— — — — — —
Dumbledore wasn't someone who cared much about his own reputation. Plenty of people called him a senile old man, and who knew how many insulted him behind his back.
With his power, he could easily "make an example" of a few of them and end up just as terrifying as Voldemort—people would be too afraid to even say his name.
But he didn't. The thought never even crossed his mind. Their complaints and slander meant nothing to him anyway.
Today was different.
It was so different because it came from someone important. And Tom was one of those people.
Dumbledore still hoped to maintain the image of a reliable mentor in the boy's eyes, guiding him away from the path that would drag the entire wizarding world into misery.
Even though he could tell Tom was joking, the Dementors' appearance was still a hit to his credibility. He'd sworn—loudly and confidently—that the Dementors would never set foot on school grounds. And now? What about next time?
Once doubt appears, repairing that crack takes a hundred times the effort. That was the real source of his anger.
Newt hadn't expected a casual remark from Tom to nearly push Dumbledore over the edge. Thankfully, no one was hurt. As he spoke with Dumbledore, Tina came in carrying fruit and pastries, and she listened through the explanation.
"Hogwarts has really gone downhill," Tina said sharply. "A whole swarm of Dementors strolls into campus, no one notices until they're at the Quidditch pitch, and it takes our Tom to deal with it. Dumbledore, your staff is far too lax."
Serving tea was polite hospitality—her sarcasm, however, was her real attitude toward Albus.
And every word was true. Dumbledore's expression tightened in embarrassment, but he had no way to refute her. In the end, it was Newt who shifted the topic and gave him a way out.
"Albus, any news from MACUSA about Grindelwald?"
At that, Dumbledore looked even worse. He shook his head with a long sigh. "Grindelwald is deliberately hiding. There are hardly any wizards alive who can pinpoint his location. The Aurors and strike teams MACUSA sent out haven't found a single useful lead."
"I tried to investigate the Picquery family myself, but I was unexpectedly refused entry."
He let out a helpless laugh. "Tina, what exactly is MACUSA hiding? It feels like they've got a mountain of secrets they don't want me anywhere near."
"I'm retired. I know nothing," Tina said bluntly. "And the late Sam Picquery was one of the radical faction's figureheads. Those families and I never got along. Dumbledore, you're asking the wrong person."
"…All right."
Her response didn't surprise him.
He didn't want to dig into MACUSA's secrets, but he hadn't forgotten Ilvermorny's little stunt last year. He'd already begun to distrust North America's magical government.
"I'm sure MACUSA isn't planning anything terrible," Newt said, though uneasily. "It might just be the… complicated nature of the Picquery family."
Newt truly didn't want any more chaos in the world. One Grindelwald was already headache enough.
"Let's hope you're right," Dumbledore replied, unconvinced. Then he redirected the topic: "But either way, the threat is right in front of us. Newt, Tina, you two know him best. I was hoping you could track—"
"Actually, Albus," Tina interrupted suddenly, her expression brightening, "look at me—I nearly forgot to tell you some good news."
Dumbledore blinked. "Good news?"
Beaming, the older witch grabbed Newt's hand. "We've decided North America just isn't safe anymore. Troubles are only going to pile up. And after living here for decades, honestly, we're tired of it. So next week, we're moving back to the old house in Dorset for a while."
Dumbledore froze, stunned. He glanced at Newt, who gave a shy little nod.
"Albus… we're getting old. We can't keep running around like before. Tina hasn't been feeling well lately. She needs to rest."
Rest? That was just the polite excuse. What they really wanted was to stop getting dragged into the feud between those two great wizards. Like Nicolas Flamel, they simply wanted to hide away in England and enjoy some peace.
Dumbledore understood perfectly. He had hoped to ask Newt to track Grindelwald again, just like decades ago. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen. He could only nod regretfully.
"If there's anything I can do to help, promise you'll tell me."
"Thank you for the offer," Tina smiled. "Now, what should we make for lunch?"
Dumbledore stood up. "No need to trouble yourselves. I still have a few old acquaintances to visit. If there's still no progress, I'll head back to Hogwarts and wait for his next move."
"We'll walk you out."
They watched Dumbledore disappear down the street. Newt let out a deep sigh. "He must be feeling awful right now."
"Newt, he's disappointed because he can't find someone to help him deal with Grindelwald." Tina gave him a sharp look, slipping right into wife-training mode. "But shouldn't you think about me? About Rolf? Do you want us to lose a husband and grandfather because you went off chasing danger?"
