229 Chapter 229: The Old Guard
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30 June 1994, London, England
Arcturus Black sat in a small café in London while waiting for his ward to arrive from school. Though only in his mid-seventies, the Black Patriarch looked much older than a wizard of his years should. It was probably the stress and losing his wife that slowly drained the life out of him. Or it might have been the Great War. Grindelwald's followers knew a lot of obscure curses and Arcturus was hit by a fair few in his younger days.
After the events of the third task, he couldn't help but remember the horrors of the war. The Great War, not the guerrilla war that the Riddle boy started.
Still, Arcturus couldn't help but feel nervous as he pondered the fate of magical Britain. For the first time in decades, the entire political scene was as unpredictable as the waves of a storm. Dumbledore's presence was so entrenched in every aspect of the nation, that his disappearance left a giant hole that shook the entire landscape.
Even now, hundreds of wizards and witches, tried to take advantage of the opportunity this provided, and everything was just so chaotic. The economy got hit heavily, the efforts of Fudge in the last decades being chipped away bit by bit. Alchemical substances started to rise dramatically in prices since Dumbledore, their main seller, stopped making them.
Even the Wizengamot wasn't spared. The Progressive faction looked more like a herd of sheep than an organized political party. With the Longbottom Matriarch choosing to focus on her grandson, there was no political leader who had the influence and magical power to back up his claim.
Oddly enough, Nott decided to stay his hand and stopped the members of the traditionalist faction from doing anything drastic, allowing for a very fragile balance of power to form. He never expected it from the man. The man was a prime opportunist, gathering as much blackmail as possible, on even children, using it even decades later when he would need a favour. He didn't lead the faction out of power, but through the sheer fact that he had terrorized the rest of the faction with just a few letters.
It was only Lucius Malfoy's guile and gold that had stopped the man from actively gaining control. In his younger days, Arcturus had employed Cassiopeia Black, his sister, to act as the man's counterpart for their family. Nott had stayed clear of Arcturus after a few bouts with her, allowing him to fortify his control over the traditionalist faction.
Arcturus started to cough once more before taking a deep breath steeling his expression. He loathed looking weak after all. He distracted himself by trying to imagine possible scenarios after Dumbledore's outing.
Seeing Grindelwald must have frazzled the former headmaster. According to Fudge, Dumbledore had started spouting about Grindelwald being back just a few hours after he was questioned by the DMLE. The minister, of course, dismissed the whole thing as nonsense, and then promptly did his best to destroy any political influence Dumbledore had left. It was a rash reaction from a terrified man. Not that Arcturus blamed him, the sheer idea that Grindelwald was back was terrifying beyond measure.
People didn't want to say Voldemort's name. However, people just refused to think about Grindelwald. The Dark Lord had killed millions and razed multiple cities to the ground with just a few waves of his wand that the muggles had thought they were destroyed by a series of artillery strikes.
Gellert Grindelwald was akin to a Grim Reaper. Terrifying. Powerful. Unstoppable.
And the worst thing was that the man was charismatic. He could make speeches that moved the hearts of many. He'd make it sound so reasonable, say that the deaths in his war were necessary for the greater good.
Arcturus couldn't help but snort at that. The greater good? What a fucking joke. This single sentence had killed more people than any weapon in history.
That was the main issue with magical wars. They weren't waged with resources in mind. Wars could be waged for certain artefacts and perhaps a few secrets, but magical wars tended to be more ideological in nature. And what better way to gain followers than to say that they were fighting for the good of the magical world…
And now, the Champion of Light was unaccounted for, and the Champion of Dark was in the wind. Two of the strongest mages since the fall of Camelot could be doing whatever they wanted.
It was probably Grindelwald's plan… He forced magical Britain to decry Dumbledore at once. He did it in a single masterful stroke, striking when the steel was hot. If the ministry and the school Board hadn't removed Dumbledore, the public would have been enraged at the injustice, saying that the man had special privileges.
They didn't know what Dumbledore was truly capable of and yet they pushed him in a corner. Fudge didn't care, being focused on the Quidditch World Cup to revitalise the country's failing economy. To be fair, he was doing a good job at promoting the event. He was able to retain most of the sponsors, including Nimbus, which ensured that everything would run as smoothly as possible.
Honestly, the man was overwhelmed by Barty Crouch's sudden death. The Crouch Patriarch must have been traumatised by what happened to his career after Voldemort's demise, because he did his best to keep the Department of International Magical Cooperation like a one-man army, without any plans for replacements in sight. The whole department was collapsing without him, putting a lot of pressure on Fudge. There was even talk of the European tournament being held in another country. There haven't been any official statements, but Arcturus had enough people on the inside to realize that they didn't feel hopeful about their chances.
Still, Arcturus couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret at the man's death. Oh, he hated the man with a passion, but he had died at the hands of Arcturus' grandson. Sirius' last victim. If he had to put his feelings into words, he could have filled an entire library.
