Nine

Dragonwoode Manor

Hogsmeade Woods

July, 1945

Lazerus sat in his study, reading by candlelight. The soft glow traced many paths of silver in his still-thick hair, and threw the lines on his face in sharp relief. It was late, and he was alone with his most precious possession: the handful of notes that he had been able to transcribe from those damnable Egyptian texts. Those texts still haunted his nightmares, just as Nigella Nickerson haunted his dreams.

Albus -- that thorn in his side, who was once a great friend but had become rather a nuisance, in the years that followed "the incident" -- had stolen his precious books, yes, but he had neglected to discover the secret cache which contained the stack of papers containing scribbled secrets and knowledge from those texts. Still, they were incomplete, and the lack of detail -- for he had made the notes casually, at the time -- was frustrating. The secrets of the ancients, lost to him forever! And Nigella...Lazerus knew that if he could retrieve his precious books, then he could find Nigella again.

Nigella... Never had he felt such an instant bond, such a strong and irresistable connection, with any other living being. It was as though they were separated halves of a soul... He would give anything, do anything, to see her again. Though many years had passed, his yearning for her was as strong as ever, his grief at the loss of her as sharp as ever. He felt that he was close, though. It felt as though she were simply on one side of a veil, and he was on the other -- if he reached far enough through, then he could see her, touch her, love her...

There was a small knock at the door.

"Enter," he said, tucking his notes into a drawer on his desk. They would be safe there for the moment. The door opened, and Lazerus smiled at the sight of his dearest old friend.

"Master Lazerus," said Fingal, immaculately-dressed as always. The Goblin looked a little more time-worn, and moved a bit slower, perhaps, but he was still the same dear old Fingal. "Your evening appointment is here."

"Eh?" Grindelwald, non-plussed, paused for a moment, then remembered. "Ah, yes. The Riddle boy. Yes, that's right. Give me a few moments, Fingal, and then show him in."

Fingal nodded, then closed the door. Lazerus could hear the clicking of the Goblin's tiny shoes on the worn old stone steps outside his study. The sound made him smile.

Riddle, Riddle...he flipped a few pages in his journal, and found the notes that he had made about the appointment for this evening. "Riddle...", he murmured, trailing his finger down the page. Ah. There it was. Eleven p.m., Tom Riddle. "And what was it that young Mr. Riddle wished to speak to me about, again?" Grindelwald unfolded the small piece of notepaper that he had tucked into the journal to mark the page, and scanned it briefly. Then he remembered. His stomach dropped, and his fingers clenched around the leather-bound journal.

Horcruxes.

Dear God...

Outside, concealed in the woods surrounding Dragonwoode Manor, Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore watched Tom Riddle enter the abode of Lazerus Grindelwald.

Albus sighed sadly, regret for what must come. He had hoped that it would never come to this.

Reluctantly, Albus Dumbledore withdrew his wand. Beside him, Aberforth did the same.

...and so it begins...