— — — — — —
Hogwarts
Dumbledore had watched the entire debacle unfold from beginning to end. His expression remained calm, unchanged from start to finish.
Only the faint glimmer in his eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath that calm surface.
McGonagall, on the other hand, had gone pale as a sheet. The moment she saw Grindelwald pin down dozens of Aurors and casually kill one before walking away as if nothing had happened, her voice trembled as she whispered,
"Albus… he's back. He is truly back."
Dumbledore understood exactly what she meant. Grindelwald hadn't shown the slightest sign of weakness or age. It was as though time had frozen for him — decades in prison hadn't left a single mark.
"Calm yourself, Minerva."
Dumbledore met Grindelwald's eyes across the magical screen, then looked away with a soft sigh. "Things aren't as bad as they seem. You know what he's capable of — a master of dark magic. He knows spells we've never even heard of. Changing his physical state wouldn't be impossible for him."
He paused, then added gently, "And besides, this was from a great distance. Grindelwald wasn't even fighting seriously. We can't judge his condition from that."
McGonagall froze, clearly taken aback. After a long silence, she asked in disbelief, "What did you just say? He wasn't fighting seriously?"
"Of course not." Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Didn't you notice? Aside from his small attacks on Newt and Tina, and the last man he killed — Sam Picquery — Grindelwald never once took the initiative to attack anyone else."
It was a bitter truth, but Dumbledore had to say it.
What looked like a terrifying battle to everyone else was, in reality, Grindelwald barely lifting a finger. Which meant… killing everyone present still wouldn't reveal how strong he really was.
To truly test him, Dumbledore would have to face him himself.
McGonagall took a deep breath, her understanding of magic shifting yet again.
"So what are you going to do? Go to North America and confront him?"
"Too late for that now," Dumbledore said, taking out his Codex and writing something on it. Then he smiled faintly. "Thank Merlin Tom invented this little thing. Without it, we'd be at a much greater disadvantage right now."
...
Meanwhile, inside the Study space, Tom was grumbling.
"Thank Merlin Dumbledore didn't show up to that meeting. If he had, you'd still be drooling over him."
He was complaining about Grindelwald, of course. If the system hadn't given him this new function — the ability to project his consciousness into someone bound by contract — Sam Picquery would've gotten away today.
Sure, they could've hunted him down later and finished the job, but still — first impressions mattered.
It was embarrassing that Grindelwald's grand return had started with a slip-up.
The old man seemed to realize that too. Especially with Andros and Ariana looking at him like he was an idiot, he stiffened and muttered defensively, "That one was different. I can stay calm when I see Albus, but Scamander… ugh, that innocent face of his just makes me want to throw every curse I know at him."
Tom stared, utterly exasperated. "Merlin's red ass, you sound like a lovesick fool. Just stay away from Newt next time before you start another fight."
"It was an accident, just an accident," Grindelwald said quickly, waving a hand. "Anyway, you've got to admit — today's commotion was loud enough. The whole world's going to know I broke out soon. There's no hiding it now."
"True enough," Tom said, nodding. "Once you're done, pay a visit to the Picquery family. Take out a few of their core members — leave the old, weak, and young alive. After that… do whatever you like."
Grindelwald grimaced.
Compared to Tom, he was practically a saint.
Killing the strong and leaving the weak was a fate worse than extermination. The survivors would have to watch their family's power, wealth, and honor slowly crumble — until nothing remained but ruin.
Ariana, not understanding the cruelty behind it, gasped and said, "Tom, you're too kind! What if the ones you spare come after you later? You should just kill them all."
"It's fine," Tom said in a tone that was almost compassionate. "I can't bring myself to harm the old and the young. And besides, if they want to hate someone, they'll hate old G — what's that got to do with me?"
Grindelwald: "..."
That last line was the real point, wasn't it?
"You two go ahead and chat," Grindelwald muttered, waving a hand.
"The Aurors are closing in." He quickly pulled his consciousness out of the space.
Once he was gone, Ariana grumbled a few more insults about him before Ravenclaw called her back to study.
When the room was finally empty, Andros frowned and asked, "Tom, why target Picquery? Why are you so intent on making Grindelwald create chaos? Do you want to unify the wizarding world?"
"Even if that's your goal, couldn't it wait? Once I'm resurrected — and with Ravenclaw's help — it wouldn't take long. And I'll soon reach her level too. The four of us together could crush any opposition easily."
Tom smiled kindly, then shook his head. "Unify the wizarding world? Too much work for too little reward. Wizards are the hardest people to govern. As long as I have a few useful associates, that's more than enough."
He looked thoughtful, his tone turning curious. "Andros, do you know when Muggle civilization advances the fastest?"
Andros blinked and shook his head honestly. He'd never cared much for the Muggle world. The most he ever saw of it was when he was bored and watched Tom & Jerry—especially the parts where Tom got crushed by Jerry.
