Chapter 31— Farewell!

*A/N: Not to rub salt into the wound for people who loved this story but here's what chapter 31 would have been. This is both a final farewell and an announcement for my new story, 'The Dragonborn Comes'. The first chapter is out as of now. That's all there is to say. For those of you who would like to read it, you can do so by clicking on my profile. Now, enjoy! For this is my thank you to all of you!

(Bear in mind that this was written a little over two months ago and my writing had changed somewhat, or I like to think that it has!)

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(Gellert Grindelwald's PoV)

Gellert Grindelwald sat in a prison of his own making, a fortress of his own creation; the most powerful Dark Lord in living memory, willingly incarcerated. He, who was always able to break free, did so in remembrance of his relationship with Albus Dumbledore. His imprisonment in his own castle was what he supposed the ICW considered to be equal to spitting in his face— denouncing the fact that he had the entire world fearing his name yet they, in the height of stupidity, put him in a castle whose very wards he created. He had no contact from the outside world; no visitors, nor friends or family. Not even someone who was once dear to him such as Albus would visit him. From time to time, the guards who were assigned to watch him would give him snippets of the happenings of the outside world. Enough to bait him into wanting more, yet they pulled back at the last second to revel in his anguish.

Grindelwald had wasted away, at least physically. He was fed, there was no doubt about that, however the food he consumed barely crossed the threshold of edibility. His once lustrous blonde hair had thinned, leaving a bald head and wizened face. His perfect teeth had rotted away, several of them missing and his face was a roadmap of wrinkles marking his age. Amongst the turmoil of the years, the one thing to stay constant was Grindelwald's magic. His blue eyes that had sunken into his face glimmered brightly, not hiding the intelligence within them. The only thing that he was able to work on was his mind and that he did— his mind was his fortress now.

Grindelwald could confidently boast that he was one of the most accomplished Mind Arts practitioners in the world and it was likely that he wasn't wrong at all. Forty five years to practice but a single art was ample time for someone such as him. As the years went by, his men had all died and eventually, he was the only one left; all alone in his own personal hell. Now, all he had to look at was the crashing of the onyx waves against the bank.

His monotonous life was disturbed in the 1970s, the rise of Lord Voldemort providing Grindelwald with some much needed entertainment in his bleak cell situated at the topmost tower of Castle Nurmengard.

He would never forget the day his guards hurriedly opened the peephole of his cell, telling him with barely concealed terror that Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark Wizard to have ever lived, was wreaking havoc in Great Britain only to be destroyed by an infant a decade later. That day, Grindelwald laughed for the first time in nearly forty five years; it was a bone-chilling laugh, the likes of which resulted in the guards not feeding him for days out of fear.

Grindelwald did not know what the future held, but for the moment, he was content in sitting in his cell, far from the troubles of the mortal coil; for the world outside was not worthy of salvation.

*****

(Quirinus Quirrell's PoV)

If one were to tell Quirrell a year ago that he would have one of the most dangerous Dark Lords in the world stuck to him like a parasite, he would have laughed in their face. Now, however, that was his reality; to spend every waking moment as a living marionette for the Dark Lord's desires. But what else could he do?

He was a Wizard of no worth yet he still desired to be strong in this cruel world where strength and talent was everything, two things that he sorely lacked. Yet with the Dark Lord, he had a shot at power and he would be damned if he didn't take it. However the task he had been set by the Dark Lord threw a wrench in his enthusiasm— he was asked, no, ordered to drink Unicorn blood.

Quirrell was no fool. He was sorted into Ravenclaw after all.

He was well aware of what would happen if he were to ingest unwilling given Unicorn blood and he would be beyond stupid if he thought that he'd be able to acquire the Unicorn blood willingly. Drinking unwillingly given Unicorn blood would curse whosoever did so as they harmed a being of immense purity, therefore incurring nature's wrath and cursing their life with bad luck.

That in and of itself wasn't something to worry about as luck was a fickle mistress however nature would do its best to make sure that they would never find peace in its embrace. That they would never achieve what they would hope or dream of and that is what truly scared Quirrell. He would always stand by his belief that power was irrespective of good and evil and was instead given to those strong enough to take it, but power was not the only thing in life.

Quirrell felt a cold feeling slither down his spine as he hastily threw all of his stray thoughts and plans under his feelings and memories of familial love— something he knew Lord Voldemort would never touch.

'How do the plans go, Quirrell?' Hissed Voldemort, his voice raspy; sounding as if a fresh wound could form words.

