Neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald ever spoke again of their brief friendship as boys. Yet there is no denying that Dumbledore waited nearly five years before finally confronting Gellert Grindelwald, five long years that brought the world turmoil, casualties, and countless disappearances.
Why did Dumbledore hesitate? Was it nostalgia, or fear that the truth of his past companionship might be exposed? Could it be that he dreaded the thought of facing the man he had once called a kindred spirit?
And what of the mysterious Ariana? How did she truly die?
Was she an unwitting sacrifice to some dark magical experiment?
Or, while those two young men were dreaming of glory and power, did she happen to see something she was never meant to see?
Could Ariana Dumbledore have been the very first victim "for the greater good"?
The chapter ended there.
Harry lifted his head, his face pale, the look of someone whose faith had just crumbled.
Ron didn't look much better; his expression was ashen.
"I–I always thought—"
"Harry?" Hermione said softly, as if she could hear his thoughts. "Listen to me, this… this isn't easy to read—"
"Yeah," Ron muttered, "you can say that again."
"But don't forget, Harry, this was written by Rita Skeeter."
"You heard that letter he wrote to Grindelwald, didn't you? That was real, he—"
"I heard," Hermione interrupted, leaning forward slightly. "That's the worst part. I know Bathilda thought it was just talk, but 'for the greater good' became Grindelwald's motto, the justification for all his later atrocities. And from what we just read, it looks like Dumbledore was the one who gave him the idea. They say those words are carved over the entrance to Nurmengard."
"What's Nurmengard?"
"A prison Grindelwald built himself, for anyone who opposed him. After Dumbledore defeated him, Grindelwald was imprisoned there too.
It's awful to think that Dumbledore's idea helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, they were just teenagers. That summer lasted only a few months. Even Rita couldn't twist more out of it—"
"I knew you'd say that," Harry said, standing abruptly, his voice unsteady. "I knew you'd say they were young. But they were our age! We're out here risking our lives to hunt Horcruxes, and he was sitting around with his new friend, planning how to rule over Muggles. I always thought—"
Hermione looked helplessly toward Anne.
Still eating noodles, Anne slurped up another bite and murmured, "Let him finish."
"His sister, a Squib, locked away all that time? And he never told me! We thought we knew him, Dumbledore, the man who stood against Voldemort, who fought for what was right, but he told us so little, hid so much..."
Harry paced the room, fists clenched.
Ron sat on the sofa, frowning hard at the book on the table. On the cover, Dumbledore smiled back at them faintly, the same knowing, weary smile as always.
Harry kept pacing, then finally dropped onto the sofa again, silent.
"Done?" Anne asked calmly, flicking her wand. The empty bowl floated off into the kitchen. She dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief.
The others looked at her.
"Then Hermione and I are going to bed. You boys can take the night watch," she said evenly.
"Anne?" Hermione's voice was soft.
"Hey!" Harry blurted. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
"What do you want me to say?" Anne asked quietly.
"I—" Harry hesitated.
"You want me to tell you Dumbledore was a saint? Or that he was a fraud?"
Harry frowned, arms folded tightly, lips pressed into a hard line.
"Disappointed?" Anne continued. "Because the perfect image you had of him shattered? Because he might have imprisoned his sister? Because he once dreamed of ruling Muggles? Or is it because he never told you that he was once a boy who thought such things?
Or is it, perhaps, because of you?"
Her tone was calm, almost conversational, as if she were remarking on the weather.
"You said he only told you tiny pieces of the truth? That you thought you knew him?" Anne's voice stayed even. "Then I understand. I don't intend to defend or condemn Dumbledore. I just want to remind you of something simple, something most people forget."
"There's no such thing as pure black or white in this world. We're all ordinary people. We laugh when we're happy, cry when we're sad. When life's hard, we curse. When hope fades, we despair. We're frightened. We fall in love and can't sleep all night. We get angry enough to throw a punch."
