Hogwarts: Era of Darkness

In a magically reinforced chamber, somewhere under the earth in the English countryside, Moody was breathing heavily, slumped against the wall, his magical eye rolling around like a compass's needle in a magnetic storm. From the top of his head, blood was flowing down his face, thanks to the fresh crack he received after being flung against the hard stone wall.

"Bastards..." He groaned while he was reaching into his breast pocket with a shaking hand, looking for his flask of scotch.

His disheveled look and rare panic in his natural eye were not because without reason. It originated from the fact that he failed to open the package their newest 'guest' had with him. He was well aware that powerful magic was shielding it; he could see its presence with his magical eye, but he could not discern it. Still, as an experienced Auror, he was confident in his abilities and began preparing to force it open. He utilized all of the spells and hexes he always used when dealing with traps set by the Dark Lord himself... yet they were cut through as if they were used by some first-year student.

"No..." he murmured after swinging his flask, thinking back to what happened and watching the smoking, smoldering heap of ash in the middle of the room. "That was something different."

He got back up, leaning on his walking stick, and confirmed that he could feel most of his defensive spells around himself. They were still working, and they remained untriggered. Whatever it was that attacked him, sending him flying through the room and then bursting into flames, was not entirely a spell. It was something that he didn't consider...

"Alastor." Dumbledore said, entering the room, wand drawn, followed by Flitwick and McGonagall in a highly alerted state.

"I'm fine, Albus." He groaned, shaking his head in dejection. "Whatever magic protected it was self-destructive."

"You are bleeding!" McGonagall exclaimed, stepping forward and handing a handkerchief over to him.

"It is superficial." He mumbled but still took it, wiping his face clean.

"It wasn't magic..." Dumbledore stated calmly, using his wand to pick up the ashes, sorting through them in the air until one tiny ring had fallen out from it. It was broken into four pieces, destroyed, and no longer useful, but it still carried the feeling of magic within its ruined pieces.

"Oh?" Flitwick hummed, getting closer and using his own spells to examine it. "It seems like an artifact? A broken one?"

"A failed one." Dumbledore clarified, putting his wand away and stroking his beard. On the one hand, he was visibly moved and excited. On the other, he was a bit worried. "I didn't feel any spells that would suggest them originating from Grindelwald on the package when I initially examined it. If I did, I would have tried to open it myself. It seems it was a mistake..."

"Are you saying there is someone with them dabbling in artifact creation?" McGonagall asked, her tone serious as it was a field that very few called their own nowadays. It was much easier to enchant something or transfigure an item or being than to create something inherently magical. It was not a field that could be learned willy-nilly nor something that would be cheap to master. It could quickly suck dry any wizarding families of their funds. For all intents and purposes, it was a gradually dying art a century ago, not to mention the modern day. The only field where it was most preserved was among the famous wand makers and nobody else.

"I am." Dumbledore nodded and continued stroking his beard. "I assume it is one of the Anguine kids, probably Conrad, as Quincy is more attuned with potions by our latest intel."

"Did a kid make an artifact?" Moody asked, wiping his mouth after another sip from his flask. "It is hard to believe!"

"No, he didn't." McGonagall answered him, making Dumbledore nod and continue his explanation.

"As I said, it is a failed artifact. He did not create one... he failed. Then, he turned the failed artifact into something else. The moment you began trying to prod it open without the correct method... it activated. A less astute wizard would have been killed."

"Heh." Moody snorted, clicking his tongue, "What a devious little kid... He needs to be put into Azakban the moment we are back in business. I will put him there myself!"

"Kids..." Flitwick muttered, "I don't think we can look at them as kids, Alastor."

...
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......

"Oh...?"

"What is it?" Quincy asked, sitting up next to me on our bed as I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night.

"My enchantment broke."

"What enchantment?" She whispered, rubbing her eyes, yawning, watching me scramble out and looking for the diary on our nightstand.

"I placed a tracking number on the package that Lockhart sent out. As you said multiple times, I still don't trust that our little book didn't fall into the wrong hands. It seems you were right from the get-go because someone tried to open it—one who was not part of the group who originally had these!" I said quickly, finding it.

