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From the Owlery in the distant West Tower, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Grindelwald, appeared to have taken a deliberate detour.
He smirked at the now-invisible door before heading back to his office on the third floor via the staircases.
"Huu~"
The moment he stepped inside, the candles flared to life of their own accord, illuminating the dim room.
Dumbledore, who had returned to the castle after being away, was waiting for him.
Leaning against the desk, head bowed, the Headmaster appeared to be fiddling with a small object in his hands.
Grindelwald, still masquerading as Gilderoy Lockhart, showed no surprise.
"The Ministry has lost a Dementor, Gellert. We agreed not to break the law." Dumbledore finally looked up at the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, his brows knitting together slightly.
Grindelwald, who had been maintaining Lockhart's appearance, merely tilted his head.
His body remained unchanged, but his face began to shift and twist, accompanied by a series of quiet cracking sounds.
Within moments, his true visage reemerged— old, yet still strikingly sharp.
This was a rare form of human transfiguration, far more complex than even the highly advanced Animagus transformation.
Unlike Metamorphmagi or the effects of Polyjuice Potion, this kind of transfiguration did not require innate talent or brewed draughts— only immense magical skill and knowledge.
Hogwarts' library contained no books on the subject, for obvious reasons.
It seemed Ian had misjudged the source of Grindelwald's transformation earlier that day.
"The Ministry would never admit they've lost anything. As far as the law is concerned, nothing has happened." Grindelwald strode over to the desk.
Though his hands and body retained Lockhart's youthful form, his true identity was no longer concealed.
In his youth, Gellert Grindelwald had mastered human transfiguration, frequently using it to evade capture and conduct covert activities.
Now, though his physical abilities were no longer what they once had been, his mastery of magic had only deepened.
A wizard's limitations were never defined by mere physical strength.
"Teaching children doesn't require a Dementor. I brought you here to ensure the students' safety in my absence, not to send them to the hospital wing." Dumbledore's piercing gaze met Grindelwald's, his tone edged with disapproval.
"The best way to protect them is to teach them how to survive." Grindelwald's philosophy still clashed with Dumbledore's, though not irreconcilably.
Dumbledore merely frowned, choosing not to argue further.
"Poppy has some complaints about you. She was rather overwhelmed at noon today, though she chose not to report you to the Ministry." Dumbledore's voice carried a note of quiet reproach.
He was referring, of course, to Madam Pomfrey.
"I shall personally extend my gratitude to our dear matron. After all, who could resist a charming author who sincerely acknowledges his mistakes— yet never quite changes his ways— but arrives bearing gifts?"
Grindelwald's face shifted back into Lockhart's, though it only remained for a few seconds before reverting to his true self.
"I must say, Lockhart is quite popular here. The adoration is almost nostalgic. A pity, though— I can only boast about 'his' exploits rather than my own."
He altered his appearance a few more times, demonstrating a skill that in his hands felt as effortless as a magical creature's natural abilities.
"First-years… it's too soon." Dumbledore sighed, choosing to focus on Hogwarts' education rather than his old friend's theatrics.
Yet he hesitated.
"Then again, perhaps you're right."
Although Dumbledore knew that Grindelwald's unorthodox teaching methods were, in part, influenced by two particular first-years, he couldn't entirely dismiss the possibility that his approach had some merit.
After all, in recent days, they had already brushed the edges of true danger more than once.
Storms were brewing.
Perhaps self-preservation was indeed a lesson the young witches and wizards needed to learn.
Dumbledore turned the small object over in his hand, his expression unreadable.
Ultimately, he chose to compromise, adjusting his stance while ensuring certain boundaries remained uncrossed.
"You know what I will not permit."
"Of course."
It was a necessary reminder.
"I will exercise restraint." Grindelwald, too, had found room to compromise.
After all, at this stage, the students were merely unsettled— far from the limits he believed they could be pushed.
"Have you found any leads regarding the letter that led to Ronnie Ehrlich's death?" Dumbledore shifted the conversation, his demeanor growing more serious.
Grindelwald, too, straightened up.
From a desk drawer, he withdrew two nearly identical letters, the only discrepancies lying in minor details.
"Before I could send my letter, Ronnie received a forged one. The mastermind behind this is no amateur. He not only anticipated my words but also altered them so subtly that no suspicion was raised… Even I struggle to detect anything unnatural."
He spread both letters on the desk.
As he had said, their contents were nearly identical, down to the smallest phrasing.
The only true difference lay in the instructions given to Ronnie Ehrlich.
Using the idea of 'the greater good' as justification, the forger had altered Grindelwald's original intent— subtly but decisively.
Ronnie Ehrlich, unaware of any deception, followed the instructions and met his end at the hands of another student.
"He told Ronnie Ehrlich to drink, which was a careless oversight. If he had told Ronnie to drink poison, I suspect Ronnie would have obeyed just as blindly, believing the orders came from you."
Dumbledore's eyes darkened as he studied the two letters, a cold dread settling in his chest.
He could scarcely imagine what kind of seer possessed such terrifyingly precise foresight.
"Haha, don't treat me like one of your other professors, Albus. You must see it too." Grindelwald's gaze remained fixed on the letters spread out before them.
"The fact that this forged letter was left untouched, lying in my office drawer when I arrived, is a deliberate taunt— an open display of arrogance and scorn."
Grindelwald's voice carried an eager edge.
"I'll find this person. They've issued me a rather intriguing challenge."
His expression shifted through a range of emotions.
But there was no trace of fear.
"Do you believe this mysterious figure is inside the school?"
Dumbledore posed the question weighing heaviest on his mind.
"I suspect they've never set foot here. If they could infiltrate Hogwarts, why bother luring the students to Hogsmeade? A diversion like that wouldn't fool us."
Grindelwald's reasoning aligned with Dumbledore's own conclusions.
The elder wizard nodded and tossed a small object onto the desk.
"Now, to our other problem. How many more of these are there?"
A sharp clink rang out.
It was a locket— small and exquisitely crafted.
The metal, likely precious, bore intricate carvings and an impeccable polish. A gemstone, embedded at its center, emitted a faint, eerie glow. Though dim, it betrayed a certain unmistakable power.
Ancient symbols adorned its surface, masterfully etched with unparalleled precision.
"I play the role of an author, Albus, but in truth, I am merely a seer. You ask too much. How could I possibly know everything in the world?"
Grindelwald didn't bother inspecting the locket.
With a look of distaste, he even shifted his chair away from it.
"I can only tell you that there is more than one."
His words confirmed Dumbledore's worst fears.
Though Dumbledore had long suspected that a certain madman might have used this method to stave off death, he had never imagined he would be reckless enough to fracture his soul multiple times.
Such an act only led to one fate— one far worse than death.
And it presented a dire challenge to those still living.
"The risk is too great."
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the locket, his thoughts clouded with unease.
(To Be Continued…)