"They go well, Master," Replied Quirrell, making sure to keep his voice level. Every interaction with Lord Voldemort was enough to make him age a few years.

'Good," Voldemort replied. 'How about the Potter boy?'

Quirrell blanched, knowing full well that he couldn't lie his way out of this one, he shared his headspace with one of the most talented Legilimens of all time.

"H-He is talented, Master," Replied Quirrell as he suppressed a shudder. He could feel Voldemort's perverse interest rising.

'And what of Barak?' He said. 'He has within him a thirst for magic rarely seen. As does the Potter boy.'

"Indeed," Replied Quirrell, relaxing slightly before muffling a groan as a sharp pain exploded from within his head.

'What did I tell you about referring to me improperly,' Questioned Voldemort. Quirrell could feel his glee as he repressed a shudder.

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Whimpered Quirrell, making sure to watch his tone and his thoughts.

'How curious…' Voldemort said, hissing the tail end of the sentence. 'For there to be not one, but two children who hold a thirst for magic unseen in half a century.'

"What are your orders Master?" Questioned Quirrell, his nervousness reaching its peak.

'For now, you move as planned, Quirrell," Replied Voldemort. 'Drink the Unicorn blood as ordered and watch the Potter boy.'

"What of Barak?" He uttered, unable to stop himself.

'Him?' Asked Voldemort condescendingly. 'Leave him. He is not worth wasting time on. So long as he does not interfere in my business he may continue to live his pathetic life.'

Quirrell swallowed the growing lump he felt in his throat as he came to terms with the fact that he had to willingly curse himself. Getting up from his seated position, he shook his head, feeling Voldemort recede into the depths of his mind.

"All for power," He muttered, waving his wand as he cleansed the classroom of any dust and unseen dirt. It was the Christmas holidays so he had a two week reprieve from teaching; however, that meant that Voldemort's eyes would be firmly settled on him and him alone and as much as he tried to tell himself that it didn't, Quirrell knew that the very thought terrified him.

*****

(Filius Flitwick's PoV)

Filius Flitwick was overjoyed and not even marking essays or the frigid weather could hamper his jovial mood. As a teacher, he knew that objectively speaking, having any favourite students was not permitted but Aayan Barak made that quite the difficult task for him. In his class, the boy was fascinated by Charms and its many applications, asking thought provoking questions as well as making Flitwick's life easier by going around and helping students who were stuck, helping the class advance through the first year material at record speed.

For all intents and purposes, he had no favourite, but if you were to ask him in an unofficial setting who his favourite student was, he'd pick Aayan Barak in a heartbeat.

With that boy in his class, Charms had transformed from a subject students dreaded, to one they thoroughly enjoyed. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that Charms was now the favourite subject of most of the first years and the ongoing Prank War had made it so that the older years felt that it was necessary to focus during Charms classes.

Strictly speaking, Flitwick couldn't openly endorse the Prank War; he was a teacher after all. But in his opinion, the Prank War was the most useful thing to happen during his tenure at the school. Never had he seen pupils so elated, so happy to be in class. It filled him with indescribable joy every time he would gaze at the eager little faces of his first year classes. Barring a few students, the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years he taught were too preoccupied with their petty rivalries to throw any real care into his class, he preferred the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years far more.

Aayan Barak being a Hufflepuff had nothing to do with it, of that he was sure.

Clearing his head of such thoughts, Flitwick focused his attention back to grading the essays before him. Upon completing the one he was currently marking, he assigned it to the 'Completed' pile and picked up another one, only pausing to read the name.

'Aayan Barak'

He stifled a chuckle, setting down the paper, excitement bubbling in his chest. Flitwick was sure that of all the essays he had read, he would enjoy this one the most.

*****

(Pomona Sprout's PoV)

A few days prior to Christmas, Pomona Sprout sat inside the greenhouses, pondering over a note from the Headmaster as she stared out towards the Hogwarts courtyards. For once in her life, she truly didn't know what to do. As a Witch, she respected Albus Dumbledore but as a surrogate mother, she wanted nothing more than to grab all her children and hide them away from him. He was able to shift from an easygoing Grandfather to a frighteningly intimidating War General willing to do anything for the "greater good" in seconds and it was why she was so hesitant to respond to the summons on the parchment atop the table in front of her.

Pomona Sprout loved her students from the little ankle biters to the gargantuan seventh years who dwarfed her. She loved them all the same. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that she believed them to be her children and in a sense, they were. It was her who was responsible for them as they found their footing in the world. Sure they would stumble and even fall along the way, but she would always be there to pick them up, dust them off and tell them to keep on going; that was something that she wouldn't change for the world.

