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Chapter Text

Summer of 1899

“Stand still. You're bending the quill.”

Dumbledore looked at Grindelwald. He was lying face down on the bed, without any clothes on. On his back, the Quick-Quotes Quill was slipping off the parchment, writing Grindelwald's complaint in the air.

“Forgive me for my lack of talent for acting as a table,” Dumbledore replied in a tone somewhere between sarcastic and annoyed. 

“It may not seem like it, but what we're doing here is very serious. And so far you've done nothing to help. Not even as a table.”

“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t need to use force, Gellert,” Dumbledore mustered all his patience. “The wizarding community will have to be convinced, not forced.”

“I don't disagree, my dear, that has indeed been decided, but if the convincing goes wrong and we have no other option, we need to plan our next steps. No improvisation,” Grindelwald replied, very seriously, repositioning his quill. “Starting over… We should start with France, right?” 

Dumbledore let out a sigh. 

“You're not going to let this go, are you?” 

“Not at all.” 

Surrendering, he finally offered to help. 

“We start with Belgium.” 

The quill, which was already in the middle of the "F", jerked backwards, scratching Dumbledore's back, who let out a grunt of discomfort. 

“Belgium? What do you mean, Belgium? I didn't even want to occupy France to begin with, but you've convinced me with all that talk about France being an important cultural landmark and now you're talking about Belgium? Belgium, Albus? Who cares about Belgium?” 

“Indeed, nobody cares about Belgium..." Dumbledore acknowledged thoughtfully, "unless, of course, you want to occupy France without too much of a hassle. Then, yes, Belgium becomes important, my dear Gellert.” 

Grindelwald let out an annoyed ‘tsk’. 

“I'm not attacking Belgium at all. We'll start from France and that’s under protest. If it were up to me, we'd start with Poland.” 

“My mistake, I could have sworn I felt the quill writing a 'B' for Belgium, not an ‘F’ for France.” 

“That is on you. It was an ‘F’, and a very nice ‘F’ at that.” 

"No,” Dumbledore insisted and the quill once again danced uncertainly across the parchment for a few moments, influenced by his laughter. “I felt the curve of the ‘B’ right here, at the beginning of my buttocks. Definitely a B’."

Grindelwald remained silent for a few seconds. “Okay, okay... I admit it. It was a ‘B’ all right. After all, who am I to contradict my favorite general?” 

“General?” Dumbledore turned to his lover, causing the parchment and quill to slip onto the bed. “I'm your general now?” 

“If you don't like being general, we can think of another rank. That's unimportant. What matters is that you'll be by my side.” 

Dumbledore smiled, pulling Grindelwald into a kiss by the nape of his neck, exuding as much passion as he could in a mere brush of lips. 

“I'll settle for being your favorite," he said, wrapping his arms warmly around Grindelwald's neck. 

Forgotten on the floor, the quick-quote quill scribbled a thick line, back and forth several times, until it stopped.

Lobby of the Hotel Ritz - Paris - 1939

“Good evening, Mademoiselle Rosier,” a gallant voice was heard from behind the Frenchwoman's thin shoulders.

“My lord,” Vinda bowed her head with an earnest smile.  “Good evening.”

“How goes your early evening as mistress of France, ma chéri?” Grindelwald asked, with a seductive tone in his voice. 

Vinda laughed openly. 

“Quite... satisfactory. The French Ministry of Magic has been completely ours for a few hours. I confess I turned up my nose at your idea of invading through Belgium, but in the end, it was too easy.”

“Of course it was,”  Shrugging, he felt suddenly annoyed, but pushed the feeling aside in the next instant. “Since our victory is now complete... it's time to celebrate.”

Vinda nodded:

“Naturally, we have a banquet prepared in your honor in the hotel restaurant,” she stopped in front of the mirror to adjust her blue velvet hat.

“Naturally,” Grindelwald stood beside her and, smiling, took the opportunity to straighten the bow tie on his tuxedo.

The two of them walked through the corridors, Vinda's stiletto heels sinking gracefully into the red carpet.

On the way, enthusiastic clapping from supporters could be heard as they gloriously passed by, completely masking the few haggard and downcast faces that tried to go unnoticed. 

The luxurious restaurant at the Ritz had been closed to the public in order to welcome Grindelwald and his acolytes. As they approached, they were greeted by a small crowd. 

“Grindelwald! Grindelwald!” people shouted and cheered, jostling for space, while the staff made every effort to keep them at a safe distance. 

The wizard crossed the threshold of the hotel's luxurious restaurant, waving triumphantly. The gigantic hall seemed to diminish in size to accommodate the enthusiastic horde of acolytes and admirers. Even the walls seemed to bend in huge arches to bow to his grandeur. Golden lamps on the tables and ceiling, together with the long white pleated curtains, gave the place an exquisite look. 

The maître d' welcomed them with a plastic smile and a practiced bow, pointing them to a central round table, where they sat down in comfortable red velvet chairs, immediately followed by Abernathy, Nagel, Krafft and Zabini.

The other acolytes settled down at the other tables in the hall, all eager and hungry. 

“Where's McDuff? And Karl?” Grindelwald asked as soon as everyone had settled down.

“Still at the Ministry,” Abernathy answered promptly, as he arranged his linen napkin on his lap. "Tomorrow morning, your presence there will be indispensable. At what time can we leave…” and after realizing he wasn't being heard, he said, “My Lord?” 

But Grindelwald's attention had already drifted to a red-haired man who stood out amidst the small crowd squeezed together in search of a mere glimpse of the Alliance leader. 

“Abernathy..." he said, pointing in the young red-haired man's direction. "Today.”

“As you command, my lord,” Abernathy replied as soon as he spotted the figure he had been pointed to, and stood up immediately. 

A few moments later, the eight-course menu began to be served by the waiters. On sets of dishes of the finest porcelain, engraved with the hotel's golden coat of arms, the starter - scallops with pumpkin puree, hazelnuts and Parma ham - was received with whistles of admiration. All the dishes were paired with the best and most expensive French wines, much to the satisfaction of the group.

Abernathy rejoined their party only as the third course was being presented, arranging his napkin on his lap at the exact moment when a succulent grilled octopus with crispy smashed potatoes was placed in front of the eaters. 

It was precisely the wine served to accompany the lamb loin and crispy ribs that caught Grindelwald's eye. 

“Please,” he said, snapping his fingers to get the attention of the maitre d'. “I would like to have a few words with the sommelier."

The maitre d' immediately approached, helpful.

“Is something the matter, My Lord?” he asked, solicitous as always.

“Not as of yet. I just wanted to... ask a few questions.”

