Dumbledore settled into a threadbare sofa nearby, gave his wand a light tap against the coffee table, and instantly conjured a small pile of assorted candies — every last one of them, without exception, some absurdly sweet confection sold at Honeydukes.
"Came in a hurry, so it's just some sweets. Try some."
As he spoke, Dumbledore popped a "cockroach" cluster into his mouth. "Tell me about that girl — Patricia. Your 'granddaughter.'"
Grindelwald's expression instantly turned distant. "Didn't I already tell you all this last time? Her coming to Hogwarts was partly to see, firsthand, what kind of person managed to defeat me — but more importantly, it was because of that man, Charles."
"And I already told you back then — whether or not to let her enroll was entirely your own call to make."
Dumbledore listened quietly until Grindelwald finished, then his tone turned serious. "Gellert, the fact that I've come to see you again means I've found something worth asking about. I'd appreciate it if you'd be honest with me — tell me plainly what it is you're actually trying to do."
CRASH!
Grindelwald suddenly flipped the coffee table over, sending candies scattering across the floor, and rose to his feet, trembling, like an aging, furious lion:
"Albus! Forty-six years! It's been forty-six years since you sent me here. If I genuinely still wanted to accomplish something, why wouldn't I have acted while I was still young?"
"Why would I possibly wait until I'd withered into this state?"
"I'm old! I'm truly, genuinely old. Whatever great dreams I once held, whatever powerful convictions once drove me — all of it has long since decayed with time, dried up, vanished entirely!"
"I have no strength left, no time left, and certainly no interest left, in gambling away what little of my life remains for the wizarding world, or for 'the greater good'!"
"All I want now is to live out the rest of my life in peace — and if it were possible, maybe even study magic together with you, one last time..."
His faded blue eyes trembled, unsteady, and he slowly sank back down into his seat. "Albus. You're old too."
Grindelwald's words shattered whatever calm Dumbledore had managed to hold onto. He removed his glasses, wiping at the corner of his eyes, and sighed. "Yes. We're both old now."
After a moment, he said, sincere, "I'm sorry, Gellert. I apologize for my careless words just now."
Grindelwald, though, pressed back. "But?"
"But..."
Dumbledore said, "Something really has changed about that girl, Patricia. If it truly has nothing to do with you... then this whole matter might actually be far more troubling than I thought."
"..."
Grindelwald's lowered eyes flickered, a flash of pain crossing his face before vanishing. "That child... she... really isn't ordinary. She... possesses a prophetic gift even stronger than mine."
"She doesn't need unicorn blood to see clear, vivid fragments of the future — many of them."
"I... met her once..."
His expression suddenly grew distant. "Or perhaps twice. She told me a few of the future fragments she'd seen."
"You die. I die too..."
As he spoke, Grindelwald's words gradually trailed into something closer to a murmur.
"All right."
Dumbledore suddenly reached out, taking his hand, his voice gentle. "All right. I understand, Gellert. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. We'll both be fine."
"What?"
Grindelwald seemed to snap awake from some daze, staring at Dumbledore's hand around his own, startled. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
Dumbledore released his hand and stood. "Gellert, you really should eat more. Look at your hands — practically nothing left but bone."
"???"
Grindelwald frowned. "How bizarre."
"Well, I should be heading back."
"Fawkes."
In a burst of blazing flame, Dumbledore vanished, leaving Grindelwald still frowning, muttering to himself. "Truly bizarre."
Grumbling, he crouched down and began gathering up the scattered candies from the floor, one by one, tucking each into his pocket as if they were treasures.
Meanwhile —
Dumbledore returned to his office at Hogwarts, his expression grave. He sat at his desk, picked up a quill, and wrote two words on a sheet of parchment: "Imperius Curse." And beneath it: "Memory Charm."
Yes — he was nearly certain, now, that Grindelwald had been placed under both curses. The Memory Charm had stripped him of certain critical memories, while the Imperius Curse kept him locked in a strange, perpetually half-conscious, dreamlike state.
The truly unsettling part was that Dumbledore hadn't noticed a thing during his previous two visits — and just now, when he'd tried to lift the curses off Grindelwald, he'd failed entirely.
To Dumbledore, that was nothing short of extraordinary.
The greatest white wizard the world had ever known sat with his fingers laced tightly together, staring fixedly at the words on the parchment, his deep blue eyes clouded with an unshakable weight of worry.
...
After dealing with the tedious swarm of reporters — particularly that beetle-Animagus, Rita Skeeter — Vincent returned to his own office at the Ministry of Magic.
Right on the underground second level, next door to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Vincent genuinely couldn't stand this kind of spectacle. If it weren't for playing "Overseer," what kind of illness would he have had to catch to willingly get involved in "politics"?
He glanced up at the clock on the wall, the worry on his face growing harder to hide by the minute. It had been nearly two full days since the swap-back, and still, not a single word from Bernadette's side.
Sure, there could be some time difference between the two worlds — but surely not this drastic a gap? Even before, back when they hadn't yet swapped back, their communication had rarely lagged more than half a day at most.
So what exactly had gone wrong?
Vincent tapped his forehead, forcibly shoving down a certain possibility that had begun surfacing in his mind, then forced himself to refocus on how to "establish rules and order" further, to speed up the potion's digestion.
Knock, knock, knock.
A knock sounded at the door. After being granted entry, the pink-clad Umbridge pushed the door open, a forced, ingratiating smile plastered across her face. "Mr. Charles, the Minister asked me to deliver this to you."
As Fudge's most devoted little "pink cushion," Umbridge deeply resented Charles for stealing her place in the Minister's esteem — but even she had to face reality now.
Compared to her own talent for flattery and empty praise, this man actually delivered real, substantive value to Fudge — and in the short term, there was simply no way for her to challenge his standing.
Given that, she wasn't about to hold back on smiling through it.
"Mm, just leave it there."
Vincent opened the folder — inside was a single signed warrant: an order for Sirius Black's release.
Fudge hadn't sent this over purely so Vincent could go free Sirius — he was clearly hoping Vincent would use the release to stage another spectacle like today's, letting Fudge bask in even more praise, even more glory.
It had to be said — for someone holding the highest official position in the wizarding world, Fudge really was several tiers beneath everyone else in the room. Others fought to rule the world, to protect it, to secure a future for wizardkind. Fudge? He just wanted the spotlight — and to keep his seat as Minister secure.
Nothing more to him than that.
Still, in a way, that made him easy to manage. A man like this was exactly the kind of person worth having in your pocket.
To be continued…
Guys, kindly support me on Patreon as it helps me in buying the chapters and also it helps me alot.
Advance 100 Chapters are up on my Patreon!
pat reon.com/AlphaSenatus