— — — — — —
Tina was furious — the kind of furious that could have Newt sleeping on the couch for a year.
Back when he'd told her her eyes were "as beautiful as a salamander's," she'd taken it as a compliment. Coming from Newt, that was practically poetry.
But now, in front of her, he'd just described another man's eyes — using romantic words.
Did she not have any dignity left?!
Newt froze, realizing what he'd just said. He immediately panicked. "Sorry, Tina! I didn't mean—"
"Save it," she snapped, glaring daggers at him. "We'll talk about this when we get home."
Then she turned that same glare — sharpened like a blade — toward the man standing before them. "Gellert Grindelwald," she said icily. "You came here to die, didn't you?"
"There are over a hundred Aurors in this building. The International Confederation's headquarters is right next door. Reinforcements are already on the way. You're surrounded, Grindelwald. You've overplayed your hand."
"Your net?" Grindelwald chuckled, spreading his arms. "Don't make me laugh, Tina."
His features shifted as the illusion melted away, revealing his true face — handsome, arrogant, wild — that familiar mocking smile curving his lips. "Tina, we've met more times than I can count. You should know better. None of this means anything to me. In this room — no, in all of New York — there are only three people I'd even bother to notice. You, your incompetent husband Scamander, and your sister Queenie. Everyone else…"
He let his gaze sweep over the cowering officials and trembling Aurors. The rest of his sentence didn't need to be spoken — the contempt in his eyes said it all.
"Grindelwald," Newt said quietly, ignoring the insult, "what are you trying to do here?"
He'd long since stopped expecting kind words from the man. Ever since their first encounter, Grindelwald had never said anything nice to him — not once. What mattered now was why he was here.
"Coincidence," Grindelwald said simply.
With a soft crack, he vanished — reappearing atop the towering statue of Pierre Bonaccord, the Confederation's founder. He stood on the statue's head as if placing the entire organization beneath his boots.
"Funny story, really," he said, almost conversationally. "I hadn't planned on joining your little meeting at all. I was actually looking for someone. Then, on the way here, I happened to meet the Polish Minister of Magic — what was his name again? Ah, yes. Jacek Nowak."
He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Age must be catching up to me; I'm getting forgetful. Anyway, I didn't know the man, but he reminded me of someone. So I asked a few questions and, wouldn't you know it, he turned out to be the grandson of an old acquaintance."
His voice darkened. "His grandfather, Zbigniew Nowak, was once one of the Acolytes— groveling at my feet like a dog. Then, like a wolf, he turned on us, tearing into his brothers' flesh to save himself."
Grindelwald reached into his coat, took out a handkerchief, and calmly wiped his fingers. "So I reunited them."
The entire room fell silent.
A chill spread through the hall — the kind of silence that pressed on your lungs. A Minister of Magic… killed just like that?
Then, one after another, the sharp cracks of Apparition filled the air. Dozens of Aurors poured into the chamber, drawn by the alarms. In seconds, the crowd of wizards swelled, and a surge of hope rippled through the officials.
One man against all of them. The odds were theirs.
"Kill him!" someone shouted.
"Don't let him escape!"
"He's alone — finish him here and now!"
"Nurmengard's fallen. There's no reason to let this monster live!"
The ministers roared their approval, and the Aurors turned toward their commanders. Babajide gave a single nod.
The spells began.
A chorus of incantations echoed through the room.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Confringo!"
"Oppugno!"
"Petrificus Totalus Maxima!"
Bolts of color streaked through the air, magic so dense it distorted the space around it. Others focused on containment, weaving anti-Apparition barriers and sealing off every escape route.
Grindelwald smiled faintly.
"Aurors these days," he said softly. "You've all gotten so… disappointing."
Without a word, he drew a wand — a simple, pale length of wood — and flicked it lazily.
A streak of white light burst forth, expanding into a shimmering barrier that swallowed the incoming barrage. Dozens of spells hit it at once — and bounced back.
Half the room exploded into chaos as the reflected curses slammed into their own ranks. Screams and smoke filled the air.
Tina was already moving, blocking a stray curse with a swift shield charm. She seized the moment, aimed carefully, and fired two precise spells that curved around Grindelwald's barrier.
The impact hit true — or would have, if the statue beneath him hadn't moved.
At Grindelwald's raised hand, the massive stone effigy mimicked him, lifting its own arm. The spells struck its palm instead, carving deep craters into the stone.
"Your aim is still as sharp as ever, Tina."
Grindelwald gestured again — the statue's arm tore free, hurling itself toward Newt like a cannonball.
"Scamander," he said almost kindly, "I wasn't planning to look for you. But since you came running to me, it'd be rude not to say hello."
He actually meant it. Coming to North America hadn't been about them at all — he was only here on Tom's little task, dealing with that self-righteous Picquery.
But fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.
Enemies always find their way back to each other.
Since they'd crossed paths, Grindelwald couldn't just walk away. Not even out of respect for Tom. No, he had to teach Scamander a lesson.
Otherwise, that bitterness sitting in his chest would never leave him. It would fester, twist his temper, maybe even corrode his magic. And that, to a wizard like him, was the true danger.
