Diagon Alley bustled with its usual frenzy, completely oblivious to the storm that was quietly walking among them.
Gellert Grindelwald—displaying the deceptive vitality of his youth, but concealed beneath the subtle enchantments of a false appearance that was somewhat common in those parts—strolled down the cobblestone shopping street. His eyes, now transformed into a dull brown hue, observed with keen attention and a twisted sense of wonder the world's leading magical society, which had had the audacity to formally declare war on him.
When he read the headline in The Daily Prophet a couple of weeks ago, he simply couldn't stop laughing for quite some time. Of all the major governments on the globe, he hadn't expected Great Britain to be the first to step forward. If anyone had asked him, he would have bet all his gold that the American MACUSA or even the secretive and strict Chinese Ministry of Magic would be the first to mobilize their armies. But he never would have imagined that the country of his old friend Albus would take the initiative in such a direct manner.
A small, amused smile played on his lips as he stepped away from the main stream of passersby and took a seat at one of the picturesque outdoor tables at a café in the alley.
When the waitress approached, he ordered the café's most famous cake and a cup of dark tea. As he waited, stirring the hot liquid slowly, his mind continued to analyze the situation unfolding before him.
It was more than evident that this hasty declaration of war had not been Albus's idea. Dumbledore was a man of extreme caution and had never acted before the Confederation did. No, this mobilization bore the unmistakable signature of the brand-new British Minister of Magic: Tom Gaunt.
Grindelwald smiled to himself, pausing with the teaspoon. Gaunt… or, what had he called himself before? Voldemort, he thought, savoring the word in his mind before almost wrinkling his nose. A truly ugly name, overly dramatic and lacking in any class, if you asked him. Gellert had always preferred to use his own name. It was much more… sophisticated. It commanded real respect and let the whole world know exactly who was behind the actions that would change history forever.
The clatter of a plate against the table snapped him out of his musings. His order had arrived.
Grindelwald looked up and gave the waitress such a dazzling, charming smile that the poor girl blushed to her ears before stumbling away. Calmly and without haste, he picked up his fork and proceeded to taste the cake.
He chewed slowly and nodded silently. It really was good. British pastries had their rare moments of brilliance.
As he took another bite, he rested his elbow on the table and watched the wizards and witches rush by, carrying shopping bags, laughing, and chatting. A deep pity washed over him.
"Oh, poor souls," he thought, his eyes scanning the crowd. "They don't know the truth. And what's worse… they don't want to see the truth—deceived their whole lives."
It disgusted him to see beings with almost divine power hiding in filthy alleys and hidden byways, fearful of insignificant Muggles, refusing to claim the world that belonged to them by right of birth.
Gellert calmly finished his cake, left a couple of silver coins on the table—more than enough to cover the cost and a tip—and stood up. As he adjusted his dark coat and blended back into the crowd, a resolve took shape in his mind.
"They need to see. Each and every one of them needs to see it with their own eyes, because only the truth will set them free."
He walked a few meters away from the café, and almost as if she had materialized from the shadows of the alley, an elegant witch appeared at his side, matching his pace with perfect synchrony.
Gellert smiled without turning his head, recognizing the new presence.
"Is everything absolutely ready, Vinda?" Grindelwald asked in a whisper barely audible above the noise of the alley.
Vinda Rosier, dressed in an impeccable gown and a dark French-cut coat that accentuated her figure and beauty, flashed a deep smile of satisfaction.
"Totally ready. They're just waiting for your command, my lord," Vinda replied softly.
Grindelwald nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon of the alley, calculating the impact of what he was about to unleash.
"It's perfect. I deeply appreciate your fine work, my dear Vinda."
Without pausing her elegant stride, Vinda Rosier tilted her head slightly toward him, offering a small curtsy.
"I live to serve," she murmured.
The sweet, cloying scent of chocolate frogs, sugar feathers, and mint buttercups stood in grotesque contrast to the thick terror that filled the back room of Honeydukes.
Outside, night had fallen completely over the picturesque village of Hogsmeade. Inside, the lights were off, except for a couple of lanterns casting shadows across the candy shelves.
Gellert Grindelwald sat comfortably in a wooden chair that had been dragged from the manager's office. With his legs crossed and his posture completely relaxed, he watched the four people who were magically bound to the floor in front of him: the burly shop owner and three young Hogwarts students—two boys and a girl—who were trembling from head to toe.
