Note:
This arc resembles a mini-fic about Grindelwald. But it is necessary - without it, you will not understand Albus's behavior. Not to mention that this is a chance to show the wizarding world, albeit from a dark point of view.
---
I struggled to reach Grindelwald, despite my relentless efforts. My focus repeatedly returned to the Resurrection Stone. I could visualize the labyrinth clearly now, yet I remained unable to navigate through it. I had reached my limit—only a third of the way. Why had Grindelwald not returned as a ghost? Currently, my followers were interrogating numerous spirits, bound to my will. So far, they had uncovered nothing significant, but then I remembered... the Gray Lady at Hogwarts—Candida Ravenclaw's daughter. I had questions for her.
The culmination of my efforts was yet another ritual. After instructing my people to leave me undisturbed, I proceeded. It had worked with the test sample, hadn't it? This time, there was no pentagram. Instead, a large rune-inscribed symbol of the Deathly Hallows adorned the floor. The circle, representing the Resurrection Stone, was drenched in my blood. After consuming a blood-forming potion, I cast spells, continuously splattering my blood in a line to prevent it from coagulating. Voldemort was an honorary donor... I arranged the symbol of the Invisibility Cloak—a triangle—using the blood of my victims. This time, I employed magical snakes—many of them. The symbol of the Elder Wand was placed at the center, mixed with Grindelwald's ashes.
During the ritual, I combined it with my blood and that of the snakes. Feeling somewhat Gryffindor-ish, I pressed the Resurrection Stone against the intersection of the Wand, Cloak, and Stone symbols, commanding in Parseltongue, "Come to me, Gellert Grindelwald, to answer my questions!" Initially, a pale shadow emerged at the center of the figure, resembling what the Resurrection Stone typically conjured—a ghost. Unlike the usual practice, I had no intention of granting this apparition freedom; I was preparing to interrogate a stationary target.
Everything seemed fine until the ritual's drawing began to fade. While I had ample blood, the ashes were dwindling, jeopardizing my connection. I had seen photographs of Grindelwald in Nurmengard—an ordinary, overgrown old man. Yet now, a young man of about eighteen appeared before me—blue-eyed and blond, but his eyes mirrored those of the Nurmengard prisoner—completely devoid of life, a result of two decades spent with Dementors.
"Can you tell me about life after death?" I inquired.
"No," he replied.
I hadn't expected much; ghosts tended to be silent. Yet, he must share everything about his earthly existence! "Tell me about the influence of Dark Magic on the mind," I commanded. He began to speak, the rapidity of his words matching my ability to comprehend.
"I possess complete knowledge on this subject, acquired from both the German Department of Mysteries and the Departments of Mysteries in occupied territories. Dark Magic alters the practitioner. While the changes are gradual, they are perilous. Each use of a Dark Spell, especially one that results in death, leads to the accumulation of an alien entity within the caster—'ereghu.' Ereghu magnifies the potency of Dark Spells but jeopardizes the caster's mental stability. Although it eventually exits the body, it accumulates faster than it is expelled, transforming the magician. Upon reaching the first critical threshold, irreversible changes occur, imprinting a singular goal or obsession upon the magician. This is termed reaching the first critical level, known as the point of stable bifurcation. Diagnosing the first level is impossible. Since Dark Magic is primarily employed for murder and torture, the associated goal often devolves into applied sadism."
"As ereghu continues to accumulate, a second critical threshold—unstable bifurcation—is reached. The magician retains the same goal but resorts to any means necessary to achieve it, even those that merely appear effective. This represents a disconnection from reality, which remains reversible only up to the first level. Further accumulation can lead to the spontaneous creation of a horcrux."
Gellert continued discussing the rate of necroenergy replenishment, or rather, ereghu, and I felt the urge to bang my head against the floor. I had erred in a seemingly straightforward inquiry! I believed there was only one level of necroenergy from which a magician could descend into madness. Yet, I had measured what Gellert referred to as the second level of ereghu, neglecting the existence of the first!
Summoning my willpower, I dug into my memories. The moment I took Lily from the Potters' home and my current self were two distinct individuals! Back then, I thought, "It's a pity I can't run away at maximum speed," whereas now it was, "It's a pity I can't kill Albus and achieve immortality."
Analyzing the situation, everything seemed accurate. If I aspired to green the world, I would have become a mad gardener. What mattered most to me? Survival. And the elimination of Dumbledore. This was where my enthusiasm lay. If Grindelwald was to be believed, this was irreversible. It was now at the core of my identity, more profound than Snape's love for Lily. Yet, what difference did it make? I had chosen a goal—to live, to live forever, and to thrive without Albus Dumbledore. Was that not a worthy ambition? Indeed. And my newfound paranoia... it posed no hindrance. Alastor Moody was evidence of that. Paranoia was my ally and my driving force.
The only caveat was to avoid plunging into madness. I had no desire to reach the second level of ereghu. I truly didn't want to kill Bellatrix after learning about Jugson's failure, only to then chase butterflies. But I lacked Horcruxes! Necroenergy was depleting. I needed to maintain normalcy in my work. As for managing necroenergy—I'd already figured that out. I needed to attain biological immortality and wait. Everyone thought I was amusing myself with Delphi or engaged in an affair with Bellatrix? No, I was driving the ereghu insane! The Slytherin source would prove useful; I had nearly exhausted it with werewolves. Where else could I discover "extinct sources"?
"Tell me about the Deathly Hallows," I commanded Gellert.
Gellert's response was so nonsensical that it twisted my ears into knots. I seriously doubted my ability to trust him. "I have dedicated a significant portion of my life to studying and seeking the Deathly Hallows. They were created by the Peverell brothers at the expense of their ancestral source and their three souls. The Greatest Deathly Hallow is the Resurrection Stone. It allows the extraction of any information from any deceased and the raising of the undead, not necessarily in a material form, without expending magic. The Middle Deathly Hallow is the Invisibility Cloak. It merely appears as an invisibility cloak; its true purpose is to completely isolate the magical background, serving as a universal gathering place for high-level artifacts. The Lowest Deathly Hallow is the Elder Wand. The Elder Wand is perfect across all branches of magic, retaining all spells it has ever wielded, ready to employ them at the owner's command or to combine them autonomously, should the owner command it. When united, the three Deathly Hallows grant their Master absolute power."
"Wait! The Elder Wand—does it self-enchant?"
"Yes," Gellert affirmed, continuing.
I felt ready to tear my hair out. Besides Hogwarts, Dumbledore possessed a self-enchanting wand of unparalleled quality! And even a portable artifact forge! How was I still alive?
