The change of ownership of the Chudley Cannons did not cause much of a stir. This was largely because Count Dantes had been involved in too many extraordinary events recently.
A new city had risen from the ground—already taking initial shape in just over a month. It was unprecedented: a "city" exclusively for Wizards. It wasn't that no one had ever considered such a venture before, but no one had ever been willing to spend the massive fortune required. Unlike others, the Count had simply waved his hand and bought up all the Muggle land surrounding Ottery St Catchpole.
In the eyes of Wizards, exchanging Galleons for Pounds was extremely uneconomical. A single Galleon could allow an adult to live quite comfortably in the Wizarding World for twenty days. In contrast, five Pounds—exchanged from one Galleon—could only buy about thirty pounds of frozen chicken or twenty-five pints of milk. If that comparison means little to you, thirty pounds translates to 13.61 kilograms.
And buying land was just the beginning. Construction would follow—an endeavor requiring immense money, labor, and time—to build a city for all Wizards to use? No one in their right mind would undertake such a task.
Yet, "foolish" endeavors like this would, in time, become the foundation of national initiatives—winning not only fame and allies but also fortunes. Of course, Count Dantes's motives remained open to interpretation.
Soon after, Dana received an invitation from Mrs. Weasley, asking him to visit The Burrow. He politely declined. His generous acquisition of Weasley land and the gift of Quidditch tickets were simply a token of gratitude for the twins' help at Hogwarts. He wanted no deeper ties—and perhaps dared not seek them.
Besides, he truly had no time. With only a few days left before school resumed, he needed to travel across Europe. That way, when Professor McGonagall inevitably asked, he'd have some stories to share.
Now, standing before the ancient walls of Nurmengard, Dana fell into deep thought.
Once the headquarters of Gellert Grindelwald's Witchcraft Party, it was now his prison. Tsk, tsk—how ironic. The old guard at the gate was dozing off, slouched against the wall. There were no other sentries. Security was laughable—like a child's game.
But perhaps Grindelwald simply didn't want to leave.
Dana transformed into a sleek black cat, walking gracefully toward the castle. As he passed the old guard—clearly over sixty—he caught sight of drool at the man's mouth, stained with breadcrumbs. Dana strongly suspected the man's lunch had been Vienna schnitzel. Perhaps the food in Nurmengard wasn't too bad?
He reached the main gate. Above it, the inscription "For the Greater Good" was already faded, its letters choked with moss.
Dana sensed no trace of an Anti-Apparition Charm. Over the summer, he had taught himself Apparition. Thanks to Merlin's bloodline, he had a natural affinity for the magic and could instantly detect such enchantments.
Inside, the black cat climbed the spiral staircase. The air was thick with the stench of rotting wood. Mushrooms thrived in corners, feeding on the moisture and darkness. The decay was palpable.
Here resided a man once feared across the world—a man now nothing more than a relic, a shadow of his time.
Dana arrived at a room that had no door—only the remnants of hinges embedded in a stone frame. This empty threshold now confined one of history's most dangerous Dark Wizards. No guards. No magical seals.
"Oh, a little kitty—what a rare visitor," said a frail voice.
Gellert Grindelwald, his face creased with deep wrinkles and his white hair retreating from his forehead, smiled as he sat by the window.
"No need to hide yourself, child. I've already seen you in my dreams."
The black cat stood on its hind legs and transformed instantly into Dak Dantes.
Grindelwald tilted his head and said, "This is still not your true self, child—but I understand."
He grasped an iron ring attached to the wall—originally used to chain prisoners. Rust stains spread from it onto the surrounding stone. Using it for support, he slowly stood up, his limbs stiff from long disuse.
"Child, go back. I will not help you."
Dana smiled.
"I haven't even said anything yet. How do you know what I came for?"
"I can see the future."
"No, you can only see fragments, not the complete future. Sixty years ago, you foresaw the World War—you saw planes, tanks, and atomic bombs. But Muggles didn't destroy the world, and they didn't destroy the Wizarding World either."
Grindelwald observed Dana curiously. He didn't believe someone filled with vengeance could offer anything of value. In this, he had always disagreed with Vida Rosier.
Dana continued:
"But just because the Wizarding World has survived so far doesn't mean it will continue to thrive. Look around—how long has it been since we've seen genuine magical innovation?
In fact, our magic is regressing. Remember the Goblin Rebellion a century ago? Back then, Trolls rampaged through Hogsmeade, and almost everyone pulled out their wands to defend the town. But today? Most employees at the British Ministry of Magic can't even cast a proper Shield Charm.
The pure-blood families bask in the glories and wealth of their ancestors, oppressing the lower classes in pursuit of more riches. They indulge themselves and squander their lives.
Lower-class Wizards, desperate to improve, find no access to learning. They're discriminated against, ostracized. They can't live among Muggles either, for fear of breaking the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.
Our society is cracking from within. A revolution is inevitable—not because of Muggles, but because the Wizarding World is collapsing on its own.
But if we awaken, if we improve ourselves, we need not fear Muggles. We can stand proud."
Grindelwald chuckled.
"Well said—but still unconvincing. Your goal is revenge, so I must question every word and deed."
Dana shook his head.
"What does my personal vendetta have to do with wanting a revolution? If anything, my heartbreak makes my resolve stronger. I don't want anyone else to suffer what I did."
Grindelwald nodded thoughtfully.
"Fair point. A decent argument.
But explain this: you told Vida that I failed because I ignored class distinctions. Yet now, you're drawing British pure-blood families into your new city. Isn't that a contradiction?"
Dana rubbed his nose.
"Mr. Grindelwald, you seem unusually well-informed—for a prisoner."
Grindelwald merely stared in silence.
Dana shrugged.
"Which brings us to the real reason I came today—"
They locked eyes. While Dana might not defeat Grindelwald in a fair duel, he stood his ground in presence and will.
"I need you to help me draw all the great families of Europe into my city."
"Why?"
"I'm building a carnival—one so enticing that families will invest everything they own. When people believe they can triple, quadruple, or decuple their wealth, they lose their minds.
And once that tower of greed is built—
I'll knock down the load-bearing wall beneath it.
When the Wizarding nobles lose their wealth, their status will be no different from the lowest Wizards. If they follow the new order, they'll survive. If they resist…
I'll send them to meet Merlin."
The kind of meeting from which no one returns.
Grindelwald raised one white eyebrow. The mischievous glint in his eye was just like the man he had once been decades ago.
"Aren't you afraid I'll betray you—expose your plan?"
Dana spread his hands.
"If I don't ask, my chances of success are zero. But asking? Asking costs nothing. And if you betray me, it's because you disagree with the plan. Either way, the result is the same."
Grindelwald nodded in approval.
At that moment, a strong gust of wind rushed through the window behind him—though it had long since been boarded shut.
In the echoing wind, Dana spoke softly.
"Besides, would you really betray me? Isn't this the perfect chance to reconcile with Albus Dumbledore?"
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