Harry Potter and the Silent Guardian

In the dimly lit chamber of a Manor of one of his Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort sat upon his ornate throne-like chair, his pale fingers steepled beneath his chin. Shadows danced across the walls, cast by flickering candles that provided the only illumination. Before him stood a group of new Death Eaters—cousins, siblings, and lesser relatives of his fallen followers.

These newcomers lacked the seasoned experience of his previous inner circle, but their eagerness to prove themselves made them valuable assets. Their eyes reflected a mix of fear and ambition as they looked up to their Lord.

Edwin Travers, cousin to the late Death Eater of the same surname, stepped forward. His voice quavered slightly as he delivered his report. "My Lord, the Minister continues to deny your return. Cornelius Fudge has grown increasingly hostile toward Dumbledore's warnings, dismissing them as fear-mongering."

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, allowing Travers to continue.

"We've managed to position ourselves as close confidants to Fudge," added Reginald Yaxley, nephew of the deceased Death Eater. "He believes we support his stance against Dumbledore. We're feeding him information that reinforces his disbelief in your return."

A thin smile curved Voldemort's lips. "Excellent. The more complacent he becomes, the less prepared the Ministry will be when we are ready to strike."

The reports continued, detailing small victories within the Ministry—subtle policy manipulations, rumors undermining Dumbledore's credibility, and misinformation designed to sow confusion among the ranks. While none of these actions were monumental alone, together they wove a complex web of influence that slowly tightened around the wizarding government.

Voldemort's gaze swept over the assembled group. "Have all the families of our fallen comrades pledged their support?"

Duncan Macnair, a burly man with a stern expression whom Harry would have recognized from the Dueling Tournament, stepped forward. "Most of them, my Lord. Many seek vengeance against the one who killed their kin."

"Good," Voldemort replied, his voice a cold whisper. "And they will have their vengeance. Once Greyback finds any news about the wizard, I will capture him, and he will wish he had never crossed us." Voldemort's red eyes glinted with malice as he continued, "Are there any families bold enough to show reluctance in following me?"

Macnair hesitated before answering. "The Malfoys, my Lord. Lady Narcissa Malfoy is adamant about keeping her son away from our cause. Young Draco Malfoy shares her sentiments—he's fearful and unwilling to join us."

Voldemort's expression darkened, his eyes flashing with irritation. "They dare defy me?" He tapped his long, pale fingers against the armrest of his chair. "Narcissa believes she can escape retribution because of her maternal family's influence. She wagers that I won't move against the House of Black while my return remains hidden."

He paused, contemplating. "And she's correct—for now. Without sufficient preparation, a direct confrontation with Arcturus Black, Sirius Black, or Hadrian Potter would be... unwise. It could expose my plans prematurely. But Narcissa is foolish to think this situation will last indefinitely. When the time is right, she will learn the price of defiance."

"Shall I send someone to... persuade them, my Lord?" Macnair asked cautiously.

Voldemort shook his head. "No. The Malfoys have lost much of their wealth and influence since Lucius's downfall. They're of little consequence at the moment. Risking our strategy for petty vengeance is not worth it."

"As you wish, my Lord," Macnair replied, bowing slightly before stepping back into line. 

An eerie silence settled over the chamber. The new Death Eaters stood motionless, awaiting further instruction. Many of them had heard tales of Voldemort's wrath, yet tonight he seemed more calculating, less impulsive than the legends suggested.

Many people including the fallen death eaters would have been surprised by this version of Voldemort. He seemed less crazed, more patient with his followers. For the new recruits, it was a relief. There was no yelling, no torture, no unnecessary cruelty. It felt like Voldemort was thinking clearly for the first time in years.

A knock at the heavy wooden door interrupted the silence that had settled over the chamber. Voldemort's gaze snapped toward the sound. "Enter," he commanded.

The door creaked open, and a junior Death Eater hurried in, his eyes downcast. "My Lord, the delegation of dark wizards from Europe has arrived."

Voldemort's interest piqued. "Show them in."

The young man bowed hastily and retreated. Moments later, an elderly wizard entered the chamber. He was tall and thin, with a mane of silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Despite his age, his posture was regal, and his eyes held a sharp intelligence. He was followed by two other, cloaked figures who remained a step behind him.

