— — — — — —
Dumbledore's expression was grim. Magic pulsed off him in sharp waves.
And before him lay nothing but ruins: shattered walls, scorched earth, the once-vibrant mansion reduced to a blackened wasteland. The lingering traces of Protego Diabolica filled the air with the heavy stink of sulfur, and beneath the rubble, wounded or dead wizards remained buried.
Grindelwald didn't care. But Dumbledore did, and his anger burned cold.
"Gellert! What happened to you? Why are you even more reckless and fanatical than before? Why insist on starting a pointless war? Why take lives for nothing?!"
He fired off four questions in a row, each laced with frustration and disbelief. His wand was already raised, waiting for an answer.
But Grindelwald just smiled. He leaned back, and an old-fashioned armchair shimmered into existence behind him, catching him as if it had always been there.
"Why are you asking me this, Albus?"
"Who caused today's mess? It wasn't me, and you should know that. It was Babajide Akingbade, the ICW, and those clueless ministers who think they're untouchable."
"They're the ones who started this war and planned today's ambush." Grindelwald flicked his hand. A gust of wind swept away the acrid smoke.
"..."
Seeing Dumbledore's expression didn't soften; Grindelwald's smile only grew. "You ignore the ones pulling the strings and come after me instead? Why? Just because I'm the villain at the moment?"
"So villains automatically deserve to have wands shoved in their faces, is that it? Is there no justice left at all? Look at me, Albus. Give me answers."
Dumbledore's pupils widened. For a moment, confusion and shock flickered across his face.
Wasn't he the one demanding answers? Why was Grindelwald acting even more outraged than he was?
No. Something was off.
Dumbledore forced himself to calm down. He knew better than to let Grindelwald lead him in circles. No one was better at twisting words and hearts. He'd once fallen for it too, and the consequences of that mistake still haunted him.
Compared to Grindelwald, Voldemort's tricks were laughably crude. No wonder he was called Little Voldy.
"You walking out of the Nurmengard tower was the true beginning of all this," Dumbledore said quietly. His blue eyes were filled with disappointment. "You forgot our agreement. You were the one who said you'd live out your days there. I believed you. And you betrayed that trust."
"The tide of the era pushed me forward, Albus."
Grindelwald met his gaze without the slightest guilt. The air between them felt like the echo of their legendary duel decades ago.
"I once believed, without doubt, that I'd stay in that tower forever, clinging to memories of that summer until the moment I died."
Dumbledore's beard trembled slightly.
"But the world never bends to a person's will." Grindelwald looked down at his own hands as if seeing something only he understood.
His voice softened into a murmur. "The acolytes need my guidance. The wizarding world needs my strength. And I… I want to witness the final transformation. So I went to Berlin. That's why I came here."
"No. All of that is nothing but excuses." Dumbledore's grip on his wand tightened. "Your return is the root of this chaos. Stop blaming the world. Without you, things would have taken a better path."
"Better path? Like that clown Voldemort?" Grindelwald let out a low laugh. "Albus, look at what your mercy has cost the world. If you'd been decisive back then and dealt with that Tom Riddle, half the tragedies that followed would never have happened."
"I met that clown in Albania, you know."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. The killing intent that gathered around him grew sharper, but he held back, waiting for Grindelwald to continue. "You sought out Voldemort?"
"That's right," Grindelwald said without hesitation. "I was curious. Curious about a wizard who could make you hide away in Hogwarts."
"And?"
"And he disappointed me. And so did you, Albus. Go tell the world that from today on, there's only one Dark Lord. Me. Gellert Grindelwald."
"No." Dumbledore lowered his wand. His beard fluttered in the wind. "After today, there won't be any Dark Lord left in this world."
"Then come try."
The battle erupted without warning. Robes snapped in the wind as magic tore through the air, spells screaming between them.
Golden light clashed with shimmering blue. Even the air seemed to sharpen into blades that carved deep gouges into the earth.
Dumbledore still held back enough to steer the fight away from the mansion, not wanting to harm the collapsed Bulgarian Ministry officials scattered across the ground. Grindelwald followed the shift without complaint, never once trying to use them as leverage.
But once they were far enough away, Dumbledore unleashed his full force. In a heartbeat he was in front of Grindelwald, the Elder Wand blazing with terrifying power as it transformed into a streak of cold light aimed straight at Grindelwald's chest.
A sharp tearing sound came.
The robes split open, yet there was no sense of flesh yielding. The shredded cloth twisted into dozens of venomous snakes, lunging for Dumbledore.
Instantly, a burst of gold swept out from him. And every snake turned to ash the moment it touched the light.
