knives slicing every nerve. He screamed, collapsing to the floor, his limbs shaking as the agony intensified, worse than anything he'd ever felt, as if his bones were burning and his muscles tearing apart. His vision blurred, his body convulsing, the pain drowning out everything else.
"Don't worry, Harry, the pain will fade with time, and your magic will return to normal," a calm voice said, cutting through his screams. Harry forced his eyes open, gasping, and saw Albus Dumbledore standing in the ruined chateau, his robes pristine despite the wreckage, his face watching with quiet concern. Harry tried to speak, to demand answers, but only grunts and cries escaped, his body still wracked with spasms, every muscle feeling like it was expanding and contracting at once. He didn't know how long he lay there, writhing, but eventually the pain began to ebb, leaving him panting and drenched in sweat, sprawled on the floor, too exhausted to move. "What... was that?" he rasped, his voice barely audible, his eyes locked on Dumbledore.
Dumbledore waved his wand, summoning a simple wooden chair, and sat down, his hands folding in his lap. "That was the consequence of overusing the Philosopher's Stone," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, his eyes softening with pity as he looked at Harry, who still trembled against the floor.
"No need to help me up," Harry muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm. He dragged himself to the wall, leaning against it for support, coughing as a trickle of blood dripped from his mouth, staining his chin. He wiped it away, his breaths shallow, the aftershocks of pain still pulsing through him.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by Harry's ragged breathing as he fought to steady himself. After a minute, Dumbledore spoke, his voice gentle but carrying a hint of amusement. "I must say, Harry, it's good to see you. I'd say alive and well, but I noticed the gravestone outside." He chuckled softly, gesturing toward the garden, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "I am curious how you survived, I was able to trace remnants of the killing curse outside, not even the Philosopher's stone could bring you back from that."
"Limitless..." Harry simply said not revealing anymore. Harry wasn't in the mood for jokes. He glared at Dumbledore, his hands clenching, and said, "You gave me the Philosopher's Stone, linked it to my magic. You knew what would happen, didn't you?" His words were more accusation than question, his voice sharp with betrayal, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, ignoring the ache in his body.
Dumbledore's face grew serious, his hands tightening in his lap, and he nodded. "You're right, Harry. I knew what would happen. I placed a target on your back, and I won't deny it. But that's not even the worst of my actions where you're concerned." His voice was steady, but his eyes held a flicker of regret, meeting Harry's gaze without flinching.
Harry's frown deepened, his anger flaring, and he pushed himself off the wall, his legs unsteady but his voice rising. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, stepping closer, his fists shaking. If he'd had his magic, he might've fired a hex; without it, he was ready to throw a punch, his frustration boiling over at Dumbledore's cryptic words.
Dumbledore sighed, stood from his chair, and said, "Now isn't the time for that conversation, Harry, though I promise we'll have it soon." He raised a hand, his tone calm but firm, trying to steer the discussion away from his secrets.
"Bullshit, old man, you're telling me now!" Harry shouted, lunging forward and grabbing Dumbledore's robes, his fingers digging into the fabric. His voice cracked, his face red with rage, his body trembling from both anger and weakness.
Dumbledore looked down at him, his expression unreadable, and said, "Everything I've done, Harry, has been for the greater good, to teach you lessons you needed and to ensure you didn't become a monster like the man who gave you that scar." He gently pushed Harry back, his wand flicking to summon an armchair that caught Harry as he stumbled, preventing another fall. "We can sit here and argue about my wrongs, or we can focus on Grindelwald and the Delacours." His voice rose, sharp enough to cut through Harry's anger, forcing him to listen.
Harry froze, his breath hitching, and sank into the armchair, his hands gripping the arms. The mention of the Delacours shifted his focus, his guilt and worry for them drowning out his rage. "Where are they?" he asked, his voice low but urgent. "Did Grindelwald keep his word and let them go?" He leaned forward, his eyes searching Dumbledore's face, desperate for answers.
Dumbledore sat back down, shook his head, and said, "I'm afraid not, Harry. Grindelwald didn't release them. Knowing him, he likely kept them as leverage to force France's surrender." His tone was calm, but his eyes darkened, reflecting the weight of the situation.
Harry's fists slammed into the armchair, his voice booming, and he shouted, "I don't give a damn about his reasons! He gave me his word!" He stood, his legs shaking, and paced, his hands raking through his muddy white hair. He'd surrendered the Philosopher's Stone, faced death, all to save them, only for Grindelwald to betray him. "I'm such an idiot," he muttered, his voice breaking as he kicked a piece of debris, sending it skittering across the floor.
Dumbledore leaned forward, his hands clasped, and said, "You're not the first to fall for Grindelwald's charm, Harry. I've been swayed by his words myself, more than once. It's his gift." His voice carried a trace of bitterness, his eyes distant for a moment before refocusing on Harry.
Harry stopped pacing, leaned against the wall, and said, "Where are they? Where's he taken them?" He stepped forward, his boots crunching on broken glass, his voice steady despite the pain still lingering in his body. He moved past Dumbledore, heading for the garden, his mind set on action.
Dumbledore stood, vanished with a soft pop, and reappeared in front of Harry, blocking his path. "Nurmengard Castle," he said, his voice firm. "But what's your plan, Harry? Storm his fortress? Face him again, in this state?" He gestured to Harry's trembling frame, his eyes narrowing, challenging him to think.
Harry shoved past him, his shoulder brushing Dumbledore's robes, and said, "What else can I do? I'm the reason they're there. I can't leave them!" He stepped into the garden, the cold air hitting his face, his boots sinking into the mud as he moved toward the tombstone.
Dumbledore followed, placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and said, "Harry, wait. I have a plan to defeat Grindelwald once and for all, but I need your help." His voice was urgent, his grip firm, stopping Harry in his tracks.
Harry turned, his eyes narrowing, suspicion etched on his face. "You've dodged fighting Grindelwald for years, and now you're ready to jump in? Why now?" He crossed his arms, his voice sharp, his white hair falling into his eyes as he glared at Dumbledore, searching for the truth behind his sudden change.
Dumbledore released his shoulder, stepped back, and said, "Circumstances have shifted, Harry. I need to act sooner than I planned." His voice was calm, but his words were vague, his eyes avoiding Harry's for a moment.
Harry's hands clenched, his voice rising, and he shouted, "What does that mean? Why do you always talk in riddles? Why can't you just tell me straight?" He stepped closer, his frustration spilling over, his chest heaving. "What are you even doing here? How did you know I'd be here?" He gestured to the ruined chateau, his voice cracking, his Six Eyes flickering faintly, though too weak to fully activate.
Dumbledore raised his hands, his voice steady, and said, "I understand your anger, Harry, but now isn't the time for explanations. You'll have your answers soon, I swear, but first, we must end this war." He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto Harry's, his tone earnest, urging him to focus.
Harry breathed heavily, his fists shaking, and forced himself to calm down, his anger simmering but held in check. "Fine," he said, his voice low, his eyes still narrowed. "I'll listen to your plan."
Dumbledore nodded, gestured to the armchair, and said, "Good. Sit, Harry, and let me explain what I need you to do."
(AN: The time is coming for the end, we will have such an epic battle that I may even get a little hard. Ngl I've been thinking about this battle for a log time but tbh I'm concerned I won't do it justice. I'll do my best gang. But yeah battle will be starting next chapter with Good Old Neville sneaking inside. Hope you enjoyed the chapter).
If you like my stuff consider supporting me.
Patreon.com/captainalfie78works