— — — — — —
What Nicolas said was only half a joke. He would never reveal the secret of the Golden Apple to Dumbledore unless Tom himself chose to do so. What he truly meant was the 'some people were perfect tools' part. In simpler terms, slaves.
Nicolas was a very traditional wizard. After all, when you had lived for over six hundred years, no one could reasonably expect you to change your way of thinking in old age. He felt no moral resistance at all toward certain kinds of transactions. In fact, he thought them perfectly natural.
As for suppliers, there were many such places: the Amazon rainforest in South America, remote islands across Asia, parts of India, and more.
But the best source was Central Africa. There, supply was abundant. Whatever you wanted, someone could provide it.
Many of the wizards there came from primitive tribes. Once they reached adulthood and returned home, they took up positions as priests, shamans, and the like. Those places still ran on the slave system, and the servants were known as "magic laborers."
Take the largest Runespoor breeding facility in Burkina Faso. It employed over three hundred magic laborers. Even Uagadou School of Magic didn't have house-elves. All daily chores were handled by magic laborers instead. They were treated as disposable tools.
"I think twenty or thirty servants here would be enough," Nicolas said, glancing at the size of the pocket world. "Buy them early and train them first. But those tools aren't very bright. You need a whip to drill the rules into their heads."
"Well…" Newt looked troubled. He wanted to say slavery was wrong but knew his words would have no effect, so he tried another approach. "Nicolas, this doesn't feel right. The environment we're building won't even suit human survival. It's already hard enough for wizards, let alone ordinary people."
"What's the problem?" Nicolas waved it off casually. "The supply is stable. You can have as many as you want. When their bodies hit the limit, just wipe their memories and resell them. No need to worry so much."
Tom didn't object, and Newt didn't know what else to say.
Newt was still too simple. With something as terrifying as the Golden Apple, how could Nicolas allow even the slightest risk of information leaking out? The moment those people left the pocket world, they would probably be sent straight into his laboratory.
But there was no need to spell that out for Newt. Better not to burden him with it.
"Then I'll leave it to you, Professor," Tom said with a smile.
After everything was decided—or better to say, after all the plantation preparations were dumped on Nicolas and Newt, freeing Tom from another tedious affair—Nicolas still didn't let the boy go. The price for that freedom was spending an entire night cooperating on research into divine power, which yielded no real results.
Nicolas discovered that this power corroded alchemical items far more severely than ordinary magic. Existing materials simply couldn't withstand it, leaving him no choice but to give up.
When Tom appeared at school the next day, news had finally reached Britain. Bulgaria had joined the ranks of the Acolytes, and Grindelwald had defeated four hundred Auror alone.
The world, and especially the UK, was struck speechless.
That many Aurors was more than even two Britains could muster. Yet Grindelwald emerged unscathed, captured over three hundred of them, and allowed only a little more than a hundred to escape.
Suddenly, people realized their fear of Voldemort had faded quite a bit. After all, even at his peak, Voldemort had never achieved anything like this.
"..."
Lucius Malfoy stared at the newspaper at home for a long time. Then his thoughts began to stir again, and out of habit, he asked Narcissa for her opinion.
"What do you think about me reaching out to Grindelwald?" he said. "We could stay in Britain as his inside agents, feed him Dumbledore's intelligence. Grindelwald clearly has the makings of someone who does big things. Once he defeats Dumbledore, the Malfoy family's standing in Britain will definitely rise to a whole new level."
Narcissa knew her husband very well. His ambition outweighed his ability by ten times, maybe a hundred. If he wasn't busy stirring things up, he was on his way to stirring things up. And yet he chickened out just as fast.
That was why, in Britain's wizarding world, the Malfoy family always seemed extremely active, but somehow never actually accomplished anything.
"Lucius," Narcissa sighed, speaking with deliberate patience. "Grindelwald has truly risen now. He won't even look at us."
