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Chapter 85: Words From One Dark Lord To Another.
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 18:48:34 +0000 UTC[P]-[W]-[M]
Washington DC, USA
The White House
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The afternoon sun spilt warm light through the bulletproof, highly reinforced windows of the Oval Office, casting long, bright rectangles over the plush, eagle-embroidered carpet. President George Bush entered briskly with a folder of documents tucked under one arm, while the other hand moved automatically to straighten his tie as he settled into the high-backed chair.
The quiet tick of the mantel clock was the only sound in the room as he opened the folder, pen already poised over the first document to sign. For there was little reading necessary when one was not genuinely trying to make the country, or the world, better for anyone who didn’t have an ounce of magic in them. If only he could fight the strange takeover of his body.
Before he could put pen to paper, the air shimmered as a faint distortion in the space above the chair in front of his desk peeled away like water flowing off glass, revealing a man with silver hair casually sitting there like he owned the place. His dark, finely tailored coat gave him the look of both an aristocrat, but the smirk on his lips and the look in his eye was all anyone would need to know he was a predator.
“In all honesty, it was a good plan,” the intruder said, his voice calm, tinged with amusement. “Well, if only highly simplified and putting your soul in unnecessary danger.” He shook his head in what could only be interpreted as genuine disappointment. “It's a shame there was a literal compass created for the sole purpose of finding your soul shard.”
Shaking himself out of his shock, he barked, “Guards!” His hand darted under the desk, pressing the hidden button meant to silently summon the Secret Service without even realising that was not a word the real president would use in such a situation.
Nothing happened.
Well, nothing aside from a ward erected around the room. Bush narrowed his eyes in frustration at not being given enough time to properly meld with his host. A fully connected one would have allowed for better sensory capability, enabling him to sense and dispose of the fool in front of him after all, saving himself the agony of listening to such babble.
The intruder merely smiled at his reaction, however. “I’ve already taken the liberty of dealing with such an eventuality.” He gestured around as if his words should be evident in the surrounding but Buch couldn’t perceive his meaning. “A nifty little wad. It only activates after a certain level of volume is produced, while only muffling the conversation and ensuring no one can hear what is actually said when people speak normally. We won’t be disturbed.”
Bush’s hand, under Voldemort’s control, slipped into his jacket, palming the polished handle of the recently created wand he had been using to make it this far. Unfortunately, luck would not have things go his way.
With a sharp flick of the intruder’s own wand, it was torn from the president’s grip, spinning harmlessly into the air before landing on the wizard’s hand. Then, conjured rope lashed out, binding Bush tightly to his chair.
“You should know,” the man continued while Voldemort was secretly trying different methods of escape as he fooled him into thinking he was just conversationally letting him speak. “The boy saw through all your plays. All of them. His abilities as a seer are just that great.” He shook his head at Voldemort like he was a child playing a game with someone who had already mastered it. “You truly never stood a chance. You just don't see it.”
Voldemort, however, knew the man’s overconfidence meant nothing, for the moment he got close enough, his body would have to replace the Muggle leader as his host.
The man once again shook his head as he stepped forward. As he moved, Voldemort searched his form, looking for any sign of a family House, hoping for something that would make the psychological warfare he would be partaking in for his body easier.
But he found nothing. Only a triangular pin on the breast of his jacket. A shape linked to a family he was familiar with, including the House that reached boy-who-got-lucky. But the man was too old to be the boy’s father, and there was no immediate family to either himself, who also descended from that family, or the boy.
With a frown, he asked. “Why do you wear that symbol?”
Following his gaze, the wizard raised a brow, pointing at it with a prideful smile on his aged face. “Oh, this?” He seemed to puff his chest a little. “Well, I am employed by the Master of Death, of course. It makes perfect sense to wear his symbol.” He brought a hand to his chin as he gave his answer some thought. “Well, I could have used his House symbol, but where is the fun in that, eh?”
