— — — — — —
In the blink of an eye, a whole night had passed, but the excitement over last night's battle hadn't faded at all. The Great Hall buzzed with nonstop chatter during breakfast.
At least everyone knew Dumbledore had driven Grindelwald away, so panic never really took hold.
Most of the attention was fixed on the devastated battlefield. The mountainside in front of the school gates now looked like it had been gnawed apart by a pack of wild dogs. That alone showed how fierce the duel had been. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students animatedly recounted everything they'd seen to the two basement-dwelling houses.
But every few sentences, someone would glance toward the staff table at Dumbledore.
That old man was the reason everyone felt safe.
Technically, Dumbledore should have gone to the Ministry this morning to speak with Fudge about the incident. But with the school uneasy and on edge, he knew he had to be visible. His presence alone steadied the students.
So instead of leaving Hogwarts, Dumbledore had Fudge come to him.
He didn't think much of the arrangement. He even went out of his way to explain the reasoning to Fudge. But… did Fudge see it that way?
Of course not. In his eyes, Dumbledore was getting full of himself, summoning the Minister like a subordinate. The resentment deepened, though he had no choice but to show up.
"Albus, you truly couldn't hold Grindelwald?" Fudge finally arrived once classes began. He stood at the window of the Headmaster's office, staring toward last night's battlefield. His voice wavered with frustration. "A man like that roaming freely through the wizarding world is far too dangerous."
"Cornelius, do you think I didn't want to?" Dumbledore sighed. "I did everything I could. But Grindelwald used some kind of magic to restore his youth. He's stronger than before and far harder to subdue."
"But you can ease your worries a little," Dumbledore added. "From what I understand of Grindelwald, he doesn't kill for pleasure. Not wizards, at least."
Fudge looked at him as if he'd grown three heads.
"The Picquery family, the Polish Minister, and he attacked Hogwarts last night. And you're still defending him?"
"Because he and I have old grudges," Dumbledore said calmly. "You and Grindelwald have no conflict at all."
Fudge thought about it, and grudgingly admitted the logic made sense. Still uneasy, he asked, "But what if he blames me because of you?"
Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "He shouldn't. And if he does, his target will be Newt."
"Newt Scamander?" Fudge pictured the beast expert who'd just applied to return to Britain and nodded. That actually did make him feel a bit safer.
"But regardless," Fudge continued with forced resolve, "Grindelwald must be dealt with. I have an international meeting when I return. I'll propose that every country deploy Aurors, and you can lead them to hunt him down. What do you think?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, Cornelius. Hogwarts needs me right now. I don't intend to leave the school. And Grindelwald is alone. No followers, no base. Surrounding and eliminating him will not be easy."
They ended the meeting at an impasse. Fudge left with an ugly expression, but Dumbledore didn't have the energy to care about his mood.
As soon as the Minister departed, he went right back to searching records for the magic Grindelwald used to restore his youth, and any corresponding weakness it might have.
---
In Transfiguration class, Tom propped his textbook upright to block his Codex while responding to messages from Nicolas and Newt.
Both old men had heard the news almost instantly and sent morning greetings. Well… "greetings" was generous. They were reprimands.
Both Nicolas and Newt scolded Tom for being reckless last night, for getting so close to the battlefield, for not leaving everything to Dumbledore instead of sticking his nose into danger.
Tom didn't argue. He obediently agreed to everything, the classic "own up immediately, never actually change."
There was no point butting heads with the two geezers. You don't slap away good intentions from your own people. Save the attitude for strangers.
『Tom Riddle』: Teacher, Grandpa Newt's already come back to Britain for some peace and quiet. Aren't you coming too? There's plenty of empty land next to his place. You two could even be neighbors.
『Nicolas Flamel』: Live next to him? How is that any different from living alone in the middle of nowhere?
『Newt Scamander』: ...… Nico, I'm not that bad, am I?
『Nicolas Flamel』: More or less. Newt, no one's ever doubted your character, and your personality is exactly the same. A person needs to know himself.
『Tina Scamander』: Old man, even if it's true, you could leave him a little dignity.
The group chat was a mess. Tom sighed. He'd created this chat, which in hindsight basically gave a bunch of old men a new hobby. Every day the unread messages hit 999+, keeping his business thriving in ways he hadn't expected.
...
He glanced at his classmates, all drained and sluggish. The contrast was almost funny.
Nicolas still refused to come to Britain. He claimed his estate was safe enough, and that even in an emergency he could hold out until help arrived. Tom felt a bit disappointed.