The sommelier, a very short wizard with spiky black hair, soon appeared, bowing in a long reverence.

“Good evening, My Lord. Do you require my assistance?” 

“Oh, yes. I was curious about the wine you chose to accompany the lamb.” 

“Ah... a special Cabernet Franc,” He replied, excited by the opportunity to explain his dedicated work. “A gem in the world of winemaking. A champion vintage in vinification, aged at the bottom of the sea…"

“I'm surprised…” Grindelwald interrupted him with a smile. “I was unaware of the existence of a pure-blooded French family winery that produced Cabernet Franc wines, but perhaps my knowledge is out of date…” 

“Oh, no,” The sommelier smiled condescendingly "This wine is not magically produced. It comes from one of the best wineries in the south of France."

Grindelwald's smile turned into an expression of astonishment. 

“Muggle wine?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a grimace of disgust. 

The sommelier hesitated, realizing that he had made a serious mistake.

“Y-yes, m-my lord. I... I c-can exchange... can exchange it for another, if you wish, milord.”

Grindelwald reached out for the goblet of water, drinking the entire contents in one gulp. 

He placed the goblet on the table.

He wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin. 

“That's all,” his tone of voice was glacial. “Thank you.”

The sommelier's shoulders slumped, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but Grindelwald was no longer paying any attention to him. Defeated, he headed towards the kitchen, dazed and tripping over his own legs. 

Grindelwald glanced in Abernathy's direction, his expression tiny, almost imperceptible, but his acolyte didn't need more than that to drop his napkin on the table and rise for the second time that night.

In silence, the whole table, except for Grindelwald, followed Abernathy as he walked leisurely away towards the kitchen.

A flash of green became visible. 

“Yes, I think I'd like to change the wine, please,” Grindelwald addressed the maître d' in a soft tone.

“Right away, milord,” And, with a flick of his wand, the wine disappeared from everyone's sight.

“Oh, no!  Wait a minute!” Krafft's shrill voice was heard at this point, showing the first signs of drunkenness. “It’s criminal to waste such expensive wine like this!!! Please give it a dignified end and put it to good use, for example... cleaning my toilet!” 

The tension was immediately replaced by an explosion of laughter.

“Talk about bad taste,” Vinda complained, smiling all the while. 

A new bottle of wine was already being opened and served. 

“For the greater good!” Grindelwald celebrated, raising his glass, filled with the best magical wine they could find. 

“For the greater good!” the others replied, immediately followed by the rest of the room.

Grindelwald removed his bow tie as soon as he entered the elevator, letting out a tired sigh. 

He would only have a few hours of rest until the next day, when he would begin a new stage in the history of the Wizarding World. Laws would be passed, changes would be made. The first step had been taken, but there were still many, many more to go before he achieved his goal of freeing the entire wizarding world from the bonds that prevented it from shining. 

Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulled out the room key and grinned at it before opening the door with his magic.

As he turned on the lights, the splendor of the suite impériale  was revealed in all its magnitude. Red velvet curtains adorned the huge windows, revealing a stunning view of the Place Vendôme, works of art hung on the walls worked in bas-relief, preserved antique woodwork. 

Grindelwald crossed the living room, feeling satisfied at being able to return the place, which he knew had originally been built by wizards and sold to Muggles at the end of the 19th century, to its true and deserving owners. 

In the larger of the suite's two rooms, the red-haired man he had chosen earlier was waiting for him, standing, his fists clenched in front of his body. Grindelwald just stared at him for a few seconds as he passed into the bathroom and turned on the golden faucet of the sink. 

The boy looked shaky. And too young.

Grindelwald then washed his hands and face vigorously, snatching the washcloth from the towel rack and returning with it to the bedroom. 

The boy hadn't moved. It looked as if someone had petrified him.

"Why are you still dressed?” Grindelwald asked, harshly, as he finished drying his hands and got rid of the towel.

The red-haired man immediately turned very red, but then moved to unbutton his shirt awkwardly. 

Grindelwald remembered the first time Dumbledore had taken his clothes off for him.

Naïve, beautiful, virginal.¹

The boy opened his mouth as if to speak and that was enough for Grindelwald to get angry. Grimacing with displeasure, he shushed him, putting his index finger to his lips. 

With agile movements, his long fingers freed his hardening member from his pants. 

The boy let out a noise of pure nervousness. 

Bored, Grindelwald reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a deluminator, which he opened with a dry gesture, sucking all the light from the room into it. 

He then pulled the young man down by his red hair, without any trace of gentleness. 

“This is the only possible use for your mouth,” he said, throwing his head back when he felt the boy's mouth swallow him completely.

It was a little late to wash his hair, but Dumbledore didn't mind. He had always hated the feeling of being dirty, even more so now that his hair was as longer than it had ever been. 

The relief he felt when he came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, the herbal scent of the shampoo filling the whole room, was such that he allowed himself to breathe deeply, incredibly relaxed and satisfied. 

There was nothing like a good bath after a hard day's work at Hogwarts.

Humming, he picked up his wand, flicking it deftly back and forth in his fingers as he walked over to the mirror and, standing in front of it, used it to blow hot air over his hair until it was completely dry, glowing a very vivid red. 

 However, Dumbledore could spot a few unruly silver strands emerging here and there.

"You pluck one out... three more replace it," he said to himself, in an attempt to convince himself to choose the right path, not the easy one. 

He stared at the mirror for one, two, three seconds.

He blinked. 

The white hairs were gone. 

“Are we all right?” he asked, smiling contentedly into the mirror. “Yes, we are”.

His attention was diverted by the triumphant entrance of an owl through the window, making two complete circles around the room, carrying a special edition of the Daily Prophet. 

Dumbledore picked up the newspaper, offering it an owl pellet as a treat and petting the bird affectionately before tossing the new edition of the paper, still folded, onto the bed. 

Only when the owl left did Dumbledore turn his eyes to the special edition. For a second, he let himself be tempted by the idea of reciting the very small word ‘incendio’ mindlessly and causing an unfortunate accident that would free him from the ordeal of reading the news. 

But he summoned up all his courage and, with a resigned sigh, sat down on the bed, unfolding the publication to read the headline in bold letters.

FRANCE CONQUERED

Paris falls at Grindelwald's feet

Dumbledore widened his eyes, pulling the newspaper closer. Just below a photo of a smiling Grindelwald waving alongside some acolytes in front of the Eiffel Tower, the following text could be read: 

"Less than a month after conquering Belgium, the Alliance troops, under the imposing leadership of Gellert Grindelwald, occupied Paris this afternoon, parading victoriously down the Champs-Elysées..."

