The oppressive walls of Nurmengard Castle loomed against the night sky, jagged and cold like the memory of its infamous prisoner. Though Grindelwald's reign of terror had ended decades ago, his legend still hung over the Wizarding World like a curse. Outside the castle, ministry-appointed guards patrolled its perimeter, their wands ready and their chatter filled with the monotony of the long night.
Two guards leaned against the castle's outer wall, their breath visible in the frigid air. They weren't particularly vigilant; after all, Grindelwald hadn't caused trouble in years.
"You know," the taller one said, adjusting his scarf, "if there's one thing I'll never get tired of in this world, it's a good side-boob."
The shorter guard snorted, nearly dropping his wand. "Merlin's beard, Terry. We're guarding the most dangerous dark wizard in history, and that's what you're thinking about?"
Terry shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "What can I say? There's an art to it. The curve, the mystery of it all... I mean, front's great, but the side, mate? That's where class meets temptation."
The shorter guard rolled his eyes. "You're daft, you know that? Here we are, freezing our bits off, and you're fantasizing about bloody curves."
Terry chuckled, his laugh echoing faintly in the stillness. "Well, someone's got to bring some joy to this miserable shift. What about you? You more of a—"
"Quiet," the shorter guard interrupted, his wand hand tensing. He peered into the darkness. "Did you hear that?"
The wind howled faintly, and for a moment, all seemed still.
"Nope," Terry said, shrugging. "You're just paranoid. Relax, mate. No one's getting past us."
Unbeknownst to the guards, shadows stirred at the edge of the castle grounds. A man and a woman moved through the mist, their silhouettes barely discernible against the stone walls. The woman, clad in a flowing cloak that shimmered faintly in the moonlight, raised her hand. With a flick of her wrist and no incantation, a veil of mist began to spread across the grounds.
The guards on patrol didn't even notice. Their chatter continued, their eyes glazed as if caught in a daydream.
"I told you, no one's paying attention," the man said, his voice low and confident. He adjusted the collar of his coat, his sharp features cutting through the shadows. "They think they're the ones keeping Grindelwald in there."
The woman smirked, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "Fools. It's Grindelwald who lets them think so. He could have walked out of this place years ago if he wanted."
They moved with practiced ease, slipping through the wards and enchantments as if they weren't there. The mist followed them, swirling around their feet like obedient ghosts.
At the main entrance, two more guards stood watch, their wands held loosely.
"Your turn," the woman whispered.
The man stepped forward, his hand barely moving as he murmured a spell. The guards froze, their eyes wide and unfocused. A moment later, they slumped to the ground, their breaths even but their minds blank.
"Subtle," the woman commented, stepping over one of the unconscious bodies.
"trying to be" the man replied with a smirk.
Inside the castle, the air was heavy with magic and the faint scent of damp stone. The duo moved through the hallways, their presence barely disturbing the silence.
The woman gestured toward the spiraling staircase that led to the top floor. "He's up there."
The man hesitated, glancing at the darkened corridor ahead. "You sure he'll cooperate?"
She chuckled, her tone laced with mockery. "Grindelwald doesn't cooperate. He manipulates. He'll think he's the one pulling the strings, but we only need him to play his part."
The man nodded, and they ascended the staircase, their footsteps silent on the stone steps.
On the way up, they passed more guards, each one oblivious to their presence. A faint hum of magic radiated from the woman, her subtle spells bending perception and weaving illusions that kept them hidden.
"I almost pity them," the man said, glancing at a sleeping guard slumped against the wall.
The woman arched an eyebrow. "Don't. They're cogs in a machine.."
At the top of the tower, a heavy wooden door barred their way. The woman placed her hand on it, her fingers tracing the intricate runes etched into the surface. With a whispered incantation, the runes flared briefly before fading, and the door creaked open.
Inside, the room was sparse but imposing. A single chair sat near the window, and in it was a figure shrouded in shadow. His silver hair glinted faintly in the moonlight, and his piercing blue eyes, as sharp as ever, turned toward the intruders.
"Visitors," Gellert Grindelwald said, his voice smooth and unhurried. "How unexpected."
The man and woman stepped inside, the door closing behind them with a soft thud.
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The Gryffindor common room was quiet for a change, with most students already retired for the night. The fireplace crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat in their usual corner, slouched in overstuffed chairs and engaged in a spirited discussion.
The topic, as it often had been since the first task, was Riser Phenex.