"How does one combine the Deathly Hallows?" I inquired.
"According to legend, one must project oneself into the labyrinth at the center of the Resurrection Stone and traverse it, but only someone in possession of all three Deathly Hallows can achieve this."
Our conversation seamlessly transitioned to Light and Dark Magic. "Light and Dark Magic are fundamentally opposed. They utilize different particles of magic in their workings and therefore cannot coexist. 'Dark particles of magic' serve anyone but demand a price. 'Light particles of magic' only serve those who fulfill their criteria, refusing to assist if they are displeased."
"Wait! Are they sentient? What are the criteria?"
"Their intelligence remains unknown to me. However, the requirement for Light Magic is evident—one must be willing to sacrifice oneself for others without expectation of reward. The end. Just the end. I anticipated powerful rituals and formulas; instead, I was inundated with moralistic jargon akin to Albus! If Gellert is correct—and he is a theorist unlike Tom—then both Albus's strength and behavior become comprehensible. I shall never acquire Light Magic. I will never reach such a state! It is utterly pointless! Absolutely! Dark Magic resembles a revolver that grows more powerful with each kill, with each use. Instead of deteriorating, the weapon enhances itself! Absurd. Yet, I have grown accustomed to it. But Light Magic... It is a moralist's revolver that grants its owner confidence and refuses to function once that confidence wanes! This is ludicrous... The very essence of Light Magic's criteria prevents effective utilization... Moreover, it is not enough for an individual to merely believe they are doing good, which could be rectified through brainwashing; they must genuinely do good! How? What—does Apostle Peter scrutinize each of your spells?
Gellert continued his discourse, and soon we delved into more practical subjects. I prompted him to recall the best spells he had ever extracted from the Elder Wand. I understood most of them, especially the Dark Magic, yet some tricks of the Elder Wand plunged me into despair. It turned out that the manner in which Albus confined me within the painting was termed "dimensional manipulation," and what he attempted to do to me at the Crouch house when he shouted Tom's name was manipulating non-existence by removing the target from causality.
No, I had not attained omniscience. I grasped barely half of it and could not replicate the remainder without the Elder Wand. Still, I managed to extract basic information, which held some utility, particularly the fundamentals of demonology. Gellert referred to these entities as "shoggoths." I felt compelled to seek out Lovecraft's grave as well.
I then inquired about the powers he wielded. At first glance, Gellert resembled me, but while I pursued qualitative ideas—how to assemble a Horcrux from another—Gellert focused on quantitative concepts—how to utilize deceased Muggles in a concentration camp to charge a storage stone, subsequently infusing it into himself with the Elder Wand. Moreover, he spoke of raising the undead—multitudes of undead. This was no secret, much like Gellert's possession of the Elder Wand. However, there were numerous aspects I remained unaware of. Gellert was a prophet! He could foresee the future! I knew this, but I had no idea to what extent! Not like Trelawney, but nearly like Tlautlipuzli! He perceived both near and far! He was akin to a super-analyst—based on existing data, he formed predictions. But he was not omniscient. How had they managed to defeat him?
Seeing the future constituted a distinct sense. Could a blind individual overcome a sighted one? Yes, they could. If there were many of them or if they fought in darkness or amidst flashes of light. Yet, this realization weighed heavily upon me, unlike the latter. Gellert understood much about Obscurials and learned to perform a similar feat—partially transforming his body into "magic smoke" to attack!
At this moment, it struck me. A wizard of my caliber, a prophet wielding the Elder Wand, and a half-Obscurus. And he was bested by Dumbledore! I immediately envisioned myself in a hospital—"The Anonymous Dark Lords Club." Yet, there was no time for lamentation, and I returned to reality with a surge of will.
What should I do? Above all, I craved a drink. Legilimency revealed that my best course of action would be to approach Dolokhov with this proposal, but given recent events... How could I have been so foolish! I could have said anything, and it would have been preferable! From the mundane "you're not my type" to "I'm a lesbian; I adore Carrow." Yet, I had already communicated with Bellatrix. She was aware of the Lord's new brilliant scheme: I, Voldemort, commanded Elena to seduce Dolokhov, then reject him, providing him with a reason to cultivate internal opposition. And when all the enemies of the Dark Lord gathered... What about Dolokhov? If he were indeed plotting, I would kill him; if not, he would engage in subversive activities against me under my orders. Naturally, a façade—merely functioning as a provocateur.
I listened to Gellert and contemplated what I could extract from his words. What had I learned? A wealth of intriguing information about the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak—things I had never even imagined! When the battle at Azkaban commenced, I would need to send "Elena" to Hogwarts using the Time Turner to free the Basilisk, and amidst the ensuing chaos, I would meticulously plunder the headmaster's office. What if he kept the Invisibility Cloak there, the third Deathly Hallow? The confrontation between Grindelwald and Albus would haunt my nightmares.
As I had previously surmised—what good would Dark Magic serve Albus, aside from disrupting the pattern? Nothing! But if one could wield both Light and Dark Magic simultaneously, it would be akin to launching an assault with both hands, even if one were weaker than the other! The low power of certain Dark spells could be easily compensated for with the Elder Wand! Even if not, one could accelerate themselves with both a Light and a Dark spell concurrently, yielding a greater effect!
I desired a drink... Yes, I would seek out Bellatrix once I finished listening to Gellert. If someone had told me a day ago that I would be going to my mistress, I meant, my wife, for a drink, I would have merely chuckled to myself. And Albus, in a new guise... Let him darken in two or three battles; after that, farewell Light Magic for a couple of decades. But he would still be sufficient for one fight! It felt as though I had set out hunting with birdshot, only to encounter a boar...
Gellert continued to speak, and when he concluded, I posed the final question that piqued my interest: "Tell me about your last confrontation with Albus. And then about your life and relationship with him." As Gellert recounted, I pieced together a picture from his words and found myself envisioning myself in his position... I wondered what Albus Dumbledore was doing at that moment.
---
**Albus Dumbledore's POV**
As he examined the memories within the Pensieve.
Albus Dumbledore perused Gellert's memories—those he had shared during their friendship and those he had taken once Gellert found himself confined in Nurmengard...
**1890. Gellert's Conversation with His Father.**
An eight-year-old boy with blue eyes and blond hair sat upon a table, gazing into a crystal ball. Gellert was unlike anyone else. This was not solely due to his immense magical power or his mastery over magic. The world had not bestowed such gifts upon anyone for a long time. Yet, one of Gellert's abilities eclipsed all the rest—he could see the future. With astonishing accuracy and remarkable detail, he could cast visions upon himself without losing touch with reality.
