Rune Reader

Chapter 10 Aftermath

"Potter, I don't know what the fuck you were thinking, but you'd better be damn happy that it'd be suicide for me to dismiss you, or I'd kill you myself! Disobeying orders, and leading your men in a suicidal charge? Did you even stop to think about the consequence of such an action?"

Harry hung his head. Of his squad, only Tracey escaped unharmed. Lisa also survived, but she suffered harsh wounds, clinging to life only by a thread. It wouldn't have been too bad, if it were just them. But he had led over a hundred wizards and witches in a charge. He rewarded them only with death. Their trust in him had been unfounded.

"That being said, I'm demoting you. You'll be under the command of your old squad mate, Tracey Davis. We have enough things going against us; we cannot afford for a lack of discipline to be one of them. Why do you think the Order of the Phoenix could never fight effectively?"

"Perhaps I'm being too harsh, but it is necessary. I tried to ignore the reports from those few in our army who attended Hogwarts with you, which said you were nothing more than an arrogant fool that doesn't know any sort of discipline, but I guess I was wrong. May this teach you a lesson that sometimes you do have to obey the rules. Dismissed, Potter."

Harry left the room, angry both at himself and Gawain. He knew he deserved punishment, and he was honestly surprised Gawain hadn't done more. However, that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part, was knowing he was directly responsible for the deaths of all those witches and wizards. Granted, he had been partly responsible for Sirius' death at the Ministry, but this was different. He didn't even know these people, but he was completely responsible. Again, they trusted him with everything by giving him authority. They trusted him with their lives, and by proxy, their dreams and their desires, and he had failed them. How many of them were married, had children, or siblings, or even parents who would despair at news of their deaths?

The burden of leadership was truly heavy, and perhaps there was even a part of him that was glad he was a soldier again, rather than an officer. After all, he'd never enjoyed the spotlight, and although he'd been trying to overcome a few of his deficiencies as a person, his dislike of fame had not faded.

However, he now had an additional problem; one of which he was very familiar with. This being that his direct superior had more than a small dislike for him, and likely wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of her new position of power.

It wasn't that he disliked Tracey himself, but she vapidly disliked him. He knew part of it was because he'd stolen her command; apparently, she had a reputation as being one of the most elite prospects in the Coalition Guard. However, he suspected there was something else he had done, something that had occurred at Hogwarts, which spawned the hatred. He knew she had been a Slytherin, but he doubted that had anything to do with it. It was hard to hold House grudges when you are fighting together.

Until he could find out, his life would likely be a miserable mess.

(At Spinner's End)

Severus Snape returned to his home for the first time in since early October. Like the last time he had been there, he had had a bad day. In this case, the Dark Lord was in a brilliant mood, and had thrown a massive celebration to commemorate his "victory" over the Coalition.

Snape, though distrusted by everyone, had been spying for the Coalition for some time now, under the code name of Dark Pigeon. It was a dumb name, and he wondered if one of the Order fools had come up with it or not, but it suited his purposes fine. Most would think it was just a derogatory name to refer to the Dark Lord by.

Then there was Daphne. She was in a much better mood, though it likely was not hard to improve upon her previous mood. That said, she did not much like his presence. Snape threw back another swig of Firewhiskey.

"How long will you be here, Professor?" He barely even noticed Daphne asking him a question.

"Probably a few hours, Filius gets overwhelmed easily." A lie, of course, but he could let the other Death Eaters get any ideas about his loyalties. They were bad enough as was.

Too often, it seemed, that he was doing this very thing. Sitting somewhere, drinking a shot of Firewhiskey, but sometimes it was necessary. The headache that was Hogwarts only seemed to grow worse every day. The escalating conflict meant that frustrated and inept Death Eaters, angry at being taken from the frontlines, often spent their days looking for Muggleborns and Blood Traitors at Hogwarts.

First of all, the previously thought-to-be over Second War had turned into more than just a battle between the Ministry/the Order and the Death Eaters. It had turned into something far greater, a true Civil War. Even in the First War, when even the staunchly neutral families would join the combat if it meant an end, there were still no clashing armies. Now, there was.

The Coalition and its army of Aurors, Hit Wizards, and ordinary folks, collectively known as the Coalition Guard, had numbered over two thousand, which did not count the various underlings of the Guard, including incapacitated or overwhelmed Aurors. Such a number was unheard of, so large, in fact, that to the unenlightened, it would represent almost one percent of the total population of Magical Britain. Even the most tyrannical ministers never had a force of Aurors greater than one thousand, and Gawain Robbards had doubled the number in less than a year.

