Nurmengard Castle is tucked into the Austrian Alps, remote enough that, back in its hay-day, no one dared come close enough to it to threaten its lord. Now, the aforementioned lord is locked at the top of its highest tower, wallowing in misery.

Albus takes particular delight in it.

Harry seems appropriately wary of the Castle, though. "Who are we visiting, again?" he asks. "Because this place looks kind of familiar. What is it?"

"Nurmengard Castle," says Albus, stalking forward.

Harry pauses. He says, "Dumbledore, please tell me that your ex-boyfriend who's supposedly knowledgeable about the Deathly Hallows is a guard here and not the sole prisoner."

"Don't be silly," says Albus, "there are no guards at Nurmengard."

"Why not?" demands Harry, sounding horrified.

"Well, the last time Gellert was imprisoned—"

"You call him by his first name?!"

"—was in the States back in the…twenties, I think. He had his mouth sealed shut so that he could not speak and yet he still managed to sweet-talk one of the guards into helping him escape. So now, no guards."

"Then who's going to make sure he doesn't escape or something?"

Albus rolls his eyes. "I personally warded his cell. I suppose that if anyone were able to escape it would be Gellert…but he's remained here so far. I would immediately be notified if he were to begin tampering with the wards." Of course, there is the possibility that Gellert has been slowly tampering with the wards over the last fifty years, making such miniscule edits that Albus would never notice…hm. Maybe he should have checked in on him more.

"Is he really the only person we can go to?"

"I cannot think of a single other person more knowledgeable—or even half as knowledgeable—about the Hallows," says Albus. "He's spent most of his life studying them and he's certainly done rather well for himself, all things considered—he managed to steal the Elder Wand from the wandmaker Gregorovitch."

"Is that a legitimate way to gain ownership of the wand?" asks Harry. "Just…stealing it? From that weird story you read me on the way here, I thought you'd have to kill someone to get control of the wand…"

"Well, if murder was the only way to gain ownership, I couldn't have it, could I? I won it off of Gellert and he is still very much alive."

"About that—why didn't you kill him?"

Albus frowns and says, "No more talking. We're almost to the cell. Remember, stay quiet unless I allow you to talk. Gellert Grindelwald's best weapon has always been an open conversation."

And then they climb the stairs to Gellert's cell.

Gellert is looking surprisingly good for spending fifty years in captivity. Albus viciously shreds that thought the moment it enters his head. He is not going to think about how hot his evil, half-dead ex-boyfriend is. He has standards.

Gellert takes one look at him and his face immediately blooms into a grin. "Albus!" he says. "It's been ages! I'm glad that I've finally warranted a visit. I was beginning to think that you'd forgotten about me…"

As if. The thing about dark lords is that they are notoriously hard to forget about. Still, he refuses to give Gellert the satisfaction of that knowledge and says, "No, I'm afraid that you'd completely slipped my mind until very recently."

Gellert laughs. "Always were quite a joker, Albus."

Ugh. Albus suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, instead saying, "We're here on important business. How much do you know about the Hallows?"

This sobers Gellert immediately. "I know more than you ever will," he says simply.

This time Albus does roll his eyes—Gellert was always a dramatic one. "In that case, you can help us. You see, we've been having a bit of a problem with them—"

"Them," repeats Gellert, cutting him off. "Plural? As in, multiple Hallows?"

"I said what I said."

Gellert stares at him then, eyes wide and unblinking, before his gaze moves to Harry, who has all but tucked himself behind Albus's robes. They're certainly large enough to hide a fourteen-year-old boy but their eye-wateringly green color is probably not very good at diverting attention to something else. Rookie mistake. Gellert, meanwhile, looks at Harry with so much intensity that Albus wants to end this whole disaster right here and now.

And then Gellert shrieks, "IT'S HIM?"

"Um," says Harry.

Gellert continues, "It's always the British, isn't it? Death gave the Hallows to the Brits and now they've reconverged on a little British boy!" He points at Harry accusingly. "I don't know what they're feeding you on that island of yours but whatever it is, it's insane. Honestly…I scoured the whole world. Went to every corner of the Earth. I spent three months in Istanbul, back when it was still Constantinople!"

"Oh," says Harry. "You're old."

"Say that to my face you little—"

"Gellert," Albus says quickly, breaking in. "Please explain yourself."

"What is there to explain?" Gellert asks mournfully. "Congratulations, the fourteen-year-old boy currently hiding behind you is the owner of all three Hallows. Now get out and leave me in peace."

"What?" asks Albus. "The Elder Wand is still in my possession and the Stone is…a bit nebulous at the moment—but they're all talking to him…"

"They talk to you?" he asks, looking at Harry.

Harry nods numbly. "The Elder Wand says hi," he mutters.

"The Elder Wand says—okay, regroup. Albus, you hear how insane that sounds, right? The Hallows talking to him? This just sounds like he needs a one-way trip to the…ah, how do you English say it? Yes, the loony bin."

"That's a bit insensitive," Albus sniffs. "Nowadays we have things like therapists."

"Well I wouldn't know, would I, seeing as how I've been locked in a cell for half a century!"

"I think the correct term is 'tower', actually—"

"Get out."

Albus sighs. "I'm sorry, we got a bit off-track. Some more important information is that I heard the talking, too. Well, I used to hear the Stone speaking back when it was also a Horcrux—"

"A Horcrux? Which miserable bastard made a Horcrux and decided to use the Resurrection Stone?"

"It was Voldemort and I'm not sure he knew it was the Resurrection Stone…or that he knows what it is in the first place."

"Who is this 'Voldemort' character? Since when are you allowing the French to come to that exclusive school of yours?"