Voldemort's eyes widened in shock for a moment as the wizard nonchalantly shrugged, not sure if the man was either insane enough to believe some fairytales or if he was like him. Knowledgeable enough to know that some fairytales have a flicker of truth to them.
“You expect me to believe the fairytale is real?” Voldemort asked, seeking to glean some more information from him. “Many have searched for the three trinkets, and none were found. You expect me to believe that someone found it and didn’t scream about their accomplishment?”
The wizard blinked a few times, taking in his words, before tilting his head. “Well,” he looked off through the window as if remembering his time with the so-called Master of Death. “He is a little odd. But even still, when I had the Elder Wand, I didn’t go around ‘screaming’ of my accomplishment, now did I?”
Voldemort snorted, dismissing the claim instantly. “You expect me to believe you had the Elder Wand?” He shook his head derisively. “You would need to be dead for your… master to wield it.”
“Hahaha,” the wizard laughed. “I wish I had lost it to the boy, it would have made for an even better story when he started making the world better.” He shook his head. “No, I lost it to your old head master, Albus Dumbledore.”
With a frown of confusion, Voldemort’s Occlumency failed him as he unconsciously asked. “...What?”
Perking up with a look of embarrassment, placed a hand over his heart in a way that suggested high birth. “Ah, my sincerest apologies. Allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed, showing a flexibility that betrayed his physically perceived age. “I am Lord Gellert Grindlewald, former Dark Lord. There are a bunch of more titles in there some where but I didn’t bother remembering them.”
Yet again, Voldemort's Occlumency failed him. “... What?” Fortunately, he blinked away his confusion quickly enough not to make a fool of himself. “If a former Dark Lord escaped a highly secure prison, everyone would know—”
He paused, realising that the secret Dark Lord who had been making a mockery of his plans to expose the magical world must have been him. Through narrowed eyes, he took in the features of the so-called Dark Lord, which seemed to match the information his older self was able to provide.
As the seconds passed with his continual effort, the difficulty in shifting his soul to the man’s body only seemed to confirm the man’s words, which only seemed to frustrate Voldemort all the more.
In his left hand, the wizard who might genuinely be the failed Dark Lord produced a small, enchanted compass with its needle quivering and pointing unerringly toward the bound Muggle leader, making him smirk as his amused eyes locked onto red ones burning with hatred.
Reaching into the president’s suit pocket, Grindelwald withdrew an old, leather-bound, battered diary pulsing with a dark, malignant presence. Opening it to read the name on the first page, he looked at the bound and in front of him with a deadpan expression. “...You really wrote your name on the first page.” He snorted. “Must have really thought no one would realise you’re the so-called Voldemort. As if no one had the ability to go back in time, or maybe Dumbledore wouldn’t tell his little secret club?”
The former Dark Lord slipped the diary into a black, rune-etched pouch that seemed to further weaken his connection to his host, making a potential transfer into Grindlewald even more difficult.
Trying to buy time to wrestle control of the sound ward, Voldemort asked, “Then, who is this new Master of Death you serve? He must be a powerful mage to have found me here, seer or not.”
“Oh, he is,” Grindelwald said with a patient smile. “I’ve even been made privy to some plans and even sparred with him, and I can confirm that, even with the Elder Wand, he will be dealing with the real you rather easily. He has already done so once in the past, after all.” Seeing the look of confusion on the resident’s face, Grindelwald gave him a mocking smile. “I do believe you know by the name and title, Lord Johnnathan Grey.”
“That boy is a fraud!” Riddle instantly shot back with a growl, snarling at the thought of being bested by a child of all things… for the second time in one lifetime. “Just because he had an Unspeakable’s help and was lucky enough to deal with a version of me who was at my weakest, he thinks he has achieved greatness! I am the greatest Dark Lord to ever live! He could only win through deception and trickery!!”
As much as Grindlewald wanted to prove just how wrong he was, especially considering he himself was more of a global threat than the serpent possessing a muggle in front of him, he just settled for looking at him like an idiot.