The only caveat was that he struggled with perceiving the near future. As the child concentrated on the crystal ball, his father asked, "What do you see, son?"
"I see a war. A war that Germany will lose. And the dreams of Pan-Germany will never come to fruition."
His father, a high-ranking official in the German Ministry of Magic, gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Son, will what you see... definitely come to pass?" the boy inquired.
"It's difficult to say. Some believe that a prophetic magician sees the probable future, rendering all visions meaningless and worthless. Others assert that a magician perceives the only possible future, and his visions are invaluable, guiding people toward their destiny—everything is predetermined. I've encountered recommendations advocating for the elimination of prophets. However, I find it simpler: the future resembles a tree. You see the most likely developments— the thickest branches. The future is constantly morphing based on our choices. Your visions will almost certainly materialize, provided you don't misinterpret them. War... it's unfortunate..."
"Dad... what do we have to do with this war?"
"By and large—nothing. But such a significant conflict among Muggles cannot go unnoticed by magicians. If what you've seen is indeed true... the magicians of Germany will also face defeat."
"Perhaps the Muggles will resolve it themselves?" Gellert asked hopefully.
"Why should magicians intervene?" His father appeared to be pondering seriously. Then he began speaking, "I had intended to discuss this with you much later... But you possess wisdom beyond your years. You are my son, a pure-blooded wizard; you require no explanation of your identity as a wizard. If wizards constituted ten percent of the world's population, there would be no need for concealment; we would face no issues. If wizards were one percent, we could somewhat coexist. However, on average, there is one wizard for every thousand Muggles... Alas, the Inquisition could easily become a reality. If individuals like you can effortlessly defeat a thousand Muggles... the majority of wizards cannot. They simply cannot maintain protective spells consistently. Moreover, a substantial portion of the magical community comprises Mudbloods... A significant number of Mudbloods pose a threat even to a formidable wizard... After all, they will defend their parents, siblings, and relatives—that is, they will oppose us. Under such conditions, our best hope is to reside in areas completely isolated from Muggles. Like we currently do.
So, why fight then? You understand me, right? You're not some foolish Muggle..."
"Wizards detest Muggles? Why?" Gellert asked, puzzled. "I've never encountered a Muggle in my life!"
"Well, why not?" His father countered absently. "Only fanatics harbor disdain for Muggles. The rest of us do not think in terms of love or hate regarding Muggles. Consider a mosquito... It is small, bothersome, and buzzes unpleasantly. But how can one not love it?"
"You can," Gellert replied with conviction, as he detested mosquitoes.
"You're mistaken, son," his father set aside his cigars. "You don't appreciate your experience with a mosquito. Yet, it's not the mosquito's fault that it must bite you. Its bite is part of its nature. If a mosquito flies far away, where it doesn't irritate you with its presence, buzzing, or bites, is it truly necessary to destroy it?"
"No," Gellert conceded. "What a waste of time on mosquitoes..."
"That's how wizards perceive Muggles," his father nodded. "Some wizards do love Muggles, just as some individuals love mosquitoes. Others cannot tolerate them, but not to the extent of exterminating all mosquitoes indiscriminately. In the case of a mosquito, they might eliminate a few, perhaps a dozen or hundreds... They will protect their homes with special charms... But they won't systematically eradicate them, as it's too tedious."
"But ordinary wizards don't like Muggles," Gellert insisted, his spirit soaring with joy; he had managed to engage his father in a discourse beyond magic!
"Ordinary wizards dislike Muggles," his father conceded. "Just as Muggles dislike individuals with mental disabilities. Or those with physical impairments. Muggles are disabled. They are invalids. They lack the ability to reshape reality through thought. Wizards prefer not to be surrounded by the disabled."
"But I've read... in English books and newspapers... about 'tolerance,' 'positive discrimination,' 'equality of opportunity,' and 'the inadmissibility of causing psychological harm?'" Gellert inquired.
"My dear," his father smiled broadly, "many strong wizards perish by the age of a hundred, but these are the consequences of meddling with the Time-Turner, seeking adventures, or committing murder. Mages tend to outlive your grandfather, and this is not the limit; Nicholas Flamel will live to an old age, but only in pursuit of new adventures. Of course, the war for independence in the United States remains oblivious, and for Muggles, the antiquity of their grandfathers or great-grandfathers is of no concern to those wizards interested in Muggle culture, such as Adam Smith with his economic theories—a new note.
It wouldn't even occur to them that such treatment might offend a fellow wizard, only a dark-skinned one. Moreover, the dark-skinned wizard himself wouldn't even realize it's an insult unless he's Muggle-born, of course."
"Father... What distinguishes a Muggle-born from a Mudblood?" Gellert asked.
"If a wizard is born into a Muggle family and endeavors to comprehend the magical realm or simply lives for his own enjoyment, without bothering anyone, he is Muggle-born. He deserves a degree of attention, recognition, and respect. Like a flower rising from the mud. If he strives to prove he's the best, or advances delusional theories based on superficial knowledge of the magical world, or ideas of universal equality, he becomes a foolish Mudblood and should be treated accordingly."
"Dad, who are the Blood Traitors?"
"The simplest explanation is purebloods who have rejected their lineage. Out of either stupidity or cowardice. Among wizards, there are squibs, and among wizards, there are Mudbloods."
"And are Muggle-borns really not our equals?" Gellert pressed.
"It's challenging to say... We'll discuss this in greater detail when we select a bride for you. Selection is not just for breeding tulips; it's also for producing wizards. Muggle-borns are typically weaker than those with at least one wizard relative. Occasionally, a Muggle-born may rise to be on par with a powerful wizard, but that is the exception that proves the rule. Furthermore, aside from strong wizards, there are Great Ones, like you. In over a thousand years of observations and statistics, there hasn't been a single Great Wizard among Muggle-borns! All have had at least one wizard relative—often two. But Muggle-borns outnumber purebloods! For me, this is quite sufficient proof. As for Muggles... Let them evolve as they wish. They used to traverse the Atlantic in a month; now they do it in a week. Yet they will never catch up with wizards!"
"Father... in my visions, I see different Muggles, not like today! They wield rapid-fire weapons! They have been supporting vast armies with these weapons for years! They possess enormous ships that can shoot beyond the horizon! Steel boxes with guns inside crawl along the ground, and flying ships traverse the skies! And they are remarkably swift—not like portals, but still!"