"He doesn't know who Voldemort is," Harry mutters numbly. "Dumbledore, he doesn't know—"

"Yes, I heard him perfectly well."

"Does he even know who I am?" asks Harry.

Gellert asks, "Should I?"

Right. You don't get newspapers in solitary confinement.

Harry stares at Gellert blankly for a few moments before, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. "You're a dark lord," he says, "and you don't know who I am. Do you want to kill me?"

"Not particularly—and it's retired dark lord, thank you very much."

"Brilliant," Harry breathes. "Well, I'm Harry James Potter, a Fourth Year at Hogwarts, and I like Quidditch and hate Potions."

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Gellert says. "I'm Gellert Grindelwald, prisoner of Numengard Castle. If you met me fifty years ago, I would say that I like murder and hate democracy. Nowadays, I like watching the sunset and hate the British."

"Why do you hate the British?"

"What's not to hate?"

"Fair enough."

Albus sighs. "To bring us back on track—the Hallows? Why do you think they're talking to Harry?"

"That is quite the question. I won't be able to make a prognosis without actually examining the Hallows, though."

"Absolutely not," says Albus. Albus Dumbledore is many things but stupid isn't one of them. Handing Gellert the Hallows would be like handing Voldemort Harry's head on a silver platter.

Gellert simply shrugs. "If I can't examine them then I can't help you. It seems you'll just have to go find some other, equally accomplished scholar of the Deathly Hallows." His face looks downright angelic.

Albus glares. Harry says to him, "He's got a point…"

"What he's got is an agenda," says Albus. "And what did I tell you about not speaking unless you have my permission? He's already got you doubting me. Now keep quiet."

Harry stares. "I will," he says, "but only because you're being unusually harsh to me and it's kind of unnerving. I don't know how you manage to look scary in radioactive robes…"

"Straight out of Chernobyl," Gellert agrees.

"Quiet!" Albus snaps. "I need to think! Outside. Away from you." He promptly grabs Harry and high-tails it out of there. The more distance between him and Gellert Grindelwald, the better. And he needs to dissuade Harry of any incorrect notions that he's managed to get planted in his head. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought him to meet one of the most dangerous men of the century…

When Albus bursts back into the room, he declares, "Fine!"

"Fine?" demands Harry, confused, which makes sense, considering how the entire time they'd been outside the room, Albus had simply stared silently into the distance.

"Fine?" repeats Gellert, who actually looks quite surprised.

"I'll let you examine one of the Hallows, but we won't do it here. We'll do it in my office in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts," Harry wheezes. "Jesus Christ, Dumbledore—"

"Albus, are you really going to—"

Albus ignores them both. This is the best course of action. Quite frankly, he doesn't trust Gellert to have not tampered with the wards of his prison so giving him access to a Hallow here, of all places, seems like a wholly Not Great idea. Albus's office, however—it's heavily warded and Albus can guarantee that those wards are still perfectly functional. The next best option would be Grimmauld Place but Remus would physically maul him before allowing Gellert Grindelwald to take a single step into it.

So—Hogwarts.

"There are students there!" Harry hisses.

"We won't take him through the grounds," Albus says calmly. "I'll take him directly to my office. And besides, I will have him so heavily restrained he'll barely be able to lift a finger."

"This is still a bad idea," Harry says. "I mean, he's a dark lord—sorry, retired dark lord. Something is going to go horribly wrong."

"Probably, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. The bottom line is that we need his help and this is the best way to get it—unless you're all right with just not knowing why the Elder Wand is trying to chat you up."

Harry stares at him sullenly before relenting. Albus, vindicated, turns back to Gellert. "Time to go."

Gellert says, "Have you cleared this with someone? Anyone at all?"

"No."

"So…you're breaking me out of prison."

Albus rolls his eyes. "I'm going to put you back so it's not a problem."

"Right…"

And so it begins.

It's much easier than any of them expected. Before long, the three of them land just outside of Hogsmeade, where Albus begins to layer glamors over Gellert's features so that he won't be detected. It isn't too hard—fifty years stuck in a tower have done him no favors and he barely looks like the man who had tried to take over the world—and, once he's finished, Gellert seems delighted with his new look.

"I'm a ginger!" he exclaims. "Like you, Albus! Did you do this on purpose?" Albus doesn't respond but Gellert doesn't seem to care. "Oh dear, did you make me look like a Brit, too? I don't think I'll ever forgive you if you did…"

"Say," says Harry, "where are you from, anyway? Your name and accent sound German but I didn't want to assume."

"I, Mr. Potter, am from Carinthia!" Gellert says as they begin their journey up toward the castle. "I know your geography skills tend to be a bit shoddy up here, though. Let's see—my hometown is in northern Slovenia, if I remember correctly. Back when I was born, it was still Austria-Hungary, of course. Didn't split until I was, what, thirty-five?"

"Thirty-six," Albus corrects, then curses himself for doing so.

Gellert shrugs. "Right. Well, that's where I'm from. What about you?"

"Er, I don't know where either of my parents were from, exactly, but I was raised in Surrey." At Gellert's blank look, Harry elaborates, "It's in Southeast England."

"But how do you not know where your parents are from?"

"They died when I was little."

"I'm sorry," says Gellert softly. "That must have been hard."

Harry shrugs. "I guess? I mean, I miss them, but I never really knew them, you know?"

"Harry," Albus snaps, "he's manipulating you. Be quiet."

Gellert rolls his eyes. "Why do you always have to be so negative, Albus? Is it really so hard to believe that maybe I've changed? Maybe I just saw a boy who experienced an indescribable tragedy and I saw fit to comfort him? Honestly, how despicable do you—wait, what's that?" He raises his hand and points at one of the Hogsmeade shops.

