Voldemort watched Anton and Grindelwald smile politely at him in perfect unison. He raised an eyebrow, sat down, and began wondering what it all meant.
The American Magical Congress was in dire need of rebuilding. Everything had to be handled with the utmost caution.
That run-down place was even worse than he had imagined. Then again, it was understandable. Over the past few centuries, Muggle Witch Hunters had driven them to relocate their Ministry headquarters several times. That alone said plenty about their situation.
Still, it was far from the heart of the European Wizarding World. With the International Confederation of Wizards no longer holding them back, they had vast tracts of land and a large population. Everything was bursting with life.
Full of potential.
A bright future lay ahead!
But that was all in the future. The Magical Congress still had so much to do that Voldemort had to personally appear at the Top 100 Tournament, presenting his new image to the world and all that he might be able to offer them.
Everything in this world came down to self-interest. There would always be people willing to set aside old grudges and come running to him, eager to beg for a few scraps.
He needed more support, enough to build momentum. Even if they lacked loyalty or harbored ulterior motives, he would welcome them with open arms.
Voldemort knew all too well how important his appearance here was.
He couldn't pick a fight with Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Anton. That was the principle he'd set before leaving: do everything he could to keep things peaceful and show everyone that he wasn't just a Dark Lord who knew how to kill.
Once that image was established, opposition would be reduced as much as possible, and opportunists would dare to approach