"No one is born noble or righteous. Every choice we make comes from where we stand at that moment. You and I, we're human, not gods. Never were."
She paused, then added softly,
"So think about this, Harry. Think about everything Dumbledore said to you, everything he did with you, and then ask yourself the simplest question of all: Why are you sitting here, and he's lying in a grave?"
When she finished, Anne stood, lifted Hermione into her arms, and carried her straight into the bedroom.
Bang.
The door shut behind them.
"Anne—"
"Don't overthink it. I'm not angry," Anne said, setting Hermione down on the edge of the bed.
She slung off her backpack, summoned a red-crossed medical kit with a flick of her wand, and added lightly, "Sometimes I forget that truth myself. Reminding him reminds me, too."
"So do I," Hermione murmured.
Anne smiled. "Exactly. That's what makes us human, and that's all right."
She snipped off the bandage on Hermione's knee, checked the wound, reapplied the salve, and wrapped it neatly.
"Did you have something urgent to handle tonight?" Hermione asked.
"I dropped by Rowan Castle, oh, right! I forgot, I still need to call my aunt. Give me a second."
Anne tucked away the gauze, stood, and walked to the desk. From her robe pocket she pulled out her phone.
Hermione watched, amused, as Anne moved through her small routines, tidy in her habits but always leaving the last-used items strewn about. Her drawers were pristine; her desk, a beautiful mess.
"Yes, Aunt Diana, I will. You should rest too. Good night." Anne hung up and turned back to Hermione, her voice gentle.
"Take off your jacket. Let me take care of that cut on your arm."
"Okay." Hermione slipped it off and found herself gazing quietly at Anne's face.
Anne wrapped the bandage, packed away the kit, and hung her bag neatly on the rack. She had just turned toward the bed when Hermione said,
"Anne, you said you'd bring back some documents."
Anne laughed, pulling a thick stack of papers from her bag with a flick of her wand. "My dear girlfriend, don't tell me you're going to be a workaholic in the future too? Here, next week's operation plans and a few unresolved issues. Sign them, spot the errors, approve, stamp, all yours."
She dropped the stack beside Hermione with a grin.
"So, all yours then? That means I get to slack off?"
Hermione looped her arms around Anne's neck and kissed her softly. "All yours," she said with a smile. "Deal."
"Won't that be too much work for you?"
"Not more than you've done." Hermione tilted her head. "Anne, did you have a drink tonight?"
"Hmm?" Anne sniffed at her collar. "Can you still smell it? I—"
"Just a little," Hermione said. "So go take a shower, then sleep."
"All right, all right. I just ate, and I'm getting sleepy anyway." Anne stretched, scratched her head, sniffed her shirt again, and ambled toward the bathroom.
Hermione watched her go, lips curved in a soft smile, then turned back to the stack of documents.
After a warm shower, Anne emerged drowsy and relaxed. She yawned, sat beside Hermione, and leaned her head on Hermione's shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Just hold me for a bit," she murmured.
"Okay," Hermione whispered. "But you'd better lie down soon. If you fall asleep like this, I'll never manage to move you, unless you want me to use a Levitation Charm."
Anne giggled, eyes closed, nuzzling closer.
After a while, she half-opened one eye, reached for her robe, and pulled out the Order of the Phoenix seal, the emblem of the Order's leader.
She slipped it into Hermione's hand, climbed onto the bed, mumbling,
"Don't stay up too late reading, or you'll gain weight. Then even I won't be able to lift you. What'll you do then—"
She chuckled sleepily, pulled the blanket over her stomach, and closed her eyes.
Hermione smiled, set the seal atop the papers, and shifted closer to Anne. She tucked the blanket around her and, with a flick of her wand, turned off the crystal lights overhead.
Anne was already asleep, deeply, peacefully.
Hermione stacked the documents neatly on the bedside table, leaned back against her pillow, and read by the soft glow of the lamp. Every so often, she glanced at Anne's sleeping face, smiled faintly, and went back to her pages.