Harry, immediately forgetting Albus's order, says, "Honeydukes. It's a sweets shop."

Gellert's eyes light up. "Albus, can I get some sweets?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please!"

"No."

"Albus, I've literally been eating nothing but lukewarm gruel for fifty years, surely I deserve some—"

Albus grabs hold of Gellert's elbow and Harry's shoulder and drags them to a secluded tree a few meters away from the Hog's Head. He proceeds to knock on it three times and the three of them promptly fall into a hidden tunnel beneath the ground. Albus is the only one to land on his feet.

"You couldn't have warned us?" Harry groans. "What is this, anyway?"

"Secret tunnel," says Albus. "Leads straight to my office."

Harry stares. "Brilliant."

"Sure." The process of actually making this tunnel had been decidedly less than brilliant. Aberforth had initially elected to help him—which is why it's so close to the Hog's Head—but had backed out at the last second due to "back problems" or some rubbish like that. Thus, Albus was left to construct the secret passage himself. Not a single soul knew about it until today.

The tunnel eventually spits them inside of his office through Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait and they have to endure the seven foot drop. Harry and Gellert groan again and Albus suppresses his smile. Serves them right.

"So," Gellert mutters, rubbing his elbow, "the Hallows?"

"The singular Hallow that you will be allowed to access," Albus corrects. He promptly shoves the Resurrection Stone into Gellert's hand.

Gellert stares down at it. Swallows. He says, "Well, I certainly don't hear anything."

"I do," says Harry. "The Stone says hi, and also that you need a shower."

"You could be saying that on your own," Gellert accuses. "Make the Stone tell you something that only it would know!"

Harry looks at the stone. There is about thirty seconds of silence before Harry turns back to him and says, "On August 22nd, 1929, you and Vinda Rosier—"

"Stop," says Gellert, pained. "Just—no. Matjaž, that's creepy. I believe you."

"No, go on," says Albus. "What's this about Vinda Rosier?"

"Oh, you can't possibly still be upset about that."

"I'm not upset about anything! It's just, when we met a few months earlier, you were all, 'Oh, Albus, I love you' and—"

"That was you, not me!"

"—and then at the fight at the Eyrie you were all like 'Who will love you now?' and thus tried to convince me that you were still—"

"Are we really doing this now? Here?"

"Please don't," says Phineas's portrait. "I'm literally begging you to not."

Harry, meanwhile, looks absolutely fascinated. He says to Albus, "I'm with you on this one—that was a pretty awful move, Mr. Retired-Dark-Lord Grindelwald. I mean, I'm sure you've made worse, but the thing with Vinda Rosier? Vile."

"It's not like Albus and I were still together at that point!"

"And I would agree except for your little remark on the Eyrie—"

"Oh, will you shut up about the Eyrie!"

Albus and Gellert glare at each other. Harry says, "The Stone is offering you the chance to revive Vinda Rosier so that you three can actually settle this."

"Nope," says Albus, sighing. "Not important right now. My apologies. Gellert, you believe Harry now. What can you tell us about what this means?"

Gellert stares at him for several moments before all but slumping into himself, observing the Resurrection Stone. "Well," he says carefully, "from what you've said, the both of you could hear the Stone speaking back when it was still a Horcrux and now only Mr. Potter hears the Stone, but he can also suddenly hear the Elder Wand—and, I presume, the Invisibility Cloak, which you have not mentioned but which I'm reasonably sure that the Potter line had possession of."

"If you were so sure, why didn't you try to get it?"

Gellert rolls his eyes. "As if you'd let me step a single foot onto this island of yours. No, I needed to gather the other two before trying to pursue the third. I just…did not expect the Resurrection Stone to also remain in Britain." He closes his fist, continuing, "And with two of the three Hallows in this room and the third firmly in Mr. Potter's possession, I'm assuming that he's had a great deal of contact with them all?"

"The Cloak and the Stone definitely," says Harry, "but not so much the Wand."

Gellert frowns. "I…I'll be honest, I have some ideas but none of them are exactly concrete. I need to do some research."

"And how, exactly, do you expect to do that?" Albus asks flatly.

Gellert snorts. "I'm in Hogwarts, the wizarding school of Great Britain. I'm sure you've managed to smuggle texts from all over the world into your library, whether the countries you've sourced them from agreed to it or not. I'm sure there's been enough literature written about at least the Elder Wand to be able to give us something."

"I am not giving you access to Hogwarts's library."

"You don't need to. Simply bring me all the texts you have about the Hallows and I'll study them here, right where you want me."

Harry is nodding like it makes total sense. Albus puts his face in his hands. What the fuck is going on with his life?

Irma nearly strangles him when she sees how many texts he's taking out of her library, but he's the Headmaster, so that's a her-problem.

"You've employed Dobby!" Harry declares, storming into Albus's office two days later. Albus is at his desk, staring warily at the corner of the room where Gellert is still buried under a mountain of ancient tomes.

Albus turns to him, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived. "Huh?"

"Dobby! The house-elf I freed from Malfoy's family!"

It takes a second for it to click. "Oh! Yes, him. Quite an odd little fellow, certainly the first house-elf to ask me for a salary, so of course I paid him. I've been debating paying the other house-elves employed by Hogwarts but whenever I bring it up they all stare at me menacingly with kitchen knives…" It's very disconcerting, actually. Nowadays, Albus does his best to avoid the kitchens entirely.

"It's brilliant," Harry gushes. "He's so happy. So is Hermione, actually—you know she's working for house-elf liberation? Started a whole organization called SPEW—Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare!" He thrusts something at Albus from across the desk. "We've made buttons."

