— — — — — —
Has Grindelwald's dream and ideal changed?
Not really. From the time he was young until now, he's always wanted one thing — for wizards to live openly under the sun, not skulk around in the shadows like frightened rats hiding from Muggles.
It's just that after years in prison, he buried that desire deep down, believing it would never come true.
Tom once told him that he didn't care much about "the greater good." For him, the greatest good was simple: to keep growing stronger.
And Grindelwald had promised never to force his ideals on Tom. Because he knew he didn't have to.
By now, Grindelwald understood Tom well. Ambitious. Intense. Never satisfied being beneath anyone. When he decided to do something, he either did it completely — or not at all. His lines were always clear: his own people, the bystanders, and the enemies.
And most importantly — Tom wasn't like Dumbledore. He didn't shun wealth or power. He didn't see any virtue in pretending that strength and status didn't matter.
Tom lived by one simple rule: never let yourself be humiliated. If anyone dared to try, they'd already be dead.
Grindelwald didn't believe for a second that when Tom eventually surpassed everyone else in power, he'd be content to live quietly among Muggles, pretending to be ordinary. Not with his nature. Impossible.
So Grindelwald concluded that he didn't need to do anything. He just had to help Tom grow stronger — and when the time came, the dawn would reveal itself.
And what was the young man he placed so much hope in doing right now?
Taking Penelope to the Forbidden Forest to play with a baby creature — and, more importantly, trying to get some intel about Helena Ravenclaw.
"The Grey Lady?"
Penelope's eyes curved like crescent moons as she rubbed the creature's soft, round belly. She didn't seem surprised by Tom's question. "Yeah… she's not very social. Doesn't talk to the other ghosts much. I've only ever seen her greet the Fat Friar. She's usually distant with students."
"But a few students said she's helped them out. She seems to know the library inside and out — can tell you exactly which books to read without even looking."
"I've actually never seen her myself," Tom murmured, stroking his chin.
Penelope tilted her head. "Why the sudden interest in a ghost?"
"Well, it was Halloween just a few days ago," Tom said casually. "Every other house ghost showed up — except her. And…"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice in mock secrecy. "I heard that our house ghost, the Bloody Baron, has history with her. He's always staring up at Ravenclaw Tower — supposedly looking at Grey Lady."
"Wait, really?" Penelope perked up immediately, pushing the baby creature aside so she could focus.
Let's face it — no human being is immune to gossip. Especially when it involves ghosts.
Tom shrugged, palms up. "That's what I heard. I don't know the details — that's why I'm trying to find a way to run into her and maybe get her talking."
"All right, leave it to me. I know the biggest gossip-magnet girl in the school. I'll ask her."
---
The weekend passed, Halloween faded, and a new week began — bringing with it the second round of monthly exams.
Thankfully, Professor McGonagall hadn't sold Tom out yet. The students still didn't know that the whole "exam reform" idea came from him. Otherwise, he'd have easily beaten Snape and Filch to become the most hated person in Hogwarts.
To be honest, even Tom was starting to regret it. So many exams… and worse, no magic allowed for writing answers. Every word had to be done by hand.
"Tom!"
He had just finished scribbling down five ways to counter Grindylows and the proper technique for the Tickling spell in DADA when Penelope caught him and Daphne leaving the classroom.
"I've got news about what you asked me!" she whispered excitedly, pulling him into a quiet corner. "Grey Lady sometimes goes to the library at night — not on a fixed schedule, but at least once a week. Oh, and the Bloody Baron and Grey Lady do have some history — turns out they were classmates once."
"Got it. Thanks, Penelope. You should get going — the next exam's starting soon."
Penelope nodded and dashed off toward the greenhouses for Herbology.
Daphne gave him a questioning look, so Tom repeated the same story.
As expected, Daphne lit up with curiosity and begged him to find out the truth behind it all.
...
When they arrived for Transfiguration, the third-year students were surprised to find that the exam wasn't being proctored by Professor McGonagall at all, but by Professor Sinistra from Astronomy.
Still, an exam was an exam — whoever watched didn't matter much. Everyone just picked up their quills and got to work.
---
Meanwhile, in the headmaster's office, McGonagall sat beside Dumbledore. The two of them were connected through an enchanted device, joining a meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards — live from New York.
In the grandest conference hall of the Confederation's New York headquarters, delegates from around the world had already begun to gather.
Only the most powerful could attend: Ministers of Magic and heads of the Departments of International Cooperation. Most of the European representatives were ministers themselves — a clear sign of how much pressure Grindelwald's return had put on them.
Among the suited officials sat Bartemius Crouch Sr, looking a little out of place.
"Did Britain change its Minister of Magic?" one delegate whispered.
"No, look at the nameplate — Crouch is still head of International Cooperation."
"Tsk. So Fudge didn't bother to show up."
"With Dumbledore running the show in Britain, I wouldn't worry either."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, followed by a sudden hush.
