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HP487- War
🕑 Added 2025-08-19 21:33:27 +0000 UTCNicholas pushed open the door to the Headmaster’s office without knocking. The place smelled of candle wax and ink, the shelves lined with books no one had touched in years. Fawkes, perched nearby, bowed his head the moment Nicholas stepped inside. The phoenix dipped low, wings twitching as if acknowledging something more than just a visitor.
Nicholas’s grin flickered as he crossed the room. “Tell Dumby to come out, Grindelwald.”
Behind the desk, Dumbledore rose slowly. For a moment he wore the usual mild expression of the Headmaster, but it slipped away in a blink. His voice was quieter, stripped of the genial act. “Yes, Master.” Then, after the smallest pause, his tone shifted again, warmer. “Welcome, Master.”
Nicholas shook his head. “You failed. Not only that, you squandered your one chance at ascension. Do you even grasp the weight of what you’ve lost?”
The old man sank back into his chair. The force was gone from him, leaving nothing but the shell of a man who had carried two names too long. “Yes, Master. I never imagined Harry would grow so far, so quickly.”
Nicholas leaned against the desk, hands resting on the polished wood. “That was your mistake. You saw a pawn, not the player. I told you, pawns that reach the far side stop being pawns.”
Dumbledore’s eyes flicked down, tired. “I thought him manageable.”
“You thought him small,” Nicholas corrected. “He was never small. Even as a child, he carried too many threads in him. Destiny, blood, prophecy, pick whichever word you like. You should have known better.”
The silence stretched. Fawkes gave a soft trill, breaking it, but the bird didn’t lift its head again.
Nicholas straightened and began to walk slowly around the office, eyes brushing over the shelves, the clutter of trinkets, the great golden contraptions still ticking faintly despite their owner’s neglect. “You built this place into a stage for yourself, Albus. The robes, the sweets, the little eccentricities. All so the world would never notice the men behind it.” He chuckled. “It almost worked. Almost.”
Dumbledore’s hand gripped the arm of his chair, knuckles white. “I failed your expectations, Master.”
Nicholas, standing near the shelves, waved the words away. “No matter. Even I hadn’t thought he’d grow this quickly. Still…”
Dumbledore lifted his head. “How can he grow to this degree? It shouldn’t be possible.”
Nicholas walked to the tall window, watching the grounds below. “He is a chosen.”
The word landed heavily. Dumbledore froze. His pupils widened until the blue was almost vanishing. Then, as if stirred by the truth itself, his other half stirred too. Grindelwald’s face edged through the skin, half the mouth twisting, one side sharp where the other sagged with age. Two halves staring with different fires.
“How is it possible, Master?” Grindelwald’s half asked. “Is it Time?”
Nicholas shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Not Time. Magic.”
“Magic?” The two halves spoke together. Both sides frowned, in disbelief. Time’s Champion they could understand. Time unmoored itself, wandered freely, made a game of centuries. But Magic? That was something Nicholas had always called a tool, never a will.
Dumbledore’s hand twitched against the armrest. Grindelwald’s half sneered faintly. “You always said it was weak. Something to bind, to harvest, never something alive.”
Nicholas smiled thinly. “And I was not wrong. Magic is weak. It bends under rule, it yields to anyone with the wit to cage it. But weakness does not mean silence. Even a beaten hound can still bite. The boy is proof.”
The old man’s face twitched as one side finally spoke.
“Have you known, Master?”
The other followed without pause. “You took him in as your pupil.”
Nicholas stood easy by the window, hands folded behind his back, watching the dark sky over the grounds. He didn’t rush his reply. “I had suspicions, yes. But not proof. He carried too much of Fate about him, and it would have been foolish to press too soon. By the time I was certain, he had already bound himself too deeply to the artefact. Any push after that was wasted effort.”
Nicholas turned from the window, “Be ready. War is coming. And I think Time's Champion has already shown him the future. The boy knows more than he should.”
Dumbledore rose at once, shoulders drawn back. “Yes, Master.”
Nicholas studied him for a moment longer. Once, this man had been sharp, dangerous, clever enough to fool half the world. Now he looked worn, stretched too thin by years of games played with too many masks. Nicholas almost pitied him. Almost.
---
Harry stood at the front of the room, his friends spread out on the couches and chairs around him. Some were sipping tea, others sprawled comfortably, but every eye turned his way when he cleared his throat.
“Time’s getting close,” he said plainly. “We can’t pretend this fight won’t come. No running from it now.”
Tracey, curled sideways on a chair with her feet dangling over the arm, tilted her head. “Cheerful way to start a meeting.”
Harry smirked. “If you want cheering up, I could sing. Not sure anyone deserves that punishment.”
“Spare us,” Daphne said, though the corner of her mouth pulled upward.
The twins, sat side by side with plates of shortbread on their laps, spoke together.
“Depends,” Fred said.
“On whether you can carry a tune,” George finished.
“Better than you two,” Harry shot back, and they raised their biscuits in mock salute.
Hermione leaned forward, elbows on her knees, the seriousness in her eyes breaking the levity. “We all knew it was coming. The question is how ready we are.”
“We’re ready,” Susan answered before Harry could, setting her empty cup down. “We’ve been drilling for months. None of us are walking in blind.”
Hannah, seated close beside her, nodded. “And if anyone tries to call us children again, they’ll be flat on their backs before they finish the word.”
That earned a small laugh around the room.
Luna, sitting cross-legged on the floor, said, “Battles are like thunderstorms. Loud, messy, sometimes someone loses a tree. Best thing is to not be the tree.”
Pansy arched a brow. “That’s your grand advice? Don’t be the tree?”
Luna gave her a smile.
Neville, perched on the arm of a sofa with Fleur tucked neatly at his side, cut in before Pansy could reply. “We’ll have more than thunder to deal with. Enemy won’t play nice.”
“Neither will we,” Harry said easily. “No one here’s naïve enough to think this ends with wand flicks and polite duels.” He glanced at Astoria, who sat close to her sister, still looking a bit pale after the last ritual the night before. “Which is why I wanted to be sure she’s stable before dragging everyone into this.”
Astoria lifted her chin. “I’m fine. Stop fussing.”
“Wasn’t fussing,” Harry said, grin tugging at his lips. “Just making sure you don’t keel over halfway through and ruin my carefully rehearsed dramatic speeches. I’ve been rehearsing, you know.”
“Speeches?” Blaise asked, stretched comfortably with Su Li tucked under his arm. “I thought we agreed you’re not allowed those. Too much ego in the room already.”
“Coming from you?” Megan Jones laughed, leaning against Theo Nott.
Draco snorted from across the room, one arm around Lavender. “If Potter wants to give a speech, let him. Better than listening to Blaise brag about his hair again.”
“Jealousy’s a curse, Malfoy,” Blaise shot back without heat.
“Enough,” Daphne said smoothly, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “Harry, keep going. What’s the plan?”
“Simple. We don’t have one.”
