— — — — — —
Crouch finally understood how his "subordinates" felt.
One order and everyone below is running frantic. No, compared to the Ministry's hierarchy, the dynamic between him and Tom was way more serious. Ministry employees could slack off — did he have that luxury? Not a chance.
So even if it gave him a migraine, if the boss gave an order, he had to make it happen.
---
Sunday...
Sunday was an open day at Hogwarts. Students from other regions had long been curious about Hogsmeade, and today they finally got their wish. Blending into the weekend crowds, they arrived at the world-famous wizarding village.
Naturally, Tom was spending the day with Fleur. And not just Fleur — he had Gabrielle in tow as well.
The little girl was using the Codex's video feature, her big eyes sparkling with curiosity as she chattered nonstop about everything she saw, tossing out one odd question after another.
Tom was always patient with little kids. He even bought a pile of souvenirs for Fleur to take home to Gabrielle, completely oblivious to Fleur rolling her eyes so hard they were about to launch into orbit.
...
But while students relaxed in the village, the professors had no such break.
In the Headmaster's office, the leaders of each school had gathered — Grindelwald included — as well as Crouch, who had called the meeting.
When he finished pitching his idea, reactions around the room were mixed.
"We can participate in the Triwizard Tournament too?" The professor leading Ilvermorny's delegation lit up. "Mr. Crouch, that really is an excellent proposal. Wizards have strengths beyond dueling — this would showcase much more."
"But… historically, the participating schools have always been fixed, haven't they?"
Isabella from Castelobruxo nodded — she'd been thinking the same.
The two American schools exchanged students all the time and got along well, but that also meant they'd already traded most of their advantages. More exchange wouldn't do much. Interaction with European schools, however, was their goal.
Joining the Triwizard Tournament meant selecting champions, which in turn meant bringing more students to Hogwarts and exposing them to a completely different educational style.
Crouch only shook his head at their concern. "Competition is the heart of the Triwizard Tournament — the title of world's strongest magical school is what's at stake. Expanding to four, five, or more schools only increases the event's legitimacy and prestige."
"Back then it was only three schools because travel and communication were difficult. But times have changed. The Muggle world talks about globalization — the wizarding world must adapt in its own way."
"Madame Maxime, Mr. Grindelwald, what are your thoughts?"
"Doesn't matter to me," Grindelwald said with a carefree smile. "More excitement sounds nice. Otherwise I'll get bored. Can't spend every day considering which Ministry to annex, right?"
Aside from Dumbledore smiling helplessly, no one else dared laugh. They were all on edge.
They had learned over time that this Dark Lord's favorite pastime was dropping terrifying statements in a joking tone — and the scary part was, he never spoke idly. Just recently, the Ministry of that country in the joke had surrendered.
Maxime let out an awkward chuckle — partly to break the tension, partly to state her stance. "Any school wishing to join the Triwizard Tournament is welcome in my view. The results don't matter nearly as much as what students can learn and how they can grow from it."
Hearing both of them voice support, the Ilvermorny and Castelobruxo representatives couldn't hide their smiles.
"That leaves you, Albus," Crouch said, turning to the elderly wizard seated calmly behind his desk. "As the host, your opinion matters most."
Dumbledore shrugged helplessly. "You've all already decided. Do I still have the right to refuse?"
He didn't care much about these smaller details. Like Crouch said, whether it's three schools, eight schools, or sixteen — it made no difference to him.
If they could use the tournament to keep Grindelwald occupied and away from trouble, that was what truly mattered.
Ah well… for the sake of world peace, he would even sacrifice himself a little.
Suddenly Dumbledore remembered something and quickly added, "Barty, if we're expanding the tournament, then surely the Ministry's budget—"
"Relax, Albus," Crouch interrupted with a small smile. "All funding for this event will be covered entirely by the Astra Abyssum Guild."
Everyone stared, stunned.
Once the meeting ended and the others had left the Headmaster's office, Grindelwald remained behind.
"You need something?" Dumbledore looked at him curiously.
"Nothing serious." Grindelwald pulled out a small nail clipper and casually trimmed his nails. "A few kids came to me asking for a friendly Quidditch match against Hogwarts."
