— — — — — —
"Our last time sitting down for coffee together… was in Paris, wasn't it?"
Grindelwald stirred his cup lazily, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "I honestly didn't expect you to follow me. Let me guess… you're here to make peace?"
Dumbledore shook his head calmly. "I don't understand why you broke out of prison so suddenly. The world still hasn't recovered from the damage you caused. Stop this, Gellert. Don't let more innocent people die."
"Your ambitions will never succeed. More resistance will only bring more pain."
"Ambition?" Grindelwald's smile deepened. "And what do you think my ambition is now, Albus? I told you—people change. Why insist on judging me with a mind stuck decades in the past?"
The man before him felt unfamiliar. Even in the darkest days long ago, Dumbledore had never felt this uncertain. Back then, because he understood Grindelwald so well, he could predict every next step.
But now? Everything was buried in fog. Since Gellert's escape, his actions followed no pattern at all.
"Albus, I'm planning to live differently."
Grindelwald leaned comfortably against his chair, completely at ease. "Last time, I failed because I tried to resist the world's rules. This time, I'll blend into them. Tell me, have I killed anyone these past few days?"
"When two Ministries withdraw from the ICW, is that illegal? What's wrong, Dumbledore? Planning to meddle in another country's internal affairs like those insects in the Council?"
"That's sophistry." Dumbledore's expression hardened. "If you hadn't encouraged them—if you hadn't sent people to occupy the Polish Ministry—would they have made such a decision?"
Grindelwald laughed. "I gave them courage, Albus. Today's wizards have lost their fire. As long as I don't start a full-scale war, they won't pay the price to take me down. They'll just squabble and flail like they're doing now. And you—what can you really do?"
"I'll defeat you again." Dumbledore's voice was soft but unwavering, as if stating a simple fact of nature. "The world no longer has a place for you."
"No. You won't." Grindelwald suddenly leaned forward, his presence pressing down like a storm. "You're old, Albus. Your magic is stronger, your spellcraft sharper, and you have that wand…"
"But you're exhausted—heart and body. You can't wield your own power anymore. I'm different. My body is stronger, my soul is stronger. And most importantly… if I don't want to fight to the death, you can't keep me. The balance has shifted, Albus."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "You made a Horcrux?"
"Of course not."
Grindelwald scoffed and tapped the table. "Do you take me for Voldemort? That idiot's broken soul left him crawling around like a protozoan. I would never split my soul."
As if he even had the ability. Even Ravenclaw's remnant spirit had been forcibly gathered inside the study space—he couldn't fracture his soul even if he wanted to.
Dumbledore sighed. "I truly don't want to fight you anymore."
"That's not up to you." Grindelwald drained his cup and stood. "You can oppose me, join me, or stand aside. There is no fourth option."
"Tell those Ministers this as well: my appetite isn't limited to two countries. If they surrender now, I'll give them privileges. Don't wait until I'm at their doorstep to start begging."
When he finished, Grindelwald's body dissolved into the air like a gust of wind. The tourists in the café didn't notice a thing.
Dumbledore sat there alone for a long time before finally leaving.
---
"Vinda, tally how much liquid funding the two Ministries still have. And send someone to Gringotts—squeeze as much gold out of those goblins as you can. Then use all of it to place orders with Tom."
The moment he parted with Dumbledore, Grindelwald returned to the German Ministry and got down to business.
He hadn't forgotten why he broke out in the first place: to help Tom grow stronger, to complete those bizarre trial tasks. And beneath it all was a sense of urgency.
Andros would revive soon. Grindelwald knew he wasn't strong enough to beat that monster, but he refused to fall behind in every other aspect.
His pride would never allow it. He needed to get stronger.
"..."
Vinda Rosier didn't leave immediately. Instead, she reported, "We checked earlier. Berlin is okay—the cash flow is positive. But because we're still paying reparations every year, we're not exactly wealthy."
"As for Warsaw…" Vinda gave an exasperated look. "Their Ministry is rotted through. Every year they only survive thanks to reparations and financial aid from other countries."
Grindelwald frowned, eyes turning cold. "A bunch of useless fools. They can't even hold on to the one thing they have plenty of—money."
He tapped the ring on his finger as he thought. "Fine. We'll just bleed Gringotts a bit more. And stop releasing the spies you catch. Hold them all. Make their Ministries pay to ransom them."
"Yes, sir."
Vinda left with the orders.
---
Back at Hogwarts, Tom had no idea Grindelwald was now in charge of two bankrupt Ministries. He was still hoping the sudden surge of orders would speed up his task progress.
