The red-haired man groggily lifted his head, blinking sleepily as he muttered something under his breath. Half-awake, he fumbled across the desk, grabbed the pair of glasses resting on it, and put them on.
"Mm..." He blinked again, trying to shake off his drowsiness and make out the tall figure standing before the counter.
His tone carried the irritation of someone whose sleep had just been disturbed. "Sir? Who... who are you? What brings you here at this hour?" He clearly mistook Grindelwald for a wizard arriving on urgent business in the middle of the night.
Grindelwald did not answer the question. He merely fixed his gray eyes on the man and asked calmly, "Are you a Death Eater?"
"Death Eater?!" Arthur Weasley recoiled as if the very word had burned him. His face twisted in disgust and offended outrage. "No! Of course not! How could I ever be one of those filthy, despicable scoundrels?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than realization hit him, he finally remembered where he was. A jolt of fear shot through him, draining all color from his face as terror swiftly banished the last trace of sleep.
Mr. Weasley tensed, glancing frantically around like a startled rabbit, terrified that something in the darkness might be watching.
Only when he confirmed that the vast, empty hall held no one else did he let out a trembling breath of relief and pat his chest as if to steady his nerves.
When he looked back at Grindelwald, his eyes were filled with uncertainty and suspicion. His voice dropped to a cautious whisper: "Who are you, sir? And why do you ask that?"
As he spoke, Mr. Weasley's hand drifted downward in what seemed like an absent gesture, but in truth, his fingers were inching toward the wand holstered at his waist.
The moment his fingertips brushed the handle, a faint glimmer of light flashed through the air.
Without warning, the wand was yanked clean out of his grasp. It arced gracefully through the air before landing neatly in Grindelwald's outstretched hand.
Grindelwald didn't even glance at it. He tossed it casually onto the inspection counter, where it landed with a light tap.
Mr. Weasley's face went chalk white. His left hand was still frozen in midair as if gripping something that was no longer there. All that remained on his face was naked fear.
"Well then," Grindelwald said, looking down at him, his voice still even and unhurried, "where can I find a Death Eater?"
"Sir..." Mr. Weasley swallowed hard. The question that had almost slipped out died in his throat. After several long seconds of hesitation, he stammered, "W-what do you need them for?"
Grindelwald's gaze did not waver, but the chill in his eyes deepened. The coldness alone made Mr. Weasley shiver, and he quickly corrected himself. "Uh... there's one just below us..."
"Call him up," Grindelwald said flatly, his eyes flicking toward Mr. Weasley's hand, which still darted furtive glances at the wand lying on the table.
Mr. Weasley stiffened, then sighed in resignation. He had no intention of provoking a duel with this mysterious wizard who had used nonverbal spells with effortless precision. His family was waiting for him at home, and his wife was expecting another child.
He slowly raised his hands to show he meant no harm, stood up, and walked to a dusty corner behind the inspection counter.
He reached out and lightly tapped a small, unremarkable brass bell.
Ding!
The clear tone echoed through the empty hall.
A moment later, from a cobweb-laced ventilation duct high on the wall, a barn owl burst forth in a flurry of feathers.
It had a disheveled look and a struggling field mouse clamped in its beak. Landing steadily on the shelf, it ignored both wizards entirely, swallowed the mouse in one gulp, then turned around and, with an audible plop, left a small, steaming pile of droppings on the gleaming floor.
"Oh, damn it!" Mr. Weasley reached instinctively toward his waist, only to realize his wand wasn't there.
He turned to Grindelwald, offering a helpless, embarrassed smile. "Apologies, sir. These little creatures are forever making a mess..."
Grindelwald didn't so much as lift an eyelid. He merely flicked his wand, and a faint breeze swept across the floor, leaving not a trace of the filth behind.
Mr. Weasley exhaled in relief. "Merlin's beard... we use owls to deliver messages between departments, and it's a nightmare, droppings everywhere! Desks, corridors, you name it..."
Muttering complaints, he coaxed the owl onto his arm, fetched a small sheet of parchment and a nearly bald quill from a drawer, and dipped it into a half-dried ink bottle.
He shot Grindelwald a quick glance, and seeing no objection, scribbled hastily:
"Augustus Rookwood, there's a gentleman here in the Atrium to see you. Please come up as soon as possible."
He showed the note briefly to Grindelwald, who gave a faint nod. Then Mr. Weasley rolled the parchment, tied it with a string to the owl's leg, and carried the bird toward a row of lift doors.
He pressed the button labeled "Down."
Chains rattled, gears groaned, and a golden lift rose into sight with a metallic clang. The latticed gate slid open.
Mr. Weasley stepped inside, holding the owl. He pressed the button marked "Level Nine – Department of Mysteries."
"Go on, little one. Take this to Augustus Rookwood at the Department of Mysteries," he whispered.
The owl hooted softly, fluttered to a wooden perch designed for message birds, and the gate clanged shut. The lift rumbled downward.
Mr. Weasley watched it disappear, then shuffled back behind the counter, stealing nervous glances at Grindelwald.
"So," Grindelwald said evenly, "Death Eaters now hold open positions at the British Ministry of Magic?"
A complicated expression crossed Mr. Weasley's face. He chose his words carefully. Though he was certain this mysterious, formidable wizard wasn't aligned with Voldemort, he dared not reveal any stance that might sound like rebellion.