Harry Potter: The Slightly Jealous Champion
Harry tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his green eyes narrowing. "I still don't get it," he muttered. "I'm the Hogwarts champion, but somehow, he's the one everyone's talking about. It's like I don't even exist."
Hermione rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. "Oh, please, Harry. You're hardly ignored. You've got plenty of attention from the school—and don't act like Rita Skeeter hasn't written at least a dozen articles about you in the Daily Prophet."
"Yeah," Ron chimed in, "but you don't exactly have the richest families in the Wizarding World knocking down the doors to meet you. Not like Riser."
Harry scowled, crossing his arms. "Thanks, Ron. That's really helpful."
Ron Weasley: The Gossip King
"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Ron said, shrugging. "Dad said the Phenex family's so rich, the Malfoys couldn't hold a candle to them. Can you imagine that? Malfoy, the little prat, acting like he's the king of the world when he's just a pauper compared to Riser."
Hermione looked up from the book in her lap, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think you can exactly call the Malfoys paupers, Ron. They're still one of the richest families in Britain."
"Yeah, but they're nothing compared to the Phenexes!" Ron exclaimed, leaning forward. "Dad says they're so loaded, they could buy up every vault in Gringotts if they wanted to."
Harry couldn't help but smirk at the idea of Draco Malfoy being outshone. "I'd pay good money to see Malfoy's face if someone told him that."
Hermione Granger: The Ever-Curious Scholar
"Well, speaking of money," Hermione cut in, adjusting her posture, "did you know about Phoenix Tears? They're one of the most valuable substances in the magical world. They can heal almost any injury, cure poisons, and even restore vitality."
Ron blinked. "Like unicorn blood?"
"Not quite," Hermione replied, her tone taking on its usual lecture quality. "Phoenix Tears aren't cursed. They're miraculous—and they're part of what makes the Phenex family so rich. They're devils, but their abilities are tied to the essence of the phoenix. It's fascinating, really."
"Hang on," Harry interrupted, frowning. "You're saying they're devils? Actual devils? Like horns and tails and fire and brimstone?"
"Not exactly," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It's not like the Muggle idea of devils. They're a magical race, with their own dimension, hierarchy, and powers. And yes, they're incredibly powerful. Riser alone might be as strong as Dumbledore—or even stronger."
Harry groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "Great. Just what I needed to hear."
A Shift in Worldview
"Honestly, though," Hermione continued, her voice softening, "his visit has changed how I see things. I always thought we had the full picture of the magical world—witches, wizards, magical creatures. But now? Knowing devils, angels, and even gods exist..." She trailed off, her expression thoughtful.
"It's a lot to take in," Ron admitted. "Dad said it's got the Ministry all worked up. Minister Fudge even stormed into Hogwarts, demanding to know why Dumbledore didn't tell him about Riser."
"And what did Dumbledore say?" Harry asked.
Hermione smiled faintly. "He told Fudge that it was Riser's wish to attend in normalcy, without fanfare. Though I suppose that plan went out the window after the first task."
Ron snorted. "Normalcy? Right. Like that was ever going to happen with a bloke like him around. Did you hear about the second task? Every noble house turned up just to try and meet him—and he didn't even show up!"
Harry's frown deepened. "Yeah, why didn't he? If he's so important, you'd think he'd want to make an appearance."
Speculating on Riser's Absence
"Maybe he didn't care about the tournament," Hermione suggested. "Or maybe he had more important things to do."
"More important than this?" Harry asked incredulously. "The whole Wizarding World is watching. He's already caused a massive stir, and now he's skipping the tasks? It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe it's because he doesn't need to prove himself," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. "He's already got everything—money, power, respect. The tournament's probably just a sideshow to him."
"That, or he's just being mysterious," Hermione added, smirking. "Devils do like their theatrics."
Harry sighed, glancing toward the window where the moonlight streamed in. "Well, whatever his reason, he's managed to turn the third task into a circus. Everyone and their grandmother will be there just in case he shows up."
Lighthearted Banter
"Jealous, Harry?" Hermione teased, her eyes twinkling.
Harry gave her a flat look. "Of course not."
Ron snickered. "You totally are."
"Am not," Harry insisted, though the hint of a smile betrayed him.
Hermione grinned. "Don't worry, Harry. You've still got the fame, the glory, and the terrifying prophecy hanging over your head. Isn't that enough attention for you?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Hermione. Really appreciate it."
"Anytime," she said cheerfully, returning to her book.