Dizziness forced Dumbledore to stop reading and he was grateful to be sitting in his bed. 

Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, the red-haired man forced himself to resume the text, even though it was difficult to read because his hands were shaking.

"Sources say that the former French Minister of Magic succeeded in fleeing across the country's southern border the night before the invasion. All the other high-ranking ministers were murdered..."

Another pause. Dumbledore ran a hand through his hair. 

"Lord Grindelwald's next steps are still unknown, but everything suggests that he will try to establish his domain in order to be accepted by the wizarding world as the new leader of the Franco-Belgian magical community. The English Ministry of Magic has issued a statement saying that it observes Lord Grindelwald's recent movements with concern and asks British magical citizens to avoid traveling to that region..."

Dumbledore clicked his tongue slightly, especially annoyed at the passiveness of that note. Why wasn’t anything being done to unite the rest of Europe in order to kill that snake while there was still time?

But he knew the answer to that question perfectly well: they were underestimating Grindelwald. They were thinking that his claws weren't strong enough to reach them.

They were so, so wrong! 

Grindelwald wouldn't be satisfied until he had subjugated the entire wizarding world. And to do that, in addition to his own power and ambition, he was relying on two great forces: the pureblood supremacists and...

... the past help of a young Dumbledore.  Talented. Ambitious...

Smitten.

No bath could cleanse him of all the dirt that stained his soul.

Before he knew it, a thick drop slid down to the tip of his nose, falling noisily onto the sheet of paper, soon to be followed by another, and another. 

Dumbledore put the paper aside and pressed his clenched fists over his eyes, trying to breathe, desperate to regain control of his emotions, but all he could do was sob. 

Finally out of strength, he finally lay down on the bed and hugged his knees, allowing himself to cry openly.

Chapter Text

Summer 1899

“An afternoon has gone by and we still haven't made it past the first item on the list,” Grindelwald grumbled in a foul mood. 

The bed in his aunt's guest room was too small for the both of them, but that didn't seem to be a problem for Dumbledore. So Grindelwald took up all the space he wanted, lying comfortably on his stomach, head resting on his hands folded behind it, relaxed, naked. Dumbledore somehow managed to adjust himself into a reasonable position by lying on his side, one of his legs resting lazily on his lover's hips. 

“Should I apologize?” Dumbledore asked, trying to suppress his glee. 

“Sometimes, I wonder if you do it on purpose,” The blond's bad mood only seemed to get worse. 

“Guilty of the crime of loving too much,” Dumbledore chuckled, as his fingers roamed along his lover's waist in a teasing manner. 

“I know what you're doing and I'm telling you, you're not going to succeed. The time for fun has passed. It's time to work.”

“Booooring....” Dumbledore said in a lilting voice. 

Grindelwald looked at him.

“I know you don't like to think about the possibility, but we have to take this seriously. The future of the wizarding world is at stake here. We can't afford to lose because of…” and then he put on a special tone to make the words sound ridiculous “... lack of planning .” 

Dumbledore took a deep breath:

“All right... all right.” he caved. “Where were we?” 

“We already have Belgium and France.” Grindelwald answered promptly. 

“Oh, yes...” Dumbledore took another deep breath.

“Less breathing and more country names saying.” 

“And your quill?” Dumbledore asked “have you given up on note taking?” 

“I've decided that making lists is too puerile,” Grindelwald popped his tongue against his teeth, “and dangerous. I can keep everything in my head, after all.” 

“Very well,” Dumbledore shrugged. “No lists, then. But I confess I'm going to miss my glory days as a desk.” 

“You're doing it again,” Grindelwald complained. “You’re stalling.” 

“It was just an innocent remark,” Dumbledore replied, faking resentment. “You've never been able to appreciate my enormous talent for being supportive furniture.”

“On the contrary, my dear. There isn't a single talent of yours that I don't value,” he said, making Dumbledore smile. “Although, I have to say, you're not being all that supportive right now.” 

Dumbledore's smile faded:

“All right, all right. Let's move on.” 

“Which country do we attack now?” Grindelwald asked. 

“None.”

Grindelwald let out a grunt of irritation:

“Albus…” 

“Calm down…” The wizard's free hand went up to his lover's chest and rested there in an attempt to make him relax. “Now, we collect surrenders.”

“Surrenders?” 

“I'm not proud to say it, but the wizarding world is rather... fearful,” Dumbledore spoke, himself dissatisfied with the euphemism he had chosen for the word coward. “Seeing France fall, I have a hunch that several other countries will capitulate to us quite easily. Especially the small ones.” 

“So all that talk about France being the cultural cradle of Western wizarding civilization was bullshit?” 

Dumbledore shook his head, his finger drawing a line on Grindelwald's stomach.

“Of course not. On the contrary, it was my main objective: to strengthen and expand the roots of our ideas so that the wizarding world would embrace us of its own free will.” 

“Right, right...” Grindelwald asked, trying to contain his impatience. “Go on, then.”

“As I was saying, if France falls, we gain an important psychological advantage against our opponents. We must grasp this opportunity. I have a hunch that, from then on, the resistance will be far more willing to listen to what we have to say. Not to mention those who will come to us on their own.” 

Grindelwald remained silent for a few seconds, contemplating.

“That seems like a good plan to me,” He finally concluded “In that case, we need to draw up a sort of manifesto with all our terms and conditions. And set a deadline for unconditional acceptance.” 

“That's perfect. I'll handle all that,” Dumbledore volunteered. 

“That's the spirit,” Grindelwald said, approvingly. “I like it when you commit to what we're doing here.” 

“I'm always committed,” Dumbledore replied, his fingers already sliding down his companion's lower abdomen in a teasing manner. ”To every... not so diminute... part... of what we're doing here…”

Ritz Hotel - 1939

Grindelwald grunted impatiently when he saw that his red tie was crooked again. With a subtle hand gesture, he undid the entire knot in order to retie it from the beginning, this time using magic. Finally satisfied, he walked over to the dresser and retrieved a case from which he took out a pair of silver cufflinks. 

His gaze lingered for a few seconds on the messy table where breakfast had been served and, only afterwards, on the luxurious unmade bed, covered by a canopy. For a second, Grindelwald wondered if he had made a mistake in sending the redhead away at dawn. A morning fuck wouldn't have gone amiss.

But he soon concluded that he hadn't. The boy was too green. He didn't know how to pleasure a man like him.

Erasing the image of the red-haired boy from his mind permanently, he turned his full attention to the cufflinks bearing the mark of the Alliance: two “G”s - for Gellert Grindelwald - with their backs to each other, as if to embrace the deathly hallows, as if he himself were a fourth relic. 

