I am eleven years old.
And the world is finally opening.
The letters arrive all at once.
Owls.
Several of them.
Different sizes. Different colors. Different magical signatures.
They flood into the main hall of Nurmengard in a chaotic flurry of feathers and parchment, circling briefly before descending with surprising coordination.
I watch them carefully.
Interesting.
Multiple institutions.
Multiple offers.
Recognition.
I step forward and collect them one by one.
The parchment varies—some thick and formal, others lighter, more modern. Seals from different magical academies mark each envelope.
"Popular already," Vinda says lightly from behind me.
Vinda Rosier
"Predictable," I reply.
She hums in quiet amusement.
I open the first.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Different schools.
Different philosophies.
Different limitations.
I skim them quickly.
Efficiently.
None of them matter.
Until—
I pick up the final letter.
The parchment is familiar.
Ancient.
Refined.
The seal confirms it.
Hogwarts
Of course.
I open it.
The contents are exactly as expected.
Formal.
Welcoming.
Structured.
But beneath the words—
There is something else.
A presence.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
Albus Dumbledore
I smile slightly.
"So," Vinda says, stepping closer. "Which one?"
I don't hesitate.
"This one."
She glances at the letter.
Then sighs softly.
"I thought so."
"Is there a problem?"
"No," she says calmly. "Just… complications."
Of course.
There always are.
Later.
I find Grindelwald in the upper chamber.
He stands by the window, overlooking the grounds of Nurmengard—his domain, his creation.
I approach quietly.
"I've made my decision."
He doesn't turn.
"I already know."
Of course he does.
"Hogwarts," Grindelwald says.
"Yes."
A pause.
"…To see him?" Grindelwald asks.
I consider that.
"Yes."
There is no point in denying it.
Another silence follows.
Longer this time.
Then—
Grindelwald finally turns.
His expression is calm.
Controlled.
But his eyes—
Sharp.
"Be careful," Grindelwald says.
"I always am."
"He will test you," he continues. "Not openly. Not immediately. But he will."
"I expect nothing less."
Grindelwald studies me for a moment.
"…You are ready."
Not praise.
Not reassurance.
A statement.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then—
Grindelwald says, "I will remain here."
"I assumed as much."
"Nurmengard still requires a foundation," he continues. "And there are things I must prepare."
Of course there are.
Plans within plans.
"And you," he says, stepping closer, "will establish our presence in Britain."
I nod.
"Understood."
Vinda will accompany me.
As will several acolytes.
Not openly.
Not as a faction.
But as something quieter.
More subtle.
A foothold.
Packing is… simple.
I do not have many unnecessary belongings.
Books.
Notes.
Magical tools.
Essentials.
Vinda, however, seems far more invested in the process.
"You need proper clothing," she insists, holding up yet another set of robes.
"I already have robes."
"You have functional robes," she corrects. "There's a difference."
"I fail to see its importance."
"You will," she says dryly. "Trust me."
I allow it.
There are benefits to appearances.
Even if they are inefficient.
The night before departure—
I stand alone on one of the outer balconies of Nurmengard.
The wind is cold.
Sharp.
Familiar.
This place…
It was never meant to be a home.
And yet—
It became one.
Strange.
"I thought I'd find you here."
I don't turn.
"I wanted to observe," I reply.
Grindelwald steps beside me.
For a while, neither of us speaks.
Then—
"The world you are entering," Grindelwald says quietly, "is smaller than the one you came from."
"I am aware."
"But that does not make it simple."
"No," I agree.
A pause.
"…You remind me of him," Grindelwald says.
That is unexpected.
"In what way?"
"The way you think," he replies. "The way you see the world."
Albus Dumbledore
Of course.
I say nothing.
"…But you are not him," Grindelwald adds.
"No."
Another silence.
Then—
Grindelwald says, "Good."
Morning arrives.
The journey begins.
Vinda stands beside me, composed as always.
Several acolytes wait nearby, prepared, silent.
Everything is in place.
I take one last look at Nurmengard.
Not as a child leaving home.
But as something far more deliberate.
A strategist moving to the next stage.
England awaits.
Hogwarts awaits.
And more importantly—
He awaits.
I smile slightly.
Let's see…
What kind of man you truly are.