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Upon hearing his sister’s furious threat, Gellert was both sorrowful and delighted.
Sorrowful, because it seed Albus was dood to face his sister’s wrath as well.
Delighted, because soone would share his punishnt—and that soone was Albus. Could there be anything more amusing?
“Dumbledore is certainly deplorable, but you…” Veratia let out a cold huff, raising her wand. The two sofas beside her transfigured into armored knights, which promptly hoisted Gellert into the air, one on each side.
“Enough, Veratia,” Harry said, tugging at her arm. “Gel—Gellert’s already so old. He can’t withstand your magic…”
“Scarhead!” Gellert suddenly bellowed.
“I suggest you roast the soles of his feet with fire,” Harry offered. “That way, he’ll feel the pain without you actually killing him.”
“Not a bad idea.” Veratia gave Harry an approving glance, and a small fla lazily drifted to hover beneath Gellert’s feet.
“What are you doing?” Gellert shouted in panic. “Let go! Let go!”
Dumbledore, who had hurried from Hogwarts, now stood at the entrance to Nurngard Castle.
Ever since Professor McGonagall inford him about the na on the Book of Admittance, he hadn’t slept well that night. His dreams were haunted by two words, over and over.
So, in the dead of night, he climbed out of bed, not even bothering to change his clothes, rely throwing a robe over his starry, moon-embroidered pajamas, and made his way to Nurngard.
But as he stood at the entrance, sothing felt off.
On either side of the doorway lay several Austrian Aurors, sprawled on the ground. So hadn’t even drawn their wands, frozen in place, immobile.
What… had happened here?
His mind raced through possibilities.
One: Gellert Grindelwald, tired of his solitude, was plotting a return to power. Two: Perhaps soone had stord Nurngard, desperate to et Grindelwald.
And who could that soone be…?
Could it be Tom?
No… If it were Tom, these Aurors wouldn’t rely be Petrified.
Dumbledore reached into his robes and drew the Elder Wand. Whatever the case, he wouldn’t let his guard down.
Stepping through the castle’s gates, Dumbledore cast several detection spells, confirming there were no ambushes lying in wait.
With Fawkes the phoenix at his side, he ascended the stairs.
Upon reaching the third floor, he suddenly heard a peculiar sound from within—a mix of crying and laughter.
It was Gellert’s voice, sounding like he was begging for rcy… or perhaps not.
Dumbledore knew his old friend’s temperant well. Getting Gellert Grindelwald to plead or yield was nigh impossible. Proud to the point of arrogance, Gellert had never uttered a single word of surrender, not even when he lost their duel in ’45.
Indeed, if he had ever shown the slightest hint of softness, would their paths have diverged so drastically?
Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and, with a wave of his wand, opened the door.
The sight before him, however, left him stunned.
Gellert Grindelwald was suspended high against the ceiling, two clusters of violet flas flickering beneath his feet, scorching the soles.
His legs twitched reflexively from the burning, but he seed utterly exhausted, likely from being strung up for too long.
On a nearby sofa sat two people.
One of them was soone he never expected to see.
“Harry?” Dumbledore asked, frowning. “What are you doing here?”
“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry replied politely, nodding. “? I’m just here to watch the show.”
“Shut it, Scarhead!” Gellert roared.
But the flas seed to flare brighter at his outburst, burning even more fiercely.
“What exactly is going on here?” Dumbledore’s tone grew sharper, his wariness intensifying rather than easing at Harry’s presence.
“If I were you, I’d start by getting down,” Gellert called from the ceiling, his voice dripping with mockery. “Dumbledore, you alone can’t take her…”
At that mont, Veratia rose from her seat.
With light, graceful steps, she approached Dumbledore.
Noticing the starry, moonlit pajamas peeking out from under his robe, she paused briefly but then t his gaze as if nothing were amiss.
Dumbledore took a slight step back, but Fawkes let out a clear cry, flapped his wings, and landed on Veratia’s shoulder, looking utterly smitten.
“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,” Veratia said, performing a flawless curtsy. “Allow to introduce myself. My na is Veratia Elizabeth Emline Grindelwald.”
“Good evening,” Dumbledore replied, nodding hesitantly. “I know your na. It appeared in the Book of Admittance.”
But Veratia’s next words made his pupils dilate in shock.
“And I am also Gellert Grindelwald’s sister… I’ve heard you’re my brother’s boyfriend?”
Well…
Dumbledore hadn’t anticipated that this Grindelwald would…
No, wait. He rembered now. When he was a student, he’d heard tales of this senior’s exploits.
She had crushed the Ashwinder Syndicate, quelled goblin rebellions, and driven poachers across the British Isles into obscurity. There were even rumors that the extinction of doxies in England was tied to her.
Yet, she kept a low profile. Most rembered her bold companion—Harry Potter.
At this thought, Dumbledore’s gaze shifted to Harry.
A long-standing question was answered in that mont.
This Harry was the Harry from a century ago!
He had considered the possibility before, but since this Harry was only eleven, he’d dismissed the idea.
He’d never heard of magic capable of restoring youth. If such a spell existed, Voldemort wouldn’t have resorted to splitting his soul for immortality.
But that wasn’t his imdiate concern. The pressing issue was how to face the fury of his boyfriend’s sister.
(Cue dramatic pause.)