“That’s what your other self told you?” He asked rhetorically before shaking his head. “Well I guess that’s to be expected. But no, that’s not what happened. If it was, you would have probably seen a memory of the events to prevent it happening again while you completed your task, don’t you think.”
“…Lies,” Voldemort hissed his denial half heartedly, but the expression on his host’s face indicated he realised there must have been something off. His other self had, in fact, shown him the events of what happened that night while trying to find how the baby achieved the feat. Unfortunately, the rituals they spent so long completing showed nothing.
“Ah, now you’re getting it,” Grindelwald nodded solemnly. “Coming to terms with a loss can be hard. Trust me, I would know. BUt I can guarantee, the unspeakables had nothing to do with the older self's loss. He even went out of his way to teach me how to encase a soul in a bottle, so I can get proof he did it himself right now. Unfortunately, my practice comes at the cost of your freedom.”
Making one last-ditch effort to meticulously shift the wards and finding no chink in its form with his current access to magic, Voldemort tried to force his way into Grindlewald’s mind, only to be casually batted away.
“Nice try, child,” Grindelwald remarked condescendingly. “If it helps, and I know it doesn’t, possessing a world leader this way was a decent plan. It would have worked, too. The wards around buildings like these to prevent Wizards from causing trouble had nothing to deal with Horcruxes. The only reason I didn’t partake myself, even while being exceptional with rituals, was the potential for mental and spiritual degradation."
Voldemort could only snarl as the metaphorical walls started to close around him, but the old man standing in front of him cared not for his thoughts as he continued. “You should know, the boy revived the girl you sacrificed to create your other Horcrux and wanted you to know that.”
Bush’s eyes, or rather, the flicker of Riddle within them, burned with anger, but the ropes held firm when he tried to attack the man physically.
Grindelwald slowly pointed his wand at the pouch as he spoke.“He might not want to give up his life to deal with everyone’s problems, even as he travels the world like he’s only sightseeing, but he’s doing just fine getting people like me to do it for him while travels. He saw all your plans, all the moves you would make, and ordered me accordingly.” He raised a brow. “Why do you think you haven’t heard from Lucious in so long?”
Voldemort clenched his jaw in bitterness, snarling at the fossil. “I will escape again! And you will rue the day you crossed my path, fool!”
Before finally cutting off the little connection Riddle had with the sharply dressed Muggle, Grindelwald added. “Honestly, in regard to all-out war. I would much rather face Dumbledore. Unfortunately, unlike me, you were not smart enough to join the dragon boy. But don’t worry your little serpentine head, you’ll be having the rest of your soul joining you in hell soon enough.”
Activating the magic, the red in the president’s eyes went from red to its natural blue. With a casual flick of his wrist, Bush’s eyes briefly glimmered as the memory charm washed over him, stripping away the knowledge of Riddle’s meddlings, which Grindelwald noticed were purposefully charmed to remain in his head in the event of a body switch.
Shaking his head at the spiteful revenge plan, Grindelwald undid the bindings of the now dozing president with a final glance before vanishing with an almost silent crack, leaving the office without another word. As soon as he left, the Wards in place to prevent such an action, along with the wards preventing people outside the room from seeing and hearing what was happening inside, were reinstated.
Moments later, Bush stirred in his chair, blinking and glancing at the folder in front of him. With no recollection of what had happened, he adjusted his tie, shook off his confusion and took up his pen before resuming his work, as if nothing had interrupted his day. He would later be asked about some of the decisions he had made in recent weeks and have no answers ready, aside from well-practised answers any good politician would prepare beforehand.
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Little Tree - Grey Bank
Johnathan Grey
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The applause from my speech still seemed to linger in the hall like an echo. My display of the new Vampire and Werewolf rings sparked a fresh wave of murmurs and approving nods across the assembled dignitaries, even if some of them were hiding their true feelings of the development.
There would be little argument, though. At least publicly. And if there were, the peer pressure of turning down such enchanted items from the kid who healed their people, especially when they were so valuable, would be terrible publicity.