The elderly wizard bowed deeply. "Lord Voldemort, we thank you for granting us this audience."

Voldemort's gaze was piercing. "One of my followers mentioned that you are willing to support my cause."

"Indeed," the man replied. "We believe our interests may align."

"Is that so? You claim to offer loyalty to my cause," Voldemort said, his tone measured. "What is it you seek in return?"

The old wizard's eyes met Voldemort's without flinching. "Our Lord," he said plainly. "We request your assistance in locating and freeing him from his imprisonment. In return, we offer our unwavering support."

A faint sneer appeared on Voldemort's lips. "You propose that I help you liberate your Lord, and in exchange, you pledge loyalty to me? Forgive me if I question the sincerity of such an arrangement."

The man remained composed. "We understand your skepticism. However, our Lord is a powerful wizard in his own right. If you can convince him to join forces, his allegiance—and ours—would greatly strengthen your position."

"And who is this powerful Lord of yours?" Voldemort inquired, curiosity flickering in his crimson eyes.

The elderly wizard hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "The Dark Lord Grindelwald."

A silence fell over the room, heavy and charged. The name hung in the air like a dark omen. Voldemort's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable.

"Grindelwald," he repeated softly. "Common knowledge holds that he was defeated and is dead. How do you know he is still alive?"

"We have our ways," the man replied cryptically. "We are his loyal followers, and we have means of knowing. He is alive but imprisoned somewhere."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. A cold smile spread across his lips. "It seems the old fool Dumbledore hands out the same second chances at redemption to Dark Lords as he does to lesser wizards. How quaint."

He chuckled softly before continuing. "So, you wish me to free Grindelwald, and in return, you and your associates will aid me. Tell me, why should I risk freeing a rival Dark Lord? One who, by all accounts, sought his own dominion over the wizarding world?"

The old wizard's gaze was steady. "Our Lord's ambitions were... misunderstood. He desired a world where magical folk could live openly, without fear of persecution—a vision not entirely dissimilar to your own."

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Our goals may overlap, but our methods and endgames differ."

"Perhaps," the man conceded gracefully. "But consider this: freeing him would throw the world into chaos, especially for those who believe he's gone for good. It would also discredit Dumbledore, who has publicly declared my lord's demise. The confusion would shift focus away from your plans, giving you the freedom to act without interference."

Voldemort regarded him thoughtfully. The proposal had merit. "I am not convinced. You offer me the support of aged wizards, long past their prime. What value does that hold for me?"

The old wizard's eyes glinted shrewdly. "While we may not stand on the front lines and fight, we possess resources that are invaluable. We have extensive contacts within European Ministries of Magic, considerable wealth, and established connections with various magical communities—including several major vampire covens. We can fund your endeavors, facilitate international recruitment, and open doors that have long been closed to British wizards."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "We can also provide influence within the British Wizengamot and aid in swaying decisions in your favor. With our support, we could remove Dumbledore from his positions of power and replace his influence with yours."

Voldemort considered this carefully, weighing the potential benefits against the risks. The idea of expanding his influence beyond Britain's borders was undeniably appealing. With their resources, his plans could accelerate significantly. Undermining Dumbledore's authority was an added incentive.

"Your offer is intriguing," Voldemort admitted. "But tell me, why not free Grindelwald yourselves? Surely you, as his devout followers, would be eager to rescue him."

"We have tried," the man confessed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "But our actions are closely monitored by various ministries. Any overt move we make could alert authorities to our intentions and jeopardize everything. But you, Lord Voldemort—you possess the power and the knowledge to succeed where we have failed."

Voldemort's eyes flashed with ambition. "Perhaps. But how do I know you won't turn on me once your Lord is free?"

The old wizard shook his head. "We can begin aiding you immediately. We can work to undermine Dumbledore, help you gain supporters, and establish your influence before you assist us in freeing our master. Our loyalty will be demonstrated through our actions. Should our master be freed, we will continue to support you, provided he agrees to an alliance. Together, our combined strength would be unparalleled."

A tense silence settled over the chamber as Voldemort weighed his options. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he spoke. "I will consider your proposal. Return in three days, and we will discuss the specifics."

Relief flickered across the man's face. "Thank you, my Lord. We look forward to your decision."

As the delegation bowed and exited the chamber, the eyes of every Death Eater followed them until the heavy door closed behind them.