From the ceiling, Gellert flashed a wicked grin—seven parts schadenfreude, three parts delight in the chaos.
“Good evening, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said calmly. “That matter, however, is from many years ago. We were young then, and naive.”
“So you toyed with his emotions?” Veratia asked with a smile.
“Would you care to sit and hear an old man—perhaps your white-haired junior—recount what happened back then?” Dumbledore didn’t rush to defend himself, speaking softly instead.
Veratia sat gracefully, hands folded in her lap. “Perhaps I should hear the other party’s side, rather than my cunning brother’s one-sided tale. Go on, tell —what was it about you that made Gellert Grindelwald so enamored?”
“Sister! I’m not cunning!” Gellert protested, his deanor almost youthful in his sister’s presence. “I’m just…”
Veratia glanced up at him, her gaze gentle but firm.
Feeling her look, Gellert promptly shut his mouth.
“Oh, and your phoenix,” Veratia said to the smitten Fawkes. “This phoenix gentleman—Fiona’s with Harry. If you’d like to see her, perhaps you could ask him?”
Fawkes chirped twice, his aning clear: You’re Fiona’s mother.
Veratia’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Your master broke my brother’s heart, and now you, you wretched bird, are eyeing my daughter?
“Fawkes?” Dumbledore called, sensing the tension. He quickly summoned the phoenix back.
Reluctantly, Fawkes flapped back to Dumbledore’s side.
“I think we should use a Pensieve. It’d be more Viviad,” Harry suggested suddenly. “I bet Gellert’s got one sowhere in Nurngard.”
Gellert said nothing, rely jerking his head toward the next room.
Harry stood, walked to the adjacent room, and, as expected, found a Pensieve inside.
He carried it back and placed it beside Dumbledore.
“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore said, winking at him. “Or perhaps I should say, Senior Potter.”
“You’re too kind, Professor,” Harry replied with a polite smile, sitting next to Veratia.
Dumbledore’s eyebrow twitched. The relationship between this young man and woman didn’t seem entirely straightforward…
He raised his wand to his temple, drawing out a silvery thread of mory that fell into the Pensieve.
“Here are my mories, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said softly.
Veratia nodded lightly and approached the Pensieve, ready to examine Dumbledore’s mories closely.
But she didn’t lean in. Instead, she turned to Dumbledore.
“I don’t trust you, Dumbledore… Professor,” she said, settling on a title she could tolerate. “If you’re sincere, you’ll put down your wand.”
“You know, Miss Grindelwald, a proper wizard never parts with their wand,” Dumbledore replied with a smile.
Veratia raised her wand.
“Accio!”
Harry felt a sudden pull and, before he could react, found himself in Veratia’s arms.
“Gellert,” Veratia said without turning, “you’ll be the referee.”
Gellert’s eyes glead with excitent from his perch on the ceiling. “Very well! Let both parties bow!”
“I don’t think Harry should be dragged into this. He’s innocent, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said, glancing at Harry in Veratia’s arms.
Veratia ignored him, holding Harry even tighter.
“My circumstances are… unique. I hope you understand, Headmaster,” she said, giving Dumbledore an elegant bow. “Let’s begin, Professor. Show if the headmaster of a century later is truly worthy!”
Even though his opponent was a sixteen-year-old girl, Dumbledore didn’t underestimate her. The legend of the “terrifying transfer student” was one he’d heard since childhood.
By every asure, she was a worthy adversary.
With that thought, he returned her bow.
Seeing Dumbledore’s gesture, Gellert shouted with glee, “Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
The mont the words left his mouth, Veratia fired a spell.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, not even moving his feet, effortlessly deflecting the attack with a Transfiguration charm.
Veratia’s first spell was rely a probe. Imdiately after, she hurled two objects—transfigured into explosive barrels—toward the two giant stone hands Dumbledore had conjured.
Boom!Boom!
The stone hands shattered. Dumbledore vanished like the wind, reappearing behind Veratia the next second. Two massive stone guardians materialized beside him, charging at Veratia from both sides.
Without any visible effort, Veratia obliterated the left guardian with a blast. She waved her wand like a conductor, and a violet fla erupted, lashing toward Dumbledore like a fiery whip.
Dumbledore vanished again. Veratia seized the mont to shatter the other guardian. Dumbledore reappeared at her blind spot, firing a red spell.
“Expelliarmus!”
Their spells collided midair, the tips of their wands sparking erratically. The two charms crackled like linked lightning bolts.
The surroundings seed to shift, as if they were now in an ancient magical chamber. The walls were a silent black, dripping with dark liquid.
From nowhere, a spring bubbled forth. Within seconds, it swelled into a roaring torrent, surging toward Veratia with overwhelming force.
Unfazed, Veratia pointed her wand forward. Like Moses parting the sea, the wave split down the middle.
A ring of violet flas flared around her. Monts later, so of the flas morphed into phoenixes, diving toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, deflecting one phoenix, then vanished again.
When he reappeared, he was behind Veratia.
“Stupefy!”
The spell struck Veratia where she stood.
But nothing happened. In an instant, Dumbledore sensed sothing was wrong. Without hesitation, he spun and fired a Disarming Charm directly behind him.
“I must say, you’re the most exceptional wizard I’ve ever t. No wonder Gellert was so taken with you.”
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