"During war," Tom said quietly. "In two world wars, Muggles broke through technological barriers that had held them back for centuries. Progress started moving not by decades, but by months, even days."
"That's human potential," he continued. "When survival and resources are on the line, people unleash power they didn't even know they had."
He lifted his gaze to meet Andros's. "But tell me—when has the wizarding world ever had a real war? As far as I know, only Grindelwald's uprising came close. It produced a wave of powerful wizards, true—but thanks to Dumbledore, the world slipped back into comfort. They stopped pushing themselves."
"I'd like this time to be different."
The young man's hand clenched into a fist. "Pressure creates motivation. Motivation leads to Progress. Alone, I'll never push this world beyond its limits. I need inspiration—more talent, more brilliant minds."
"I see…" Andros finally understood. Tom wasn't after chaos for chaos's sake—he wanted to force the stagnant magical world to evolve, to burn away its complacency and rebuild it stronger.
Still, his expression turned serious. "Then make sure you don't overdo it. Don't let too many innocent people die because of this."
He understood Tom's reasoning, but didn't agree with it. That just wasn't his way—he wouldn't sacrifice others for personal ambition. But since he had to consider things from Tom's point of view, all he could do was warn him to keep it contained.
Tom chuckled. "What are you thinking, Andros? I'm not planning a world war. I just want to stir things up a bit—keep wizards from sitting on their dusty laurels. A little tension is healthy."
He paused, then added casually, "Though Grindelwald's people have a long list of grudges built up over the years. If they want revenge, that's their business."
That answer made Andros relax a little. As long as Tom wasn't trying to deliberately burn the world down, he could live with it.
Avenging comrades didn't count as senseless slaughter. In ancient Greece, vendettas among wizards were practically tradition. Andros wasn't some saint—he wasn't about to preach peace for everyone.
— — —
New York
After Grindelwald's "escape", the International Confederation of Wizards headquarters looked like a war zone.
To be fair, most of the destruction wasn't Old G's fault. The ceiling had been blown open by a rampaging dragon, the floors crushed under the weight of a Graphorn, and the rest of the damage came from a delightful mix of toxic gas, explosions, and spellfire.
The two floors around the main conference hall were basically unusable.
Thankfully, no one had died... well, except Sam.
A few unlucky souls got caught in the crossfire, and several Aurors and Ministry officials were injured by Grindelwald's reflected spells—but nothing life-threatening.
Covered in dust and ash, Babajide led the survivors to the nearby Woolworth Building—home of MACUSA—to resume the unfinished meeting.
Before he began, he made a point to thank Newt.
Sure, the man had practically demolished the place—but he had stalled Grindelwald and drawn most of the firepower away.
Babajide silently made a decision: from now on, wherever he held a meeting, he was bringing Newt along. In peacetime, that case full of magical creatures was a walking disaster waiting to happen. In wartime, it was a suitcase full of bodyguards.
And as for Newt himself—well, the man made an excellent meat shield. Just being around him made people feel safer.
"Everyone," Babajide began, "you've all seen for yourselves how powerful and reckless Grindelwald has become."
"We don't have time to mourn Mr. Picquery. What awaits us now is a far greater crisis."
No one dared argue this time. Every face was solemn.
When Grindelwald had been there, they'd felt like lambs before the slaughter. His power was overwhelming—Auror spells had bounced off him like sparks from a child's toy wand.
From today, rivalries and grudges were quietly set aside.
Whatever else could be said about them, the people in that room weren't fools. To rise to the rank of Minister or Department Head required cunning and ability in equal measure—even Cornelius Fudge, often mocked by the public, had a real talent for politics and public sentiment.
These were the elites of the wizarding world.
And when elites stopped scheming and actually worked together, the results were terrifyingly efficient.
In record time, they'd drafted the framework for a mutual-aid and rapid-response alliance, designed to track Grindelwald's movements and coordinate defenses.
Crouch, unfortunately, was peppered with the same question over and over: "Can Dumbledore fight? Can he still defeat Grindelwald like he did fifty years ago?"
Crouch sighed, his patience finally wearing thin. "Gentlemen, I can't answer that. Dumbledore holds a position above the Ministry—he's beyond our jurisdiction. You'll have to ask him yourselves. Even if I promised something, it would mean nothing."
"I'll reach out to Dumbledore personally," Babajide said, stepping in to spare Crouch further interrogation. He then pulled out his Codex.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you should all know what this is. Thanks to this device, I can contact people instantly. Unfortunately, it's only available for purchase in Britain, France, Germany, and Spain. I had to import this one from England. I suggest you all get a few—communication and information-sharing will be much faster this way."
At that, Crouch hesitated, then took a pendant from his robes.
"I also have something—another of Tom Riddle's inventions. It can significantly improve your personal safety."
A hush fell. Dozens of eyes turned toward him at once.
The air grew thick with interest.
.
.
.