He smiled contentedly at the jewelry. 

They had to be flawless today. Absolutely nothing could be out of place.  But the cufflinks weren't making it any easier and he was still struggling with them when three discreet knocks sounded on the door.

“Yes?” Grindelwald answered and the golden knob turned. 

“My lord. Good morning,” Vinda's face appeared as she opened the door to the suite. “Shall we go? The Portkey is ready.” 

“Yes, yes, I'm just about to finish fastening the cufflinks.”

“Come here, I'll help you,” She volunteered before he could use his magic for the second time, quickly closing both cufflinks.

Grindelwald smiled. 

“Sometimes I think women's hands are enchanted with a very special magic.” 

“Always so gallant,” She smiled, extending an ivory comb towards the other man. “Forgive me for the improvised item, I was at my dressing table when Abernathy approached me, requesting some sort of object to create the Portkey."

“And where is he?” Grindelwald inquired. 

“He went ahead.”  

“Good. We will join them, then.” He said, taking a deep breath before picking up the comb.

A few moments and a short, unpleasant journey later and Grindelwald was standing in the large meeting room of the French Ministry of Magic, being immediately applauded by everyone there. 

“Please, gentlemen...” he signaled with his hands for them to stop applauding. ”Time is short and we have a lot of work to do... for the greater good.” 

“For the greater good!” All present replied in unison. 

“Very well... where shall we start?” He asked, taking a seat at the head of the massive Regal Prince Oak table and already checking some papers that had been left for him there.

“Can we start with the fundamentals?” Krafft took the lead, drawing Grindelwald's attention to his feet crossed on top of the table. His clothes were the same as the day before and his hair was so messy and tangled that the blond suspected he'd gotten out of bed and gone straight to the meeting room. “And by that I mean, with overturning the damned secrecy code?”

There was an immediate rumble of excitement. Grindelwald struggled not to roll his eyes. 

“That's not possible,” Abernathy intervened, reminding Grindelwald why he had chosen the man as his right-hand man.

“How is that not possible?” Krafft lowered his legs from the desk, his eyes blazing. 

“Does the name International Code of Wizarding Secrecy bring anything up?” Abernathy asked, putting a discreet weight on the word ‘international’.

Krafft looked in one direction, looked in the other and finally looked in Grindelwald's direction, as if asking for help.

“It's an international code,” Grindelwald pointed out,  “it’s the result of an international treaty magically signed by almost every country on the planet.”

“And we can't just ignore this.... code in our own territories?” Krafft asked indignantly.

“Certainly not,” it was Zabini who replied, a tone of impatience to his words. “There is a reason why this Code was signed by all countries. If magic’s existence is revealed to the Muggles of a country, in a matter of hours the rest of them will know too, after all, they also have a world press. Rudimentary, of course, but they do.”

“Furthermore, this kind of treaty carries in it a curse that punishes any attempt by rulers and administrators to break it…” Abernathy added. 

“So you mean to tell me that we need to take over the whole world before we can finally break the secrecy statute?” Krafft almost shouted with rage.

“You figured it out perfectly well... idiot,” McDuff grumbled, without bothering to look in the acolyte's direction.

“Don't call me an idiot, you...” Krafft reacted, reaching into his robes to pull out his wand.

“Gentlemen... please...” Grindelwald raised his hands, “as our friend Krafft rightly pointed out, we still have a world to conquer and no time to lose. France is just the first of many stops before we reach our final destination.” 

“Yes... of course…” Krafft grumbled, returning to his seat, annoyed, “which country are we going to massacre now?” 

“None,” Grindelwald replied, provoking immediate shouts of indignation and protests.

“None?” Krafft asked and then repeated the question, now exasperated again “None?!” 

“No, not yet,” Grindelwald confirmed, to Krafft's dismay. “It's time to reap the rewards of our victory, not attack.”

“After all, we've just won and dominated one of the most important countries in Europe, and that will have enormous significance...” Vinda pondered.

“Says the Frenchwoman...” McDuff added, provoking a hail of laughter.

“Crétin...” Vinda cursed in French, turning her face away.

“I strongly urge you to respect our dearest Mademoiselle Rosier.” Grindelwald requested, even though he too detested France with all his heart. “She is, afterall, correct. Our victory over France has great weight which will certainly be taken into account by our neighbors. It's time to make alliances and treaties, to know which countries will be on our side and which are our enemies.”

“In that case, I suggest we draw up a letter to be sent to all the ministries in Europe.” Zabini said, scratching his chin.

“Maybe we should set a deadline for response…” Abernathy added. 

“Don't worry,” Grindelwald said, “give me a quill. I already have the text.”

Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts two hours after dinner. Exhausted and annoyed, he went straight to his room.

He was surprised to see Minerva standing in front of his door.

“Good evening, Albus,” She greeted him. “I imagine you're tired after so many hours at the Ministry, but I can't wait until tomorrow to…”

“Come in, come in,” he interrupted her, pushing her into her room and closing the door behind him. 

As soon as the two of them entered, Dumbledore rushed on: “They are not going to do anything, Minerva,” Dumbledore spoke. ”absolutely nothing.” 

“I was afraid that this was going to happen,” she mourned. 

“They didn’t even make an attempt to listen to me,” Dumbledore vented, pacing back and forth in the room. “My proposal to organize a united resistance was flatly rejected. A crushing defeat. They mocked my concerns, laughed at my warnings…”

“I see...”

“I swear I did everything I could, Minerva. They were unyielding,” Dumbledore bemoaned, “The most I could do was silence the cretins who wished Britain to ally itself with Grindelwald.”

“Merlin!” Minerva was outraged “The nerve!” 

She then patted him affectionately on the shoulder.    

Dumbledore collapsed into an armchair, resting his head on both hands.

“Minerva, I... I... I couldn't do anything…”

The witch twisted her lips as she realized that her friend was withholding a sob.

“Albus... you're very tired... have a cup of tea and a nice hot bath, get plenty of sleep and you'll feel better in the morning.” 

“No, Minerva, you don't understand…” Dumbledore began to speak, but stopped mid-sentence. 

How could he explain the real reason for his despair? 

How could he say that he had read the contents of the manifesto sent by the Alliance to all European countries and recognized every word because they had all been written by him, so many decades ago, in that godforsaken summer?

Damned Gellert! Damned a thousand times! Why was he forcing his participation in all that madness? As if they were still allies? 

Dumbledore felt violated.

“And now, Albus? What are you going to do?” Minerva asked, and it was as if his own conscience was asking him that question. 

Dumbledore took a deep breath. 