Flanking the dark wizard were Vinda Rosier, idly stroking the tip of her wand, and Percival Graves, who maintained a stoic posture, his eyes wide and alert for any movement. Behind them, in the shadows of the shop, several of his most loyal followers waited in silence.
Gellert flashed a friendly smile as he saw the terror shining in the hostages' eyes.
"Please, don't be afraid," Grindelwald urged them, his voice trying to sound gentle and reasonable. "We're not here to be monsters. I was just wondering… How is it that, at this late hour, three young students find themselves outside the safety of their castle?"
Silence was the only response—until the girl in the group, unable to bear the pressure of the Archmage's two-colored gaze, broke into silent sobs, tears streaming down her dust-stained cheeks.
Vinda Rosier stepped forward. Gracefully, she knelt down in front of the student and began to gently stroke her hair, trying to comfort the frightened girl.
"Shh… calm down, dear," Vinda murmured with a reassuring smile. "If you tell us what we want to know, I assure you that absolutely nothing will happen to you. You'll be back in your beds before anyone notices you're gone."
The girl sobbed harder, nodding weakly. She opened her mouth to speak, ready to confess everything just to get out of there alive.
"Don't tell her anything!" shouted the boy tied up next to her suddenly, struggling against the invisible ropes with a courage he didn't even know he had. "We're not going to tell anything to some damn lunatic!"
Vinda's dark eyes flashed with sudden fury. She raised her right hand swiftly, ready to slap that insolent brat across the face with a blow that would shatter his jaw, but a hand rested gently on her shoulder.
"Vinda, enough," Grindelwald stopped her, rising slowly to his feet.
The Dark Lord walked until he was just inches away from the boy. He looked down at him, not with hatred, but with frustration.
"I'm not crazy, boy," Gellert told him, his tone grave. "I, unlike the Ministry and your teachers, simply see the truth."
The student, his heart racing but driven by a recklessness worthy of Gryffindor, snorted in amusement, letting out a nervous laugh.
"That's exactly what a madman would say," the boy remarked, looking him in the eye.
The absurdity and audacity of the comment managed, for a moment, to break the tension. The girl and the other student beside her couldn't help but smile slightly, sharing a moment of reckless defiance.
Grindelwald's face lost all trace of kindness. His patience ran out in the face of these children's foolish blindness.
Gellert leaned forward slightly and released a fraction of his immense magical power.
It was as if the air inside Honeydukes had suddenly turned to lead. The magical pressure crushed the hostages against the wooden floor, robbing them of their breath and instantly stifling their small smiles. A pure, primal terror returned to them a thousandfold, making them realize they weren't dealing with just any wizard, but with a monster with the power to wipe the entire town off the map if he so desired.
The shop owner, pale as a corpse and gasping for breath under the pressure, raised his head and pleaded with him through his tears.
"Please! I beg you!" the man cried, looking at Grindelwald. "Don't hurt the students! They're just children!"
Gellert eased the oppressive pressure slightly to allow them to breathe. He crouched down slightly until he was face-to-face with the owner, looking him in the eyes.
"You're wrong. I never harm wizards and witches," Gellert whispered, with a terrifying conviction in his voice. "I save wizards and witches. It is you who condemn yourselves by hiding in the shadows and refusing to see the truth."
The magical pressure, the fear of death, and the overwhelming presence of the dark leader were too much for the young student.
"There's a hatch!" the girl screamed at the top of her lungs, crying hysterically as she closed her eyes tightly. "In the basement! There's a hatch that leads to a secret tunnel going straight to Hogwarts!"
The two boys' eyes widened, staring at her with horror and betrayal, but they were paralyzed and could do absolutely nothing to stop her. The secret was out.
Grindelwald smiled, satisfied. He straightened up and turned to Percival Graves.
"Percival," Gellert ordered coldly, "call the rest of our comrades. Tell them to get ready. We have work to do."
Graves nodded curtly and left the shop into the Hogsmeade night.
Knowing that the path to the castle was clear, Grindelwald turned around and began walking toward the door leading to the candy shop's basement. However, before he could cross the threshold, the insolent boy shouted at him, tears of frustration in his eyes, clinging to the only hope they had left.
"Headmaster Dumbledore will defeat him! He won't let him into the castle!"
Grindelwald stopped dead in his tracks right in the doorway. His back stiffened. He did not turn around, did not respond, nor did he cast any spells. However, his expression hardened into an icy mask, devoid of all humanity upon hearing that name.
The silence he left in his wake was a thousand times more terrifying than any threat, as the Dark Lord descended into the darkness of the basement.
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