University of Vienna, Austria.
An elderly man walked slowly across the campus. Even during the holidays, there were still students coming and going—some staying behind to study or conduct research, others simply visiting for leisure. There were older professors as well, strolling with students, colleagues, or partners, chatting with either easy smiles or serious tones as they moved along.
But few were as alone as this old man. Perhaps he was the only one.
The morning sunlight was growing hotter, the summer sun beginning to show its strength. He seemed a little dazed. If the Muggles around him were able to notice him at all, someone would probably have approached to check on him. But clearly, whatever troubled him wasn't physical.
Grindelwald had already received Tver's letter and knew Dumbledore would be coming. It wasn't until yesterday—when Tver personally arrived to tell him the news—that he realized just how unprepared he was. He had no idea how he was supposed to face Dumbledore.
Resentment? That should have been the answer. If Dumbledore had stood by him, the two of them together could have brought the wizarding world—and even the Muggles—under their rule long ago. Instead, Dumbledore not only refused to help, he even joined with outsiders to destroy the empire Grindelwald had painstakingly built.
The result was fifty wasted years in Nurmengard, and his strength still hadn't fully recovered. By all logic, he ought to resent him. But after thinking about it for a long time, Grindelwald realized that ever since he walked out of Nurmengard, that emotion was simply… gone.
Had time washed it away? He didn't understand.
For the first time, Grindelwald found that he—who once read and manipulated others' hearts with ease—could not see clearly into his own.
"Long time no see, Grindelwald."
At some point, another white-haired old man had appeared beside him, walking with him at the same unhurried pace as the other elderly figures on campus.
Albus Dumbledore.
A name he could never forget, even after fifty years apart, even though both of them now looked nothing like they once did. This was still Albus Dumbledore.
To be honest, he wasn't surprised by Dumbledore's sudden appearance. He knew better than anyone that Dumbledore was always capable of the astonishing and the unexpected. Exactly as he had always been—unchanged.
And in the instant Grindelwald saw him, all the thoughts swirling in his mind suddenly quieted.
"When did you get here?" he asked with a small smile, his tone calm, as if speaking to an old friend.
Dumbledore stared straight ahead, but his expression refused to relax, as though he were the one who had lost fifty years ago.
"Just now."
He pointed toward the academic buildings deeper inside the campus.
"Tver told me a great deal about the University of Vienna. Since it wasn't yet time for our meeting, I thought I'd walk around a bit."
"Didn't expect to run into you."
Grindelwald let out a soft laugh. As if Dumbledore had come here just to wander. He had probably noticed him long before and walked over on purpose. No doubt about it—Dumbledore truly had that kind of ability.
But Grindelwald didn't call him out. Instead, he followed his gesture and looked toward the teaching building he had seen countless times before.
"Yes, Tver always has such unconventional views."
"He didn't cause you any trouble at Hogwarts, did he?"
Dumbledore felt an immediate sense of relief.
"Too much trouble. In his first year, he dared to scheme against Voldemort—and even me. Of course, one could understand his motives for the Philosopher's Stone. But by his second year, he was letting the Basilisk run amok in the castle and even associating with Death Eaters. If any students had been harmed, I'd have sent him straight to Azkaban."
He claimed to be angry, yet his face held a smile, as if discussing a mischievous child.
Grindelwald understood Dumbledore's feelings toward Tver all too well. He chuckled and shook his head, as if he could see Tver performing the very actions he described.
"He certainly has his little schemes. Sometimes he gives me a headache. Back in Nurmengard, he even wanted to turn the place into an amusement park and make me the director to collect the entrance fees. He even said, 'You don't want to leave anyway, so why not make the most of it? You'd be the most dedicated employee here.'"
He mimicked Tver's tone, making Dumbledore clap his hands and laugh so hard he nearly lost control of his cover spell.
"I never imagined he had such an amusing side," Dumbledore said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "Ha! How did you endure it?"
Grindelwald shook his head swiftly, sighing helplessly.
"How could I endure it? If he hadn't been so persistent in demanding my help, I never would have taken him on as a student."
"Oh? Would you mind sharing your story with him? A child like him," Dumbledore paused, "must have had a difficult time, right?"
Grindelwald's smile instantly faded, his eyes clouding with painful recollection.
"I remember it was winter—bitterly cold, with a light drizzle falling. I woke up early that day—thankfully I did—and sensed something unusual stirring in my magic."
"Please forgive me. The defenses at Nurmengard are truly outdated, especially for wizards like you and me. For safety, I had to employ certain protective measures."
Dumbledore nodded in understanding. He had seen it himself—without extra protection, a dark wizard with ill intent could very well have slipped inside. In truth, it had been his responsibility.
But Grindelwald ignored the brief flicker of guilt on Dumbledore's face, his expression still lost in memory.
"Following the trail, I sensed a small child had slipped in. That was Tver. A first-year at the time—frail, sneaking in during the Christmas break."
"His magic was extremely primitive—barely capable of casting spells, relying only on slow, clumsy curses. Yet he managed to dismantle my protective wards one by one. But before he could finish, he collapsed from hunger and exhaustion."
"Still, Dumbledore… if someone had told me before that an eleven-year-old could break my defenses, I never would have believed it. Not even we could have done it at eleven, even with all his clever tricks."
"Until I met Tver—that little boy who collapsed before my eyes."
"So you took him as a student?" Dumbledore couldn't help asking.
"I sent him to find you first," Grindelwald said with sudden laughter. "When it comes to teaching, who in this world could rival you?"
"But he came bearing a curse—demanding I teach him dark magic or he'd die in Nurmengard, then spread rumors that I'd begun murdering students in a desperate attempt to return to power."
He smiled, a blend of exasperation and fondness.
"Tver was utterly convinced. But I effortlessly broke through his clumsy Occlumency and discovered he didn't even know a single journalist."
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment.
"So it was you who helped him suppress the curse?"
"No, you're mistaken," Grindelwald emphasized. "Tver never relied on me. He always relied on himself. Always."
"I had no solution for that curse. He… he figured out a way himself to suppress it."
"Can you believe it? In just one Christmas break, he mastered knowledge that would take three years at Durmstrang to teach. In just three years, he surpassed every student in the school."
"By his sixth year, I had nothing left to teach him."
"His talent told me he could reach this level without anyone's help. More gifted than you or I ever were!"
...
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