If Gellert wanted his involvement so badly, then that was what he would get.

And this thought immediately reassured him, as it did every time he made the right decision. 

“Letters, Minerva,” he said, no longer exhausted, no longer annoyed, no longer outraged. “I'm going to write letters now.”

“The eggs Benedict were magnificent,” Vinda complimented, gently wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“My pancakes were excellent as well,” Grindelwald commented as he finished his cup of coffee. 

They were both in the imperial suite and the round breakfast table was cluttered with food and papers. Vinda then reached out for a flesh-coloured folder and opened it to the right page with one movement. 

“We've formed a co-operation alliance with Germany, Austria and Italy. Last week, we conquered the Iberian Peninsula. Just today we received positive feedback from Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria... the full list of countries is here....” She pushed the folder towards Grindelwald. “They've all pledged to vote in favor of ending the International Code of Secrecy.“

“Excellent,” Grindelwald said, taking the folder for himself and checking its contents. “Holland has offered no response as of yet... Switzerland?” 

“Neutral. But willing to vote in favor of abolishing the Code.” 

“That's good enough…” Grindelwald scratched his chin. “Russia and Great Britain...?”

“We're working on a non-aggression agreement with Russia, while Great Britain hasn't even given us an answer,” Vinda replied, frowning.

“As expected.”

“As expected,” she repeated.

Grindelwald reached for another folder and inspected the detailed report sent by his spies about the recent meeting held at the English Ministry of Magic. 

“Albus's people seem to have taken quite a beating…” he commented, pleased to see that the proposal for a direct confrontation had been peremptorily rejected. 

“Indeed,” she agreed with a satisfied smile as she stood up and reached into her handbag to pull out a tube of red lipstick. “The timeframe we have set expires at the end of the week, so I'm sure we'll have a few more stragglers by then.” 

“We'll see,” he replied, putting aside the folder to get up. 

Vinda uncapped her lipstick and walked over to the nearest mirror, where she applied it slowly to her lips under Grindelwald's watchful eye. He moved closer to her to observe her beautiful, very large, round eyes. 

Deep blue eyes, stunning, almost as beautiful as... 

His eyes.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Grindelwald complimented, suddenly enamored by her.

“Oh, merci,” she smiled, flattered.

“I could fall in love with you, Vinda,” he said, holding her chin to better immerse himself in those deep eyes.

She blinked slowly, maintaining contact. 

“No, you couldn't,” she replied, smiling for a second. 

Grindelwald returned her smile, finally pulling his hand away.

“Why did you choose to come with me, Mademoiselle Rosier?”, he asked casually.

“I have a list of very good reasons, but the main one is the chance to remain Mademoiselle Rosier.” 

Grindelwald merely tilted his head, now genuinely curious.

“You couldn't imagine the pressure a pureblood woman like me is under to marry well and make her bloodline bear fruit.” She interrupted herself for a few seconds, biting her lip. “And as much as I recognize the noble efforts of my pureblood peers, I particularly prefer to have the freedom to do what I really want.” 

“Which would be…”

She raised her hand to Grindelwald's face and then clenched her fist, revealing her perfectly manicured red nails.

“World domination.” 

Grindelwald really could fall in love with Vinda.

Chapter Text

Summer 1899

“And what do we do with the countries that don't capitulate?” Grindelwald asked casually as he blew the steam away from his tea.

The expression that formed on Dumbledore's face caught his attention. A new feeling. 

It looked like... guilt.

Dumbledore picked up the spoon and stirred his tea lazily. For several seconds, the only sound was that of the spoon hitting the porcelain. The wizard seemed in no hurry to reply. 

“In such a case..." he took a deep breath, "and I'm not at all proud of this, let me be clear," another pause, "what we need to do is choose one of these countries and attack it with all our might. Maybe even…”

“Maybe even..." Grindelwald repeated, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Maybe even... obliterate the entire wizarding community there.” 

“Obliterate?” Grindelwald asked, enjoying the melodic sound that the mere uttering of the word demanded. 

“Yes... a cruel move, no doubt, but one that would spare many other countries. We would sacrifice a few lives to preserve countless others.” 

Grindelwald scratched his chin, satisfied. 

“And... which country would that be?”

Dumbledore sipped his tea nervously: 

“We can't say until we know which countries will surrender of their own free will.”

“We don't know which countries will surrender, but... you know better than anyone that Britain will never surrender without a fight.” 

Dumbledore's shoulders jumped so violently that he spilled his tea. He then deposited the saucer on the table in one swift movement, before glaring menacingly at Grindelwald. 

“You're not suggesting..." Dumbledore asked in an unfriendly tone.

“Relax..." Grindelwald interrupted him, "I was only joking.

“I don't think this is an appropriate moment for humour, Gellert,” Dumbledore rebuked him, irritated. "These are human lives. Precious magical lives.” 

“You're absolutely right, Albus,” Grindelwald acknowledged, "forgive my insensitivity. But... you know that the day will come when we need to attack your home. As well as mine.

“Your home will join us on its own, don't worry about that. But mine... mine likes to be on the winning side. And believe me, if we do a good job in the rest of Europe, it too will capitulate without much effort.”

“And if it doesn't, Albus?” Grindelwald wanted to know. “What will you choose? Great Britain... or me?”

Dumbledore shrugged, uncomfortable. He seemed to shrink in size.

“In this case... don't worry, Gellert, I'll know how to make the right choice, not the easy one.”

Paris - December 20th 1940

“Big day!” Krafft celebrated as everyone gathered in the hotel lobby. “Finally a bit of action after weeks of boredom.”

“All that's left is to find out where the entertainment will be,” Zabini let the bill slip discreetly, glancing at Grindelwald. “Holland? Great Britain? Both?” 

“Go ahead, Zabini,” Krafft teased, “You're scared to death that Lord Grindelwald will choose your beloved Great Britain to be wiped off the magical map.” 

“I'm not afraid of anything,” Zabini grunted. “If Lord Grindelwald thinks England needs to disappear, then that's it. England will disappear. End of story.” 

“I would very much like everyone to think exactly like that,” Grindelwald let it slip, distracted. 

“Who are you talking about, My Lord?” Nagel wanted to know. “I have plenty of space on the mantelpiece in my bedroom to mount the head of anyone who disagrees with you. Just say the word.” 

“You just want to cut some heads off,” Mc Duff snapped.  “You don't give a damn about the reasons.”

“I don't see anything wrong with that,” Nagel shrugged,  “it's all the same, no matter what my motives are.”

“Changing the subject a little,” Vinda intervened, subtly closing her nostrils with her index finger. “How about you having a bath for a change, Krafft? You haven't changed clothes since we invaded France, for Merlin's sake!” 