"That's a matter for the future, son... Muggles will never catch up with wizards. The immediate concern is that a genuinely large-scale conflict among Muggles could disrupt the existing equilibrium of the magical world... These foolish Mudbloods, believing in patriotism, will enlist in the Muggle army to protect their relatives. They will employ magic. Thus, to prevent the Statute of Secrecy from collapsing, the magical world will be compelled to intervene. Consequently, a senseless conflict among wizards will erupt alongside the Muggle war..."
"So what should I do?" Gellert exclaimed.
"You?" his father replied, surprised. "Nothing. Learn. Develop. You are incredibly gifted; strive not to die young, and by my age, nothing will pose a threat to you. I would gladly emulate your example, but I have work to do."
**1893. Gellert's Parents Send Him to Durmstrang.**
"Well, are you prepared?" the child's father asked, ensuring their faces were level.
"Ready," the child replied.
"Remind me what I told you."
"Not a word about my abilities to any of my peers. I'm just a very gifted young man. No family Gift of Necromancer. No family background, including manipulation of others. No dueling training. Most importantly, I lack any Gift of Seer. I must remain guarded with shields and Occlumency at all times, utilize family artifacts, check my food, and so on. If I share a bed with someone, using an aging potion, I must scrutinize myself for love spells and outside interference, and ensure I use protection."
"Well done. Just don't forget: everything you can do is solely a result of your talent. People dislike those who advance through hard work. To everyone, you're merely lucky, and in your position, they could perform no worse. If you happen to encounter trouble, I'll assist you. But try not to get caught. Trust no one at Durmstrang; the only decent person there is my grandfather's friend, the teacher of necromancy and chimerology, Laurier, but frankly, he's rather unpleasant.
"And remember: Dark Magic is detrimental to your mental health," the child remarked.
"Exactly. Only that..."
"A big, big secret!" Gellert concluded with a smile.
"Yes. And we, the Grindelwalds..."
"Know how to keep secrets!" His father embraced him, checked his amulets, and departed with him from their home.
**1893. Enrollment at Durmstrang.**
A procession of children clad in red robes approached the school. Gellert finally beheld his school in reality, not merely in visions. He assessed what he saw and had no doubt: Durmstrang was the finest school in the world. It was not for the feeble, but he was no weakling, was he?
The school perched high in the mountains, where the harsh northern climate prevailed; the days were brief, and the nights lengthy. Though it was now five in the afternoon, darkness had already enveloped the surroundings. The school itself resembled a four-story castle with expansive adjacent grounds, including a lake. Magic prevented the lake from freezing year-round. The surrounding landscape was picturesque, and the school was heated by spells.
Future students donned uniforms: blood-red robes, fur coats that rendered their figures strong and imposing. Underneath, they wore gray shirts, black jackets, wide trousers, and high-heeled boots. Gellert found this uniform appealing—it held something alluring! He had seen cold photographs of other schools. Beauxbatons... a disgrace. It resembled a brothel—something half-airy, like a cloud in trousers. The only feature that interested him at Beauxbatons was the fountain Nicholas Flamel had once crafted, whose waters rejuvenated.
Hogwarts... no, Hogwarts was larger than Durmstrang. However, it would be unjust to compare them—Hogwarts was akin to a house cat that had swelled to an enormous size. Durmstrang... like a wild puma. Hogwarts was a castle—large, monumental, and majestic, pompous to the point of grinding teeth, a well-fortified stronghold. Durmstrang was not merely constructed as a fortress but as an impenetrable citadel standing in the path of enemies. This became evident at first glance. Durmstrang was prepared to endure any siege. Its towering, impregnable spires seemed poised to pierce the sky. Ten-meter granite walls securely shielded all approaches to the fortress; even without magical vision, one could sense the power of magic—the air itself sparkled with protective spells.
Durmstrang rivaled Hogwarts and Beauxbatons in size and enchanting beauty, yet it embodied a different kind of allure—military. Unsurprisingly, it was here that the most comprehensive and valuable works on the Dark and Forbidden branches of magical Art were later compiled. In war, there are no forbidden or immoral methods.
Remarkably, despite its nearly four-hundred-year history, Durmstrang had never faced a siege; the greatest magical fortress simply had never been discovered. Lost in his thoughts, Gellert failed to notice when he reached the fortress gates. The teacher accompanying them cut his hand and smeared the door handle with blood. The gates swung open. The students settled in and awaited their distribution. Gellert surveyed the hundred children and deemed them all pathetic... they had the opportunity to touch a place of power, yet they... behaved like children!
They possessed the ability to alter reality with their will, and still... they acted like Muggles! Gellert simply waited. An hour later, he was summoned into the office. The admissions process was straightforward—an interview with the teachers and the headmaster, potential assessment, determination of aptitudes, and issuance of an individual educational plan. About two minutes for each.
"Mr. Grindelwald? The son of that very Adalard Grindelwald from the German Department of Mysteries?"
"Yes, Mr. Daneil Argyrov," he replied. No, they had not been introduced. But was he an utter fool, arriving at school without having seen photographs of the teachers or familiarizing himself with their names?
"Frankly, we are perplexed," the headmaster began. "Your father sent us a copy of your magical diagram. Initially, we believed it to be a prank... or a forgery, but it is indeed authentic. We shall verify it once more; do you mind?"
"Of course not. It's part of the admissions procedure. My father discussed it with me. It would be foolish to conceal my powers from my teachers, and if I were to succeed, I would only receive a subpar education."
Gellert approached the prism positioned on the headmaster's desk. It resembled a small Egyptian pyramid constructed of black stone, topped with a needle. He pricked his finger on the needle, allowing his blood to fall upon the pyramid, as the headmaster waved his wand.
"Yes, that's correct," Headmaster Barto Ach began. "You are already more powerful than most of our graduates, and by the age of fourteen, you will surpass the majority of the teachers. However, I wish to converse with you... not as a bearer of extraordinary magical powers born once in a generation, but as a student of Durmstrang."
"I am not a child," Grindelwald replied. "Life is measured not in years but in actions. To match my power, I had to mature early."
"That is precisely the issue. Do not worry; I will converse with you as if you were an adult. Life encompasses more than just magic. Moreover, each person resembles a blade. Certain trials temper it. Yet, if too much pressure is exerted on a blade... it may shatter. Teaching you using the standard curriculum would be foolish. We have devised a special program just for you. But do you truly require it? Perhaps you should not rush? You could enjoy life, play Quidditch, and at seventeen, begin to focus seriously on your studies?" the director spoke quietly and ingratiatingly, as if hoping Gellert would acquiesce.
