• Auror Department Director's Office, British Ministry of Magic •
• October 3rd, 4:00 PM •
[Amelia Bones]
Amelia was restless. She had been in and out of meetings since this morning. The Wizengamot, as always, was neither united nor helpful. Most simply followed Dumbledore blindly, believing his announcement offered the best path forward. Others disagreed—they wanted Dumbledore to hunt Grindelwald immediately, regardless of the consequences.
"As long as the battle doesn't happen in London," they said. They didn't care that millions of lives were at stake. "They're just Muggles…" she heard some of them mutter.
She truly didn't know what to think. She had always known unsavory characters sat in those seats, but it wasn't until today that she saw—clearer than ever—just what these people were willing to sacrifice to ensure their own peace.
Still, the vote passed in favor of following Dumbledore's plan for now, with the option to reconvene later and review the results.
Then came the reporters. They had been camping inside the Ministry since the announcement appeared, waiting for anyone foolish enough to comment on it—and on the outcome of the Wizengamot meeting. That, in itself, was a disaster.
Next arrived the ICW representatives, along with foreign ministers and their own delegations. Meeting after meeting, demand after demand—pure political hell. It lasted until the ICW representatives received orders to return and await further instructions. She didn't know what had happened, nor did she care, because their withdrawal started a domino effect, finally freeing her from the shouting, back-and-forth, and circular arguments.
Still, she didn't get much time to breathe. Right around noon, she had to take several Auror squads into Diagon and Knockturn Alleys to quell the civil unrest.
That was another kind of hell. People shouting at each other, some with wands drawn and ready to fight, others arguing pointlessly about what to do. They had also captured a few werewolves and hags trying to rally the frivolous, the stupid, and the outright unpleasant—the first stirrings of a group to support Gellert Grindelwald.
Amelia didn't know if it was the pregnancy, her lack of sleep, or just the general situation, but after everything she'd been through today, she'd arrived at one conclusion:
Magical Britain had a higher concentration of stupidity than ever before. She didn't know what was worse—the hag preaching openly about Grindelwald in the middle of Knockturn Alley, or the old wizards brawling like prepubescent girls right outside Madam Malkin's shop.
It was all so chaotic. And she'd learned one thing: wizards and witches were doomed unless something big happened. Something big enough to drag them out of the stupidity they'd buried themselves in. Something like…
It was then that everything clicked. All those politically baffling moves Albus Dumbledore had been making ever since he woke up young again started to make sense. Not entirely—but most of them did.
'Ugh, I really must be exhausted if I'm starting to think Dumbledore is playing politics on a much bigger board than before,' she winced, admonishing herself.
Amelia sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. She wanted to go home. To sleep, be pampered, and enjoy time with her husband. Just like yesterday—but without today's chaos, if possible.
She sighed and stood up, having finally reached a decision. She was heading home, and she was going to enjoy her vacation. She might even pray nothing happened for a week, however unlikely that was.
X_
• Department of Mysteries, Time Room •
[Saul Croaker] | [The Professor]
Saul wound through the narrow space between desks as he headed toward his own seat, right beside the crystal bell jar. It was a beautiful, large jar made of magical crystal, containing an absurd number of self-sustaining enchantments that kept the enormous amount of magic inside it in constant, closed-loop motion. A necessary measure, seeing as the jar contained a small hummingbird egg locked in a perpetual cycle of hatching, growing, and reverting back to an egg.
This was one of their earliest—and still ongoing—experiments in time magic. It was this very crystal that had allowed them to build everything else in this room. It wasn't just a decoration; it was a continuous process of data collection.
Thanks to this, they had learned the enormous cost of casting time magic, the correct steps for temporal reversal, the limits of the human body when reversing time, and much more.
Saul tore his eyes away from the beautifully glowing crystal and sat down. The sound of thousands of clocks ticking together in perfect symphony calmed him.