Newt waved his hands quickly. "No, no, that's not what I meant. I just… even if we hide in England, Grindelwald might still come looking. And you came with me to that meeting, didn't you?"
"That was my mistake."
Tina sighed and walked with him through the garden. "When we first got the news, I thought that after decades in prison, Grindelwald might still be powerful but at least somewhat weakened. But the moment we saw him that day, I realized how wrong I was."
"We can't see the full extent of his power, but we can feel the gap. If I were fifty years younger, I'd never be this cowardly. But now? We can't keep up. We've aged."
She looked at Newt with a tenderness that slipped through the wrinkles, as if she could still see the freckled young man with a heart of pure gold.
"Newt, we have to think of our family first. Everything else comes second. Don't you want to watch Rolf grow up? Don't you want to see Tom become a wizard who surpasses Dumbledore?"
"Then don't get too close to Albus. I know he means well, but his kindness drags people into a whirlpool of trouble. Let's go to England. It's still peaceful there. You can update your books and take care of your beasts, and I'll take care of my Kneazles."
Newt stayed quiet for a moment, then finally nodded. "You're right, Tina. We're too old for this. Their feud has nothing to do with us anymore. And moving to England isn't so bad… Tom's always asking me about the Whomping Willow anyway. Maybe I'll plant a few more for him."
Tina smiled, and the two elderly magizoologists walked back home hand in hand. They began packing, and within a few hours the house was almost empty, their belongings tucked neatly into enchanted suitcases. Clearly, they had no plans to return anytime soon.
---
The next morning
Tom headed straight to the hospital wing after breakfast.
He'd only remembered before falling asleep last night that Harry's Firebolt was still with Usaki. It was too late to go out again, so he'd delayed the errand until this morning.
Madam Pomfrey grumbled about visitors coming and going nonstop, but she still let Tom in, warning him that he only had fifteen minutes.
Harry was the only patient inside. When he saw Tom, he instinctively tried to get out of bed, but with Pomfrey watching from behind Tom, he had to settle for straightening up. "Tom, what are you doing here?"
"Your Firebolt's still with me." Tom leaned it against the wall and took a seat.
Harry smacked his forehead and gave Tom a grateful smile. "I was planning to look for you after I got discharged. I feel fine, honestly. It's just Madam Pomfrey insisting I stay one more day for observation."
"It's not that bad here." Tom picked up an apple from the table and took a bite. "Quiet, no one bothers you, and people bring gifts. Didn't Ron just come by? You don't get that kind of treatment on normal days."
"Ron?" Harry blinked. "That wasn't Ron. Draco Malfoy came to mock me. We almost fought too, if it weren't for being in the hospital wing."
"Ron's probably still asleep."
Tom: "…"
Of course. When it came to mocking Harry, Draco's enthusiasm was eternal. Tom had a feeling that even when they were both old men barely able to walk, if Draco heard Harry suffered some misfortune, he would spring out of bed and hobble over to laugh at him in person.
"Save your energy for when you're fully healed. Although… Draco's been improving a lot. Zabini has already teamed up with Rosier to keep him in check."
At a loss for how to continue that topic, Tom reluctantly shared a bit of inside news with him.
Honestly, he was surprised himself.
In the original timeline, Draco never showed any real magical talent. Fixing the Vanishing Cabinet was the only impressive thing he ever did. But now? He was suddenly terrifyingly competent. Just the other week, he beat a fifth-year senseless for calling him a mama's boy.
And it wasn't an ambush, either. A proper duel. In the common room.
Ever since then, Slytherin students whispered that Draco didn't act like a Malfoy anymore.
...
After a few more minutes of small talk, Tom prepared to leave. He'd come to return the broom, not to make awkward conversation.
But Harry still had an important question, and called out to stop him.
"Tom… why do Dementors affect me so much more than everyone else? I asked Fred and George. They said it just made them feel sick and think of terrible memories. But when I get near them, it's like my head is splitting open."
He hadn't encountered a Dementor on the train, so he'd only discovered this weakness now.
Embarrassment aside, what he hated most were the images that flooded his mind. The moment they surfaced, he felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was going to lose his sanity.
.
.
.
(Author's note:
A quick word about power levels: because of differences in special effects and filming era, the power shown in Harry Potter and in Fantastic Beasts is wildly inconsistent.
Dumbledore can affect space with just a Deluminator, so obviously some characters will be powered up here. But the nature of wizards hasn't changed — high offense, low durability