As the saying goes, slash fans can spot a gay romance anywhere.
Of course, Grindelwald wasn't like that.
At least, that had to be the official line.
The "agreement" he mentioned was the unspoken pact made after their legendary duel: Grindelwald would remain imprisoned, and Dumbledore would ensure he never threatened the world again.
"Respect for me?" Dumbledore looked up, his piercing gaze fixed on Grindelwald. "Or do you actually need my help, or my permission, to meet some… special requirement of this duplicate? To keep it stable, perhaps, or allow it into places protected by particular enchantments?"
Everything he had been through lately had certainly made Dumbledore more suspicious. He was beginning to approach Gotham's own caped crusader in the paranoia department. Then again, with the wizarding world in such a mess, Dumbledore had scarcely enjoyed a peaceful day in his life.
"Of course not."
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. The childish gesture was so unlike his usual manner that even Dumbledore looked taken aback.
"Merlin's beard, Albus. How have you become even more suspicious than you used to be?"
There was genuine exasperation in his voice, along with a teasing note.
"Can't I simply enjoy making a request I know will put you in a difficult position, then watching you frown and agonize over the consequences? It's one of the few pleasures I have left in this tower."
That might have been the most honest thing Grindelwald had said so far.
The explanation was so blunt, and the sense of mischief so typically his, that Dumbledore relaxed a little. Compared with a scheme hidden beneath affection or appeals for sympathy, a request made simply to watch him squirm was still troublesome, but it did fit his old adversary's occasional taste for practical jokes, especially if Grindelwald really had grown too old and frail to cause much trouble.
"You are as aggravating as ever."
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment. His stern expression gradually softened into a look of weary understanding, though he continued to study Grindelwald.
He let out a slow breath.
"If this truly is nothing more than a duplication spell, with no magical power and no purpose beyond allowing you to experience the outside world…"
He stressed both "if" and "truly."
"And if strict limits are placed on its duration and range, I could try submitting a request to the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards' special oversight committee. Through the proper channels."
It was the greatest concession he could offer: a little flexibility within the rules.
Grindelwald, however, shook his head. His teasing smile returned, as though he had once again taken control of the conversation.
"Through the proper channels? All that paperwork? Albus, it would take too long. We both know how quickly bureaucracies work. And I…"
He leaned forward slightly, his mismatched eyes fixed on Dumbledore.
"I want to see London tonight. Now."
"Tonight?"
Dumbledore frowned again, and the tension returned at once.
"Why the urgency? Gellert, what exactly are you planning? You know London is hardly peaceful at present."
"Of course I know."
Grindelwald's smile faded, and his voice took on a distant quality.
"That makes it all the more worth seeing, doesn't it? As for the urgency…"
He paused, his gaze seeming to pass through the tower walls toward somewhere far beyond them.
"Perhaps it is because I have a feeling that if I do not go out tonight… I may never have another chance."
Dumbledore's heart lurched.
A vision. One of Grindelwald's most dangerous gifts.
He stared at him.
"What have you foreseen? Something about yourself? About tomorrow? Or…"
Grindelwald met his gaze and gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, then shook his head. The contradictory response only made Dumbledore more wary.
"Stop speaking in riddles, Gellert!"
His voice held an unusual sharpness, with a faint note of urgency beneath it.
"Tell me plainly. What did you see?"
The air at the top of the tower seemed to freeze. Even the crystals' pale glow appeared to dim.
Grindelwald drew a deep breath. The last traces of teasing and wistfulness vanished from his wrinkled face, leaving only the cold gravity of a Seer who had glimpsed what fate held. For an instant, his mismatched eyes seemed to reflect stars going dark and space and time twisting out of shape.
He looked at Dumbledore and spoke slowly, distinctly. In the silent room, his words struck like thunder.
"I foresaw that if I do not go out tonight…"
"I will die."
He paused, allowing the words to sink in. Then, as Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock, he added something far worse.
"And so will you, Albus."
"And… everyone else."
He certainly knew how to drop a bombshell.
A deathly silence filled the tower. The cold tea and the pie beside it bore silent witness to the staggering prediction.
"What?"
Some of the color drained from Dumbledore's face. His fingers tightened against the stone table until his knuckles turned white. Shock, doubt, scrutiny, and deep concern churned in his blue eyes.
He knew the power of Grindelwald's Sight. When a truly important vision was at stake, Grindelwald did not make empty threats. But this was appalling, and its implications were immense.
"Everyone?" Dumbledore's voice was dry. "Gellert, do you understand what you are saying? What kind of catastrophe could involve… everyone? The new Dark Lord? He may be running rampant, but his power is nowhere near that great!"
Grindelwald did not answer directly. He slowly settled back into his chair, as though speaking the prophecy had cost him considerable effort. His gaze became unreadable again as he studied Dumbledore, something complicated lingering in his eyes.
"So, Albus."
His voice was calm once more, but his resolve was unmistakable.
"I need to go out. Tonight. As a duplicate. Yes, I want a walk. Yes, I want to revisit old memories. But I also need to… confirm a few things. Perhaps even… change a few things."
He paused.
"Even if the change is only a very small one."
He met Dumbledore's eyes again. His gaze was sharp, but there was something almost pleading in it.
"I need your help. Not as a prisoner, and not as an enemy, but as one old man asking another. Two old men who once could see further than most, and who are now both bound by time and responsibility. Help me open a crack in these walls tonight. You know how deeply I love this world, too."
