Helthorn Ⅲ

Shoving aside the lesser emotions, Voldemort proudly gazes back at the older wizard. "Be that as may be, the Prince household holds no parselmouth's," Voldemort confidently hissed.

"We have in the past," Reginald retorted, "and the sworn guardian of Prince Manor remains a parselmouth even in death as he did in life."

Voldemort's face twists before growing still and pensive. "A mere ghost?" He taunted. "And what use is a ghost?"

"Ignorant boy," said, Nagel, an older graying deep-voiced wizard with dark skin. His tilted hat covers most of his face but his salt-peppered hair peeks out. "You have never met a sworn guardian. Bound by blood and death, there is nothing natural about their very existence that transcends even death. This is not the weak shadows that reside within the confines of Hogwarts, but rather a ghastly existence that your ignorant mind cannot ever possibly seek to comprehend. The might and power that they yield are so great that they are even capable of defining the natural laws between life and death," (under certain conditions of course).

The faintest flush of humiliation can be seen staining the cheeks of Voldemort. Voldemort does not speak quite trusting himself to speak at the moment. Instead, the tip of his sharpened blue talon rises in a signal for his companions to come forward to bid him time to compose himself.

Ever collected, Rodolphus Lestrange moves forward and bows politely in courtesy to Reginald Prince. "It is a privilege to meet the head of the Prince household." Those watching in the chamber nod their heads briefly in approval of the formal greeting.

Reginald's dark eyes flicker before he politely returns the greetings. "I greet the descendant of the House of Lestrange."

"I am honored," Rodolphus said straightening to his full height, "to be in the presence of visionary revolutionaries who paved the wave for the hero of the past generation, Gellert Grindelwald." A murmur of approval rises throughout the chamber echoed by the acolytes present except for Reginald and Voldemort.

"We also seek to righten the scales of justice and bring to pass the dawn of a new era," Rodolphus emotively persuaded. "In a misguided attempt, we sought the aid of giants for we found ourselves surrounded by enemies on all sides. Besieged by the Ministry of Magic and its allies, we still stand unwavering in the battle for our great cause. We merely ask that the elders of the previous generation extended a helping hand to bring about a new world order."

Rodolphus speech is successful as more than several of the acolytes appear to be persuaded by Lestrange's persuasion. Yet not all of the Acolytes can be easily persuaded by such flattering words. The remaining Acolytes distrust Voldemort or find Voldemort unworthy of an alliance for being beneath them, a mere half-blood.

Krafft is among those who are moved by the words of Lestrange. "Hear, hear," the proud wizard in military uniform boldly said. "Lestrange speaks truthfully for only with our aid can their cause find any measure of success." And though persuaded, he was not a fool. "However, as fond as I am of your words Lestrange, there is no mention of aiding in our endeavors to free Gellert."

The acolytes' contemplative gazes fall upon Lestrange and his companions. Calm and collected, Voldemort's crimson eyes meet that of the acolytes without flinching. "Presuming the location of Numengard is made openly known to us, it is no easy feat to free Grindelwald," he acutely said. "Numengard by all accounts is an impenetrable fortress and is even strictly guarded now."

Voldemort's crimson eyes flickered toward Reginald Prince. "However, it would not be difficult to do so with the aid of Prince who has numerous, influential connections within the Ministry of Magic including the ear of the Minister of Magic Jenkins, if the rumors are true."

Not rising to the jibe, a cool smile appears on Reginald's face. "The power that I wield within the Ministry of Magic is only permitted precisely because I have made no show of my power nor open rebellion. You overestimate my capabilities, cousin."

Voldemort's face slightly hardens at the response, before tapping his long spider-like fingers on the table before him. "It is most curious," he slowly said. "I have often heard that Grindelwald held Prince in great esteem. Yet it would appear that the sentiment is not returned."

A cold grin of satisfaction appears on Gunnar Grimmson's face. "I often said as much to Gellert," the merciless voice of Grimsson taunted. "Prince is not to be trusted, Gellert, but Gellert always liked to believe the best of others. And yet here we are once again with Prince refraining from dirtying his hands for the cause."

Whispers burst in the chamber as the Acolytes discuss in low voices the past actions of Reginald Prince. Some of the Acolytes' faces fill with indignations, others with disdain, and mixed emotions. However, the tactic had worked perfectly shifting the focus back to Reginald Prince.

MacDuff rubs the lucky rabbit's food in his hand. It would not be easy for Reginald Prince to turn the tide in his favor. However, that had never stopped Reginald Prince before.

The chamber falls silent as those present eagerly wait for any sign of weakness to attack. Reginald Prince's shoulder begins to shake before a loud, cruel laugh escapes from his chest. The laughter just as abruptly fades away as a bone-chilling enmity is emanated from the elder wizard.

"You forget your place, Grimmson," Reginald said as a loud cracking sound is heard from the wooden legs and armrest binding tendrils extending to bind Grimmsion to his chair.

"You must think me weak and mellow in my old age," Reginald said leaning back in his seat and watching Grimmson's mouth be covered by the slithering wooden tendrils until Grimmson is unable to move an inch nor speak.

"However, I am a descendant of the Percussor's," Reginald tilted his head studying Grimmson in such a manner that the hair stood on the back of his neck. "The Percussor's feared not the Founders nor the clans nor the creatures of the isles. We feared no wizard or witch much less Gellert or my cousin here. So, tell me, Grimmson, why should I bow to your pathetic whims?"

Grimmson in vain struggles to break the binds on himself, but he is unable to reach his wand. His eyes dart at MacDuff, who ignores Grimmson's gaze toying with the chain of human teeth. Gimmson then turns towards Krafft, who pointedly stared elsewhere unable to meet Grimmson's pleading gaze.

There is no time to scream nor pain simply a brief intense feeling and Grimmson's head falls onto his chest. A tendril in the back of the chair had slowly risen like a snake before plunging deep into Grimmson's head killing him instantly. Grimmson's limp head falls back as crimson liquid drips down the back of the chair forming a dark, sticky pool.

There is a stunned lapse of silence that is broken by a loud, slow clap. The Acolytes turn to see Voldemort, who ceases to clap. There is an air of approval from Voldemort, who ventures to say, "It is rather refreshing to deal with such directness," he paused to deliberately return the favor, "cousin."

Reginald's face remains impassive revealing nothing at the counter from Voldemort. Voldemort's crimson serpent eyes search for the slightest hint of weakness but finds nothing. "With all that has been said and done, there is one pressing matter that has been on my mind. Just exactly is the state of mind of Grindelwald?"

"Just what are you insinuating?" Praxidlike flatly said pursing her mauve lips into a frown, "half-breed."

"I insinuate nothing," Voldemort coolly answered revealing none of his cold fury at being called a half-breed. "However, it cannot be denied that it has been 31 years since Grindelwald was imprisoned at Nurmengard. Those fortunate enough to be imprisoned alongside him," he paused with feigned sorrow, "-have since passed away unable to bear the harsh, solitary confinement. In the end, only Grindelwald remains."

Some of the Acolytes sharded pointed glances with each other. Not all of them desired the return of Grindelwald. They held no desire to share the power they had rightfully earned for themselves. Perchance, this would be an opportune occasion to permanently do away with Grindelwald.