Lucius reacted with shock and anger. "How is that possible? The Malfoys are an ancient pure-blood family. In Britain—"
"You said it yourself," Narcissa cut him off. "In Britain."
She continued coldly, "The Acolytes number at least several hundred now, probably over a thousand. Add to that the Ministry he's taken over, with a constant stream of manpower. Do you really think this is still like the Death Eaters, a handful of strays barely holding together?"
That brutal reality made Lucius's face flush red. "But we still have an advantage. He has no power base in Britain, and his greatest enemy is here."
"And then what?" Narcissa shot back. "What kind of relationship do you have with Dumbledore? You know it perfectly well. How exactly are you supposed to spy on him? Are you planning to send Draco to get close to him at school?"
She fixed Lucius with a hard stare. "Lucius, I'll tell you this. Whatever schemes you want to play, I won't stop you. But if you dare drag our son into it, I will not let it go."
Narcissa's sudden fury startled Lucius. He hurried over to placate her, swearing that he would never use Draco for anything like that.
At least when it came to family, the Malfoys still had some sense of decency.
In the end, Lucius reluctantly gave up on the idea of defecting to Grindelwald. For now.
Once the situation became clearer in the future, he would switch sides without hesitation. Because the Malfoys always stood on the winning side.
While Lucius was contemplating a career change, his former colleagues were seething with rage.
"The Dark Lord??? Is he worthy?"
Bellatrix Lestrange clutched a local Albanian wizarding newspaper. Nearly half of it was devoted to praising Grindelwald's power, hailing him as the greatest Dark Wizard in history, the one and only Dark Lord.
"Only the Master deserves to be called the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix screamed. "That old relic who lost to Dumbledore, what right does he have?"
Her shrill voice made Lockhart's ears ring. He frowned and said, "Bella, didn't you say the Dark Lord was here? Why is it that once we arrived, you changed your tune?"
"Lockhart, if you weren't following me, what would you even be good for?" Bellatrix's icy gaze lifted from the newspaper and landed on Lockhart, his hair sticking up like a chicken's nest. "Trash should know its place. I haven't even complained that you're dead weight, and you're already getting impatient?"
Lockhart smiled awkwardly, head lowered, not daring to argue.
"The Master's condition is terrible right now, but he must still be here."
Bellatrix rolled up her sleeve, revealing the dark green Dark Mark etched into her left arm. She pointed her wand at it. The mark seemed to come alive. Closing her eyes, she sensed it for a moment, chose a direction, and continued down the path of searching for Voldemort, dragging Lockhart along with her.
---
Friday
Today, Dumbledore traveled alone to Durmstrang.
The Durmstrang Institute was known as the most mysterious magical school in the world. All students were strictly forbidden from revealing its location. People only knew it was somewhere in Northern Europe, but little beyond that.
Dumbledore himself only learned the exact address because Grindelwald had once mentioned it to him: northern Norway, in the Scandinavian region.
Otherwise, he would have needed a guide.
This time, he wanted to see whether leaving Tom behind would still allow him to resolve the matter through negotiation.
Screee—
Dumbledore arrived openly and without deception. He didn't rely on his strength to force his way in. The cry of a phoenix echoed across the snow-covered castle, and before long, Grindelwald flew out to meet him.
Seeing Dumbledore standing alone with nothing but a bird, Grindelwald frowned slightly. "Where's Tom Riddle? Why are you alone?"
"Our grievances shouldn't drag others into them," Dumbledore said softly.
"Then there's nothing worth discussing," Grindelwald replied, turning to leave. Dumbledore stopped him.
They didn't talk for long. Ten minutes later, they parted on bad terms.
In short:
Dumbledore: "Gellert, listen to me."
Grindelwald: "I'm not listening. I'm not listening."
---
Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts deeply disappointed, already knowing that leaving Tom out of it wouldn't work.
Early Saturday morning, the two of them first went to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic in Oslo, where they met representatives from the International Confederation of Wizards and various national Ministries, before traveling together to Durmstrang.
.
.
.