“I smell like a man, young lady! Get used to it!” He challenged, causing Grindelwald to roll his eyes and the others to whistle and laugh.” 

“Sacrebleu..." Vinda took a deep breath only to regret it immediately afterwards, grimacing in disgust at the stench.

“Let's get back to what really matters?” Zabini insisted.  “We have troops ready to occupy Holland and Great Britain. What's it going to be?” 

Grindelwald remained silent for a few seconds, looking but not seeing any of them. Everyone knew that when this happened, it was because he was looking for some kind of glimpse of the future. 

A few moments later, his shoulders hunched and a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. 

“Holland. We're going to invade Holland,” Grindelwald replied decisively, “but keep the troops ready. Mc Duff, Karl, you take Holland, everyone else is waiting for me at the Ministry. Except you, Krafft.”

“Me? Do you have a special job for me?” Krafft asked excitedly.

“Yes, you'll go to your room for a wash first and then you'll set fire to those robes of yours. And no cleansing spells. When you smell like a wizard again and not like a muggle, then you'll go to the Ministry like everyone else.”

Vinda smiled gratefully. 

“Urgh... Wait, I'm not going to participate in the war?” Krafft scowled.

“I need you after the victory. Then we'll have lots of wizards, witches and wizardlings to hunt, and you're the group's Avada record holder: thirty-seven in a row before you pass out.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Krafft rubbed his hands together eagerly before leaving the room. 

"Urgh... three additional Avadas and he gets all the late-night fun..." Nagel grumbled, before leaving as well. 

"Vinda, you stay here and let me know if you need my help in Holland,” Grindelwald asked, starting to turn round.

“I thought you were heading that way now,” She said, showing surprise. 

“Later. I'm expecting a visitor in the next few hours.” 

Abernathy waited for everyone else to leave before commenting. 

“Sir, I had prepared a surprise for your evening. Something to celebrate,” He said, unsure, “but now that I know you have other plans…”

Grindelwald looked at Abernathy thoughtfully. He wondered what kind of surprise he had prepared. And... well... it might not be so bad…

“What time did you plan this surprise for?” He asked 

“Ten o'clock.”

“Reschedule it for midnight.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away.” 

Grindelwald then returned to his room to wait for the visitor he had just seen in his predictions.

Everything was going well.

Dumbledore smiled as he found himself in the corridor of the Ritz Hotel, right in front of the door to the Suite Impériale. The Portkey had worked perfectly well, despite all the protection spells that surrounded the place. 

Everything had been made a little easier when he could pinpoint the exact location where Gellert would be. This saved him from spending precious time and energy confronting acolytes. He knew the wizard well enough to know that he wouldn't accept any accommodation other than the best this or any other place had to offer. So the master suite at the Ritz was the right choice. 

Everything was going well. The Dutch Ministry of Magic, unlike the British, had listened attentively to his every warning and piece of advice. Together, they had devised strategies to reverse the surprise factor and attack Grindelwald's troops while they were still preparing to invade. 

The only snag was that he was forced to refuse his own direct participation in the battle, even though he was free of the blood troth which, in theory, meant that there was nothing to stop him from fighting Gellert directly.

In reality, the situation was very different and there were many more things that Dumbledore also had to defend. 

In any case, he had reason to believe that this war would come to an end today. 

Approaching the bedroom door, he slid a tiny piece of paper through the hinge, courtesy of his dear friend Lally. 

The bewitched paper had barely disappeared when the door opened, causing Dumbledore's shoulders to heave. He had not been taken by surprise by a thousandth of a second.

Grindelwald stood waiting for him in the middle of the luxurious living room.

“I knew you'd come,” he said, staring at him.

Dumbledore took a few steps forward and the door closed behind him, causing a different click. Grindelwald didn't seem to notice. 

“You've been calling to me for a long time,” Dumbledore said. 

“And today you came. You left behind your Hogwarts, your London. And you came to meet me,” Grindelwald's eyebrow rose, showing vivid curiosity.

“You have used my strategies,” Dumbledore diverted the subject. “My manifesto. You let me know your every move in advance.”

Grindelwald approached Dumbledore, his hand touching his face, gently, as if he were made of delicate porcelain. 

“How do you feel, Albus?” he asked, “seeing how each of your plans work like cogs in a machine that fit together perfectly and turn, transforming everything…” 

A knock sounded on the door. 

Dumbledore's face tilted towards Grindelwald's hand, willingly accepting the caress he was offering him. All the magic in his body mingled with his magic, in a true communion of souls. 

Dumbledore let out a long sigh. 

And he closed his eyes as Grindelwald's face came even closer to his, his tongue eagerly seeking out the other wizard's and caressing it before his lips had even reached him and finished taking possession of his mouth.

More knocks on the door. Insistent.

Dumbledore let himself melt into the kiss and, for a few moments, there was nothing else but Grindelwald's mouth pressed to his. His hot breath, the smell of men's cologne, his tongue ravaging his own, both his hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer. 

His lower abdomen rubbing against his own swollen member. 

Desperate knocks on the door. 

Grindelwald left his mouth to kiss the top of his head, his nose sinking into his red hair, smelling his perfume before looking into his eyes again. 

Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to penetrate his soul. 

Still very close, they both opened their mouths and spoke at the same time.

“You want to take over the world with me.” 

“You want me to stop you.”

A cold wind blew in through the window. The knocks on the door turned into punches.

“Lord Grindelwald! Lord Grindelwald!”

Dumbledore took a step back, his legs trembling. Grindelwald’s laugh was laced with indignation. 

"Alohomora!”

“What a fool you are, Albus! How could you be so deluded?” he laughed, “do you really think I care that much about you?” 

"Portaberto!"

Dumbledore didn't answer, but his eyes were full of tears. 

"Bombarda!”

“You do care! You used to like me..." Dumbledore's whole body shook uncontrollably "You still do... I can feel it.”

“Do you know the only reason I ever cared back there, Albus? Because you were..." he licked his lower lip slowly, "the first man who ever knelt before me!¹ But now I don't need you any more. Soon, very soon, I'll have the whole world on its knees.”

Dumbledore's face crumpled.

“Not if I can stop it.”

"Bombarda Maxima!”

“Did you believe this fantasy of yours so strongly that you came all this way? You left your home completely unprotected? You wouldn't do that! You're here because you want to be with me. Because you want to be by my side more than anything! That's the only explanation.”

“GELLERT! OPEN THE DOOR! IT'S A TRAP!” Vinda's desperate cries finally reached Grindelwald's ears.