"Consider it for at least a moment."
"No. I've already made my decision," Gellert asserted.
"We find ourselves in a quandary," the director began. "Your father sent us a copy of your magic diagram. At first, we thought it was a joke... or a forgery, but it's all genuine. We'll check it again right now; do you mind?"
"Of course not. It's part of the admissions procedure. My father discussed it with me. It would be foolish to conceal my powers from my teachers, and if I succeeded, I'd only receive a poor education."
Gellert approached the prism on the director's desk. It looked like a small Egyptian pyramid made of black stone, topped with a needle. He pricked his finger on the needle, allowing his blood to drop onto the pyramid, as the director waved his wand.
"Yes, that's correct," Director Barto Ach began. "You are already more powerful than most of our graduates, and by the time you're fourteen, you'll surpass most of the teachers. However, I want to speak with you... not as a bearer of extraordinary magical powers born once in a generation, but as a student of Durmstrang."
"I am not a child," Grindelwald replied. "Life is not measured in years but in deeds. To match my power, I had to mature early."
"That is precisely the problem. Do not worry; I will converse with you as an adult. Life encompasses more than just magic. Moreover, each person resembles a blade. Certain trials temper it. Yet, if too much pressure is exerted on a blade... it may shatter. Teaching you using the standard curriculum would be foolish. We've devised a special program for you. But do you truly require it? Perhaps you should not rush? Enjoy life, play Quidditch, and at seventeen, begin to focus seriously on your studies?" the headmaster spoke quietly and ingratiatingly, as if hoping Gellert would acquiesce.
"You will receive your minute whether you desire it or not." Exactly one minute later, he was asked again. Gellert reaffirmed his intention to take the advanced course.
Then he was handed a schedule of classes. The same as the rest of the Durmstrang students. And an additional schedule of classes, which was his alone. Along with it came a Time-Turner.
"Congratulations, Mr. Grindelwald," the Headmaster said. "You are the first to receive a Time-Turner before your first lesson. I hope you will not disappoint us."
The last image Gellert retained before leaving the office was of the professors at the teacher's table. They appeared as though they had been offered the opportunity to teach Merlin. They resembled jewelers presented with an enormous diamond to cut. Only two faces stood out amidst the general jubilation—those of the divination professor, whose expression was anxious and gloomy, and Professor Laurier, who bore a greedy, almost lustful gaze.
Upon exiting the interview room, Gellert pinned the Durmstrang student badge to his chest. A house-elf promptly appeared to escort him to his room. Gellert sank onto his bed and retrieved the booklet containing the Durmstrang rules he had been given, glancing over it. He had already read it. No dueling without a teacher, no Dark Magic exceeding the average level... Academic success awarded students points, which could be redeemed to expand their rooms or acquire anything—even a personal laboratory, or ten meals a day.
For academic failures and discipline violations, points would be deducted. In extreme cases, one might survive on oatmeal and water, sleeping on a bed devoid of linen. As the English proverb goes, "stupidity should incur physical pain." Before retiring for the night, Gellert cast a protective spell, discovered that he had already connected to the Well of Durmstrang, and fell asleep. He was about to embark on his studies at the greatest institution in the wizarding world!
**1893. The First Lessons.**
Gellert sat in class, bored. Transforming a match into a needle? Was this a joke? He had already earned fifty points for crafting ten needles. Now he was on his eleventh. Painting, patterns, and a small family crest—done! He glanced around at his classmates. The best result was a partially sharpened match! How horrifying! Deciding to refrain from standing out, Gellert began to work. He would attempt to create a golden needle! It wasn't working. No matter; he'd have something to occupy himself with until the lesson concluded...
Spells. Levitation. It felt as though he had landed in a class for the mentally impaired. Was this school for squibs? They were launching feathers with a wand! A wand! Feathers! Fine... But his disappointment vanished when he utilized the Time Turner and attended extra classes.
Transfiguration... Objects materialized out of thin air and soared around the room. Spells. He asked the teacher whether it was permissible to work without a wand. It was feasible. The room filled with flying objects. Dark Magic. Typically, they would begin teaching it in the third year, but in his case... Even if it was merely practicing the bone crusher on worms, it was still something!
Blood Magic. There were only two of them: him and the teacher. A beautiful woman, whom he initially mistook for an upperclassman. "Let's start with the very basics. Blood magic has little in common with ritual sacrifices; typically, we utilize our own blood," the woman said, as if confessing her love to someone. "Blood, especially that of a mage, contains a wealth of energy that is seldom employed in everyday life and in most magical applications. Its loss is replenished, which is unique to Dark Magic and sacrifices. The challenge is that while blood remains within the body, it is nearly impossible to control. Of course, high-class blood mages can accomplish this, but it requires years of training."
"To release energy, you must release blood; you may wonder why you cannot use a significant quantity of blood from others. The answer is straightforward: it's a matter of quality, not quantity. The more diverse the blood sources, the less effective each subsequent contribution becomes—it's akin to harnessing a thousand horses to pull a carriage; they will only hinder each other. Your blood, however, is your energy; you can control it with minimal loss. For instance, I use half a liter of my blood to create a specific combat spell. Using that much of my own blood—and the energy it contains—I could easily demolish several houses in the city or, with skillful application, eliminate nearly all living things within a two-hundred-meter radius, should there be no magical shields in place. To create an equally potent spell using the same efficiency, I would need to completely drain the blood from three individuals. The reason behind this is the mismatch of energies, as most of it would simply dissipate. Transmuting blood for magic is, alas, futile—even through metamorphism..."
"How can one utilize blood magic at all?" Gellert inquired. "Frankly, I don't know much about this area."
The woman chuckled. "The scope of application is quite broad. Almost everything is feasible, although there are spells that cannot be performed with blood or can only be achieved through its use. The easiest area involves support—stopping bleeding, healing open wounds—that's the simplest aspect. Many applications can be employed in combat, but... let's just say, they can be problematic. Now, let's look at the various paths within this branch of magic that we will study this year." She gestured, and a diagram unfolded in the air before her.
"The first is blood control," she pointed to the first block. "Changing the shape, volume, and properties of blood. If you introduce some of your blood into the bloodstream of another creature, you can either heal or harm it. For example, as I mentioned earlier, you could heal certain injuries, but you could also damage their internal organs. Don't expect much at first; I will inject a drop of your blood into a rat, and you will kill it with your blood within."