Obediently, Albus takes a button.

From within the mound of tomes, Gellert's voice pipes up, "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Paying house-elves…what's next, voting rights for werewolves?"

Harry frowns at the stack of texts, then looks back at Albus. "I keep thinking that he's pretty all right but then he says something to remind me how awful of a person he is."

Albus sighs. "Believe me, I understand exactly what you mean."

Harry shakes his head. "Whatever. I didn't only come here to talk about Dobby, anyway. Can you tell me anything about the Egg?"

Once again, Albus is too sleep-deprived to make sense of what Harry is saying. "The Egg?"

Harry promptly pulls out the golden egg that he'd politely asked the dragon to give him during the First Task. Albus squints at it. "Oh, that Egg. Sorry, no-can-do. Under strict orders to not aid the Champions."

"Well, it's a nightmare," Harry says grimly. "Screeches nonsense every time I try to open it." Albus, who knows exactly what the "nonsense" is, shrugs. Harry says, "Oh, you think it's funny. You think it's amusing to get my eardrums shattered with every attempt to not die?"

"That's not what—"

"How about you try listening to it?" Harry says, opening the Egg.

Ungodly screeching fills the air for all of a few moments before Gellert leaps out of his book fort and slams it closed. "I always hated Mermish," he grumbles. "Go open it underwater and leave my innocent ears alone."

Harry stares at him, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Brilliant," he says, immediately taking off. Albus is left behind, a SPEW badge in his hand and Gellert muttering murderous nothings to himself as he retreats back into his hole.

He hates everything.

The next day, the Yule Ball is announced to the students. Albus takes sick delight in watching the hormonal teenagers desperately scrabble around, trying to acquire dates for the event. It's especially hilarious to watch a series of increasingly hapless young men ask out Fleur Delacour, speaking to her as if she is some dainty maiden and not one of the strongest students currently at Hogwarts. Even Ron Weasely falls victim to it.

It keeps his mind off of his ex-boyfriend, who is now a semi-permanent resident of Albus's office, at least.

Everything is going great, until Minerva comes banging on his door. Albus hastily throws a concealment charm over Gellert as Minerva walks in, face white with stress. "Potter has yet to find a date!" she despairs.

Albus says, "Oh."

"The Champions all need dates, Albus! The First Dance won't work otherwise!"

"Perhaps you could set him up with someone?" Albus offers.

"Perhaps I should! I suspect Ms. Patil doesn't have a date yet…oh, he could also take one of the younger years. Ms. Lovegood? Odd girl but certainly a good one…"

She leaves then, off in her own world. Albus assures himself that it will be fine—there's got to be at least one young witch willing to go to the Yule Ball with Harry—when the boy himself enters Albus's office. There's a peculiar look on his face and Albus is already dreading whatever's about to happen.

Albus says, "Harry?"

Harry responds, "I asked Ron to go to the Yule Ball with me."

"So you have a date?" Albus asks with relief. "Good, good—Professor McGonagall was about to set you up with someone…" Knowing her, if she was desperate enough, she would even frame it as an extra credit assignment for some poor girl.

Harry frowns. "Did you not hear what I said? I asked Ron to go to the Yule Ball with me!"

"…And? I'm sorry but I'm not seeing the issue. Did he not accept?"

"He accepted," Harry bites out. "Said that I was just brilliant and that he should have thought of that and there's nothing wrong with going to the Ball with your best mate."

"…And?"

Harry stares at him and looks unbelievably frustrated but Albus doesn't know how to help. This only gets more alarming when Harry begins to cry, letting out hitching sobs, burying his face in his hands. Albus, eyes wide, reaches over and settles a hand on his shoulder. "Harry? Harry, please, I need you to talk to me! I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong!"

Harry blubbers nonsensically.

Gellert pops out once again. "I know the boy's an orphan but doesn't he have adoptive parents or something? This seems like a good time to call them."

Albus's eyes light up. Sometimes, Gellert really is brilliant. He throws another concealment charm over Gellert—who lets out a muffled screech—and hurls some Floor powder into his fireplace, declaring, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

Remus answers immediately. "What happened?" he demands. "Did you figure out a loophole for the Tournament?"

Albus briefly feels guilty because, in all honesty, he hasn't been looking for a loophole ever since he brought Gellert to Hogwarts—most of his time has been eaten away by the anxiety of being so close to his evil ex-boyfriend. Then Harry heaves another sob and Albus refocuses on his goal. He says, "No, I'm afraid not. It's just…Harry seems to be in some emotional distress and I figured that it would be best if you could personally comfort him."

And Remus steps through with zero hesitation. He says, "Sirius will come through in a few minutes—he has to turn the kitchen appliances off."

Harry, whose sobs have lessened slightly now that Remus is in his field of vision, stutters, "You let Sirius in the kitchen?"

"He has to learn how to cook at some point," Remus says soothingly, rushing over and enveloping Harry in a hug. Sirius, who all but falls out of the Floo, ends up doing the same.

Albus not-so-discreetly exits the room. His office has been entirely taken over and he's grumpy but he'd rather marinate in his misery than kick them out. Even Albus Dumbledore doesn't have the guts for that confrontation.

Harry seems much more relaxed when he comes to fetch him an hour later. Nice.

Finally, the Wednesday morning after the First Task, while all of Hogwarts is eating breakfast, it happens: the Daily Prophet is delivered. Well, that's not the "it" in question—instead, Albus is referring to the headline: DARK LORD GRINDELWALD ESCAPES PRISON, CURRENT LOCATION UNKNOWN.

Took them long enough.