"If you agree, I'll have Vinda go pick a roster and switch the sixth and seventh year match schedules. Krum will have to go back for it too."
"If you don't agree, pretend I never said it."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "That's odd. You, of all people, asking me for a favor? For Quidditch no less. You've always treated it as nonsense."
"Ask you?"
The lazy, teasing smile instantly vanished from Grindelwald's face, his expression hardening, eyes turning cold.
"If that counts as asking, you've begged me dozens of times in the last few months."
"Besides..." He clicked his tongue. "You really think I'm that bored? Obviously there's another reason."
Of course there was.
A spark of realization passed through Dumbledore's eyes. He skipped the guesswork and asked directly, "Mind telling me the real reason?"
"Ask your star student."
"Tom?" Dumbledore immediately knew who he meant.
Grindelwald sighed with exaggerated helplessness. "Yes, that kid. He posted a task at Astra Abyssum in Berlin. He needs a match flashy enough to draw attention."
"You know I have no interest in Galleons. But the reward he offered is a bit too tempting."
"What did Tom promise you?"
Dumbledore's heart tightened. When had these two started working together? What shady deals had already been made? Every question made him more uneasy.
What kind of reward could actually make Grindelwald change his behavior?
"Bloodline Fusion Elixir."
Grindelwald didn't bother being mysterious. He took out a small vial of vivid green liquid. "Drink it and you gain basilisk bloodline traits and a massive extension to your lifespan. I need it. Vinda needs it. And a few other old friends need it too."
Dumbledore froze in shock as Grindelwald shook his head with false regret. "Shame the kid only offered one bottle. Would've been nice to have more."
Grindelwald left. Dumbledore stayed seated, looking like the sky was falling.
This was serious trouble.
He had never once considered that Grindelwald would give the potion to anyone else. Obviously, he'd use it on himself first. Which meant… in the future, he might have to face a Dark Lord with basilisk blood and an extended lifespan?
Merlin's red balls. Was he ever going to retire? Who knew how long Grindelwald could live now — thirty more years? Fifty?
Dumbledore was speechless. Was he supposed to stick around for another three to five decades?
Right now, he genuinely felt like choking Tom. Did that boy have any idea that gifting one potion just delayed an old man's retirement by decades?
And that was the optimistic scenario. If Grindelwald got more vials, who knew how long he'd stick around.
One day, Dumbledore would be so old he could barely lift a wand while Grindelwald was still bouncing around. Who on Earth would be able to keep him in check then?
Well… someone could.
He firmly believed Tom wouldn't let Grindelwald take over the world. And then there was Voldemort, the prophecy-bound snake destined to return someday.
Wonderful. Truly wonderful. What karmic disaster had the world committed to spawn these three in the same era?
"Fawkes."
Dumbledore let out a tired sigh and called to the phoenix, who had finally returned home. "Do me a favor and bring Tom to me."
Fawkes had been preening his feathers. Hearing the order, he gave two annoyed squawks, refused to move until every feather was perfectly arranged, then burst into flame and vanished.
But Dumbledore waited… and waited… and Tom never showed up. His phoenix never came back either.
The old wizard stared blankly at the door.
Where on earth had that child gone?
---
Inside his pocket dimension, Tom was scribbling furiously.
Since the first chapter of his History of the Wizarding World had been published, more than a year had passed. As his own reputation grew and the media kept pushing it, public recognition shot above ninety percent. It even had a proper print release.
There were only two final biographies left unpublished. He'd intentionally taken more than a month off to build hype and make the reveal land harder.
Of course he knew Dumbledore wanted to see him. But he was in full inspired-author mode, and when Fawkes delivered the message, Tom had simply waved him off to go play with Usaki.
Nothing was more important than finishing his article. As for Dumbledore's inevitable questions, Tom already knew what they would be.
Did Dumbledore really think this was Tom's idea?
Please. Grindelwald just didn't want to watch Dumbledore wither away in silence. He'd asked Tom to cooperate and give the old man a kick in the shins — something to live for, something to fight toward.
.
.
.