If Nico actually came, his supplier and his manufacturer would both be gathered in one place. He'd finally sleep easy.
Maybe he could ask old G to go scare Nico a bit?
The thought only formed for a second before Tom crushed it and shook his head.
Way too immoral.
...
"Class, hold on a moment."
The bell had just rung when Professor McGonagall stopped them. She adjusted her glasses with a severe expression. "You all know what happened last night. Yes, Grindelwald challenged Professor Dumbledore, but he was driven back."
"The school is capable of protecting you. But once you go on holiday, it's another matter. His strength is far beyond what most imagine."
"So I recommend that you stay at Hogwarts for the break unless you absolutely must leave. Wait until the situation is clearer before returning home. It's only a recommendation, not an order. The choice is yours."
She hugged her books and left.
"Tom, are we staying?" Daphne asked once she was gone.
"No need." Tom shook his head. "Grindelwald is friendly enough to pure-bloods. Honestly, he's friendly to wizards in general. I looked into it. His old goal was to have wizards rule the world. If he went around killing people at random, who would follow him? He's nothing like Voldemort, that petty wannabe."
Tom didn't bother lowering his voice. Plenty of students heard him. The word "Voldemort" made them jump, but his explanation eased many nerves. Those who had been wavering about McGonagall's suggestion now decided to go home after all.
"Then let's go home," Daphne said. "The beds here are too small. Home is better."
"Yeah. Let's go." Tom took her hand as they walked out.
---
That afternoon, Fudge and several dozen Ministers of Magic held a meeting with a single goal: catch Grindelwald.
But they had two immediate problems: where Grindelwald had gone, and how many people it would even take to subdue him.
One country's Aurors definitely weren't enough. The more old records they dug up, the more terrified everyone became.
Dozens of countries rushed to sign a new temporary international law. If Grindelwald appeared anywhere, Aurors from any nation were permitted to enter immediately as reinforcements. Hundreds of Portkeys were issued on the spot.
The joint statement and treaty hit newspapers worldwide, along with a remarkably clear photo of Grindelwald facing off against the two Dumbledores. Gryffindor's Colin had snapped it with a camera and long lens.
The twin streams of golden magic clashing against Grindelwald's blue arcane force glowed vividly under Protego Diabolica. Thanks to that photo, Colin earned seven years' worth of pocket money, plus extra. Ron was so jealous he wished he owned a camera too.
But after the attack, Grindelwald vanished again. That was the part the Ministries hated most. He was like a walking natural disaster, appearing and disappearing without warning. No one knew where he'd strike next or whose life he'd take.
Dumbledore was only one man. Aside from him, who could claim they could stop Grindelwald alone?
In reality, Grindelwald was still fuming because of Ravenclaw's "King of the Century power levels" system built around him. He couldn't believe he'd become a unit of measurement.
"Why am I the baseline? Use Andros or Dumbledore. Even that Voldemort fellow would do. Why me?"
"Because if I use Andros or Dumbledore, you'd be under one. That doesn't sound like you're in the same league. And Voldemort… I have never seen him fight. How would I use him as a benchmark?"
Furious, Grindelwald went to challenge Andros. Not to prove he was stronger, but to at least make sure he wasn't a pathetic 1 compared to a 1.6.
He was promptly crushed by an unreasonable tide of raw magic and spiraled into silence for days. He didn't even enter the study space.
Tom ignored him and went on with his research.
Over the past few days, Tom noticed something interesting: Dumbledore's gaze had changed.
The eyes are windows to the soul. They can't reveal everything, but they reveal enough.
Dumbledore's eyes had always been calm and restrained, like a still lake. Now there was sharpness in them, a spark of renewed vitality. The catfish effect had arrived.
With Grindelwald here now, and Voldemort likely in the future, Dumbledore knew that if he kept letting himself stagnate, the world would crumble. Pressure became motivation, and the once-supremely confident wizard began rediscovering the drive to study magic seriously.
On the first day of December, Hogwarts saw its first real snowfall. Students ran out joyfully to throw snowballs. Tom even summoned Megatron to serve as the boss for their snow battles. The Highlands had been unusually dry this year, so this was the first proper snow of winter.
---
Paris - Rosier Manor
Grindelwald stood with hands behind his back, wearing a black coat. He faced several dozen of his core followers and spoke softly.
"It's time. Those who once hurt us will pay. Those who betrayed us will also receive their due."
"Once… we swept the world starting from Berlin. So we'll walk that road again."
"We depart from Berlin. The target is Warsaw."
.
.
.