A quick beating to vent his anger — that would do.
With that thought, he clenched his fist. The statue's massive stone arm shot forward like a cannonball, accelerating as it went.
"Reducto Maxima!"
Tina's furious voice rang out, her curse slamming into the stone arm and blasting it to rubble. But hidden behind the debris came several faster, deadlier spells streaking toward them.
Even while blocking dozens of Auror attacks, Grindelwald had the presence of mind to weave traps of his own.
The three incoming spells were too fast. Tina had already poured everything she had into the last curse. She grabbed Newt's arm, ready to dodge —
Two sleek black creatures burst from Newt's open suitcase. The spectral cats threw themselves into the path of the spells without hesitation.
The red light struck — and the cats split into four.
Grindelwald's expression darkened.
Of course. Thestral cats — spectral familiars that split when mortally wounded. Even the Killing Curse had to strike them two or three times to truly finish them off. Perfect living shields.
Always with these blasted creatures. Then and now, Scamander was always hiding behind his beasts!
Grindelwald leapt down from the statue, power radiating from him like a storm. His wand moved so fast it blurred, deflecting curses from every direction, his advance unstoppable. With each step forward, he sent pulses of interference through the air, warping the magic around Tina and Newt so they couldn't escape.
Only then did the others realize why a single man could shake the entire magical world — why the name Grindelwald had once made nations tremble.
Their spells couldn't even scratch him.
Newt's face hardened. He'd hoped to avoid this, but now there was no choice. He flipped open his suitcase completely.
One by one, the creatures came pouring out.
Horned Serpent. Graphorn. Erumpent. Manticore. Even a Fire dragon and a proud Thunderbird — and countless others, a chaotic tide of magic and muscle.
In seconds, the meeting chamber became a menagerie.
The dragon tore through the ceiling and roared, spewing fire down from the rafters. The Erumpent's horn glowed a molten red as it charged, every step shaking the floor.
Grindelwald absorbed the dragonfire with one hand, redirecting it through the other in a sweeping arc to force the Erumpent aside. Then a glint from the Serpent's gem-like crown caught his eye — a flash of psychic distraction — and before he could refocus, a Manticore lunged.
"Out of my way!" he snarled.
A shockwave exploded outward from him, blasting both beasts and wizards off their feet. But the larger creatures barely budged, roaring in defiance.
The room was pure chaos now. Spells, claws, and fangs filled the air. The creatures were doing more damage than all the Aurors combined — and even Grindelwald's stride had slowed.
"Fall back!" shouted Babajide, his voice cutting through the din. "It's too cramped in here — the Aurors can't cast properly!"
He was right. If this fight continued, any high-ranking official who died would become a political disaster.
The ministers and Confederation directors finally seemed to grasp that. One by one, they bolted for the exits, tripping over each other in their panic.
Grindelwald didn't spare them a glance. His focus stayed on Newt.
Until a dispassionate voice echoed in his mind.
"Enough. You're wasting time. Your target is escaping."
"Target?"
Oh. Right. He wasn't here for Scamander. He was here for Picquery.
He turned toward the doorway. There — in a tailored suit, trying to blend into the fleeing crowd — was Sam Picquery.
Grindelwald's eyes narrowed.
"Finite incantatem"
He drove his wand into the ground. A golden shockwave erupted outward, swallowing the entire hall. Every spell, every breath of dragonfire, every stray bit of magic — silenced, neutralized. Even the anti-Apparition wards dissolved into sparks.
Crack!
A deafening crack echoed as he vanished — and reappeared in the crowd. His hand shot out, seizing Sam Picquery by the throat and slamming him against the wall.
"Picquery?" he asked, voice low and calm.
Sam's face turned scarlet. He could only choke out a hoarse gasp, nodding frantically.
No one moved to help him. The other wizards ran even faster, tripping over themselves to get away.
"Let him go!"
"Grindelwald, stop!"
A few Aurors shouted, but none dared act. Grindelwald held his captive close, using him as a living shield.
A small smile curved his lips. "So it is you. Descendant of Seraphina Picquery… I remember her. Clever woman. Capable. She led the MACUSA that captured me — earned herself quite the reputation from it. I'm not mistaken, am I?"
Sam's eyes widened in panic. He knew the story — everyone in his family did. But that was Scamander's doing, not his ancestor's alone. He glanced desperately toward Newt, silently screaming, "It was you, not us!"
Grindelwald didn't care. His wand pulsed with eerie green light.
"You're the first," he whispered, "but you won't be the last."
The flash was blinding — for one instant, the world was nothing but green.
When the light faded, Sam Picquery's body lay lifeless at Grindelwald's feet.
He dropped it without a glance, as though discarding something worthless.
Then his gaze drifted to the corner of the room — to a set of broadcasting crystals still recording the entire scene.
A knowing smile touched his lips.
He looked straight into the lens, as if meeting someone's eyes through it.
And then, with a flick of his wand, the wall exploded outward — and Gellert Grindelwald vanished into the open sky.
.
.
.