Albus looks up from his copy and makes eye-contact with Harry, who looks horrified. He decides to deal with him later and instead look at the rest of the Hall. Everyone is looking at him. Well, considering he'd been the one who originally threw Grindelwald in prison…fair enough.

Albus looks back down at his copy of the Prophet. He says cheerfully, "Well, that's unfortunate." He proceeds to continue eating breakfast, like nothing is wrong. He can feel everyone's brains shut down in confusion and he delights in it—and he has to delight in it because otherwise, the only thing that would coursing through him is stress, and if he feels any more stressed than he already is, he's going to explode.

He shoves a tomato into his mouth and chews like his life depends on it.

"I'm famous!" says Gellert in delight, waving the Prophet around. "I'm famous I'm famous I'm famous I'm—"

"Famous, yes, I heard," Albus says dryly. "So, how close are you to finding an answer to the whole Hallows situation? Because I'll be honest, my original plan was to put you back in prison before anyone noticed, but now that ship has sailed. I just need a rough timeline here."

"Give me some leeway," says Gellert. "This has literally never happened before, as far as I can tell. I'm knee-deep in theoretical formulas. Arithmancy is much harder than I remember. Did you know the sound waves of voices only heard by select individuals have unique magical properties? And I could write a whole doctoral thesis on the environmental ethics of yodeling—"

Albus, who had written a doctoral thesis on the environmental ethics of yodeling, cuts him off. "Please get to the point."

"I'll need more time," Gellert finishes. "Several weeks of it."

Obviously, this is a ploy to stay out of Numengard for longer—Albus has been aware of that from the very beginning. The thing is, Gellert is simply more useful out of prison than inside it. There is no way to know what is going on between Harry and the Hallows and Albus, as brilliant as he is, had forced himself to not learn any more about them after that awful summer in 1899. He still stands by what he'd said to Harry: Gellert Grindelwald is the foremost expert on the Deathly Hallows in the world, and likely their only hope.

Enterprising readers might wonder why Albus is allowing Gellert so much free time to do whatever he may want to. The answer is very simple: Albus has placed the most powerful binding spell in existence on him. Gellert's movements are so restricted that, sometimes, he has to ask permission to even use the restroom, and if Albus refused, his body simply would not allow him to.

Of course, the thing about strong bindings is that they need to have some weakness, and this spell has the largest, most obvious one of all—but Gellert is simply incapable of using it. Albus has crafted the perfect cage.

If only he was this effective at dealing with Cornelius fucking Fudge, who still has managed to evade him. Albus will find his hiding spot one day, and it will be Fudge's last day on this godforsaken Earth—

Right, back to the point.

With Gellert on such a short leash, Albus doesn't have to worry too much about what he's doing in his free time, but the fact that Gellert is currently in Hogwarts with the blessings of the Headmaster of Hogwarts is bound to be found out by someone eventually and Albus would rather that not happen, which means Gellert needs to hurry up.

Time to bluff his way to victory.

"I can give you two weeks at most," Albus says gravely. "After that, protocol would dictate a thorough search of the castle and its surrounding grounds and I'm not confident that I'd be able to successfully hide you through that. If you're found, you'll be stuck in a much worse cell than the tower I put you in. Not everyone is as compassionate as I am."

Gellert stares at him. Then, "Compassionate, hm? You were never compassionate, Albus. Even back then, you were full of yourself, always thinking you were superior to everyone else. You glared at me like I was shit beneath your shoe the first time we met and you only treated me like I was worth something after our debate over the merits of Latin- versus Hebrew-based spell-casting. You can act like you've changed all you want, but I know you. Don't make me laugh."

Albus trembles with his effort at being silent, but he only manages for a few moments before he bursts out into laughter. "All right," he says, "that was a good one."

And Gellert is grinning again. "I know. I'll make two weeks work, I suppose. Wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of your 'compassion' and all that."

Albus is still chuckling. How he'd missed their little games of rage.

Severus confronts him very quickly. "Please tell me you don't have Gellert Grindelwald hidden in your office," he says.

Albus says, "What?"

"I'm not stupid! You haven't had more than, what, four meetings in there since the news broke out? And your complete lack of response to the news about Grindelwald—even Minerva nearly fainted, and she's Minerva. Alastor all but screeched in terror. You just ate a tomato! I know you're eccentric but you're not that eccentric. Why did you bring a dark lord into Hogwarts? I'm already having enough trouble with one of them!"

Albus says, "I do not have Gellert Grindelwald tied up in my office."

"No, he's probably out and about, enjoying tea!" says Severus, hysterical. "He seems like a chamomile kind of man!"

Astonishingly enough, when Albus had last seen him, Gellert had in fact been drinking chamomile tea. Severus truly is brilliant sometimes. Deciding that he would be better off telling the truth now rather than dealing with Severus making the discovery himself later, Albus drags him to a secluded corner and says, "I can explain."

"You better!" Severus snarls. "Just—Gellert Grindelwald? My mother used to tell me horror stories about him! He was literally my childhood boogeyman! Did you know that he wiped out the entire Dutch branch of the Prince family? I admit that was only six people, but still—"

"We need him," Albus says patiently. "We want to figure out what's going on with Harry and he's the only person who can."

"But do we really need to?" demands Severus. "I mean, it's not like hearing the Stone and the Wand is a bad thing. Have they been causing Potter distress? Not from what I can tell. It's not exactly a pressing issue, is it?"

"But it could very well become one," Albus insists. "The Hallows are an unknown variable of monumental power. If something were to go wrong, anything at all, Gellert Grindelwald is our only way to combat it." He leans closer. "Are you truly all right with leaving Harry that vulnerable? It could be catastrophic."

