Far from Hogwarts, somewhere in the open mountains, the blue-flame dragon moved through the grey sky at a pace that made no sense for a creature trying to escape pursuit. It wasn't fleeing. It was proceeding.
Dumbledore Apparated onto a nearby peak and stared at it.
Where was Kevin? Why hadn't he broken free? He could have transformed, driven through the flames from the inside, done any number of things. The fact that he hadn't meant either he was too hurt to manage it or —
The sky changed.
Dark clouds boiled in from nowhere, too fast to be weather. They twisted into a shape Dumbledore had not seen in over fifty years — a skull, enormous, suspended above the valley below. A stream of black smoke poured from its mouth and drove downward.
The dragon followed it down.
They landed in the valley floor in an eruption of scattered fire, and when the light cleared there were two figures standing: Grindelwald, perfectly composed, and Kevin on one knee, breathing hard, burns across his arms and face, his crowbar fallen in the snow beside him.
And a third figure, stepping out of the dissipating black smoke.
Voldemort.
He walked toward Kevin with the particular patience of someone who has been waiting for a moment for a long time. He pressed the tip of his wand to the back of Kevin's neck.
Then he looked up.
"Dumbledore." The word echoed off the valley walls. "Come down."
Dumbledore Apparated to the valley floor.
He looked at Grindelwald.
Gellert had not moved. He stood at Voldemort's shoulder, hands at his sides, watching Dumbledore with the flat, careful attention of someone waiting for a specific reaction.
"Why," Dumbledore said, very quietly.
Grindelwald answered with a short, humourless sound.
"You're still easy to play, Albus. I didn't expect you to lift the restrictions until the end of the year — but you always did move faster when you thought you'd found someone worth trusting."
He said it without pleasure. Just fact.
He laid it out from there — unhurriedly, in the measured cadence of a man who had been holding a version of this speech in reserve for months. From the moment he'd pushed to enter Hogwarts, to the Forbidden Forest ambush that Kevin had walked into with Draco and Norbert — that had not been Death Eaters lying in wait for a student. Those had been his people, operating as bait to justify his apparent involvement, to give him a reason to be seen at the school. The survivors had been Obliviated before the Ministry could question them.
The Saints' resurgence across Europe in the past weeks — not his followers acting in his name. Voldemort's Death Eaters, dressed in borrowed symbols.
And underneath all of it: a contract. An unbreakable arrangement, made before Grindelwald had ever approached Dumbledore about Hogwarts. Kill Kevin or Dumbledore — his choice, his method, his timing. Come out of Nurmengard for Voldemort.
Dumbledore stood very still.
Not because he believed it. Because something in it didn't align — and the gap between what Grindelwald was saying and what his face was doing was precisely the width of a lie.
But Kevin was on his knee in the snow with Voldemort's wand at his neck, and this was not the moment to explore that gap.
"Dumbledore. Surrender. Or the boy dies."
Voldemort watched him from across the valley, patient and cold.
Kevin, head down, shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. Was he truly that hurt —?
Grindelwald raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus."
The Elder Wand flew from Dumbledore's grip and landed in Grindelwald's outstretched hand. Dumbledore let it go. He couldn't risk moving with Voldemort's wand still at Kevin's neck.
Grindelwald ran his fingers along the Elder Wand's length with something that looked almost like recognition. He'd held it before, once. He aimed it at Kevin.
Voldemort swung toward Dumbledore.
"Gellert." Dumbledore's voice carried every year of everything they'd been to each other, and the weight of every year of distance, and the particular anguish of watching someone you'd once trusted completely stand on the wrong side of a valley. "It's not too late."
Grindelwald was silent.
Kevin raised his eyes from the snow. He found Grindelwald's wand. And then — through the pain, through the burns, through whatever Death's own design had been layering onto him since first year — a small, crooked smile crossed his face.
The green light from Grindelwald's wand was flat and final.
"Avada Kedavra."
The curse hit Kevin squarely. His body lifted and came down hard several metres away.
Two system notifications flickered at the outermost edge of fading consciousness.
[Death's Scheme: ? ? ...Dissolving... When facing a life-or-death crisis, probability of death increases dramatically.]