But not only were things on that end going poorly, someone else was about to get in the way of his money-making plans.
...
The moment the last exam ended, relieved cheers burst through the classroom. Students practically tossed their quills aside and bolted out the door, celebrating their hard-earned freedom.
They had almost a full month of vacation ahead.
Because of McGonagall's reminders and advice from the other Heads of House, this was shaping up to be the year with the largest number of students staying at Hogwarts for Christmas—more than half. Even Hermione wasn't planning to go home.
She knew Tom was always busy during holidays, so she figured she might as well stay and study. She could go home during summer when he wasn't so slammed.
Buzz—
The moment Tom stepped out of the classroom, his Codex vibrated. He assumed it was Fleur or Gabrielle messaging him. When he opened it, though, the sender was Fudge.
『Cornelius Fudge』: Mr. Riddle, could you come to the Ministry? Someone wishes to meet you. I've already requested leave for you from Dumbledore. You can use the fireplace in his office to travel directly here.
Tom laughed when he read it.
Only at Hogwarts would he go see a professor—or his beloved headmaster—in their office… and that was normal, since he was a student.
But Fudge? He thinks Tom Riddle will come just because he asks?
Who did this man think he was?
Tom replied with a simple "No" and closed the notebook. Then he continued downstairs with Daphne; they were going to ask Professor Sprout for some Bubotuber seed pods to plant at the Greengrass estate and at Tom's home.
What Tom absolutely didn't expect was that Fudge would show up that very night, dragging the "important visitor" along with him.
— — —
Headmaster's Office
"Mr. Riddle, this is Robert Graves, Head of Security for the International Auror Office. You can think of him as… the ICW's version of Scrimgeour."
Fudge was all smiles, as if Tom's flat refusal earlier that day had never happened.
Graves looked like he'd been carved from the mountains of Gaul—tall, broad-shouldered, long brown hair hanging loose, a high nose, and sharp, predatory eyes. From the moment Tom stepped inside, the man stared at him as if trying to peel him open.
Tom nodded without expression. "Ah. So you're that Graves. The one whose wife slept with Professor Wilkinson, and whose niece's fiancée ran off with him afterward."
Fudge's smile froze. A flash of murder flickered in Graves's eyes, though his face stayed eerily calm.
He said, "Mr. Riddle seems to hold quite a bit of hostility toward me. Is it because Laos Wilkinson once taught you?"
"Looks like he left a deep impression. Even after so long, his students still remember him fondly."
Tom stared at him like he was an idiot. "What exactly are you talking about? Who said my problem with you had anything to do with Wilkinson?"
"First, I told Minister Fudge earlier today that I didn't want to meet you, and you still showed up. That's bad manners. Second, you started glaring at me the moment I walked in. Also bad manners."
"So tell me, why should I show any courtesy to someone with such poor manners and—oh right—a ridiculously inflated ego?"
"Small reminder: everyone may be cheering for Laos Wilkinson, but that's all it is. It's not like he became a legend just because he cuckolded your family—twice."
Fudge was stunned. He had no idea why things turned hostile so fast.
And Dumbledore, as the host of this meeting, acted as if he couldn't hear a word. He stared at his desk like something rare and precious sat on top of it.
"...." Graves's expression finally cracked. His face twitched as he fought to keep his temper. ".....Examining strangers is my professional habit, Riddle. Please understand. I'm not here to quarrel."
"Whatever."
Tom waved a hand dismissively and sat on a single sofa. The moment he did, a glass of chilled lemon juice appeared on the small table next to him. He lifted it slightly in Dumbledore's direction before taking a sip.
"So? What did you want?" Tom asked.
Graves took out a sheet of parchment. "Riddle, the Security Office hopes you will be more cautious with the sale of your Codex notebooks. We ask that you fully restrict their circulation within Grindelwald-controlled territories to prevent the Acolytes from gaining strong instantaneous communication."
"In exchange, the ICW is prepared to offer compensation."
"No need, Graves."
Graves blinked, surprised at how agreeable Tom sounded.
But then Tom continued, "If you have suggestions, feel free to list them. I refuse to accept any of them."
He stood and headed for the door. "Anything else? If not, I'm leaving."
"Riddle, are you planning to help Grindelwald wage war against the wizarding—!"
A sharp red flash streaked across the room.
Graves slammed into a bookshelf so hard that half the books crashed to the floor. The portraits gasped in horror.
Dumbledore let out a silent sigh. Why did this feel familiar?
Ah, right. The last person to get hit by Stupefy in this office was Snape. And Dumbledore had been the one doing the launching.
In that case…Everything was fine. Right?
.
.
.