Grindelwald delivered each sentence deliberately.
"Whether we still have a tomorrow may depend on it."
"Is that really the truth?"
Dumbledore stared at him, searching every crease in his face and every flicker in his eyes for signs of deception, weighing the risks.
The silence in the tower grew almost suffocating. At last, Dumbledore spoke, his voice low and deliberate, as though he had carefully weighed every word.
"Tell me, Gellert. Where in London do you intend to go? What do you want to 'see'?"
His gaze never left his old friend.
Grindelwald's lips lifted in a barely visible smile. He knew he was halfway there. Reaching out, he lightly tapped the cold, paper-wrapped pie beside the open book.
"Somewhere near a bridge," he said softly.
The cool crystal light reflected in his mismatched eyes, almost like the lights and shadows of bridges shimmering on the Thames.
"To see a rather… special Raven."
He no longer seemed interested in hiding anything. Perhaps everything before this had simply been a way to tease Dumbledore.
"A Raven?"
Dumbledore's brows drew tightly together. Coming from Grindelwald, the word carried an unusual weight.
He certainly wasn't talking about one of the noisy black birds flying overhead.
"That Raven?"
A sudden thought brought Dumbledore sharply to attention.
Over his long and scholarly life, particularly during those dark years when he had been obsessed with the mysteries of death and the search for the Resurrection Stone, he had studied countless ancient legends and texts, some forbidden, others bordering on myth.
The image of the Raven had occasionally appeared at the edges of those accounts: an elusive presence in writings about fate, endings, guidance, and beings whose power defied ordinary understanding.
It did not seem to refer to a historical figure or any known magical creature. It was more like a symbol or concept that had surfaced across different civilizations and mystical traditions over vast stretches of time.
Sometimes it was associated with death and prophecy. Elsewhere, it was described as a keeper of order amid chaos, or even an enforcer of contracts and trials so ancient that their origins had been lost.
Compared with such a being, even a phoenix seemed commonplace.
Dumbledore had found the most detailed description in an obscure fragment of an ancient text about "liminal realms." It linked the Raven to such cryptic ideas as "the witness to the final transformation" and "the untangler of cause and effect."
But the text was vague, filled with metaphors and speculation. It read more like a philosophical attempt to explain the workings of some higher order of existence than a record of anything observed.
Now Grindelwald was speaking of the Raven as though it were the key to his urgent request, and Dumbledore felt an astonishment unlike anything he had known before.
Could those elusive, almost mythical accounts describe something that actually existed?
"You have found… that 'bird'?"
His voice dropped without his realizing it, as though he feared disturbing something beyond his understanding. His keen blue eyes stayed fixed on Grindelwald.
"The Raven of legend? It has… appeared in our world? Here in London?"
He had instinctively called it "it." From what little he knew, it was more likely to be an abstract presence or some immensely powerful mythical creature than a person.
Grindelwald caught every subtle change in Dumbledore's expression. Beneath his hood, his mysterious, teasing smile deepened.
Rather than answer, he leaned forward slightly. His mismatched eyes gleamed with something almost inviting, and his voice dropped to a low, coaxing murmur.
"Why not go and see him for yourself, Albus?"
He spoke with the intimacy of someone sharing a secret.
"Come with me. Keep an eye on me. I promise you will be… very surprised."
The suggestion alone was startling enough. Two old adversaries who had once stood bitterly opposed, and whose relationship remained tangled even now, were to go together to investigate a being out of myth?
But something else in Grindelwald's words struck Dumbledore far harder.
He had caught one crucial detail.
Grindelwald had said, "Go and see him."
Him?
Dumbledore's pupils contracted as though a bright light had struck his eyes. A cold shock ran up his spine.
Not "it." "Him."
Grindelwald had used a personal pronoun. That meant the being associated with the Raven was, in his understanding, or in whatever his visions had shown him, neither a mindless magical phenomenon, nor an ancient curse given form, nor an abstract force.
It was someone with an identity of his own.
Someone who could be called "him."
That possibility overturned everything Dumbledore had assumed. A symbol from legend had become a person.
The questions came all at once.
Who was he? Where had he come from? Why had he appeared now? What power did he possess, and what did he want? How was he connected to Grindelwald's vision, to that terrible future in which everyone would die?
Thoughts collided in Dumbledore's mind. Even with all his wisdom and experience, he was briefly left stunned, struggling to believe what he had heard. His breathing quickened for an instant.
Then he fixed Grindelwald with a look of sharp, searching alarm, trying to draw more of the truth from that unreadable smile and those mismatched eyes.
Grindelwald seemed thoroughly pleased with his reaction. He met the piercing gaze without flinching, almost as though he were saying, 'There. I knew you would look like that.'
He offered nothing more. He simply waited for Dumbledore to recover from his shock and make his choice.
The air in the tower seemed to have hardened into amber, trapping the unspoken struggle between them. Even the crystal light appeared still. Only the two old men's slow, heavy breathing broke the silence. The cold pie remained on the table, a small but stubborn reminder of the world outside.
Dumbledore's fingers moved absently along the cool edge of the stone table, tapping against it as his mind raced.
Grindelwald's prophecy was horrifying. The revelation about the Raven was more astonishing still.
But the Raven…
Conflict flickered in Dumbledore's eyes as his longing rose.
Grindelwald had found the one thing he could not resist.
(End Of This Chapter)
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