By the hundredth casting, and yes, I was counting, because excellence deserves to be documented, I had reached a level of precision that most wizards would consider not only admirable, but entirely sufficient.
Which, of course, meant very little to Grindelwald.
"Protego Diabolica."
The ring of blue fire spiraled outward once more, elegant, controlled, responding to my will with the sort of obedience one expects when one is me. The flames twisted higher this time, sharper at the edges, their movement less like a barrier and more like a living thing waiting for instruction.
I held it, refined it, adjusted the flow just slightly…
"Enough."
The flames collapsed instantly, drawn back into nothingness as I lowered my staff.
I turned, mildly annoyed.
"Already?"
Grindelwald was watching me with that particular look of his, the one that suggested he had already reached a conclusion several minutes ago and was simply waiting for me to catch up.
"That will do," he said.
I frowned.
"I can continue."
A lie.
A small one.
But still.
"You are too distracted."
"I am not distracted."
His stare sharpened and I stopped talking.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with an expression that bordered on amused.
"It is a woman," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I blinked, then narrowed my eyes.
"That is a remarkable leap of logic."
"It is not," he replied calmly. "You are unfocused, irritable, and attempting to compensate by overperforming."
A pause.
"You have been casting the same spell with diminishing returns for the past twenty minutes."
I opened my mouth to say something, but ended up closing it when nothing came to mind.
I considered arguing, but reluctantly decided against it.
"…That is not entirely inaccurate," I admitted.
"Mm."
He folded his hands behind his back again.
"If you require advice," he went on, almost casually, "I may be persuaded to offer some."
I stared at him for a moment too long.
Then I laughed.
A short, incredulous sound.
"You?"
He raised a brow.
"Yes. Me."
I gestured vaguely.
"But you don't even like women. What possible insight could you have into their behavior?"
His lip curled into something between a sneer and a smirk.
"So what?" he said. "Do you imagine I spent my entire life avoiding half the population?"
A fair point.
"I had many followers," he continued, tone dry. "A great number of them were women. And a distressing portion of those wished to share my bed."
I blinked.
"Well," I said, after a moment, "that is…"
"Yes," he cut in. "Predictable."
I coughed lightly.
"Of course."
"I had to learn," he went on, "how to manage them."
The phrasing was… concerning.
"I even considered marriage at one point," he added.
That…
That caught my attention.
"I beg your pardon?"
"To Vinda," he said, as though that explained everything.
It did not.
"An heir would have been… useful."
I stared at him incredulously, but he just shrugged.
"Then I lost the war," he said simply. "And the matter became irrelevant."
I tilted my head, studying him more closely.
"You do not sound particularly upset about that."
Another shrug.
"A long time has passed."
His gaze drifted, just slightly, as though looking at something far beyond the walls of the manor.
"I have had time to consider… alternatives."
A pause.
"Perhaps I was too extreme," he added. "Too direct."
His eyes flicked back to me.
"A softer approach may have yielded better results."
I smiled faintly.
"Well," I said, "that is a remarkably well-adjusted conclusion for a former dark revolutionary."
He ignored that.
"As I said," he continued, "it no longer matters."
With a flick of his fingers, a chair appeared behind him, solidifying out of thin air with effortless precision. He sat without breaking eye contact, and a cup of tea formed in his hand a moment later, steam curling lazily into the air.
"Now," he said, taking a sip, "tell me about her."
I sighed.
There was, I realized, little point in deflecting further.
With a similar flick of my hand, I conjured my own chair, slightly more elegant, I might add, and sat opposite him. A cup of tea appeared in my hand as well.
I took a sip.
Composure first.
Always.
"Her name is Nymphadora Tonks."
One of his brows lifted.
"I do not recognize the surname," he said. "Is she Muggle-born?"
I shook my head.
"No. Her father is. Her mother is a Black."
There was a brief pause.
Then:
"Oh."
I frowned.
"What?"
"That," he said, setting his cup aside, "is unfortunate."
"Why?"
He gave me a look.
"All members of that family are mad," he said flatly. "And stubborn beyond reason."
I considered that.
"Well," I said slowly, "she is not mad."
I paused for a beat, then added, "But stubborn… yes. That she is."
Grindelwald hummed, as though this confirmed something.
He picked up his tea again, taking another measured sip before speaking.
"If you wish to deal with a stubborn woman," he said, "you must be more stubborn than she is."
I raised a brow.
"That sounds… exhausting."
"It is," he agreed.
Then, with a faint glint in his eye: "But effective."
I leaned back slightly, considering.
"She is avoiding me," I said. "Deliberately. Quite skillfully, I might add."
"Then she is still thinking about you," he replied at once.
I paused.
"That is your conclusion?"
"Yes."
He set his cup down again.
"Indifference is silent," he continued. "Avoidance requires effort."
I… had not considered that.
"…Interesting," I admitted.