"Oh! I see!"

We wouldn't let our efforts go up in smokes, so when looking for helpers, we also made sure to cover our tracks. Creating artifacts is not easy, especially when you are still learning the craft, so I had some failed products that could be readily used as traps and weapons. Every pack we sent out had one of them hidden inside, enchanted in a way that if someone who was not part of our original group tried to open it, it went up in flames. Finally, it happened! And... it was later than I expected, but I knew it did as all the artifacts were connected to me. Knowing that Voldemort was so sure of himself that he didn't even protect his valuables and couldn't tell if one of his Horcruxes was destroyed, I would not commit the same mistake as him. Anything I make will be connected to me, and I will know if it gets destroyed or not!

"What will you do? Leave a message?"

"Yep!" I grinned, sitting back next to her, opening the notebook, and licking the end of my quill.

"Don't hold back~!"

"Dear Curious Bastard." I began, knowing full well that whoever was on the other side would feel aggravated reading it. "It's me, Conrad Anguine, son of Angus Anguine. If you are the Dark Lord, then let me say that you should have remained dead. My Dad killed you, and I intend to follow in his footsteps, finishing what he started. Enjoy your remaining years because you won't live long enough to see the new millennia."

"I like it when you are this firm~!" Quincy giggled, hugging me from behind, holding my chest while reading my writing.

"If you are from the Order," I continued with a happy smile, "then I can only tell you, don't worry, you will get what you deserve. You discarded my Father like a worthless, broken tool and pushed us to the edge. Instead of thanking my Father's sacrifice, you began spreading all kinds of rumors of us. You are no better than the other side... You will get the same treatment from us. Order of the Phoenix? Death Eaters? None of you will remain, and the Wizarding World will be cleansed from your factions, letting it breathe fresh air again. All will return to their origin and begin anew... without you."

What I didn't know at that moment was that on the other end, Dumbledore was reading my words, tapping on his table, thinking about old times, from an era when he was just a fresh graduate from Hogwarts, meeting with someone who later became his life's one and only true friend. Someone who said something similar to him once...

...
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"Blue fire...?" Flamel murmured, sitting in the Headmaster's office within the Beauxbatons's chateau.

He had been reading the news that Hermione had mailed back to her old friends, who had delivered it directly to him. The information within, especially that the Order was using a type of blue fire on his members, making sure that if they were captured or would be interrogated, so they wouldn't spill what they knew... by killing them.

Was there any proof he could look at? Nothing concrete. But... that didn't mean he wasn't seeing the connections. There were too many coincidences, questions, and too many indirect clues pointing to the same conclusion. All those circumstantial incidents became increasingly frequent when their mission began at the start of the TriWizard Cup. As the operation passed the no-return point, committing to do it, Dumbledore stopped relying on him less and less, saying that from that moment onward, he didn't want to drag him into their battles.

On paper, yes, it was a commendable stance, something that would put his old friend in a favorable light. Yet, somehow, things kept happening, one after another, events that had the possibility to push him and Beauxbatons into the frontline. Not that he was unaware of it; he had already made the calculations and knew the risks; he was willing to take either Durmstrang or Voldemort head-on.

In the end, against all odds, that didn't happen. More than that, right now, they were –if not in an amicable relationship– at least they were in a less aggressive stance with Durmstrang than ever before. The two schools were not friends, but they ultimately avoided becoming enemies. Behind the scenes, arrangements were made to let their soon-to-be-chosen new Headmaster visit Flamel and start talking about smoothening their relations as they looked into the future of the two schools. The only voices speaking up against these developments were those who were supporting the Order...

"Albus... Albus..." Flamel murmured, playing with a tiny vial between his fingers containing the essence of his Philosopher's Stone. "I lived long enough, wanting nothing but to head into my deserved rest. Yet... you are still not letting me go." With that, he drank it, regaining his energy and letting the creases smoothen out on his face, his eyes glowing with newfound energy. "It seems I am bound to this world a little longer to see how it all plays out. I helped you defeat Grindelwald, and I will help you defeat Voldemort. Don't make me help someone else defeat you."