“Unless..." and he gritted his teeth, a wave of pure hatred invading all his senses. 

Dumbledore's eyes widened as Grindelwald quickly drew his wand and a terrible green light filled the room.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Chapter Text

Summer of 1899

The book crashed onto the table in front of Dumbledore, causing the fragile wood to crack loudly.

The wizard looked at the title illustrating the open page and then at Grindelwald, without betraying any emotion. 

“When did you intend to tell me about this?” Grindelwald looked furious. “If you ever intended to tell me.”

Dumbledore's hesitation didn't go unnoticed.

“I thought you already knew…”

“Bullshit!” He pointed at Dumbledore, menacingly. “And you know it.”

“I'm not lying. I... I... I didn't even think it was relevant and…”

“You mean to convince me you didn't think it was relevant to tell me about the existence of a curse that prevents us from invading Britain in winter?” he hissed, getting more and more angry. 

"Calm down, please..." Dumbledore asked, his eyes seeming to plead. "I can explain everything. Please?”

Grindelwald's terrible expression softened. He took a deep breath, pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Explain.” 

“First of all, it must be said that this curse is so old, so ancient... that many speak of it as a simple legend. A convenient legend, true, but a legend nonetheless.”

“It must be real if it's recorded in a History of Magic book.” Grindelwald grumbled. 

“As I said, it's convenient... it protects us from being attacked at the most difficult time of the year. Here-” He said, taking the book in his hands and reading. “Records suggest that Merlin himself placed this curse on anyone who dared to invade Britain during the winter..." his fingers slid across the page, skipping over passages "... it is said that all wizards who were willing to harm our sacred land during the winter would be punished with a fatal illness that would surely drag them to their graves..."

“It seems quite obvious to me that we shouldn't underestimate a curse from Merlin himself.” 

“ ... that is IF this curse really exists or even IF it came from Merlin himself. You see... it's very common to see soldiers fall ill on battlefields, especially during a winter. It could just be a... big coincidence.”

“And you meant to just wait and see?” 

“Well... no... of course not,” Dumbledore hastened to clarify. “Look, if my plans are right, we won't need force. Britain will join us. Everyone will join us sooner or later, because we're right!” 

“And if they don't join us?” 

Dumbledore shrugged. 

“Then we just need to coordinate our attacks in order to dominate Britain before winter. That's all.” 

“So 21 December is our deadline?” 

Dumbledore opened his mouth for a few seconds before answering.

“Aaaah... yes. I'm afraid so.” 

And as his lover's expression didn't even seem to soften, Dumbledore held his face between both hands gently, but without allowing him to pull away. 

“You broke my trust, Albus,” Grindelwald said, looking very serious and resentful, “and once lost, trust is a very difficult thing to regain.”

Dumbledore's blue eyes immediately mirrored all the pain that those cold words made him feel.

"Gellert, please," he said, when turned his face away in annoyance, "don't do that. You know that I... Gellert... what do I have to do? What do I need to do for you to trust me again?” 

Grindelwald had the answer to that question ready before the conversation even began.

“There's only one way to regain my complete and total trust in you, Albus,” And as Dumbledore's eyes glued onto his in pure expectation, even anxiety, he continued, “I want a blood oath.”

Hogwarts - December 20 1939

Dumbledore fell to the stone floor, screaming at the top of his lungs. Struggling. Howling. The smell of death in his nostrils, the green light still dazzling his eyes.

“Calm down! It's not you, Albus! It's not you!” Yusuf Kama's hands immediately supported him.

Hearing those reassuring words, he stopped screaming and looked around, still dazed.

He was back at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore was sniffling, his hair was sticking to his skin, his clothes were soaked with sweat despite the intense cold.

“I can't... move,” he stammered.

“This is expected!” Yusuf explained. “You've occupied the homunculus for too long. You spent all your energy on it. It will take some time to recover.”

“It was all very…” Dumbledore took a deep breath, “very real.”

“Of course it was. A small part of you really was there.”

Dumbledore held the other wizard's clothes anxiously.

“He killed me, Yusuf!” he said, trembling.

“He couldn't kill you, Albus,” Yusuf explained. “He only destroyed the homunculus. You're fine. You just need to rest.”

But Dumbledore couldn't rest. Not yet.

“Did we manage it?” he asked, suddenly unsure.

Yusuf smiled

“Yes, we did.”

“I want to see. Take me to the window,” And at Yusuf's worried look, he reaffirmed, “Please.”

Yusuf helped Dumbledore to his feet and the two of them walked slowly to the parlour window. With great effort, Dumbledore stretched out his arm, letting a snowflake fall gently onto his palm.

“Did you know, Yusuf?” he said, "We can spend our whole lives worrying about things like power, prestige, money, while we miss out on what really matters... the small great miracles. Our home, our family, our friends... and the snow... this soul-saving snow.”

His legs felt weakened once again. Yusuf held him tighter so that he wouldn't fall.

“You need to rest, my friend. Or you'll end up dying.”

“Yes... now I can rest.” Dumbledore nodded. “I'm very, very tired.”

When Yusuf put him to bed, Dumbledore had already fallen asleep.

The door opened by itself and Vinda burst in. Standing in the middle of the room, Grindelwald was as white as paper, a burnt straw doll in his hands, still smoking.

A strange smell filled the whole room.

Powerful magic. Unlike anything he had ever seen in his life.

His fingers slid through the doll, pulling out an unmistakable lock of red hair.

He let the doll fall to the floor.

Vinda put her hand on his arm and squeezed it firmly, as if to reassure herself that Grindelwald was really there and that he was all right, before speaking.

“Our troops were attacked on the border with Holland. We were taken by surprise. We had a lot of casualties. McDuff is dead.”

“It was him,” Grindelwald spoke, his voice very low.

Vinda nodded, still panting, Grindelwald looked at her for the first time, her bun was messy, make-up smudged, clothes a mess.

“Maybe if you'd been there..." Vinda said, "but I couldn't get in to warn you. I tried everything, but the damn door wouldn't budge.”

“He was trying to buy time..." Grindelwald said thoughtfully.

Zabini apparated into the room just then:

"The portkey to the Ministry of Magic is ready.”

Grindelwald grunted angrily, grabbed the portkey offered by his acolyte and was immediately pulled out of the room by it. Vinda and Zabini exchanged a meaningful glance before leaving as well.

“It's about time you turned up!” Nagel grumbled and Grindelwald immediately drew his wand and pointed it at his throat, irritated by the wizard's flippant tone.

The wizard immediately raised both hands:

“Whoa! Easy there!” he said, but his tone had changed.

Grindelwald put his wand away.

