Beneath the world as it was known—below the glamor of Diagon Alley, beyond the quiet corridors of the Department of Mysteries, deeper than the vaults of Gringotts—there existed a place never mentioned in any book, never recorded in any official archive.
It had no door, no key, no spell of entry that could be uttered aloud.
It was called only The Chamber of Accord—a name whispered once every generation, and only in the most ancient tongues of the magical world. And here, once again, they had gathered.
Eleven chairs. Eleven figures. Eleven names never spoken, faces cloaked in shadow, voices veiled with enchantments that distorted pitch and tone. Not even the others knew who sat beside them.
A circular table of stone and starlight shimmered at the center of the chamber, enchanted with runes from lost civilizations. Floating above it hovered illusions—flickering maps of magical hotspots, spectral faces of witches and wizards, documents and visions from around the globe. The atmosphere thrummed with power and secrecy.
At the head of the table, a voice spoke. Cold, refined, genderless.
"Let us begin."
A second voice followed, deep and slow. "The balance has shifted. The Grindelwald-Dumbledore axis is moving again. Our prisoner stirs with visions."
A third voice, sharper, female. "He summoned Dumbledore. We should have silenced him long ago."
A low hum of disapproval rippled through the room.
"Grindelwald may be dangerous," said the fourth, "but he sees paths we miss. His vision holds weight, even in chains."
"And what of the anomaly?" came a fifth voice, laced with curiosity. "The child at Hogwarts. Elias Blake."
There was a pause.
Then, the sixth spoke, old and rasping: "A divergence we did not foresee. Neither born of prophecy, nor tethered to our threads. He is… unmarked."
"Not for long," the second voice replied. "If he proves useful, he will be guided. If not—forgotten."
A murmur of assent.
"Have we grown so careless?" asked the third voice. "To gamble again with pawns and broken lines? The last time we meddled so freely, we created Voldemort."
That name still carried weight, even here.
"And yet," said the first voice, "he served his purpose. Fear galvanized unity. Division weakened the old houses. And through it all, we tightened control. Even chaos has its place."
The fifth voice flickered again. "There is talk of his return. Whispers in the East. Necromantic stirrings in Albania. The old magics move."
"Then let him rise," said the seventh, cloaked in strange mirth. "We'll pull the strings better this time. He was always… predictable."
"But the boy," the sixth said again. "This Elias. He is not predictable."
"He walks with a mind unlike others," noted the fourth. "Clever. Charismatic. But not corrupted. Not yet."
"Then we watch," said the first. "For now."
A glowing thread formed in the air—an image of Elias Blake's face, surrounded by runes. Below it, the Hogwarts crest shimmered, splintering subtly between the symbols of Gryffindor and Slytherin.
The second voice hummed. "And what of Dumbledore?"
A long pause.
"He suspects."
"Of course he does."
"But he lacks the means. His war is with shadows and relics. Not with us."
"Still," said the fifth, "should Elias slip from our hands, we may lose more than we gain."
"Then let the strings be tightened. Inform the Department of Mysteries. Their 'Unspeakables' must ensure Hogwarts remains… contained."
"And Cassian Blake?"
"Still our pawn. Bitter, arrogant, and desperate for control. Use him to pressure the boy. If he resists…" A shrug. "Expendable."
They all fell silent.
Above the table, the illusion of Voldemort's face flickered briefly—translucent, cruel, and half-formed.
The seventh voice whispered, "Shall we prepare the game board again?"
The first spoke last. "The world must believe it moves freely. Let them chase destinies. We will shape outcomes."
The runes above the table burst into violet light. The illusion faded.
The eleven vanished, as if they were never there.
And once more, the magical world carried on—blissfully unaware of the ancient council that shaped its fate from the shadows.