He leaned back in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes tracing the ridiculous number of clocks fixed to it. All the different sizes, shapes, and colors decorated the surface—it looked absurd, funny, and somehow artistic all at once.
'Though to me, this looks just right,' he thought, a smile gracing his normally stoic face.
He closed his eyes and sat there, listening to the ticking of the clocks, his shoulders relaxing. It was nice to take a moment for himself after the day he'd had.
'I don't envy those guys in the Brain Room though,' he mused, imagining the amount of work they must be going through right now—especially after he'd reported what Dumbledore said.
They'd looked ready to die in that moment. All their theories and hypotheses had just been proven wrong. Not that they trusted Dumbledore's word entirely, but his statement had opened a completely new direction of research. What if he was right? What if he really didn't have as much control as they thought he did? What if the Archive truly was just a magical web connecting the minds of witches and wizards?
He knew it didn't fully make sense. They knew it even better than he did. But the question remained. Their entire previous research had revolved around understanding what the Archive truly was, how it worked, and why. It had centered on proving whether it was merely a means for Dumbledore to control everyone's minds. And now there was a new possibility—and they weren't happy about it.
'Not that they're doing this out of the kindness of their hearts, either.'
He shook his head. The reason they'd been trying to prove this was a conspiracy to control the world was simply to have the barest justification to go against Albus Dumbledore and try to study his brain.
That was their whole purpose in life: researching how wizards' brains worked, how magic interacted with them, and so on. The brains of someone like Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Flamel, and all those great wizards were simply too enticing and extraordinary for them not to try to get their hands on them.
'The French branch of the Department of Mysteries is still trying to find a way to get Flamel and his wife to this day,' he chuckled slightly at the tunnel vision and absurdity of these maniacs.
"Though we would have tried to do the same if Dumbledore had created a time magic instead," he muttered, admitting that maybe everyone in this department was a nutcase after all.
Still, this brought up the question: should he fully synchronize with the Archive now? He knew the Brain Room researchers would choose a few of them to fully sync so they could monitor them and collect additional data. But by now, almost every Unspeakable was connected to the Archive—partially, sure, but connected all the same. They'd be idiots not to be, especially since the Archive made their studies much smoother.
And there was the fact that you couldn't advance further in acquiring knowledge from the Archive library unless you contributed your own research and knowledge to it, too.
'Hmm, now isn't this a dilemma,' he thought, amused. 'For now, let's wait for the preliminary results from the Brain Room research before deciding.'
X_
• Southern France, Château d'If Prison •
[Gellert Grindelwald]
Gellert sighed as he stood on the Île d'If, staring blankly at the square fortress in front of him, questioning whether it was really a good idea to come here.
He hated Paris—and by extension, France—and most certainly this prison.
It shouldn't even be called a prison anymore. To Muggles, it was mostly a tourist sight nowadays. But to wizards, it remained a prison—not out of necessity, but convenience.
The place was built, protected, and maintained by old magicks. Muggles might see only an old fortress, but the truth was far more complex. It had been expanded, fortified, and divided by magic, and since it sat upon a ley line, it had to be kept functioning.
That was why the prison was still active—though only the top floor was still in use, where those with money and power could serve their sentences in luxury while the world thought they'd gotten what they deserved.
Gellert shook his head as he climbed the stairs, heading toward the top "prison cell"—the one where his right-hand woman was spending her days.
Arriving at his destination, he knocked twice on the wooden door before opening it and stepping inside. He tilted his head to the left, avoiding a silent Cruciatus curse, and let out a slow, mirthful chuckle.
"Ah, Vinda," he said, his tone merry. "I see your casting has become more refined."
And it truly had. Her torture curse was silent, fast, and very well-contained. None of the usual erratic magic that accompanied curses of that level remained. It was clear the woman had spent her days here enjoying the quiet, peaceful atmosphere while studying and advancing her knowledge.
He walked slowly, unhurriedly, toward the old woman sitting in a rocking chair near the window—one with a breathtaking view of the ocean below. He waved his hand and conjured a similar chair opposite her table, then sat down.