"The second is blood rune writing, an incredibly useful direction. By applying certain signs—written in blood—in a specific sequence, you can enhance the properties of certain objects or bestow them with new ones. By the end of the year, you must create a Blood Amulet capable of withstanding at least two stunning spells in succession."
"And the third is blood crystallization, which, as you might guess, involves crystallizing blood. This is a rarely utilized branch of blood magic. However, blood crystallized in this manner can function as a magical projectile. By the end of the year, you should be able to create a knife from your blood—not through ordinary transfiguration methods!" She relayed this with such enthusiasm that Gellert began to question her mental stability. However, Defense Against the Dark Arts was a disappointment. The teacher introduced Red Caps and explained a spell to combat them.
"But why, professor? There are far more universal spells. These creatures can be killed: burned, dissolved in acid—there's no shortage of options! They don't fall under the criminal code!" Gellert protested, frustrated.
The teacher merely handed him a stunned Red Cap, a creature resembling an overfed garden gnome. "Show me a murder," he instructed.
"I don't see the point," Gellert replied, exasperated. "I don't know who you were at home, but here, you're a goldfinch! If you wish to kill someone, be prepared to do it with your own hands. If you lack the will or can't do it, then learn non-lethal spells."
Gellert remained silent but promised himself not to forget. However, he was most eagerly anticipating his classes with Laurier. The professor's office resembled a Muggle hospital—like the kind he had glimpsed in the Pensieve. It had a distinct smell of chlorine. Laurier appeared as a classic old man: hunched over, slow, and somewhat pathetic, with huge glasses that gave him a mole-like appearance.
"So, you came after all?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Maybe you'll come to your senses? Necromancers are out of favor these days; everyone will avoid you."
"I've made my decision."
"Well, let's proceed. To the dispensary. We procure corpses from Muggles—it's an unappetizing task. Did you know that when Muggles constructed the Panama Canal, a third of it was financed by the sale of workers' corpses? Most went to Muggle medical universities, but some came to us as well."
Laurier continued, "Necromancy is primarily known for raising the dead," he began as they walked. "In essence, those raised by a necromancer are quite similar to golems; the only difference lies in the source material and method of creation. Many moralists despise us for the material we employ. As for binding a soul's echo to a body... that is a very advanced skill, not taught in school. However, if necessary, you can bind a soul to an ordinary golem made of stone. Some individuals attempt to flee from death in this manner—either through mechanical means or by inhabiting dead bodies."
"Shouldn't I begin by working with animal bodies?" Gellert suggested.
"You must. And you will. If you don't vomit from today's spectacle. But I must warn you—every week, you will undergo a full mental scan. If we suspect that your quirks stem from something more than a mere fad in your head, which may reflect in your body as a consequence of Dark Magic, you will be moved to a regular group."
"I understand, sir."
"How is little Adalvarf?" Laurier inquired as they entered the dispensary.
"You mean Grandpa? He's well."
"I saw his wand and assumed he was dead."
Gellert clenched his wand in his pocket—elderberry and bat wing sinew. "Grandpa's fine. He asked me to tell you that he will outlive you."
"That's unlikely..."
---
**Results of the First Year at Durmstrang.**
Gellert stood in the headmaster's office. "Mr. Grindelwald..."
"Yes, Headmaster?"
"I wish to discuss the past school year with you."
"Of course, Headmaster."
"Your academic performance... is beyond commendable. The teachers praise you, particularly Professor Laurier. The only exception to this chorus of support is the Divination teacher, who consistently complains of a relentless headache in your presence and predicts 'great crimes' for you. In addition, we have finally confirmed that your level of intelligence is exceptionally high—not just for someone your age, but even for an adult wizard. No disciplinary violations—formal ones. Yet, on the contrary... your intelligence isn't merely high; it is distinctly antisocial!"
The headmaster paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts. "One hundred and seventeen skirmishes! In one year! In the first year! No one has ever had so many throughout the entirety of our seven-year program!"
"They provoked me," Gellert began. "They called me out or ambushed me without warning."
"We have recordings of your conversations," the headmaster replied. With that, he placed a simple artifact—a glass ball—on the table, and Gellert's voice filled the room.
"How talentless and foolish you are, Weiss! You scurry about, trying to bite as painfully as possible, yet you don't even know how to do it. You're so dull that your father had to show you eleven times how to use diapers when you were a baby because you couldn't figure out how to soil them. You are so lacking in intelligence that you traipse around with Maria and Stefan, relying on one of them to read and the other to write, because your father told you to stick close to smart people, as you are so dim that you couldn't deduce that yourself. Your stupidity is so profound that Gregorovich had to cast a spell to sell you a wand. Sometimes, I ponder whether your parents made a mistake while searching for a child in a mandrake, inadvertently raising a mandrake instead. If a house-elf had brought you, your father would have made a better choice by keeping the house-elf."
"That's called provocation, Mr. Grindelwald," the headmaster stated.
"Really? I thought the truth was not offensive."
"Thirty-four times your opponents ended up in the Hospital Wing! Including the instance when five older adversaries attempted to ambush you."
"That's merely self-defense."
"You sought permission from the teacher to gather ingredients. However, instead of collecting herbs around the walls, you ventured into the forest and returned with two dead magical lynxes."
"I'm still unsure of what the issue is! I acted in accordance with the teacher's paper."
"That's not what he meant!"
"Only a written contract holds power. And performing Legilimency on a teacher is outside my student duties."
The headmaster's face twitched. After calming down, he replied, "Mr. Grindelwald... School isn't solely about knowledge. It's also about socialization. And you're failing at socialization!"
"That's merely my nature. I'm an introvert. Snowball fights don't interest me."
"Let's approach this from another angle. Mr. Grindelwald... I'm not suggesting you need to be as kind as a Niffler. That's unnecessary. But you exist within society. You won't survive alone!"
"Thank you for your concern, Headmaster, but I am entirely self-sufficient. If I encounter someone who can match my pace, so be it. Spending time at school recruiting followers who can't even keep up is irrational."
"Trust my experience: any vice except pride is forgivable for a wizard."
"I assure you, I do not possess a shred of pride. If I require assistance, I will befriend Muggles. If I discover someone superior to myself, I will follow their lead. I am propelled solely by logic."
The headmaster realized that conversing with this individual was pointless. "I have written to your father. I hope he will take action."
"What about corporal punishment at school?"
"There is no justification. See you next year."