Albus Dumbledore. Gellert Grindelwald.
Both of them had pushed their speed to the limit, attacking and countering with such precision that the air itself felt thick with stray magic. Apparition grew harder to pull off, space refusing to cooperate. Dumbledore would normally have Fawkes at his side, but the phoenix was still recovering after rushing across half the continent.
But then a troubling thought gnawed at Dumbledore.
Grindelwald had just crushed four hundred Aurors. Four hundred. And these were elite Aurors, not untrained fools.
So why wasn't he even tired? Why did he look energized, sharp, almost exhilarated, fighting at his peak?
What the hell is going on?
He, Dumbledore, wasn't at full strength. Even with Fawkes carrying him, that long-distance jump had still taken a toll. His mind wasn't as clear as usual.
"Alright. Let's stop here." Grindelwald waved his hand, not wanting to waste time on a pointless fight.
"..."
"Hand over the Aurors you captured," Dumbledore said.
Grindelwald gave him a short, sharp laugh. "Albus, you might want to have someone check your head. I went through all that trouble to take hostages, and you think I'll give them up because you asked nicely."
"Gellert, you're setting yourself against every Ministry in Europe."
"We've already been at odds for decades." Grindelwald rose slowly into the air, looking down at Dumbledore. "Tell Babajide this. If you touch even one Bulgarian wizard, I'll kill ten Aurors. And when I run out, I'll go catch more. They joined the Acolytes now."
"And..." His voice dropped, almost casual. "Albus, as long as you let yourself be chained by moral scruples and that ridiculous softness of yours, you'll never be my equal. You'll always be reacting, never leading. Once you've figured that out, come to Berlin next weekend. And bring your Hogwarts' greatest student, Tom Riddle."
He shot away, a streak of light that vanished toward Berlin. Dumbledore watched until he disappeared completely. Then he sighed, reached for his Codex, and found urgent news waiting: {Durmstrang had fallen.}
"... I'm tired."
He wasn't just tired of this shit. He was ready to drop dead.
He honestly wanted to wring the necks of every useless official involved right now.
Why provoke Grindelwald if they didn't have the ability to deal with the consequences? Holding a stalemate and waiting for an opening would have been fine, but no, they had charged in headfirst. Hundreds of Aurors lost, and now an entire school with them.
Babajide's face flickered onto the Codex: exhausted, dark-skinned, and full of desperate hope. He clearly already knew what had happened from the surviving Aurors. Dumbledore was the last shred of hope he had left.
But seeing Dumbledore's cold, tightly contained anger, his heart dropped. He swallowed hard. "You… failed?"
"I've told you many times," Dumbledore said flatly, not even trying to soften the blow, "if Grindelwald wants to leave, I can't stop him. Your four hundred Aurors were wiped out in under thirty minutes. He's still at full magical strength."
"That's impossible," Babajide whispered.
"He's Grindelwald. It's not the first time he's pulled off a miracle," Dumbledore replied. It sounded almost like nonsense, yet it explained everything. "He wants me in Berlin next week for negotiations. Babajide, do your best on this last task."
He cut the connection without waiting for a reply.
---
In the ICW headquarters in North America, Babajide collapsed into his chair.
He knew he was finished. This operation had been his idea, carried out with the ministers.
The political fallout, the global outrage, the public fury—someone had to take the blame.
Babajide racked his brain for any way out. There was only one: capture Grindelwald before the backlash exploded. But that was a fantasy.
"Sigh~"
---
"Hmm..."
"You don't want to rest a bit longer?"
Grindelwald had been flying toward Berlin when he suddenly halted. Tom stepped out of the pocket dimension.
Tom looked perfectly fine, but Grindelwald still asked out of habit.
Trading spells with dozens of wizards at once, taking curses head-on, slipping through coordinated attacks—only Tom or Andros could manage something like that. Grindelwald himself would've needed a far more roundabout approach.
Ravenclaw was somewhat the same. She didn't have the bottomless well of magic that Andros and Tom possessed. But still, she could defeat the three of them combined.
"I'm fine, Old G." Tom shook his head. "Honestly, I was fully recovered while you and Dumbledore were busy arguing. No problem at all."
"Now, calculating the time... If I hurry back to school, I might still catch Hermione and Ginny's match."
Grindelwald was speechless.
Kid, you nearly blew up the entire wizarding world ten minutes ago, and you aren't even thinking of that?
"Go on, then," Grindelwald sighed. "I'm heading to Durmstrang. It's been years. I'm curious how much it's changed."
Grindelwald changed directions mid-air. And the two parted. Tom flew south toward the Scottish Highlands, while Grindelwald turned north.
.
.
.