Severus, who pledged his life to protect Harry Potter, scowls fiercely but gives in. "Fine!" he snarls. "But I'm not covering for you if someone finds the dark lord in your office!" He begins speaking under his breath then, muttering to himself about Austria and evil ex-boyfriends and how he really should have known. His fist is curled tight over the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor, which has yet to see any kind of use apart from threatening random students and staff. Albus feels very threatened. Perhaps he shouldn't have made Severus take sword fighting lessons.

"If that's all…" Albus says, angling to get out of Severus's general vicinity.

Severus says, "No…no, wait, there's something else. Karkaroff is getting antsy. He tackled me into my own potions store to interrogate me about the Dark Mark. He's getting jumpy. Also—have we given up on Alastor? Because he has not given up on making me miserable. Bastard keeps jumping out of random corners and threatening me with Azkaban, as if I hadn't already been pardoned…"

Ugh. Work keeps piling up. "I'll work on it," he mutters.

"Also," says Severus, "Lucius keeps sending me sloppily-written letters raging about how vile he finds Barty Crouch and I know he and the man didn't have the best relationship ever since the end of the war but this is just…bizarre. In the last one, he underlined 'Barty Crouch' and 'insane' three times each. I have no idea what's going on with him."

Hm. There's an intriguing new thread…

Draco Malfoy stares at him dully, clutching a single Sherbet Lemon to his chest. Albus's office is unusually silent. Gellert is fast asleep in the corner, once again under a concealment charm. Perhaps he didn't need to cast one, though, because Draco looks so tired that he probably wouldn't have noticed the retired dark lord in the corner, anyway. It kind of reminds him of the way Lucius looked when he'd visited near the beginning of the year.

Albus says, "Mr. Malfoy…I hope you are well?"

Draco continues to stare.

Albus nods to himself. "Well," he says, "I couldn't help but notice that your general disposition seems to be somewhat…lacking." Harry has barely complained about Draco at all, in fact, and his largest scheme so far has been the Potter Stinks badges, which are certainly impressive, but he has no other vile deeds to show for himself. It's almost as if he's simply stopped.

Draco finally speaks, voice rough and cracking. "That's a bit rude, isn't it, Headmaster?"

"…Yes, of course, my apologies." He offers another Sherbet Lemon, which Draco once again accepts but doesn't do anything with. He is now clutching two Sherbet Lemons to his chest. Hm. Albus says, "I know your family is active in politics—"

"Of course," says Draco, and there is a sudden spark of pride in his eyes, though it dies quickly. "We are Malfoys."

"Yes, well, I was hoping that you could shed some light on something your father has told me."

Draco curls in on himself. "What do you mean?"

"It's just…he seems unusually concerned with Mr. Crouch. Now, I am well-aware that your father has ample reason to be upset with the man, but his recent attitude has been a touch more intense than usual. Do you have any idea why that is?"

Draco opens his mouth and closes it again, inhaling deeply. "My father told you that?" he asks, pained.

"Indeed he did." To emphasize his point, he pulls out the latest note Lucius had written Severus.

"This was meant for Professor Snape," says Draco, "not you."

"On the contrary, as you said, this was written to Professor Snape, not Severus Snape as your father usually writes. It's implicit permission for this to be shared with me—but you knew that."

Draco purses his lips and takes the letter, reading it over in its entirety. It's short and messy. Draco's eyes widen, struck with sudden realization, and he groans, "I'm going to be sick…"

Albus frowns. "Mr. Malfoy—"

Draco promptly turns away and evacuates the contents of his stomach all over the office floor. Albus slips his eyes shut. All right then.

Draco is sent to the hospital wing. His parents are notified. His mother comes to visit. She promptly pulls him out of Hogwarts until the Spring term, telling Poppy, "Yule Ball be damned! We'll throw a better one!"

And yes, they probably will, but that's only because they won't have to deal with a castle full of hormonal teenagers.

In any case: Albus can no longer ask Draco what the fuck is going on with Lucius Malfoy.

Looks like it's on the back burner again.

"No," Severus says immediately.

"You'll be fine," Albus soothes. "It's really nothing! Just make sure he's fed and watered and stuff. Keep an eye on his general well-being. Don't let him out of my office. It's nothing."

"I refuse to let you leave me alone with Gellert Grindelwald!" Severus hisses. "That—that's almost as bad as leaving me with the Dark Lord!" A pause. "Also, he's a dark lord!"

"Retired," Albus corrects. "You should get that right now because he will correct you otherwise."

"Retired? You don't just retire from murdering and raping and pillaging—"

"There was a great deal of murdering and pillaging but I assure you that he was not one for raping."

"Oh, that makes everything better," Severus says sarcastically.

Albus sighs, letting the smile drop off of his face. "Listen," he says lowly, "I understand that you're…upset. I know Gellert is probably near the bottom of the list of people you want to spend any amount of time with. However, my options are limited. I need someone to watch him while I run some errands for a few days and the only two people who know that he is here are you and Harry. Do you want Harry to watch over him?"

Severus stares at him, lips pursed. For a few bizarre moments, he looks close to bursting into tears, but then he takes a deep breath before gritting out, "Fine! I'll watch Grindelwald! But one wrong move and I run him through with the Sword of Gryffindor!" He gestures angrily at the aforementioned sword.

Albus smiles weakly. "Just make sure the blood doesn't get on the books—otherwise Irma will run me through with a letter opener…"

The next three days are spent tracking down Cornelius Fudge. What starts as a standard paper trail leading from London to Blackpool to Dublin ends up becoming a wild goose chase through the Continent, moving eastward into Kazakhstan and Mongolia before eventually ending in Japan. Albus has no doubt that, if given the chance, Cornelius would take the earliest opportunity to take a boat all the way to Hawaii. Unluckily for Cornelius, Albus has managed to catch up with him.