Vinda, wand still in hand, stared at him unblinkingly. He smiled at her and simply sat there, head tilted slightly as he gazed out the window.
"You've grown old…" he said, not bothering to look at her. He had seen her the moment he entered, and he still could, even without looking. He could sense her magic, her emotions, and predict her moves before she made them.
He truly was in a new realm of power.
"…Well, I am almost a century old. Of course I look old," Vinda replied, her tone reserved.
It seemed she still didn't believe he was the real Gellert. Not that he could blame her. He was sure she'd had to fend off plenty of people pretending to be him.
"So, how have you been?" Gellert asked, tilting his head to look at her—the white hair, wrinkled face, and slightly glossy eyes. She truly did look old. She was nothing like the young spitfire he remembered. Still, she carried the air of a serene, wise old witch—a trade-off he could accept.
"Well," she answered, "as well as anyone who's spent their life in a prison cell can be." She shrugged.
Gellert raised an eyebrow. Prison cell? This looked like a hotel room. There was a fireplace, a private bathroom, decorations. She even had artworks on the walls, a bookcase next to the king-sized bed, and a very nice rug on the floor.
His eyebrow twitched slightly. He had lived in a prison cell. This was not one.
Still, he didn't comment. He wasn't going to envy one of his followers' conditions. No matter how comfortable the place was, she still didn't have freedom. So he let her remark slide.
"Well, that's true…" he nodded. "Still, I must praise your efforts in advancing your studies. Your progress is evident in how smooth your magical control has become."
"Sitting alone staring at the sea gets boring rather quickly, so I turned to the only thing I could do," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone—though her posture shifted slightly, and he could sense a hint of pride in her magic.
"True," he smiled. "Well done, Vinda."
She stiffened for a second before returning to her carefully relaxed posture.
"So what brings you here?" she asked. "The news about you is all over the place."
"Well, Dumbledore came to my cell at Nurmengard and freed me," Gellert told her the truth. After all, there wasn't any reason not to. "After he connected me to his new magic—the Archive—he left me with only one request: get the undesirable part of society under your control. So, after some time researching and advancing my rank, I came to see if you'd like to come with me once more."
Gellert summarized his purpose in a few words, much to the wide-eyed disbelief of the old woman in front of him.
'She hadn't expected that, it seems,' he mused inwardly, enjoying the feedback from his magical senses. Vinda was bewildered, slightly shocked, and confused. Doubt and suspicion remained, but they were buried beneath other feelings for now.
"Didn't expect that, huh?" He smiled at her. "What? You expected another impersonation attempt?"
That seemed to calm her. She leaned back, rocking her chair slightly. "To tell you the truth, yes," she said, her voice nonchalant. "I'm still not convinced this isn't one."
"Well, I can't blame you," he shrugged, rocking his own chair.
"Still, I'm too old and wise to be swept up by old feelings," she said, looking out at the sea. "The love I had for you has long since passed…"
"Pfffttt… hahahahaha!"
He laughed, interrupting her.
"Is that the story?" he asked. "A young, impressionable maiden led astray by a handsome and charismatic dark lord?"
Vinda paused. Her eyes sharpened as she looked at him.
"What?" he asked. "Do I have to remind you of our first meeting? When the young spitfire woman met a handsome and charming young wizard while attempting to flee her family's pursuit because she didn't want to be married off to some old British nobody?…"
Her eyes widened again—this time in recognition, not shock. Her magic danced around her in waves of excitement, longing, and familiarity. She finally understood this was no impersonation.
She smiled—a soft, serene smile.
"Gellert," she nodded. "It's good to see you again." She leaned back in her chair, finally relaxing, her left hand placing her wand on top of the book by the window.
"It's good to see you too, Vinda," he smiled back, quite pleased he'd had the foresight to keep the story of their meeting something only the two of them knew.
"So… Dumbledore let you out, huh?"
