— — — — — —
Deep inside the Albanian forest, a brutal chase was underway.
A long, thin shadow slid rapidly across the forest floor, weaving through dense undergrowth to hide its trail as it fled from the pursuer overhead.
Grindelwald hovered above, stopping and starting as he followed. He wasn't familiar with the terrain, but from the sky he held all the advantage he needed. With the height and his tracking magic, losing the target wasn't a concern.
Even so, he didn't dare strike recklessly. Tom's real target wasn't Voldemort. It was Nagini. If he attacked rashly, Voldemort might choose to use the snake as a shield to buy time.
With the moonlight and the occasional flashbomb Grindelwald tossed down, the fleeing shape became visible: a massive python, and clinging to the tip of its tail was a rat.
Yeah... The rat was Voldemort.
Nagini was a powerful magical creature. Voldemort in his current state couldn't possess her body at all. So weak as he was, he was forced to inhabit a creature with almost no magical resistance—like a rat.
And right now, Voldy the rat was too busy desperately directing Nagini through the forest.
"Damn it."
Where had this flying wizard come from? And why had he come all the way to Albania to hunt him?
A follower of Dumbledore?
Impossible. Dumbledore and his tiresome talk about love and compassion could never produce someone like this. This man was clearly cut from the same cloth as him, a dark wizard.
Boom
Suddenly, a surge of magic exploded from the sky, not aimed at Voldemort or Nagini, but at the patch of land ahead of them. Grindelwald had sharp eyes; he spotted several cave openings in that direction. If Nagini slipped inside, he might lose her.
The ground erupted. Chunks of stone blasted outward, collapsing the messy tunnel entrances beneath layers of debris.
Voldemort nearly snapped his rat's teeth in frustration. He scrambled to think of a new escape route. And that moment of hesitation slowed his command. Nagini, confused by the sudden wall of rubble ahead, instinctively slowed down.
"A perfect chance."
Grindelwald struck like lightning. Vines burst from the soil, growing in a frenzy and twisting together into thick cords that wrapped hard around the python. Voldemort snapped back to awareness and screamed at Nagini to break free, but it was already too late. The vines clung like they had rooted themselves into her scales. A beam of dark light shot from Grindelwald's wand, hitting Nagini with deadly precision.
A sharp, agonized hiss tore through the forest. Nagini convulsed violently, flinging her body with such force that the rat-possessed Voldemort was thrown off her tail.
Grindelwald landed lightly on the forest floor. He watched Nagini thrash, then sighed and cast a spell that put her fully under.
"Rest now, old friend. That was just a necessary measure. Once you recover, you may thank me."
He had grown more sentimental, he realized. More nostalgic. There were few left from his era, and Nagini was one of the rare ones, someone whose willpower he had always respected.
Blood-cursed beings rarely kept their sanity past their twenties. In that way, she was a lot worse than the Greangrass and their inherited curse.
Grindelwald raised a hand. The rat Voldemort had been thrown became rigid midair, frozen in place. A stone on the ground transformed into a cage and snapped closed around it.
A piercing squeal split the silence. Black mist burst out of the rat's body as it shriveled in an instant.
Grindelwald tried to trap the mist, but no matter what spell he used, it slipped through his magic like the two existed in separate dimensions.
"Who are you?" hissed a cold serpent-like voice from within the mist, dripping with murderous intent.
Grindelwald smiled faintly and stopped trying to capture him, hands clasped behind his back as he studied the swirling darkness. "You're truly pathetic if you still have to ask. The entire world has been in an uproar, yet you're so out of touch you don't even know who I am."
"With strength like this, how dare you let people call you the Dark Lord?"
"Who are you?" Voldemort repeated, voice flat but the agitated mist betraying his unrest.
"Gellert Grindelwald," he said.
"You?"
Voldemort instantly understood. Shock and fury tangled in his voice. "Weren't you imprisoned in… Nurmengard? It's been decades. How are you still alive?"
He'd been born in 1926. During his school years, Grindelwald's influence was at its peak. At first Voldemort had even taken Grindelwald as his standard, dreaming of becoming a ruler of the world. But later, he dismissed the man entirely.
The reason was simple: Grindelwald lost to Dumbledore. A loser wasn't worth admiring.