He confronts Cornelius at the Tokyo Portkey Office.

"A-Albus!" Cornelius says with a strained smile. "How are you?"

"Good," says Albus off-handedly. "Could be better."

"Oh…"

"But seeing you has made my entire day!" Albus converges on him, wrapping him in a hug and squeezing just a bit too tightly.

Cornelius whimpers.

Albus says, "You truly must join me for dinner, my friend! Let me introduce you to some old friends…"

The friends are the yakuza.

Albus has a great deal of fun in Tokyo.

When he gets back to Hogwarts, he finds Severus, Gellert, and Harry playing poker in his office. Gellert has a black eye and his neck is wrapped in bandages. Severus's hair has been chopped to a haphazard length, going diagonally from the top of his left ear, reaching down to his right shoulder. Harry has dried tear tracks trailing down his face.

He walks in on them while they reveal their hands. Gellert has a full house. Harry has a straight flush. Severus has a royal flush.

"You!" Harry shrieks, throwing his cards at the man. Gellert is similarly glaring daggers.

Severus smirks. "Once again, Slytherin wins."

"Come here you slimy snake-faced bastard!" Harry snarls, launching himself in Severus's direction, only to be stalled as Severus lazily places his hand on the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry deflates. "I never should have suggested sword fighting lessons…"

Severus shrugs. "Want to go another round?"

"No!" Harry and Gellert sync.

Albus decides to step in. "As amusing as it is to watch Severus win against you two," Albus says, "perhaps it's time to get back to work." He observes Gellert. "Or maybe get to the infirmary…"

"He's fine," Severus says dismissively.

"The blood is soaking through the bandages," Albus points out. "I personally need him to be alive and well."

"Cast a healing charm, then," Severus sniffs.

"I tried," Harry pipes up. "Didn't take. Honestly, I'm surprised that he's not dead yet, considering the fact that the Sword is imbued with basilisk venom."

"Ha!" says Gellert. "Silly British boy, I messed around with creatures much darker than a mere basilisk! I am immune to basilisk venom and nandu venom and—"

"We get the idea," Severus says, sounding petulant.

Albus, meanwhile, is appalled. "You cut him with the Sword of Gryffindor?" Albus demands.

"He deserved it!"

"I did not!" Gellert declares. Harry, meanwhile, shrugs, as if he simply can't be bothered with all the drama. He should be bothered considering he nearly lost his best bet on figuring out what the ever-loving fuck is going on with the Hallows.

Albus says, "What happened?"

Severus, scowling, responds, "He tried to attack Potter."

"I tried to give him a hug, you madman!"

Albus sighs. "Severus, you need to be more careful with a sword imbued with deadly venom. Harry, stop bonding with Gellert, he's manipulating you. Gellert, stop hugging children, it's weird."

"You're weird," Gellert mutters.

Albus rolls his eyes. "All right. Let me see your neck—I'm assuming that even though you're immune to basilisk venom, it's still interfering with conventional healing practices?"

"Of course."

"I have just the thing!"

Turns out, he does not have just the thing because Fawkes resolutely refuses to cry on him, no matter how much Albus begs. And he does beg, even getting on his knees and shedding some tears. Fawkes responds by nearly pecking his nose off, the avian bastard. Gellert eventually says, "All right, all right, stop. It was amusing at first but now this is just sad. Just…heal me the muggle way or something."

"The muggle way is to disinfect it, wrap it, and hope for the best," Harry says. "Which we already did. Considering it's still bleeding…maybe stitches?"

"What are stitches?" Gellert asks, perplexed. Albus is similarly confused.

Severus grins evilly. "I know how to put in stitches," he says. "I'll fix you right up…"

An hour later, Gellert has passed out from the pain, Albus feels light-headed and shaky, Harry seems weirdly intrigued, and Severus looks calm and centered. "There," he says, patting Gellert's lolling head like he's an unruly child, "now you're fine."

"Not fine," Albus wheezes. "He is not fine. I thought that was only for fabric!"

"Skin can be fabric, too," Harry reasons. "That's why tattoos count as art, right?"

Albus puts his face in his hands and decides to obliviate himself at the soonest opportunity.

With Gellert out of commission for the foreseeable future—otherwise he may rip his stitches and be in grave danger yet again—Albus finds himself unbearably bored in the lead-up to the Yule Ball. He takes the opportunity to invite Alastor over for tea and, perhaps, figure out why he's so insane.

Alastor shifts around nervously, which is a gesture so unlike him that Albus wonders if he knows just how deeply he has fucked up. He asks, "How have you been?"

"I've been," says Alastor, before proceeding to not elaborate at all.

Albus sips his tea. "I see that you've taken to a rather odd style of teaching."

Alastor shrugs. "The students must be prepared for the real world."

"Be that as it may," Albus says slowly, "they are still children. Don't you think that you should take it a bit easier? Perhaps…not perform Unforgivables in their general vicinity?"

Alastor frowns. "But it's in the lesson plan."

"I understand but—"

"It's in the lesson plan." Ignoring his tea entirely, Alastor takes a swig from his flask.

Albus decides to pick his battles. He continues, "Lucius Malfoy seems to be rooting for you, for some reason."

Alastor's face darkens. "Lucius Malfoy is an awful wriggling worm!"

"Um."

"Should have rotted in Azkaban! Like some others! Should have been wasting away…"

Albus sighs. Deciding that Alastor is a lost cause—at least for the foreseeable future—he uses the crutch of polite conversation to continue talking and, eventually, to kick Alastor out of his office entirely. Scowling, he pulls out a sheet of paper, a pen, and begins to lay out every confounding part of the situation.