Every one of them felt a twinge of envy. Lucky Fudge — with Dumbledore around, even a declining Britain had managed to maintain its prestige. And now, in these uneasy times, Dumbledore was like a rock in the storm — unshakable, immovable, the one thing that kept Britain steady.
Crouch, fluent in over a hundred languages, heard their whispers perfectly. He didn't react. He didn't care. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Unlike Fudge, that bumbling fool, Crouch understood Grindelwald far too well.
The man had never been called a "Dark Lord," yet his deeds and influence far eclipsed the one who claimed that title later. Even Crouch himself had once been shaken by Grindelwald's ideals — almost tempted to follow him.
But his son had not needed temptation. Barty Crouch Jr. was a fanatic follower of the "Dark Lord." Even after Crouch secretly smuggled him out of Azkaban, the boy's loyalty had never wavered.
And between the two Dark Lords… if he had to choose, Crouch would rather his son had followed Grindelwald. At least Grindelwald had a vision — not just mindless bloodlust like Voldemort's Death Eaters, who found joy only in murder and torment.
Now, the question tormenting Crouch was this: how could he get close enough to Grindelwald — and how could he persuade the man to redeem his son?
He was still frowning in thought when the meeting began. The screen in front of {Albus Dumbledore} flickered to life.
Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward the far edge of the hall, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
There, sitting awkwardly among a group of high-ranking bureaucrats, were Newt and Tina Scamander.
Both had been personally invited by Babajide, the Supreme Mugwump. Their experience fighting Grindelwald made them valuable witnesses — and perhaps, assets.
Even Tina hadn't objected to bringing Newt along. In fact, she'd agreed before being asked twice.
They had too much history with Grindelwald to ever truly escape it. Hiding was useless. If vengeance was inevitable, better to face it head-on.
"..."
The Austrian Minister of Magic took the stage and began summarizing the situation once more.
"We must admit that even after all these decades, he remains an extraordinarily powerful dark wizard. According to the surviving guards' memories, he cast Protego Diabolica without a wand — and controlled it so precisely that not a single guard was harmed, though Nurmengard was completely destroyed.
"Can anyone here claim their country harbors a wizard capable of that?"
Silence.
"Perhaps only Dumbledore," someone muttered.
"Exactly," the Austrian continued. "So we can't afford to underestimate him again."
The hall buzzed with tense voices until the German Minister rose to speak.
"Grindelwald has already obtained a suitable wand from Gregorovitch," he said gravely. "That alone increases the threat he poses. And as for the Acolytes…"
He gave a strained laugh. "To be frank, we still have many descendants of the original Acolytes holding high office in Germany. The question is… have they inherited their ancestors' beliefs? Will they turn to Grindelwald's side? Are these people now our enemies?"
A murmur swept through the room.
He wasn't wrong. There had once been thousands of Acolytes — not all could have been killed or imprisoned. And with generations of pureblood intermarriage, their bloodlines had spread far and wide.
For all anyone knew, half the wizards in this room had Grindelwald sympathizers somewhere in their family trees.
Then—
Creak.
The heavy bronze doors at the back of the hall swung open.
A well-dressed man stepped inside — mid-forties, briefcase in hand, polite smile on his face. He gave Babajide a quick nod of apology before scanning the room for his seat.
No one thought much of it. Everyone recognized him: the Minister of Magic from Poland.
Newt glanced at him — then froze.
His expression hardened instantly. He stood up, shielding Tina with one arm, wand raised and steady.
"Mr. Scamander?" Babajide blinked in confusion.
"Careful!" Newt's voice rang through the hall. "That man is Grindelwald!"
The entire room erupted.
Grindelwald? Here?
For a moment, the delegates thought Newt must be mistaken. But Tina didn't doubt him for a second. She drew her wand in one swift motion and aimed at the so-called Polish Minister too.
Their reaction set off a chain response — the Aurors stationed around the room stiffened, wands out, every nerve on edge.
The tension was electric.
"Well now…"
The man froze for a heartbeat — then relaxed, chuckling softly. "Scamander. I didn't expect to see you here. And even less that you'd recognize me so quickly."
That was all it took. The delegates believed him. Panic rippled through the room.
Wizards scrambled away from their seats, shouting for the Aurors to attack. In seconds, dozens of spells flew toward Grindelwald's position — stunning charms, hexes, curses — a storm of light and sound.
But Grindelwald merely blurred, vanishing and reappearing effortlessly. The spells tore through his image and shattered against the floor where he'd been standing.
It was as if he'd never been solid at all.
"Mr. Scamander," the Swiss Minister called out breathlessly. "How did you see through his disguise so fast?"
Newt's voice was calm. "I could never forget his eyes. They're… special — bright, like jewels."
"Newt!"
Tina's face darkened.
At that moment, she very nearly turned her wand on him instead.
.
.
.