Never in his wildest calculations did he imagine the two of them would meet decades later, and certainly not like this—while Voldemort was reduced to something even less than a wandering spirit.
What enraged him most was how unprovoked all this felt. Whom had he offended? Why was this man going after him like a rabid dog?
"Grindelwald, you and I have never even met. We actually share a common enemy! Why hunt me down? Go bother Dumbledore!"
The words came out as a furious roar from the swirling black mist.
"Dumbledore? I'll deal with him soon enough. But you and I have our own unfinished business." Grindelwald smiled with quiet amusement. As he spoke, he casually stowed the unconscious Nagini away. If Voldemort had a face, it would have twisted with murderous rage.
He wasn't used to having things stolen from him.
"What grudge? We've never even crossed paths!" Voldemort forced his voice into something coldly controlled.
"It's simple. I don't like the title 'Dark Lord' being tossed around."
Grindelwald inspected his nails. "A dark wizard who never even made it beyond Britain calls himself the Dark Lord. Do you really think you deserve that?"
"But the world recognizes you, so there's not much I can say."
He lifted his chin, arrogance sharpening his expression. "Still, from this day forward, I am the first Dark Lord, and you're the second. Since I'm not dead, what gives you the right to inherit my title?"
"So I'm going to kill you."
"Enough!" Voldemort finally snapped. The black mist erupted outward, splitting into multiple streams that shot in every direction at high speed. "I'm the creator of this title. It's pathetic that you couldn't even make one of your own."
"Grindelwald! I will return. And when I do, I'll show you what the real Dark Lord can do!"
His voice faded slower than his escape. Grindelwald watched until the last thread of mist vanished, then his brows drew together.
"That's a strange state... somewhere between life and death. More unusual than a ghost. What I'm seeing might just be a kind of projection, a placeholder. Voldemort's real soul may not even be here."
He began analyzing Voldemort's condition. Magic needed to strike an actual target to work. Every spell he'd just attempted had passed clean through, as if Voldemort didn't exist at all.
The only way to kill him completely would be the long route: destroy the Horcruxes one by one, revive Voldemort, then finish him.
Herpo's invention amazed Grindelwald. Aside from the horrific cost to the soul, Horcruxes were almost a flawless path to immortality. But why, in all of history, had no one truly become immortal through them?
"The curse of immortality..." he murmured, silver hair stirring as he rose into the air. Then he reached out through the study space to contact Tom.
---
Meanwhile in Britain, Regulus's funeral had ended. It was simple and short. Sirius read the eulogy he had written himself, full of tangled emotions he couldn't quite untangle.
There was no mention of Horcruxes. He only said Regulus had stolen something capable of striking a heavy blow against Voldemort, at the cost of his life. He stressed that Regulus hadn't joined the Order of the Phoenix, nor had he been a Ministry spy.
Every act of resistance had been his own choice, with no one behind him. That made it all the more remarkable. Everyone present understood what kind of courage it took for a single person to stand against Voldemort.
When the crowd dispersed, their expressions were heavy. Many had barely remembered Regulus, but now those memories surfaced again, sharp and real.
His actions lived up to the Black family motto: Toujours Pu — Always Pure.
Just then, Tom received Grindelwald's message.
"You found Nagini?"
"Yes. I also tried to detain Voldemort, but failed. Magic couldn't touch him at all."
"Old G, did you try true-name magic? A curse cast through someone's real name."
Grindelwald paused. He actually hadn't. True-name curses required ceremony and a full ritual. There hadn't been time.
Tom added, "In the library, I've collected the Blacks' research on true-name magic. Reading it should help."
"I'll remember." Grindelwald nodded. "What do you want to do about Nagini? She's completely wild now."
Tom thought for a moment. "Tomorrow morning I'll come find you. Just hand her to me."
He had some confidence he could restore her, but not much. He needed to see her condition first.
"Alright. I'll wait for you." Grindelwald waved a hand and headed for the library to read up on true-name spells.
Tom's consciousness withdrew from the study space. Something had caught his attention.
He approached the edge of the flowerbed surrounding Regulus's resting place. When no one was looking, Tom struck like lightning and pinched a beetle between his fingers. He held it up and studied it for two seconds.
"Long time no see, Ms. Skeeter," he said quietly.
.
.
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