"Yeah, I was shocked back then, too. But I understand where he's coming from better now."
"And you don't think this is some convoluted plot to gain more fame or something, right?"
"Nah," he denied. "I more or less know the reason for his actions, and I have an inkling that even the things I don't understand yet will be explained soon enough."
"So? What's the plan?" she asked.
"For now? Nothing more than meeting you, giving you access to the Archive, and waiting for you to regain your youth while I go around stirring up a little trouble."
"What about the rest of the Alliance? Are you going to meet them one by one, too?"
"No, not yet," he paused. "Though you can take care of informing them, if you like."
"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can do."
They sat there in silence, comfortably enjoying the scenery. There was just something calming and mesmerizing about the sea.
Gellert suddenly sighed and leaned forward, readying himself to stand. "Well, I have to get going now," he said, regret coloring his tone. "But before I do, try touching this screen with your wand."
Vinda raised an eyebrow as a golden screen appeared out of nowhere, but she did as she was told. She furrowed her brows soon after—no doubt feeling the connection snap into place.
It didn't take her long to manifest her own screen. Five seconds at most.
Gellert smiled as he stood. "You'll find everything you need to know there. I'll contact you through it as well, so let's stay in touch."
Vinda smiled and began to stand too, but he stopped her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He bent down, kissed the top of her head, and walked out.
Nothing else was needed. They might have spent decades apart, but that didn't change their dynamic. Vinda Rosier was not just a follower. She was a friend—a close one. He could go as far as to say she was family.
She had been the first to join his cause. She had lived with him, handled most of the logistics of his organization. He could honestly say she was the one who managed nearly everything about his movement—and his failed quest.
She was his lieutenant. His right-hand woman. And his first friend after Albus.
'Now, it's time I met with Albus,' he thought, willing himself to a new location. His figure twisted and disappeared from the place with an almost imperceptible pop.
X_
• Room of Requirement, Hogwarts •
[Albus Dumbledore]
I stood in the middle of an expanse of greenery, where everything in sight was nothing but green grass and blue sky. That was literally all there was to it.
The reason was simple: I didn't want anything complicated, and a plain room felt boring—hence the current setting.
'Alright then, let's start,' I decided, bringing my hands up, palms facing upward.
I started channeling chakra through my hand, noting its distinct, wavy feeling. I did, however, notice it was moving through a distinctly different pathway—not a chakra system per se, but more like a new layer added on top of the old one. It was still the same network as before, but now it had… an additional level.
Shaking my head to avoid getting lost in useless thoughts, I observed keenly as the chakra reached my hands. It didn't really do anything; it just kept releasing into the atmosphere.
That's when I noticed several interesting things happening.
The chakra I was releasing was being inhaled by the world—and I mean, it was snorting it like an addict snorts cocaine after a week locked away without a sniff. 'The kind that makes you go, Woah, easy there. You're gonna overdose and die,' but your advice just goes in one ear and out the other.
'…Okay, something is amiss,' I thought, catching myself comparing the world to an addict. Something I wouldn't usually do.
'So my suspicion that I was more affected by my new status than anticipated was more than just common sense, then.'
'I'll get back to that later,' I noted. 'I probably need to check my soul status and mindscape for answers.'
I filed the thought under 'Things To Do' and moved on. Something interesting was happening.
My eyes moved around, glowing slightly as I observed how the magic around us was affected. I'd probably need to test this more, but if my guess was right, it was getting stronger.
I filed that under 'Things To Check' and continued observing how the world around me began to look and feel more vibrant. And it truly did. It was like the world was upgrading from 480p to 1080p resolution.
"Okay, let's get back to the point," I muttered under my breath. This was bad—I kept getting distracted by intriguing side effects and forgetting the main purpose.
I needed to first familiarize myself with chakra more: get used to using it without needing parallel minds just to maintain control, figure out what rules to embed into it, and so on.
So, first thing first: control.