“How many casualties?” he asked.

“Enough,” Karl said, grumpily. “Someone knew we were going to attack. They knew how we were going to attack! We've been betrayed!”

Grindelwald's mouth twitched in anger:

“London! We must attack London!” He said immediately. “Warn the troops! We'll destroy everything. Mages, Muggles, elves, magical beings, everything!”

Abernathy interfered:

“We can't, my lord.”

Grindelwald turned towards him as if he had been bitten by a snake:

“We can't? Why not?”

“It's too late!” he stammered. “The curse, sir…”

“It's still the twentieth!” Grindelwald retorted, irritated. “Winter doesn't start until tomorrow!”

“Sir... I thought you knew..." Abernathy said, his face turning ashen.

“Knew what?”

"The curse... the beginning of winter..." Abernathy stammered.

"He's trying to say that the winter mentioned by the curse begins with the first snow of the year, not on the 21st.” Zabini intervened. "Why did you think it was the 21st?” 

Grindelwald opened his mouth.

He just assumed it would be so. And when Dumbledore confirmed it, he believed it blindly. He forgot about it. He trusted it.

Dumbledore had betrayed him.

Not the current Dumbledore. Old. Corroded by guilt. Resentful.

The Dumbledore of the past. Young. Docile. In love.

That Dumbledore led him to make a mistake on purpose. To protect his home. His country. His friends. His Hogwarts.

Damn him! Not even a thousand cruciatus would have been enough for the size of the pain Grindelwald would have liked to see Dumbledore feel at that moment.

“I'm terribly sorry, My Lord. The first snow of the year has just fallen in London, not even an hour ago,” Abernathy said in dismay, “that particular window is closed. We won't be able to attack London again until next year.”

“Enough time to get organized, form alliances, get stronger..." Krafft grumbled, deeply annoyed.

But Grindelwald was no longer listening. It was time to leave Dumbledore behind him for good and go forth alone.

“Poland,” He said, suddenly very calm, very cold. “We're going to invade Poland. No… We're going to obliterate Poland. For the Greater Good.”

Krafft's mood seemed to improve as soon as he heard those words. Karl and Nagel celebrated. Abernathy was breathing normally again. Zabini nodded.

Vinda cracked a cruel smile.

“For the Greater Good!” The six of them repeated.

When Grindelwald returned to the Ritz Hotel, it seemed as if his soul had been sucked out of his body. Defeat weighed heavily on his shoulders.

All he wanted to do was sleep. Leave that damned day behind.

Forget that Dumbledore existed.

He opened the door to his suite, took off his heavy coat and threw it on the floor.

Standing in his room was a black-haired boy.

“Good evening,” Smiling, he greeted him. Grindelwald recognized the accent immediately.

A Briton.

The surprise that Abernathy had prepared for the celebration of a victory that never came.

Grindelwald approached the boy, his eyes drawn to the red and yellow scarf that wrapped around his neck.

The colors of the Gryffindor house.

He took the two ends of the fabric, feeling the texture of the wool, gathered it and, with it in his hands, circled the brunette's body, stopping behind him.

"Ah," the boy explained casually, noticing his interest in the garment, "it's very cold today and the scarf from my school days was the only one I could find in my haste to get out of the house.”

Grindelwald moved even closer to the brunette, his fingers lowering his scarf a little. The boy felt the blond's warm breath on the back of his neck in contrast to the winter chill. Excited, he waited anxiously for an embrace, a kiss on exposed skin, a caress.

But instead, Grindelwald just pulled the fabric tight in one agile movement. Suddenly breathless, the boy reached into his suit to pull out his wand, but Grindelwald disarmed him with just a thought, leaving him completely defenseless and at his mercy. That was when he gritted his teeth, his whole body overcome with hatred. He pulled, and pulled, and pulled.

Dumbledore, Hogwarts, London. All of them melted into the pathetic figure who was now struggling to breathe, giving his last shivers, the victim of his unrelenting, furious hands.

He then pulled him even closer, only to have the pleasure of watching the boy's face take on shades of red, then purple, then blue.

He only stopped pulling when he was absolutely certain that the bastard was dead.

For a few seconds, he contemplated the boy's corpse at his feet. He really was a classic Brit, death suited him very well.

“Much better now,” he said, walking towards the bed.

“Merry Christmas, Albus!” Minerva said, holding out a wrapped gift.

Dumbledore was sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace in the common room.

He had put aside the special edition of the Daily Prophet announcing the resignation of the Minister for Magic, Hector Fawley, followed by the appointment of Leonard Spencer-Moon, whose first act had been to declare war on Grindelwald and his Alliance.

“Ah, thank you,” he smiled, picking up the parcel. It was clearly shaped like a book.

No socks for him, once again.

Dumbledore removed a small parcel from his robes and held it out to her.

“I hope it's to your liking,” he said.

“Oh, thank you very much,” she replied, sitting down next to him on the sofa “Your presence was missed at Christmas dinner.”

“I wasn't hungry,” Dumbledore replied, bitterly. “I preferred to stay here. Thinking.”

“You did it, Albus,” she said, pointing to the newspaper. “They saw Grindelwald's troops preparing to invade us. Just as you said. It's... a victory.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly:

“All magical life in Poland has been extinguished, Minerva,” he looked into the fire. “A piece of all of us is gone along with those thousands of innocent souls who would surely still be in this world if I hadn't moved.”

“I think you're wrong, Albus,” Minerva intervened, her eyebrows drawn together, "Grindelwald would have done it anyway. He's a murderer. A monster. You're not responsible for his evil actions.”

“If what you say is true, then I have one more reason not to do anything against him. At least not yet.”

The witch took his hand and squeezed it:

“I trust your better judgment, Albus,” McGonagall smiled “I trust you'll know the right time to act.”

Dumbledore took a deep breath:

"Merry Christmas, Minerva."

Grindelwald made a point of spending Christmas far away from France. Standing in front of the enormous window of Nurmengard Castle, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts.

Then he opened the eyes of his soul to glimpse the future.

The scene he saw was exactly the same as the day before and the day before that.

Grindelwald found himself on his knees in front of Dumbledore. Defeated. Powerless. Weak.

“Curses! Damn you!” he grunted, his fist breaking through the window pane and shattering the glass. A trickle of blood ran down his arm, staining the sleeve of his white shirt.

He wouldn't let Dumbledore interfere with his plans. Not any more.

The next day, he would invade Finland and then go on to occupy the whole of Scandinavia. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

“You won't win, Albus. The final victory shall be mine,” he promised. “I hope you enjoy your last Christmas at your beloved Hogwarts.”