Sprout would fight tooth and nail for their well-being even if that was against Voldemort himself yet the request in front of her perplexed her a great deal. Albus Dumbledore had requested a meeting with Aayan Barak, a charming little first year who had a knack for Charms and Transfiguration but she couldn't help but wonder why, nor if it was a good thing to expose him to Dumbledore this early in his school life. Although she admired the man, it wasn't to the level of blind faith and she knew that like all other human beings, he had flaws. Albus Dumbledore more often than not believed that his way was the only way and could be quite headstrong when someone said otherwise.

Sprout was hesitant in sending Aayan off to face Dumbledore yet she knew that it had to happen; either voluntarily or Dumbledore would see to it that it happened himself. That didn't mean that she couldn't delay the meeting for a few more days though, the boy deserved a break after all. She opened the drawer below her desk, slipping the note on top of the rolls of parchment inside before slamming it shut, a resolute look on her face.

Albus Dumbledore would have to wait and that was final.

*****

(Aayan Barak's PoV)

With the Christmas Holidays underway, I had taken to occupying my time through delving into the Mind Arts and reviewing everything that I had learnt so far as well as reading ahead. I had more or less covered everything on the second year course and had started on the third year specification by Christmas day, deciding to take a day off studying. That didn't mean that I didn't keep up my habit of working out though.

On Christmas morning, I woke up especially early, revelling in the solitude of the dorms and running off into the communal area of the Hufflepuff common room. I breathed in happily before making sure that I was alone. Once I was certain, I sat onto the armchair facing the fireplace.

"Shorty," I whispered, my call accompanied by a muffled crack as Shorty apparated in front of me.

"Good Christmas morning Young Master Yan," Whispered Shorty, taking note of the silence in the room. "What is Shorty be doing for you?"

"Sorry to disturb you from your work," I said, giving the Elf an apologetic smile. "I was wondering if you could make me some hot chocolate. Today feels like just the right day to drink some."

The Elf looked back at me, a radiant smile on his face before leaving. Soon afterwards, he returned with a piping hot mug of hot chocolate and two croissants to boot.

"Thanks, Shorty," I said honestly. Shorty lowered his head bashfully. "You can go back to whatever you were doing now. Merry Christmas!"

"Thank you, Young Master Yan," Replied the Elf, looking me straight in the eyes. "Nobody is wishing Shorty a merry Christmas before."

He then disapparated with a muffled crack, the room descending into a peaceful silence as I leisurely sipped from my mug of hot chocolate.

The majority of the day was spent in bliss and happiness and there was a school-wide snowball fight for those who had opted to stay for the holidays after which we all went to the Great Hall and had a snug feast. The house tables had been pushed back and we were all free to sit wherever we wished. My gang of Hufflepuffs sat amidst Harry's more agreeable Slytherin friends as we made conversation and supped on Christmas-exclusive delicacies thanks to the House Elves.

Spread across the table was a wide array of dishes enough to turn the most emaciated person into a contender for the world's fattest. Before me there were a hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

The environment of the Christmas dinner was completely different to the regular Hogwarts meals. There was an almost tangible feeling of closeness in the air. Almost as if for a moment, all prejudices were forgotten as rich and poor alike sat around a table and enjoyed a hearty meal together. I held the naive hope that this could one day be a reality for everyone yet in my heart of hearts, I knew that it would never be possible. Human beings were greedy, callous and cruel when it suited them and it would be nothing shy of stupidity to hope that they could be otherwise. Yet in the short time that I had spent in the castle, I had seen things that I had never thought possible and so maybe my faint hope could be realised.

For that to happen though, Lord Voldemort would have to be taken off the table; permanently.

I glanced around, noticing that everyone seemed to be enjoying their food and I was no exception. I stacked my plate with as much roast potatoes as possible with slices of turkey to accompany them. Of course, I didn't refuse any gravy either as I dug into my food with gusto. A while later, I had finished my food and was chowing down on a delectable pudding dish when Professor Sprout walked up to me and uttered a single sentence that put me off of my food entirely.

"Mr Barak," She said, looking at me completely seriously and almost sympathetically. "After dinner, Headmaster Dumbledore would like to speak to you in his office."

My heart rate shot up as I took in a deep breath to steady myself lest I fall off the bench I was on; my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest as the very food I had swallowed threatened to leap out of my mouth.

This was the worst possible thing to happen. I hadn't anticipated meeting with him this early and now I was going to suffer for it.

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