"Ever since that man...", he dropped his voice to a near whisper, "defeated Professor Albus Dumbledore, everything's changed. The Death Eaters don't need to hide anymore. There are... quite a few of them working here now. As for Rookwood, I honestly didn't know. He hid it well..."
Time crawled by. Mr. Weasley kept darting nervous glances between the lift and Grindelwald's expressionless face.
Finally, the grinding of gears returned. The lift chains rattled, and Mr. Weasley's stomach tightened.
The golden gate slid open, and a short, stout man with thinning, greasy hair stepped out, holding the parchment note. His expression was full of irritation.
"Arthur!" Rookwood grumbled. "What's so urgent you had to drag me up here? I was in the middle of-"
He never finished. A burst of red light shot from the tip of Grindelwald's wand, striking him square in the chest.
"Ugh, !" Rookwood gave a strangled grunt. His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp, collapsing like a sack of flour.
Before he hit the ground, Grindelwald flicked his wand again.
An invisible force seized Rookwood's body mid-fall, yanking him through the air. The violent pull made his robes tear with a loud rip before his heavy frame crashed onto the floor beside Grindelwald's boots, utterly motionless.
Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet with a strangled yelp. His neck shrank back like a turtle's, and his voice shook. "He, he's the one..." He pointed weakly at the body but didn't dare meet Grindelwald's eyes.
Grindelwald ignored him completely. He prodded Rookwood's limp arm with his boot, then gave it a flick of his wand.
A faint, dark-red emblem of a skull entwined with a serpent appeared beneath the sleeve.
Even though he'd half-expected it, Mr. Weasley still gasped at the sight of the Dark Mark. He stumbled back a step, face pale with horror.
Grindelwald cast the mark a brief glance. "What time is it now, Arthur?"
"Huh?" Mr. Weasley blinked, dazed by terror, before glancing at his wristwatch. "F-four-thirty, sir."
Grindelwald nodded slightly. "Then we'll wait a bit longer." His eyes drifted up toward the ceiling, watching the shifting runes as if deep in thought.
Taking advantage of the silence, Mr. Weasley crept closer to Rookwood's body and tugged his own message note from the man's clenched hand, crumpling it quickly and stuffing it into his robe pocket.
Then, mustering what little courage he had left, he pleaded, "Sir... may I go now? My shift's nearly over, and I promise I won't say a word..."
Grindelwald gave him a cool look and shook his head. "Not yet."
Mr. Weasley's heart sank. He stood stiffly behind the counter once more. Before he could settle, the wooden chair behind him floated up, gliding to Grindelwald's side.
Grindelwald sat down leisurely, crossed one leg over the other, and waited as though anticipating a show.
Time had never moved so slowly. Mr. Weasley felt the crushing pressure of fear pressing down on him; sweat soaked through his robes, and beads of cold perspiration rolled down his forehead.
At last, Grindelwald decided the time had come. He rose, walked to the unconscious Rookwood, and, under Mr. Weasley's horrified gaze, knelt and seized Rookwood's limp right hand.
Then, with chilling calm, he pressed Rookwood's fingers against the Dark Mark on his left forearm.
"No-!" Mr. Weasley screamed. His body convulsed, every muscle trembling violently. He knew what was coming, the end of everything. His legs nearly gave out beneath him.
Grindelwald released the hand, straightened up, and said in an even voice, as though he had done nothing more significant than adjust his cuffs, "You may go."
The words were a pardon from death itself. Mr. Weasley bolted forward, scrambling across the floor. He snatched up his wand, stumbled toward the nearest gilded fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, and flung it into the flames.
"The Burrow!" he cried.
Emerald fire roared upward, swallowing him whole in an instant.
Grindelwald smoothed the creases in his robes and sat down again, composed and expectant. He was genuinely curious to see Voldemort in person, though his curiosity was tinged with scorn.
The wait was not long.
A golden fireplace suddenly erupted with fierce flames, the emerald glow flooding the hall with its eerie light.
From within the blaze, a tall, thin figure stepped forward, his black hooded robes swirling in the firelight.
Beneath the hood was a pale, serpentine face, ghastly, noseless, and inhuman.
Those slit-like crimson eyes fixed immediately upon Grindelwald.
"You are Voldemort?" Grindelwald stood gracefully, the faintest trace of courtesy curving his lips. "Good evening. I've heard a few things about-"
"Avada Kedavra!"
The only reply was a blinding jet of green light.
Voldemort had no intention of speaking. Rage and killing intent flooded the hall like a storm.
Grindelwald's eyes glinted with disdain. Without moving his feet, he flicked his wrist. The wooden chair behind him twisted and morphed into a broad shield just as the green light struck.
The Killing Curse exploded against it, splintering the wood into a thousand fragments that instantly transformed into coiling vines, weaving themselves into a cocoon around Voldemort.
"Tsk." Grindelwald's tone was filled with mild annoyance. "You young ones, no manners at all. Not even the decency for a proper-"
A shrill, furious hiss tore from inside the cocoon, drowning out his words. The entire hall quaked with the sound.
In the next instant, the vines blackened and carbonized, twisting into a massive, shadowy serpent.
It released Voldemort and turned its burning red eyes toward Grindelwald, hissing in rage.