the inventor ➝ fantastic beasts

NINE - THE ARMY

Grindelwald had only had the effort or interest to learn the names of the members of his inner circle, of his almost-equals - Percival, Ivar, Dominic, and the apparently deceased Victor. He couldn't have placed names to any one of the hundreds of darkly clothed people in the hall if he tried.

Plus, it had been a while since he had seen them all. Not since his infiltration of MACUSA, not since Graves and the rest had helped him assemble them all. So he didn't entirely remember them in several senses. They would not take it personally. He was above them, after all. Their names weren't important. 

He looked down at them all from the platform, his inner circle flanking him, and they looked up at him, silent. They had been conversing loudly just moments ago, but a single word from him and an instant hush had fallen.

They were waiting for him to speak. To command them.

So he gave them what they wanted.

"The time has come," he announced, his voice reverberating off the high ceilings of the hall they had hijacked. Each and every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him. Merlin, it made him feel such power. 

"The no-majs will soon be under our command - the oppression of our people will be overthrown. We shall take what we want. And what do we want?" He asked lightly, inclining his head. 

The response was the most wonderful thing Grindelwald had ever heard.

In unison, in the same low tone and with the same control, his army replied, "Power."

Their collective voice echoed across the hall and washed over Grindelwald as his eyes flickered shut, his head tilting, a shuddering sigh of content escaping his lips. He could still feel everyone's eyes on him, feel their only purpose to obey, to listen... he had felt a sense of it in MACUSA as Graves, but nothing to compare with this.

After a moment, he drew a breath that filled his chest, his head, every part of his body, and his head moved forwards again, facing his army. His eyes flickered open after a moment, and he glanced to the side, to Graves. His right hand man was watching him, that familiar smirk creasing his eyes. Adopting a similar expression himself, Grindelwald turned back to his army.

"Yes. Power," he said, his voice soft. Warm. 

But then, he drew himself up, growing sombre almost instantly. He felt the men at his sides do the same. When he spoke again, Grindelwald's voice was no longer soft, or warm. It was now the voice of the dangerous, immensely powerful leader that he was. 

"You all know what to do. For the Greater Good."

"For the Greater Good."

And the search began. 

Groups of Grindelwald's followers disapparated immediately, and each group reappeared in different places across the globe, as they had planned all those years ago. They were in India, Germany, Denmark, Russia - everywhere. They would leave no stone unturned. 

At the sight of them, bystanders began to scream, scatter, only for their screams to be cut off as they were disposed of by the followers. Anyone who was thought to have the information they needed was snatched up and interrogated privately.  

And all the while, Grindelwald was amongst them, apparating between groups, Ivar, Dominic and Graves always by his side. 

He watched as his army began to spread, as the Hallows drew closer and closer, and he smiled as he realised their domination was beginning.