The Dark Lord's own forces were no less intimidating. On paper, the one thousand Death Eaters, gathered from all corners of Europe, looked impressive. Factoring in the Giants, Acromantulae, Goblins, Werewolves, and any other magical creature that had a bone to pick with the ministry, and it was truly fearsome number. Yet, Robbards had gathered over two thousand from the U.K. alone, and despite losing almost half in the Battle of the Triangle, it was likely he would replenish his numbers.

For Snape, both were equally disconcerting. According to Albus Dumbledore, there was only supposed to be two sides to the war: The Order, representing the Light, and the Death Eaters, representing the Dark. However, the Order had disintegrated into nothingness with Alastor Moody's death leaving no one to take up the void.

It was still a mystery how Gawain Robbards, of all people, had managed to rally the Ministry Defenses and escape during the Dark Lord's takeover. However, Robbards' stewardship of the Light had degenerated to a killing force that was almost as nasty as the Death Eaters. Well-founded rumors abounded that the Coalition Guards were not scrupulous about who they killed for a good reason.

Was it even a battle of ideologies anymore? Had it ever been?

"Daphne, how have you been holding up here?" Snape asked, trying to get his mind off the questions roiling within.

To his surprise, Daphne seized the bottle of Firewhiskey and took a large gulp. She let off a very unladylike belch, before answering, "Better than you might think. It's still taking some time to get used to actual food again. I don't think I'll ever regain the weight I lost."

Truly, Daphne did look horribly thin, and had so, since her internment in Malfoy Manor's dungeons. In fact, he only recalled Potter looking that thin. Once again, Snape was found wondering if his treatment of the boy had been correct after all these years. For selfish reasons, he didn't want to be remembered as the guy who helped create the next Dark Lord.

"Still, I'm already feeling better," She took another drink and pulled a face, "The liquor helps with the jitters, even if it's low quality and has horrible taste."

Snape sneered, "Liquor's not exactly the top of the list when you make a pittance as a teacher and the Potions Master for an insane hypocrite."

Daphne chuckled, "Which one?"

"Both," he replied as he leaned back in the chair. Dumbledore's portrait was giving him fits these days. It appeared that Potter was either ignoring the old man, or had simply forgotten about him. Not that he could blame him.

It was strange, drinking with a seventeen year old who should have still been his student, and talking about their problems. In retrospect, had he been at Hogwarts, this would never have happened, as it would have raised far too many suspicions to name.

He decided it was best he return, before he sank too far into the cups. Daphne smirked at him, "Remember, Professor: Fate has a way of getting back at everyone."

Just as he reached for the Floo Powder, his arm burst into pain. He cursed, Voldemort was calling. Rather than return to Hogwarts, he left his house the traditional way and Apparated away.

Back in the House, Daphne leaned back, and banished the bottle back into the cabinet. She opened up a small keepsake, one of the only she retained from her former home. It was a diary, with blank, if tattered, covers. If anything, it was unassuming, and nothing more than a burden.

However, it was her memories. The Pureblood crowd she had clung to prior to Fifth year would have openly mocked her for it, as writing in a diary was a very muggle thing to do. Most of those families had special, cheap Pensieves that only kept memories a short time, made for their children. Of course, all of those families had been filthy rich, to the tune of several more times more than Daphne's own.

She flipped through a few of the older entries, reveling in the days shortly after she went to Hogwarts. For most, those days would have been worse than newer days, but for her, they were heaven. Back in the days where her father didn't have to tip-toe around the other purebloods, her mother didn't curse every few words, and she didn't have to regard her sister with open suspicion.

Flipping all the way to Fifth Year, she found the first entry where she voiced her suspicions about Astoria, and her eyes narrowed.

"January 9th, 1996,

I found Astoria with Draco Malfoy again. I've told her a dozen times to stay away from the ponce, but she can't seem to take a hint. Even worse, she seems to hang off every word he says. It's always something about how the Dark Lord will kill all the Mudbloods or something; it makes me think, could Draco know something? It is a somewhat of an open secret that his father was a Death Eater."

Her lips curled into a disgusted snarl. Even then, she may have known! She may have known that her sister would try to take them to the Dark Lord! Fury bubbled within her. If she had done a better job, if she had kept Astoria away from Draco, because he had to be the one who turned her.

No! She couldn't beat herself up about this. It was in the past, and it needed to stay there. But she would have her revenge. She would kill Astoria personally, and it would not be quick.

(Nurmengard)

Lord Voldemort was angry. Angrier than normal, at least, as he'd finally made the trip to Nurmengard, which had to be postponed, thanks to those fools he called servants. Granted, they had been outnumbered, and although he wasn't forgiving of failure, Malfoy's strategy of purposely delaying the reinforcements had worked brilliantly as the Coalition had overextended in their successful attempt to breach his blockade.

