Travers barged into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with his team, rudely driving away all the students with aggressive gestures and barked orders.
Dumbledore sat calmly at his desk, completely surrounded by Aurors in an encircling formation. Though they were powerless against Grindelwald, they had the audacity to surround Dumbledore, who could easily match Grindelwald in magical combat.
"Newt Scamander is in Paris! And so is Prewett!" Travers confronted Dumbledore directly.
"Is that so?" Dumbledore smiled slightly, his tone remaining pleasantly conversational.
"Stop pretending. We know you sent them!" Travers lifted his chin with obvious superiority.
"If you had taught Newt, you'd know he's not exactly an obedient child. And Prewett—how could I possibly command someone like him?" Dumbledore shrugged with an innocent expression that fooled no one.
Travers threw a thick book across the room. Dumbledore casually hooked his finger, making the book float smoothly toward him through the air.
"Have you heard of the prophecy of Tycho Dodonus?" Travers shook his cloak dramatically and turned around with theatrical flair.
"I read it during my student days." Dumbledore opened the book with mild interest.
"A son cruelly banished, a daughter heartbroken..." Travers began reciting when Dumbledore interrupted him.
"Yes, I know the prophecy." Dumbledore closed the book and looked with obvious worry at Leta Lestrange standing nearby.
"There are rumours that this prophecy refers to that Obscurial. They say Grindelwald wants—"
"A follower of noble birth. I've heard the rumours." Dumbledore interrupted him for the second time, his voice growing more serious.
"And wherever this Obscurial appears, Mr Scamander always goes to protect him. Furthermore, you seem to have established quite a small international intelligence network."
Travers, twice interrupted by Dumbledore, grew visibly angry and brought up the accusation directly.
But what he didn't realise was that his reactions were all within the expectations of the accomplished Legilimency master seated before him.
"No matter how long you spy on me and my friends, you won't find anything that works against you, Travers. My goal aligns perfectly with yours—to oppose Grindelwald." Dumbledore sighed with genuine helplessness.
"But I warn you, your oppression and political violence will only push your potential supporters toward the opposition. Grindelwald seeks the power of prophecy, and you seem to be helping him achieve exactly that."
"I have no interest in your warnings. How should I put it—I simply don't like you." Travers spoke his mind with brutal honesty.
"Heh heh heh." Dumbledore was genuinely amused by this blunt statement.
"But you are currently the only wizard who can oppose him effectively. The pure-bloods waver; the Prewetts are restless. Now only you remain, Dumbledore. I need you to oppose him."
For some reason, Travers managed to make his desperate request sound forceful and commanding—perhaps that was his particular charm.
"I cannot." Dumbledore, sitting casually on the desk, looked vacant and shook his head with obvious weakness.
"Is it because of this?" Travers waved his wand, projecting flickering shadows of young Dumbledore and Grindelwald from decades past.
"I know you were once as close as brothers." Travers smiled coldly, watching the dazed expression on Dumbledore's face.
"Closer than brothers." Dumbledore made the relationship perfectly clear.
"Will! You! Oppose! Him!" Travers gritted his teeth, pronouncing each word with extreme clarity and barely contained rage.
"I cannot do it." Dumbledore still shook his head with finality.
"Fine, since you've already chosen your side." Travers shook both hands in frustration.
Silver restraints crafted by skilled goblins suddenly locked around Dumbledore's hands with metallic clicks.
"From now on, I want to know every single spell you use, double the surveillance on you, and you're forbidden from teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Travers panted heavily; whether from fear or anger remained unclear.
"Leta, you have another half hour, then we must leave for Paris." Travers called out sharply and left the office first with angry strides.
The other Aurors followed obediently, except Theseus, who walked last and lingered near the doorway.
"Theseus, if Grindelwald calls a rally, don't try to stop him. And don't follow Travers's assignment to go to the scene, if you still trust me."
Dumbledore tried his best to warn Theseus with careful words. As a wizard who had walked deeply on the path of understanding the mind, Dumbledore understood exactly what Grindelwald wanted—to stir wizards' emotions and fulfil the prophecy through manipulation.
Travers's violent opposition could very likely become the trigger for the prophecy's explosive eruption.
But bound by the Unbreakable Vow, Dumbledore couldn't directly warn them and could only convey crucial information as subtly as possible.
Theseus turned and followed the others, silently noting Dumbledore's carefully worded warning.
In a quiet classroom at Hogwarts, Leta Lestrange was reminiscing about darker times from her past. Opening her old desk, she could still see traces of the cruel bullying she had once endured carved deep into the wood.
Hearing familiar footsteps behind her, Leta quickly closed the desk with a sharp bang.
"Hello, Leta." Dumbledore wanted to make gentle small talk with her.
"Was I really that kind of bad student?" Leta was suddenly curious about what answer she would get from this famous teacher.
"No, you were an extremely intelligent student." Dumbledore tried to gloss over the complicated truth.
"I said bad, not stupid." As a true Slytherin, Leta immediately heard the careful evasion in Dumbledore's diplomatic words.
"I never thought of you as bad." Dumbledore squeezed a bit of air from his nostrils, seeming to hum thoughtfully.
"Then you're the exception. Everyone else thinks I'm bad." Leta immediately refuted him, just like she had during her rebellious school days.
"And they're quite right too—I am indeed vicious."
"Leta, I think those terrible rumours about your brother Corvus might have made you—" Dumbledore tried to offer comfort.
"No, you don't understand, unless your brother died too!"
"I lost my sister." Deep sadness welled up in Dumbledore's ancient eyes.
"Did you love her?" Leta was shocked by Dumbledore's sudden, raw candour.
"I didn't love her enough."
Dumbledore exhaled slowly, as if seeing himself putting down his wand when Grindelwald left all those years ago.
"But, Leta, it's never too late to let yourself find peace." Dumbledore could only offer some hard-earned experience as someone who had walked this painful path.
"Some say confession is a release, that it can lift a terrible burden from one's shoulders."
Hesitation appeared clearly in Leta's dark eyes, but she quickly buried it again behind her usual mask.
"For years, regret has dwelt heavily in my heart. Don't let it become your inner demon."
Seeing that his gentle comfort was proving ineffective, Dumbledore could only end the conversation there.
Meanwhile, in Paris on the Champs-Élysées, Queenie had been troubling the local residents for many days since being picked up from the street in her desperate state.
She thought it was finally time to bid them farewell and continue her search.
Unfortunately, the person who walked confidently through the door was Gellert Grindelwald himself.
Queenie drew her wand and pointed it directly at him with trembling hands. "You stay right there. I know exactly who you are!"
"Queenie, I'm not here to hurt you." Grindelwald's throat seemed to have many people echoing his seductive words.
Every word and phrase was carefully chosen to be provocative and compelling.
"I hope you can come with me, to a world where we're freer to love..."
Grindelwald's hypnotic voice slowly drew out the promise. Queenie panted with obvious distress, and the wand in her hand was easily pressed down by Grindelwald's superior magical force.