[Ding! Host vital signs have ceased. System is initiating disconnection...]Chapter 205: Grindelwald's Calculated Betrayal
Far from Hogwarts, somewhere in the open mountains, the blue-flame dragon moved through the grey sky at a pace that made no sense for a creature trying to escape pursuit. It wasn't fleeing. It was proceeding.
Dumbledore Apparated onto a nearby peak and stared at it.
Where was Kevin? Why hadn't he broken free? He could have transformed, driven through the flames from the inside, done any number of things. The fact that he hadn't meant either he was too hurt to manage it or —
The sky changed.
Dark clouds boiled in from nowhere, too fast to be weather. They twisted into a shape Dumbledore had not seen in over fifty years — a skull, enormous, suspended above the valley below. A stream of black smoke poured from its mouth and drove downward.
The dragon followed it down.
They landed in the valley floor in an eruption of scattered fire, and when the light cleared there were two figures standing: Grindelwald, perfectly composed, and Kevin on one knee, breathing hard, burns across his arms and face, his crowbar fallen in the snow beside him.
And a third figure, stepping out of the dissipating black smoke.
Voldemort.
He walked toward Kevin with the particular patience of someone who has been waiting for a moment for a long time. He pressed the tip of his wand to the back of Kevin's neck.
Then he looked up.
"Dumbledore." The word echoed off the valley walls. "Come down."
Dumbledore Apparated to the valley floor.
He looked at Grindelwald.
Gellert had not moved. He stood at Voldemort's shoulder, hands at his sides, watching Dumbledore with the flat, careful attention of someone waiting for a specific reaction.
"Why," Dumbledore said, very quietly.
Grindelwald answered with a short, humourless sound.
"You're still easy to play, Albus. I didn't expect you to lift the restrictions until the end of the year — but you always did move faster when you thought you'd found someone worth trusting."
He said it without pleasure. Just fact.
He laid it out from there — unhurriedly, in the measured cadence of a man who had been holding a version of this speech in reserve for months. From the moment he'd pushed to enter Hogwarts, to the Forbidden Forest ambush that Kevin had walked into with Draco and Norbert — that had not been Death Eaters lying in wait for a student. Those had been his people, operating as bait to justify his apparent involvement, to give him a reason to be seen at the school. The survivors had been Obliviated before the Ministry could question them.
The Saints' resurgence across Europe in the past weeks — not his followers acting in his name. Voldemort's Death Eaters, dressed in borrowed symbols.
And underneath all of it: a contract. An unbreakable arrangement, made before Grindelwald had ever approached Dumbledore about Hogwarts. Kill Kevin or Dumbledore — his choice, his method, his timing. Come out of Nurmengard for Voldemort.
Dumbledore stood very still.
Not because he believed it. Because something in it didn't align — and the gap between what Grindelwald was saying and what his face was doing was precisely the width of a lie.
But Kevin was on his knee in the snow with Voldemort's wand at his neck, and this was not the moment to explore that gap.
"Dumbledore. Surrender. Or the boy dies."
Voldemort watched him from across the valley, patient and cold.
Kevin, head down, shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. Was he truly that hurt —?
Grindelwald raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus."
The Elder Wand flew from Dumbledore's grip and landed in Grindelwald's outstretched hand. Dumbledore let it go. He couldn't risk moving with Voldemort's wand still at Kevin's neck.
Grindelwald ran his fingers along the Elder Wand's length with something that looked almost like recognition. He'd held it before, once. He aimed it at Kevin.
Voldemort swung toward Dumbledore.
"Gellert." Dumbledore's voice carried every year of everything they'd been to each other, and the weight of every year of distance, and the particular anguish of watching someone you'd once trusted completely stand on the wrong side of a valley. "It's not too late."
Grindelwald was silent.
Kevin raised his eyes from the snow. He found Grindelwald's wand. And then — through the pain, through the burns, through whatever Death's own design had been layering onto him since first year — a small, crooked smile crossed his face.
The green light from Grindelwald's wand was flat and final.
"Avada Kedavra."
The curse hit Kevin squarely. His body lifted and came down hard several metres away.
Two system notifications flickered at the outermost edge of fading consciousness.
[Death's Scheme: ? ? ...Dissolving... When facing a life-or-death crisis, probability of death increases dramatically.]
[Ding! Host vital signs have ceased. System is initiating disconnection...]