Aiding in his moral victory, was Potter's actions, which directly led to the death of over a hundred wizards, with only a single spell of his own. Really? A head on charge at him of all people? After observing Potter's actions during the battle leading up, he'd begun to believe the boy had actually learned something about combat, and he was almost salivating at the idea of a worthy opponent. However, he'd been wrong, and he was actually disappointed.

Still, he came out on top, and he had dealt a severe blow, number wise, at the expense of mostly expendable troops.

For the Greater Good? What a terrible slogan! No wonder Grindelwald failed, Voldemort thought as he ascended the Tower. Legend had it that Dumbledore had killed Grindelwald, but like many stories, that was slightly erroneous. Dumbledore had merely drained Gellert of his magical abilities, and imprisoned him at the top of his own citadel. The exact reasons for the action were lost even amongst most of those few who knew of it. However, thanks to Rita Skeeter and her yellow journalism, he now knew.

Grindelwald and Dumbledore were once gay lovers, and although Gellert later took a wife and had a child prior to his defeat, Skeeter perpetuated the idea he was merely keeping up appearances. Naturally, for both leaders, it would have been important to keep that particular skeleton in the closet, even more so for Dumbledore in the ultra-conservative Magical United Kingdom.

Another interesting thought, and ultimately the most important, was a small tidbit that cited a legend amongst the German troops, which stated their belief that Grindelwald wielded an unstoppable wand of legend. After checking the legend and tracing its origins back to former Grindelwald supporter, wand crafter, and quartermaster Gregorovitch, Voldemort finally had his answer.

Grindelwald had used the Elder Wand, an item of legend, part of a triad known as the Deathly Hallows. It was fabled to be unbeatable, but its possessors had met bad ends. Regardless, seeking a final answer to the Twin Wand problem, Voldemort was now searching out its previous users.

Finally, he reached the top of the spiraling stairs. Nurmengard was a towering pillar of stone, austere in appearance and ornate in its significance. Grindelwald once stated, "Nurmengard will be the capital of Magical Empire which will be etched in stone for all eternity."

He knocked on the door, and a nearby guard disabled the wards preventing his entry. The captain of said guards accompanied him in. Protocol dictated it, as he said, though Voldemort had been irritated by it.

A small, grey with a hint of blonde, haired man sat on a small cot in the far corner. His eyes were sky blue, and though years of imprisonment had done him no good, he appeared to be strong. The man narrowed his eyes at Voldemort, "I see you've found your way to me. About time, I say.

Voldemort narrowed his own eyes, "Leash your tongue when speaking to your betters, fool."

"You think you are my better?" The man threw his head back and cackled, "You don't even know what power is."

Voldemort had to restrain himself, "Very confident, for a prisoner."

"Oh, I'm not the cocky one. You, good sir, are the cocky one. I am the...mocky one!"

"You see, I am not the cocky one! I am the…mocking one!" Grindelwald cackled madly at his successor.

Voldemort scowled heavily at the elderly man in front of him, wondering what could possibly have driven him into the insanity before him. This was not the confrontation that he imagined when he first tracked the man down from Gregorivitch.

"Voldemort, you are a fool to have come here."

He fumed, "No, Grindelwald. You are the fool. You do not realize that I have become everything you dreamed. I am truly immortal, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. You will tell me everything you know about the Elder Wand, and you will do so now."

Grindelwald's expression sobered up. A feral grin appeared on the old man's face. Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord, red chains were snaking their way towards him. In an instant, they lashed onto Voldemorts arms and legs.

He hissed, "What is the meaning of this," while struggling against the ethereal chains. Grindelwald laughed in the corner. The former dark lord drew himself off of the bed he had been sitting on as the chains dragged Voldemort into prostration.

Grindelwald limped around Voldemort, "You believed that Dumbledore had taken my magic," He leaned into Voldemort's ear and whispered, "He lied,", and flung him into the wall.

"I need no wand to deal with the likes of you." Grindelwald smirked as Voldemort attempted to dispel his chains, "I am the First. I am the Last. The world will kneel before me as your hero's once did."

He ripped Voldemort's robes open and conjured a long needle. He raked the tip across the snake like man's chest, drawing an irate hiss. Grindelwald's eyes glowed menacingly in the darkness, "Good. Let the hate flow through you, and you will remember who I really am."

He began carving into the Dark Lord's very flesh, "These words will never leave your flesh. They will never wash, they will never heal. Now, you are mine."

Grindelwald released the needle and fired a curse from his hand into the bleeding flesh. In the darkness, one could clearly read, "For the Greater Good."

"Kneel before your true master like the dog that you are."

Grindelwald laughed madly as he forced Voldemort into a kneeling position. "I live again!"

A/N: Alright, I apologize for everything that happened in the year I was away from the site. I just got a new computer and I just got Internet back, so I will be posting again. Also, I finally restored the final paragraphs of this chapter.