I started to slowly and deliberately mold the chakra into a ball—a small one, the size of a baseball—and then kept it that way while limiting the number of parallel minds I put on the task.
That alone took a few minutes.
Once I got that down, I began manipulating the size of the ball, compressing and expanding it to different sizes.
Following that, I played with the ball a little, jiggling it around like a circus performer. It was great fun, especially after I made the surroundings change into a circus-like setting, complete with cheers and everything.
Soon, after I'd had my fun, I started playing around with shape and pure energy output manipulation. I created strings of varying sizes, widths, and strengths.
An hour later, I stood there thoroughly satisfied with my current control over chakra. "Man, that was a fun hour," I smiled happily and snapped my fingers, my clothes changing into those of a ninja.
"Now let's play ninja," I declared, a grin stretching across my face. The surroundings began morphing into a thick, green forest setting, with towering trees and various natural obstacles.
I'm not going to say what happened after that. Not even to myself. Some things are just too embarrassing to mention, even as a thought. A century-old man jumping around the woods while shouting "Nin, nin!" is one of them…
Now that I'd gotten that out of my system, it was time to start play—ahem, experimenting—with the reason for creating chakra in the first place: ninjutsu. More specifically, clone jutsu.
I didn't really need to make hand signs or shout the name of the jutsu for it to succeed—something I'd long known. The only reason I'd needed those control exercises earlier was to familiarize myself with the difference between magic and chakra control.
'Still, that doesn't mean I shouldn't have fun with it,' I thought, justifying the absolutely absurd half-hour that followed, during which I kept making hand signs (that were probably nothing like the anime) and shouting "Fire Ball!", "Annihilation Flame!", "Headhunter Jutsu!", etc., in Japanese.
'I was nothing if not authentic,' I nodded to myself, proud of my achievement.
Anyway, after thoroughly enjoying my time, the surroundings morphed back to their original setting: an expanse of green grass and clear blue skies as far as the eye could see.
I took a deep breath and willed a shadow clone to manifest. With a burst of smoke, an identical clone stood in front of me—though this one was wearing black two-piece pajamas.
'A great choice of outfit, if I say so myself,' I smirked as I watched my clone shake his hand before snapping his fingers.
Nothing happened.
My smirk grew as his eyes widened before he looked at me accusingly.
"What?" I asked. "I didn't create you to play with magic. I created you to see if I'd missed any kinks in the clone creation process."
He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound escaped his throat. He furrowed his eyebrows before bursting into smoke. The memories, emotions, and thoughts of the clone appeared in my head, with one very prominent thought:
'You are a fucking asshole.'
That was the thought the clone sent back to me.
I chuckled in amusement before shaking my head. That was enough for me today. I'd had my fun; now I just needed to create a couple more clones to test out the kinks of chakra while I went to relax and do something else.
With that, I turned around and walked away, the surroundings bleeding away and changing into a small room with a door a few feet away from me.
The door opened, and I stood by it, ordering the room to turn into a big, spacious training room. My mouth twitched as I tried to contain the smirk fighting to grace my face.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
A series of pops accompanied by white clouds of smoke saw five more shadow clones appear in front of me. I took the last step back out of the room's threshold, the wide smirk finally breaking across my face as I watched my clones' eyes widen in realization.
They tried to run my way, but they weren't fast enough. The door closed, and I started cracking up, laughing freely.
'I truly am an asshole,' I thought as I began walking back to my office, not the slightest bit bothered by what the clones were thinking. They were me, so they'd probably already figured out why I did it.
They also wouldn't be able to disable themselves—I'd taken away that option, along with many others—so they could only work honestly and transfer their feelings, thoughts, and opinions to me later…
I strutted back to my office, feeling quite refreshed.
'What a great day.'
X_
A/N: this was supposed to be two chapters here in WB, cause I kinda decided that a chapter should be 2000 words if I wanted to update regularly but just now I just decided fuck it we ball😂🤣😂🤣😂