Grindelwald leaned forward slightly.
"If she truly wished to be rid of you," he went on, "she would make it clear. Brutally so."
A faint, knowing look crossed his face.
"Women are rarely subtle when they are finished with a man."
I winced.
"That is… not reassuring."
"It should be."
He gestured lightly with one hand.
"You still have a position to recover."
Recover… I did not particularly enjoy the implication that I had lost it, even if it was accurate.
"And how," I asked, "would you suggest I do that?"
He smiled.
Not kindly.
"Consistency," he said.
I frowned.
"That sounds suspiciously like effort."
"It is," he said dryly.
"You show her. Repeatedly. Without interruption. Without hesitation."
His gaze sharpened.
"You make it impossible for her to ignore."
I tilted my head.
"And if she continues to avoid me?"
"Then you persist."
He paused for a moment.
"Stubbornness," he added, "is best defeated by endurance."
I sighed, taking another sip of tea.
"This seems like an inordinate amount of work for something that was previously much simpler."
"Yes," he said. "Because you mishandled it."
I winced again.
His words were unpleasant, but unfortunately accurate.
"But," he went on, leaning back in his chair, "if you succeed…"
He showed a faint smirk.
"It will be far more valuable."
I considered that, then nodded slowly.
"Yes," I said. "I do prefer valuable things."
"Of course you do."
Silence settled between us for a moment, comfortable in a way I would not have expected some months ago.
Then I straightened slightly, setting my cup aside.
"Well," I said, "that was surprisingly helpful."
Grindelwald inclined his head. "I am full of surprises."
"I shall endeavor not to rely on that too heavily."
"A wise decision."
I stood, rolling my shoulders as I picked up my staff once more.
"Now," I said, "shall we return to refining perfection?"
Grindelwald's expression sharpened again, the faint amusement fading back into focus.
"Yes," he said.
A pause.
"But this time…"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Try not to think about her."
I smiled.
"No promises."
And with that, I raised my staff once more.
"Protego Diabolica."
The words left my lips with practiced ease, but this time…
This time I did not simply cast the spell.
I adjusted it.
Magic surged outward, familiar and yet… not entirely. The ring of dark fire bloomed around me, rising in controlled arcs, its heat bending obediently to my will.
But there…
There it was, a faint shift in color.
Amidst the usual deep blue flames, there flickered something softer. Subtle. Almost delicate.
Lilac.
Not overwhelming, or dominant.
Just enough to be noticed.
I felt it more than I saw it, a difference in the way the magic responded, less rigid, more… fluid. The edges of the flames curved differently, their movement less aggressive, more expressive, as though the spell itself had taken on a new temperament.
My temperament.
Naturally.
The flames held for a few seconds.
Then…
They sputtered, collapsing inward.
Silence followed.
I lowered my staff slowly, examining the empty space where the fire had been, a thoughtful expression settling over my face.
"Well," I said, "that was…"
"What was that?"
I glanced up.
Grindelwald was staring at me, one brow raised in clear, unmistakable surprise.
Ah.
Now that was satisfying.
I smiled.
Not modestly.
Never modestly.
"That," I said, lifting my chin ever so slightly, "was me making the spell mine."
He snorted.
Actually snorted.
"Continue," he said, dismissing the moment with a flick of his hand. "That first attempt was pathetic."
I chuckled.
A lesser man might have taken offense. But fortunately, I am not a lesser man.
"I thought you might say that," I replied lightly.
Still…
He had noticed, and that was what mattered.
I shifted my staff to my left hand, rolled my right wrist once, loosening it, letting the residual magic settle before drawing in another breath.
Focus.
I shifted my staff to my right hand again and raised it.
"Protego Diabolica."
This time, I pushed further.
The flames erupted once more, stronger, faster, the familiar blue surging outward in a controlled wave, but now I guided it differently, shaping it not as a rigid barrier, but as something more… layered.
The lilac returned.
Fainter at first…
Then spreading, threading through the blue like veins of color beneath the surface. The fire twisted higher, forming overlapping arcs that folded in on themselves, creating a structure that was less a circle and more a living, breathing construct.
It lasted longer this time.
Long enough for me to adjust and test them.
There was a sudden flicker of instability.
The lilac surged too far, disrupting the balance, and the entire structure shuddered before collapsing once more into nothing.
I exhaled slowly.
"That was better," I said.
Grindelwald said nothing.
Which, in his case, was often more telling than any critique.
I glanced at him.
He was watching intently now, his earlier amusement gone, replaced by something sharper.
Interest.
Good.
"Again," he said.
No words of mockery this time, or dismissal.
Just expectation.
I smiled and raised my staff once more, already adjusting, already refining the balance in my mind.
Less force.
More control.
Let the magic flow, not just obey.
"Protego Diabolica."
The flames answered.
And this time…
They listened just a little more closely.
…