---
**After the Fifth Year: Vacation at Home.**
Gellert recognized that equality was a fallacy. He was so vastly superior to others that it was almost comical. Who else could achieve what he had by the time he reached his fifth year? Dissecting a troll in Defense Against the Dark Arts? Summoning an Antipatronus in Dark Arts? Driving the Divination teacher to madness? Forewarning his father about impending drops in silver prices and chocolate supply issues? Raising an advanced undead with Laurier and even stitching together a chimera, which Laurier described as "amusing"?
And yet, he had been the Durmstrang dueling champion for three consecutive years! He would have been, as his visions indicated. But why waste time proving something to fools? He knew he was the best, and creating enemies through public humiliation was pointless. Envious individuals, of course, were an obstacle. A couple of spells, and the envious would find themselves in the infirmary. How many of them? Camouflage, then strike them down one by one. It was hardly... sporting. However, what else could it be when he already fought on par with the combat magic instructor during additional classes, almost without needing prophecy?
The only positive development was that some girls began to throw themselves at him. Ladies love winners. And if one refrained from engaging with minors and utilized the aging potion, a fun night was virtually guaranteed. However, there were downsides. Legilimency. He was acutely aware of how they perceived him—not at all. Merely an experiment or an intriguing experience, a curiosity to boast about to others.
And he was not fond of what those girls did with their lips before kissing him. Thanks to prophecy, he was less than thrilled about what they would do afterwards. You could embrace someone, and then—bam!—you'd see them as a crooked old woman... It sometimes became challenging for him to navigate—distinguishing between the present, what he visually perceived, the past he learned through Legilimency, and the future he glimpsed in visions.
At times, it felt as if he were some dense Muggle savage armed with a spear from the Amazon, possessing only the present tense... Seeking virgins? He had tried. What a disaster; it was akin to fornicating with a sack. But Legilimency during interactions with people frustrated him more than prophecy did—especially while attempting to forge relationships.
People didn't just possess a rubbish dump within their minds—they had a colossal, horrendous garbage heap! Naturally, not all girls belonged to the "whistle and go to bed" category. Some were not drawn to his appearance, strength, wealth, or lineage. There were worse ones—a series of meaningless encounters, akin to Muggle chewing gum... sticky, dull, absurd, and fruitless. And the meaningless thoughts of an old maid filled his head.
During the summer break, he attempted to visit prostitutes. Disgusting. Though if he consumed a potion beforehand to weaken Legilimency and refrained from gazing into the future—it was quite tolerable. And they claimed there was such a thing as love. What would it be like to be with someone without rational motivations? He yearned for something... more human. And he discovered a way out. He found someone who would love him not for being a great wizard, a future Merlin, but simply for being himself.
Her name was Inga. She was a Muggle—an ordinary eighteen-year-old worker at one of the German factories. By drinking the aging potion, he met her while posing as a thirty-year-old Muggle. She refused gifts or money, despite living in poverty even by Muggle standards. It required immense effort to refrain from delving into her mind—except for the first time. She was kind. And intelligent. For a Muggle. He... liked her. Perhaps he could love her.
But who was he, and who was she? He was the most powerful wizard, the pride of magical Germany. The finest student in Durmstrang's entire history. The Necromancer to whom Laurier had offered the position of his successor. A man destined for greatness. And she... simply a Muggle. No, his father loved him. He might even tolerate a marriage with a Muggle. But how would other wizards react to such a union?
He was unconcerned about anyone else, but how would Inga feel, forever knowing she was not even second-class? Second-class citizens were Muggle-borns, akin to characters in a fairy tale about Mowgli—humans raised by monkeys. Muggles were just monkeys. Would everyone point fingers at her like she was a monkey? Or would her own children feel ashamed of her? And what about him? He would remain eternally young while she aged into a crooked old woman.
What if a non-wizard was born? He couldn't bear to witness his child, like an annual flower, perish at a meager seventy years of age. Had he merely imagined horrors? No! He had seen it! He had seen it! He was a prophet! There existed a future best left unfulfilled.
"Hello, Inga. It was a beautiful summer, but we must part. Gellert." He tied his letter to the owl's leg. Then he recalled that Inga was not a sorceress. He had to transcribe it from parchment to paper and then visit the Muggle post office... Recently, his fascination with Muggles had grown. They may be insignificant in themselves, but unlike wizards, they were making progress! If only the power of wizards could be combined with the progress of Muggles! Muggles possessed interesting books and ideas. For instance, Nietzsche's notion of the "superman"...
---
**Seventh Year at Durmstrang: Spring 1899**
His studies continued as usual. He continued to shine. He earned so many points that his room transformed into a small house, complete with a laboratory and an artifact maker's table. Everything was fine, but his father's house-elf, whom Gellert had instructed to keep an eye on Inga, wrote to him: "The woman is dead."
Gellert was taken aback. Everything should have been fine with her! She would grieve for a bit, marry a Muggle, and live on. In truth, Durmstrang was a full boarding school, and one couldn't simply leave... and the school was in an undisclosed location... But if he asked Professor Laurier nicely...
"Yes, of course. You'll assist me tonight. Here's your portal."
Gellert arrived in Germany, prepared to investigate the situation and punish the culprit. Yet, the reality proved to be disappointingly simple. He began by meeting her husband. Hans was a wealthy bookstore owner. Legilimency revealed that he was uninvolved. The sleeping Muggle's memories divulged everything... Alas, Inga was no fool. She had noticed how the dog that attempted to bite Gellert flew away. How he remained dry in the rain. How the taste of food in a restaurant changed. How he astoundingly excelled in bed without tiring. How he brewed her a special coffee that invigorated her.
After parting with Gellert, she had concluded that he possessed special powers. It was precisely the lack of supernatural abilities that became an obstacle for Gellert. She began to seek strength within herself. Yet, she found none. Eventually, she concluded that superhuman powers must be developed within oneself!
But no matter how much you train a simpleton, they will never become a wizard. As the Russian proverb states: "No matter how much you conjure a Muggle, you will only get..." One must be born with a gift! Inga was unaware of this. Her husband easily procured the necessary books. About magic, as Muggles perceive it. She began with theosophy, even attending meetings of the local community. Yet, she quickly distanced herself from it, yet managed to forge other connections.
Before long, she found herself mingling with a Sufi, Gardgefians... Yoga held no appeal for her. She sought power, not contemplation. She continued to forge increasingly dubious acquaintances. Gellert would not have been surprised had she encountered a genuine wizard, and it would have ended poorly for her, but that was not the case.
