Harry Potter and the Silent Guardian

Harry's feeling wasn't wrong. Something was happening on Halloween, though thankfully for the students at Hogwarts, it was far from the castle grounds.

Far away in Little Hangleton, a biting wind rustled through the desolate underbrush around the Gaunt shack. Loose scraps of parchment and bits of rotted timber stirred, and the moon, veiled by shifting clouds, cast faint silver rays on the half-collapsed roof. At first glance, the place appeared abandoned, untouched for decades.

But as the quiet evening deepened, Albus Dumbledore Apparated at the edge of the yard, his dark cloak billowing softly in the breeze. His usually twinkling eyes were sharper tonight—focused, determined. He was not here out of curiosity but for an urgent mission.

Dumbledore would have preferred to spend the evening with his students at the Halloween Feast. But ever since he had lost his beloved Elder Wand, he had felt his strength slipping away little by little. Time, he knew, was no longer on his side, and there were tasks that needed to be finished before it was too late. One of those tasks had led him here, to Tom Riddle's childhood home. He was certain a Horcrux lay hidden in this place.

As Dumbledore began weaving detection spells around the shack's perimeter, he wasn't the only one facing a fateful Halloween night. Far across Europe, under a storm-laden sky, another group was on the move.

High in the Austrian mountains stood Nurmengard, its spires piercing the swirling fog like jagged teeth. Tonight, the fortress—once a symbol of terror—was the stage for another mission. Voldemort, flanked by Magnus Blutreich of the Schwarzwald Zirkel, led a small group of dark wizards through layers of ancient wards and enchantments. Every step was calculated, every spell cast in hushed precision as they moved closer to their goal: freeing Gellert Grindelwald, the infamous prisoner locked away for decades.

They had chosen Halloween for its cover. The guards, lulled by the festive night, were distracted—perfect for a stealthy operation.

Two pivotal events unfolded simultaneously, separated by miles yet bound by a strange synchronicity. The hush of each location—and the tension of the moment—suggested that what would happen tonight might reshape the wizarding world in ways unseen since the darkest of times.

---

A biting wind rustled the underbrush around the Gaunt shack, stirring scraps of parchment and rotted timber. The moon, hidden behind shifting clouds, cast thin silver rays on the half-collapsed roof. The place seemed abandoned, untouched for decades. But in the stillness of the evening, Albus Dumbledore Apparated at the edge of the yard, his dark cloak swaying gently in the wind. His usually twinkling eyes were sharp and focused tonight—he wasn't here out of curiosity but for an urgent mission.

Dumbledore's boots crunched softly over the gravel as he approached the ramshackle structure. The air was thick with the weight of old curses and bitter memories—a haunting reminder of the Gaunt family's twisted history. Unknown to him, this place had been visited by another not long ago. Harry had ensured his visit left no trace, hiding it even from Dumbledore.

Pausing inside the overgrown yard, Dumbledore lifted his wand. "Homenum Revelio," he murmured. The spell revealed nothing—no living presence. That, at least, was expected. His sharp gaze swept the crumbling walls and the debris-strewn ground. Moldering wood and shards of glass jutted out like jagged teeth. Somewhere here, Dumbledore was certain, Tom Riddle had hidden a Horcrux.

His research—painstaking and secretive—had led him to this decaying shack. Though his strength was waning, especially after the loss of the Elder Wand, his resolve was unshaken. Destroying this Horcrux could deal a crucial blow to Voldemort.

The cold wind tugged at his white beard as he stepped closer to the shack. The warped frame of a narrow door loomed before him, its wood splintered with age. Dumbledore ducked under the low lintel and stepped inside, his wand raised.

The gloom was oppressive. Moonlight seeped faintly through cracks in the walls, casting eerie beams on a collapsed table, tattered rags, and scattered animal bones. Dust covered every surface, and the smell of neglect hung heavy in the air.

"Careful, old friend," Dumbledore whispered to himself, his voice low. He conjured a soft light at the tip of his wand, illuminating the room. A dark, malevolent presence seemed to pulse faintly from the shadows, growing stronger as he moved further in.

He had to find it—and soon.

---

Meanwhile, halfway across Europe, thunder rumbled over the Austrian peaks as the other event unfolded. Voldemort stood at the foot of Nurmengard, his dark robes whipping in the gusty wind. The towering fortress loomed above, its heavy stones steeped in decades of isolation. Beside him, Magnus Blutreich studied a parchment covered in runes, double-checking their infiltration plan. They had left the usual Death Eater rabble behind for this mission. Only a small group of elite curse-breakers and two Zirkel members, experts in dismantling ancient wards, accompanied them.

Before them stood a colossal iron gate, sealed with powerful wards said to have been cast by Dumbledore himself. The gate was a cruel irony, for the fortress had been built by Grindelwald only to become his prison. Two granite gargoyles perched overhead, their stone eyes glowing faintly as they scanned for intruders. Magical lines shimmered faintly across the gate, a silent warning that breaking through would not be easy.

Magnus flicked his wand and muttered an incantation, scanning the magical defenses.

"They're designed to repel large groups," he rasped. "Good thing we kept our numbers small. We slip in, free him, and vanish."

Voldemort didn't reply, his gaze fixed firmly on the gate. The prospect of meeting Grindelwald face-to-face stirred something in him—anticipation, caution, perhaps even curiosity. With a sharp motion of his hand, he commanded, "Proceed."

A tense silence fell over the group as two curse-breakers knelt before the gate. They began chanting in unison, their voices low and deliberate as they unraveled the protective spells one by one. Sparks danced around their hands, forming intricate, glowing patterns as each layer of magic was tested and carefully undone. The wind howled, and thunder cracked across the mountains, but the group pressed on.

If they succeeded, they would awaken an ally with memories older than the wars of the present—an ally who, if their gamble paid off, could shift the balance of power in their favor.

Things were heating up at both places, setting the stage for a night that would have far-reaching consequences for the wizarding world.