Even knowing what Sirius had done, how many people he had slaughtered in their sleep, he had felt a faint feeling of relief at his grandson's survival. There was some pride at the fact that it was a Black that survived the fire of Godric's Hollows, but it was overwhelmed at the feeling of shame at failing the boy utterly. He didn't know what he would have done if he had met Sirius face to face, however, he felt slightly disappointed at the fact that he never had the opportunity to talk some sense into the boy.
He couldn't anymore; young Harry had killed him. As much as a part of him wanted to blame Harry, Arcturus knew for a fact that he would have done the same in his position. He had once found himself surrounded in enemy territory while both physically and magically exhausted. He had left no survivors then because he simply couldn't afford to. Harry had even given him a memory of the affair as justification, knowing that Arcturus would have judged him despite himself.
After he experienced the memory of an old Pensieve that one of his ancestors stole centuries ago, he concluded that Sirius was too far gone, trying to kill Harry without any hesitation. The boy had done the best he could have under the circumstances and Arcturus couldn't blame him for how things had ended.
The Black Patriarch chased away the thoughts of his recently dead grandson, and a distraction had come easily in the form of an elderly man sitting in front of him, who spoke up with a heavy French accent, "So, why the long face?"
Arcturus snorted in amusement, "Let's just say that I have a lot on my mind. It's been a while Charles…"
"You too, Arcturus. Last I heard you were drinking yourself into an early grave after Melania died."
The Black Patriarch flinched, and his eyebrows furrowed in barely concealed fury, "De Galard!"
The French man seemed amused more than anything, "You're a lot more sensitive than before, Black. You would have gotten back at me with another comment back in the day."
"I can still hold my own. Just don't bring up Melania."
"Fine. So, why did you call me here? We haven't spoken in decades."
Arcturus raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? You have no idea why I wanted to talk to you."
"Well, I think the whole mess with Dumbledore has something to do with it. I have to say, you British mages must either have balls of steel or the intelligence of a goldfish because there's no way in hell, I would dare antagonize Dumbledore like this. You remember what it was like seeing him fight seriously?"
"It wasn't exactly my idea," the Black Patriarch commented back, "but yes, the Light Champion now has escaped what little control Magical Britain had over him. And while it's bad, there are a lot worse things…"
"Like what?" Charles exclaimed while exasperated, "You don't need to sound all mysterious, Black."
"I have credible sources saying that Grindelwald is back."
That single statement seemed to knock the wind out of the French wizard. Very few people had survived seeing Gellert Grindelwald in his full might. Charles De Galard was one of them, and so was Arcturus Black. He cut through wizards like a farmer cut through wheat. They just didn't register. The Dark Lord wiped out battalions in seconds, had burned villages to the ground.
And when he faced Dumbledore in battle, no one had dared interfere. Whoever did was dead before they even tried to cast their first spell.
The Frenchman still remembered from the haunted look on his face, "Are you sure about this?"
"I have a memory of someone fighting him. He wasn't serious, but his mannerisms, and his fighting prowess, were all the same. He was the one who planned Dumbledore's downfall, and he executed it perfectly. Even now, people still think it was some kind of impostor that wanted to mess with Dumbledore."
"What about Nurmengard?"
The Black Patriarch shrugged, "He probably left a replacement or something like that. It's not out of the realm of possibility for someone of Grindelwald's calibre. You do remember what he's done to Johnson, right?"
Charles gulped and Arcturus didn't blame him. Steve Johnson was an American wizard in his battalion during the Great War. Once, during a battle that Grindelwald himself fought in, the man had conjured a hellish scream that disoriented anyone, allowing him to disappear without a trace. They had been prepared to die, as many did, yet for some reason, the Dark Lord retreated.
They had cheered in both relief and pride at the fact. It wasn't until they returned back to base, a few weeks later that whatever trap Grindelwald had laid had sprung. Dozens of strategically placed soldiers had been taken over, like some kind of subconscious compulsion charm, and killed everyone on sight. A good part of the leadership had died that night, and Arcturus himself ended up fighting a turned Johnson, killing him just before he used Fiendfyre in a warded area.
Even now, Arcturus had no idea how Grindelwald had done it. There were screenings and safe words at many checkpoints, as well as Mind Healers that verified identities and recognized any mental tampering.
Charles gulped, "This explains a lot. I would be worried too if I was in Dumbledore's place. I'm assuming he called back his followers and started recruiting again…"
"Yes. The Vampires will clearly join Grindelwald, but I don't know about the rest. I think the Goblins are going to have to be involved in some way. They could barely stay neutral in the last time."
"Now that I think about it, there has been a large migration of Werewolves towards Britain. Did Dumbledore offer them something?"
Arcturus thought back at it, "Not that I know of. Outside of Greyback's execution, I haven't heard much from them. Now that I'm thinking about it, I haven't heard from my sources about them for a while…"
"Even if it's Dumbledore, it doesn't change that a war is coming…"
"That's why I called you here. We need to make sure that there is more than simply ash after the conflict. So far, we still have time since neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald seem ready to make any overt moves. We need to be ready. I think it's time to bring the old band back together."
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Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.
