The silence that followed Lysander's full name—Lysander Grindelwald—was heavier than any Ministry ward. It was a silence born of shock, disbelief, and the terrifying weight of history.
Ira was the first to react. She didn't flinch, but her eyes, wide and dark, narrowed with a cold, analytical dread. "Grindelwald," she whispered, the name of the previous century's greatest dark wizard tasting like poison. "You orchestrated my escape to hand me over to a new Ministry faction. A trade."
Lucien, though still profoundly weakened, struggled to his feet, driven by a raw surge of distrust that bypassed his physical exhaustion. He saw the cold logic in Ira's assumption. "No," he gasped, clenching his bandaged hand. "You made the Aurors vanish. You could have taken her then. Why wait?"
Lysander regarded Lucien with a measured intensity, a faint, almost pitying smile touching his lips. He moved toward an outcropping of smooth stone and settled onto it, radiating an unhurried confidence that was utterly disarming. He retrieved a leather pouch from his robes and, with a silent, precise gesture, conjured two small, steaming mugs.
"A simple Calming Draught," he explained, pushing the mugs toward them. "You both need it. Especially you, Lucien. Your core is screaming."
Neither Ira nor Lucien touched the mug.
"You speak of trades," Lysander continued, ignoring their suspicion. "The Ministry values Ira for the fear her name represents. Dark factions value her for the power they believe her blood holds. I value her because Albus Dumbledore deemed her existence a crucial variable in the future's equation."
He fixed his gaze on Ira. "Ira Riddle, you are non-magical, correct? Born under conditions that made magic impossible for you, yet the Ministry locks you in Azkaban—a prison designed to break the magical soul. Dumbledore always abhorred that kind of injustice. He foresaw the Ministry's eventual moral collapse under the weight of fear. His plan has always been to protect those who are wronged by fear, regardless of lineage."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle, then turned his piercing gaze to Lucien, taking in his trembling hands, the faint, shimmering aura that still pulsed around him like an uncontrolled heartbeat. "And you, young Mr. Potter, are the greatest variable of all. You are a paradox. An unrestrained combination of the Savior's power and a legacy of both courage and keen intellect—a legacy of two generations hidden from the world. You have been dosed daily with a damping potion, the ancient recipe for which your father, Harry Potter, unknowingly inherited from the Potters and foolishly gifted to your mother, believing it a harmless, strengthening tonic."
Lucien's face went white. "The potion... Harry Potter?"
"Indeed," Lysander confirmed with a quiet finality. "Harry Potter did not know what he gifted to your mother. But Dumbledore knew you existed. He knew your power would be too immense to contain forever and too dangerous to be unleashed without guidance."
Lysander finally picked up his own mug, taking a slow sip. "My connection to Dumbledore is simple: I am the consequence of his great tragedy. My father was Gellert Grindelwald. Albus, out of guilt, duty, and yes, love, ensured I was raised to understand the limits of power. I was trained not to wield the Dark Arts, but to master them, to understand them, and ultimately, to use them only for the 'Greater Good'—a term, I assure you, Dumbledore took to his own grave."
Ira stepped forward, her suspicion overriding her exhaustion. "So, you are a strategist playing Dumbledore's ghost's game. Why are we the targets? What is this Third Prophecy?"
Lysander's expression grew serious, his blue eyes intense. "The Third Prophecy—the one the Ministry suppressed after the war—is not about the demise of darkness, but about the re-ordering of the magical world. It stated that the next true era of magic would be ushered in by the confluence of the Savior's lineage and the Dark Lord's blood."
He gestured to them both. "You, Ira, the shadow, represent the complete absence of magical coercion and the injustice done in the name of peace. You, Lucien, the unburdened light, represent raw, untapped power. The world fears this union because your love, your combined influence, will utterly dismantle the established order. Dumbledore saw that you two are the solution, not the catastrophe."
He finally pushed the two mugs closer to them. "I rescued Ira from Azkaban not just to save her, but to ensure she would find you before the Ministry destroyed you both. They will not stop searching. Hermione Granger is already two steps ahead of any normal Auror, and she will track that shattered ward to your mother's cottage."
Lysander's gaze settled solely on Lucien, unwavering. "You destroyed your locket, young man. You unleashed power that will attract every dark and light force on this continent. You have to learn control, and you must learn quickly. You need to master the kind of strategic, intellectual magic that your father never touched. You need to master the Dark Arts of the Greater Good—the only magic powerful enough to defeat the old ideas of fear and prejudice."
He offered his hand to Lucien, a gesture that spanned nearly a century of magical history. "I offer you sanctuary, safety, and mastery. Will you take the risk of trusting the son of your greatest enemy's enemy?"