I stood at the centre of it all, shaking the hand of yet another smiling politician, a stocky wizard with a carefully combed beard and a gleaming pin on his lapel that marked his nation. It was enchanted, too, providing whoever was on the other side with camera-style footage of the event. Many, if not all, of the politically inclined attendees had similar ones, which had me wondering why they weren't used like body-cams for Aurors.
“We will be looking forward to seeing a branch established in our country soon, Lord Grey,” the man said warmly. I didn’t get his name because he rushed through his introduction, trying to beat the others to talking to me.
Regardless, I gave him a cordial nod of reassurance. “The dwarves begin expansion across the world as of tomorrow, when the wider public is able to use the Bank too. I trust you’ll find their pace… efficient.”
His eyes gleamed with interest, along with the other politicians gathered around me to listen in. His mouth opened to ask another question, but before the words could form, a tall, broad-shouldered figure slipped through the crowd in the uniform of the Bank’s mid-level clerks. Naturally, I could sense it was Grindelwald, back in his disguise.
The disguised man inclined his head respectfully. “The task is complete, my Lord.”
From his coat, he withdrew the rune-etched pouch Nicolas made for Riddle’s diary, offering it to me. I accepted it with a nod, ignoring the looks everyone was giving me as I slipped the pouch into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“Well done,” I murmured. “You can retrieve the funds, sort them into the relevant accounts and deal with our other problem.”
Grindelwald’s disguised features bent into the faintest smile as he gave a short bow. “Yes, sir.”
With that, he melted back into the crowd, leaving the attendees to think on which gust was getting special treatment, not knowing that Lucius Malfoy would be having all his accounts drained today courtesy of copious use of the [Invisibility Cloak].
Right before eliminating the man, permanently.
The sheer amount of fuckery he had been up to, even before joining Mouldyshorts, could not be allowed to pass on to the youth, nor given to Aurors just to be allowed freedom in his trial.
In the past few weeks, I had been consistently using [Force Precognition] to look far into the future to stop all their plans through Grindelwald and his contacts. The man was efficient as a motherfucker. The only drawback I could see was that the further I looked ahead, the less reliable it would be. People could always make different decisions, after all.
Fortunately, Grindelwald had enough men to cover any ‘seer’ discrepancies regardless.
The politician beside me cleared his throat, attempting to reassert his place in my attention. But the effort was wasted, for Sirius’ loud, boisterous voice cut across the room. “Oi, Lord Grey! Over here!”
I appreciated the use of my title in public. It was a nice, thoughtful touch that did not go unnoticed.
He was waving me over with the ease of a man greeting an old friend, though, with Harry and Remus standing at his side, both dressed in sharp tuxedos. Harry looked slightly uncomfortable with the opulence of the evening, though Remus carried it with quiet composure. The werewolf looked like a new man, with well-groomed hair and looking significantly less shaggy than usual, even puffing his chest out a little if one was perceptive enough to notice.
I gave the politician an apologetic smile as I inclined my head. “I’ll have to cut this short, Minister. My people will be in touch shortly.”
And with that, I turned away and made my way to the grim, stag and wolf trio. Across the ballroom, I noticed Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes following every movement, resting her hand lightly on Draco’s arm. Her son’s jaw was set as his eyes narrowed, and I could feel a mix of envy and determination rolling off him in the Force as he watched me clasp Sirius’s hand in greeting.
Yeah, I saw them coming too, along with the letter she wrote to Sirius.
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“Voldemort is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”
— Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, during the Chamber of Secrets.
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Hello There
Future sight is and will always be one of the biggest cheat codes in fiction. Provided it’s accurate. Right there next to biological manipulation, magic and reality warping.
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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character and ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.
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Thank you for reading.
As always, stay awesome.
Until next time, Light's out.
Comments
Tryfonopoulos George Raphael
*wink* that was the hand of God (author) coming in clutch to save the character's moral standing from careening from a teteering gray to pitch black *wink* I saw nothing
LothWolf
I also agree that Future sight is one of the biggest cheat codes in fiction. Provided it’s accurate alongside magic and reality warping.
