Forces outside of Britain?
The members of the Order of the Phoenix looked grim.
The notion that Voldemort was a more terrifying dark wizard than Grindelwald had long been circulated throughout the British wizarding world—but only there. No matter how dark the Dark Lord, during his reign of terror, he had never set foot beyond the British Isles.
Other countries had heard of him, sure.
But because of that, many wizards abroad didn't buy into the claim that "Voldemort is more dangerous than Grindelwald." They believed that Dumbledore was simply old now, not as powerful as he once was, and that's why he couldn't deal with Voldemort as swiftly as he did with Grindelwald. In the end, it had been a baby who defeated him.
They all thought the greatest white wizard of their era had aged.
They respected the elderly—but didn't fear them.
"Grindelwald?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore nodded. "Severus told me that Voldemort hopes to offer my death as a bargaining chip or reward, inviting him to join forces—to deal with you, Harry."
As he said this, he chuckled.
Most around the table couldn't help but feel a jolt of fear. Scrimgeour's brows knitted tightly; Rita turned pale and trembled; Arthur and Molly clutched each other's hands, breathing deeply.
"Looks like he's really desperate if he's doing something this absurd," Harry said with a shake of his head.
Those who weren't in the know looked over in surprise.
Absurd?
This seemed perfectly plausible—why would Harry call it absurd?
"Of course, Harry, you know certain things, so it seems absurd to you," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "But Tom doesn't know. Look at Arthur, look at Molly—look at them."
"They think the same way Tom does."
He paused, then added with a curiously solemn tone: "The previous generation's ideology was that wizards should rule over Muggles. A dark wizard defeated by Dumbledore ought to hate him, right?"
"And while that's mostly true..."
"But Grindelwald won't kill me. He'd rather I remain imprisoned forever, just like he is."
Scrimgeour let out a small breath. "So you're saying Grindelwald won't join forces with the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Who knows?"
"It's Grindelwald. No one can predict what he's thinking—or will think."
The tension quickly returned to the room.
"Relax. Grindelwald won't team up with Voldemort," Harry said with a shake of his head. "I haven't interacted with him much, but I doubt he'd have any respect for someone like Voldemort... more like one of those street thugs in Hogsmeade who mug first-years for their lunch money."
The expressions around the room twisted oddly.
Mugging first-years for pocket change?
Was Harry insulting them by implying they were as weak as first-years—or just calling Voldemort a petty crook?
Dumbledore gently tapped the table, causing the leftover honey in his dish to float into his cup. He sipped it. "Voldemort isn't the biggest problem right now. Werewolves, goblins, and giants are."
"Werewolves can be handled," Harry said, looking at Dumbledore.
"I'll send Rubeus to speak with the giants," Dumbledore mused. "Our dear Professor Hagrid has always been good with such creatures."
"And the goblins?" Harry turned to glance at Mundungus.
The shifty man was trying to sneak a plate into his coat, but Kreacher had enchanted the plate—it bit him, grew stick-figure legs, and scurried back to the center of the table.
Mundungus made eye contact with Sirius and gave an awkward laugh. "Of course, I'll do my best."
Sirius smirked and snapped his fingers—the plate vanished.
This was his house, after all.
"I'll go try to reason with the werewolves," Lupin said with a deep breath.
"Not yet," Harry shook his head.
"At least let me start preparing," Lupin insisted.
"I'll go with him," Tonks raised her hand.
Everyone, including Scrimgeour, gave her teasing looks.
Her hair turned pink on the spot as she blurted, "I'm just fulfilling my duty as an Auror!"
Scrimgeour coughed, preparing to speak as the Head of the Auror Office.
Tonks turned her sharp gaze to him.
"I mean, Kingsley is protecting the Muggle Prime Minister. Mr. Scrimgeour, you're the Head. The other Aurors aren't part of the Order—I'm the only one who can do this."
Dumbledore glanced at Harry.
Harry nodded.
Lupin seemed uneasy—he didn't mind being beaten up himself, but bringing Tonks into werewolf territory was dangerous.
Dumbledore ignored Lupin's protest entirely. Smiling, he said, "Excellent. Tonks, that's the spirit expected of an Auror."
"Then we'll entrust this task to you and Remus."
Tonks lifted her chin proudly.
Dumbledore turned to Scrimgeour: "Rufus, I won't meddle in Ministry matters—it's up to you. If you need help, speak to Harry."
Scrimgeour nodded.
Dumbledore turned to Rita, who immediately slapped her head and slumped over the table. "I know, Mr. Dumbledore. You don't have to say it—I'll look into those... things."
"The two remaining unknown items, the ones Voldemort gave to his servants?"
"I'll do my best to find them."
Though her words were firm, her tone lacked energy, as if she'd just been hosed with pesticide.
The Order's meeting went late into the evening.
Dinner that night was Kreacher's cooking for the first time.
Though he looked old and half-mad, the elf had served the Black family his whole life. His skill was far superior to Hogwarts' elves. Everyone was impressed. Kreacher embodied the highest standard of a proper house-elf: excellent service with minimal presence.
What surprised everyone most?
They'd never told Kreacher their preferences—but every dish matched their tastes perfectly.
This was what a true house-elf was?
Molly was tempted.
She nearly dragged Arthur to the Ministry to buy one then and there.
Until Arthur told her the price.
Molly immediately froze that thought and tossed it into Siberia's frozen plains.
House-elves didn't need pay.
But the Ministry charged dearly.
A well-bred, well-behaved house-elf cost over a hundred Galleons. Even a faulty one like Kreacher used to be would go for several dozen. Not something the Weasleys could afford.
"Kreacher isn't that great," Molly grumbled. "He's always muttering. And sure, he cleaned well, but I'd already handled most of Grimmauld Place—he just did the finishing touches."
"And it's not like I know this house well—I didn't dare touch many things."
"Our house? I'd do a better job myself."
"And his cooking? The cream soup didn't even have pepper! Not as good as mine. All good soups need a little pepper—that's the secret to flavor!"
Arthur nodded furiously beside her.
As for Death Eater intelligence, progress was slow.
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement largely ignored the Minister's orders. But as soon as they launched a surprise search on a pure-blood household, Sinkniss showed up personally with the enforcement squad and blocked Scrimgeour.
The two sides even came to blows outside the pure-blood manor—several people were injured and sent to St. Mungo's.
The Quibbler ran it as a front-page story.
A scathing critique of "Minister Sinkniss" and whether he had any control left over the Ministry.
In recent years, the Ministry had never seen peace.
Cornelius Fudge had stepped down in disgrace, and now Sinkniss seemed on a similar path. Infighting and political maneuvering were intensifying.
This gave Rita Skeeter a perfect opening. While all eyes were on the Ministry, she had no trouble slipping into the estates of pure-blood families and gathering intel. In just a month, she burned through three rolls of film and headed to Hogwarts to find Dumbledore and Harry.
In the Headmaster's office—
Rita stood nervously. Dumbledore had invited her to sit several times, but she couldn't—standing made her feel more secure.
"You seem to have rediscovered your old... enthusiasm," Harry said calmly, flipping through the photos.
Most were useless.
Just gossip and scandal.
Love letters to mistresses and boyfriends, secret rendezvous photos, and even one pure-blood patriarch who liked to role-play as a loyal bulldog.
Voldemort might enjoy these.
After all, they both had a knack for disturbing behavior.
But Harry had no interest.
Dumbledore did—slightly.
Godric's portrait and the Sorting Hat were far more entertained.
As for actual leads on Horcruxes or objects Voldemort had entrusted to his followers?
None.
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