Gellert compiled the memories of her Muggle husband along with the house-elf's data. She had simply concluded that to wield magic, one must truly desire it and be willing to face fear. In a moment of reckless abandon, she stepped in front of a carriage rushing at full speed. Death arrived almost instantly; it was impossible to survive a crushed skull.
Had he genuinely pushed her toward the path culminating in her demise? And it would be impossible to save her—even with a Time-Turner, she would simply discover an even more suicidal method to awaken her magical abilities. But Gellert didn't have time to finish his thoughts.
He simply fell asleep and awoke in the German Auror Office, where he was charged with the murder of a Muggle! The investigator accused him of reckless conduct. Well, he had been intimate with a Muggle. It was disgraceful, of course; it would have been preferable if he had been gay. But why be so anxious? Erase her memory. Or consult individuals in the know—they would erase it.
And to do it like that—using the Imperius curse and under duress... He could have devised a less painful method to eliminate her. Questioning Muggle witnesses and a house-elf confirmed that Gellert indeed had a relationship with this woman. This wasn't too grave; he might receive a fine for killing a Muggle. However, the Aurors established his identity and contacted the school. They received a response stating that Gellert was at school and assisting Professor Laurier.
And with the corresponding memories. Killing a Muggle is one thing. In England, the animal rights party prevailed, but not here. Another matter entirely is lying in the Auror Office and producing false evidence. Professor Laurier, too! A well-known Dark Wizard! The Aurors decided to search Gellert Grindelwald's premises at Durmstrang.
They uncovered a wealth of incriminating evidence, which collectively allowed them to accuse him of forbidden magic. Gellert, adhering to his father's recommendations, chose to remain silent during the proceedings. Even this case could have been buried until they discovered Grindelwald's final thesis—the ritual he had been developing since his fourth year. The Aurors only understood that it was deeply rooted in Dark Magic. They summoned specialists.
Gellert was tried in the German Department of Mysteries. The Minister of Magic, the Head of the Aurors, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Chief Justice were all present. Not every student could be found developing a ritual for creating a Horcrux from scratch. Even though Gellert repeated it under truth serum, Legilimency, and took oaths—that he was developing it as a final project and intended to consult his teachers about it—no one believed him.
The Supreme Court was on the line in this case. The German Ministry of Magic faced a dilemma. Should they execute the most potentially powerful wizard in Germany? A seer who accurately predicted fluctuations in the Muggle stock market and shared this information freely with his father, who passed it on to his superiors? Would they execute the best student at Durmstrang? He hadn't even resisted! As for the Horcrux... They explained everything to the young man, and he was visibly shaken.
No big deal—we verified that his soul was intact; he hadn't had time to commit a fatal error. A Muggle? What Muggle? Important issues were at stake! Additionally, there was no evidence that anyone had killed her. What if she had perished on her own? There are countless suicides in the world! You still remember the illegal Legilimency applied to a sleeping Muggle! They are not our citizens! Let the Muggle German government take care of them!
Ultimately, Gellert was simply expelled—from both the school and the country. A two-tiered narrative was constructed: the first tier—Gellert was expelled due to excessive interest in Dark Magic and multiple attacks on students, which was not far from the truth. The second tier—Gellert was charged with a crime that, although it existed in the magical German criminal code, had not been prosecuted in five years. This was not because such crimes do not occur, but because no one cared.
And so... there must be an educational effect? Gellert left his parents' home with a heavy heart.
"Don't worry, son. Everyone has their own troubles. In about thirty years, this incident will be forgotten, and you can return."
"I had a vision... You will encounter difficulties at work in the Department of Mysteries. I saw everything. For several days, a bright glow will illuminate the sky, with glowing clouds stretching from the Atlantic to central Siberia. The forest surrounding the impact site will be fanned out from the center, with a few trees in the very heart of the impact remaining standing, stripped of branches and bark."
"Damn it! I warned you—what's the point of developing a weapon with immense destructive power but near-zero accuracy? You can aim at England and hit Germany. Those fools intend to use it against Russia. A thousand kilometers here, a thousand kilometers there—you can't miss; it's still Russia! They target Moscow, yet I wouldn't be surprised if they hit Siberia instead, and it doesn't kill anyone! How will they explain this to the Muggles?"
"The Tunguska Meteorite."
"That's not all. You'll commit a large-scale embezzlement."
"And I, of course, will be apprehended and punished?" his father clarified.
"No. You'll manage to hide with your wife and money in Sweden."
"How intriguing... But why do you keep discussing me? What about you?"
"You don't believe me?"
"That you fell in love with a Muggle? Of course not. But your work is commendable. How did you manage it? Absolute mind protection? False identity? Multiple oaths? I am in awe. What's the point in debating?"
"My article is dreadful. Father, why homosexuality?"
"What would you prefer? Murder? Illegal Legilimency? Dark Magic? Preparing to split the soul? Colluding with a Dark Wizard to mislead the Aurors? I told you—take your time. I would have informed you about the Horcruxes myself after you came of age. As it stands, it's a dead end—sacrificing your essence for a temporary advantage. We'll send you to England, to your aunt."
"That fool? Bagshot? At least I can search for the Deathly Hallows..."
"I saw how..."
"Son... the Deathly Hallows are a myth. It's merely a patriotic fairy tale from the English. We have the Ring of the Nibelung; they possess the Deathly Hallows. Although the Elder Wand might be there… Do as you wish; you deserve a break. I'll leave you some money."
"Thank you. I'll collect my belongings from Durmstrang."
Soon, he began vacating his rooms under the watchful eyes of the Aurors. He was officially expelled from Durmstrang for "excessive interest in Dark Magic and multiple attacks on students." Rumors had already spread that he had killed someone... How foolish these people were! Had he been in charge, such ignorance would not have transpired!
Having packed his belongings, he bid farewell to his only friend in the castle—Travers, the Englishman. A decent fellow, though he had a fixation on blood purity. "I will write to your family. If you're in England, do visit."
"Of course."
Once he had gathered his things, he departed with the Aurors for his deportation to England. Upon leaving the gates of Durmstrang, he cast a final glance at the school. Imagining those who judged him standing above the gates, he envisioned carving their skulls. He unleashed his magic. Feeling slightly unwell, he focused on the Deathly Hallows symbol etched into the wall above the main entrance, his mental command guiding him.
The Aurors were already aiming their wands at it. "Just a jest. Let's get the portal ready. Don't you grasp humor, sweetie?" he quipped with a wink. Even such a small act of revenge was better than nothing. And England awaited him.