Alastor is acting like a madman. Lucius Malfoy is in his corner. Speaking of Lucius Malfoy—he's been acting strange, sending Severus nonsensical letters about how much he despises the Head of the DIMC. On a marginally related note, when young Draco Malfoy was made aware of these letters, he proceeded to have a meltdown before the entire situation alerted Narcissa Malfoy who, presumably, put a stop to it. Albus, for reasons he cannot explain, feels that he must not let Alastor know about Lucius's letters.

He feels like he's so close to an epiphany but nothing is sticking. If he could just think for a moment…

Gellert lets out a groan of pain. "Albus," he moans, "I'm thirsty."

"You're always thirsty."

"Because that demon of a professor sewed me shut like a barbarian!"

"Like a muggle," Albus corrects.

"That's what I said!"

Albus sighs and places the sheet of paper away. He'll come back to it later, after he's finished playing nursemaid for his evil ex-boyfriend.

The actual Yule Ball goes pretty well—suspiciously well, in fact. Viktor Krum takes Hermione Granger, Fleur Delacour takes Roger Davies, Cedric Diggory takes Cho Chang, and Harry Potter takes Ronald Weasley. All eight of them are glowing with happiness and Albus is so glad that Remus and Sirius were able to fix whatever distress Harry had been feeling around this momentous occasion.

There is, however, one thing that prompts his notice—Barty Crouch is not in attendance. Apparently he has taken ill and has sent Percy Weasley in his stead. It seems like an odd choice but, then again, Percy has always been a very well-organized young man.

Albus approaches him. "Mr. Weasley!" he says.

Percy smiles politely. "Headmaster Dumbledore," he greets. "It's good to see you again."

"And you as well!" Albus says cheerfully.

"I must thank you once again for writing me that letter of recommendation—"

"Don't worry about it," Albus dismisses. "I was quite flattered, in fact. Did you know that you were the first student to ask me to write them a letter of recommendation since James Potter? Most don't even consider it an option."

"Huh," says Percy faintly. "Surely you don't mean the James Potter."

"The one and only," Albus says. "I admit that he did it mostly as a joke but I wrote him one, anyway." Not that the poor man ever had the opportunity to use it.

For some reason, a myriad of emotions flow through Percy's face. Then, almost dazed, he says, "James Potter."

"Yes," Albus says cautiously.

Percy nods to himself before promptly turning around and fleeing with nary a farewell. Albus stares after him, puzzled by the uncharacteristic show of impoliteness, but eventually just shrugs and carries on with his business.

The Ball itself is mildly entertaining, the meal top notch…but the real fun happens when the formalities are over and the Weird Sisters arrive. Albus had booked them, what, two weeks ago? Very short notice but Myron Wagtail owes him several favors. The way all the students immediately lose their minds is enough to make up for the headache of accidentally walking in on Myron and some nameless witch in certain compromising positions.

Everything seems to be going fine, until he finds Harry slumped in a seat in one of Hogwarts's outer corridors.

"Um," says Albus. "Are you all right?"

Harry shrugs, morose. "Ron and Hermione are fighting."

"Oh," says Albus. "I'm sorry about that."

"I think Ron is being a jerk," says Harry. "I mean, he did treat Hermione like a last resort. It's awful to be treated like a last resort, right? Especially someone like Hermione who is smart and pretty and organized and…oh my god, she'd be so good for him." He stares blankly down at his hands. "And Ron fucked it up. Why's he like this? Completely insensitive…"

"Harry," Albus says carefully, "I admit that I don't know Mr. Weasley that well but he strikes me as the kind of boy who may say things without thinking, and those things may be hurtful, but they are not what he means. I think he is, in fact, very kind." He walks over and sits next to Harry. "However, just because he is kind doesn't mean you need to ignore the harsh things he says if they hurt you. Actions speak louder than intentions."

"Isn't it 'actions speak louder than words'?" Harry asks, dubious.

"Well, yes," says Albus, "but I feel like my version fits better in this situation."

Harry shakes his head. "Whatever," he mutters. "It's not like Ron was mean to me, anyway—just Hermione. Hermione deserves better."

"If he was being mean to Ms. Granger, why are you so upset?"

Harry purses his lips. "That," he says, "is not something we're going to talk about. I need to get back to the Common Room, anyway—I saw Snape skulking around somewhere nearby and I think he'd try to give me detention even if I was talking to you."

"Probably," Albus reluctantly agrees. "Run along, now."

"Yes, sir," says Harry before scampering off.

Albus sighs. He's not entirely sure what's going on between Harry and his friends but he hopes it won't cause another crying fit in his office…

Gellert is lounging on his cot in the corner of Albus's office when Albus walks in. He observes in silence for a bit, watching as Gellert stares blankly at the ceiling, before saying, "I'm back."

Gellert perks up. "Albus!" he says. "How were the robes? Did you get compliments?"

"Only a few," Albus says morosely. He, in a rare fit of desperation, had commandeered Gellert's attention and demanded that he help him put together an outfit for the Yule Ball. Gellert had always adored his fashion sense so, together, they decided that Albus should wear sky blue robes with enchanted snow drifting lazily across it. And, get this, if one were to look close enough, they'd find that the snowflakes are in the shape of Hogwarts! Brilliant, really!

And yet the only people to compliment them were Minerva, Pomona, and Fleur Delacour.

"Well," says Gellert, "I think you look lovely."

"Thank you," says Albus.

Gellert waves him away. "Now, tell me about the silly British boy."

"You mean Harry?"

"Yes, him. He was crying over the Weasel-boy and his fathers had to convince him it was perfectly natural to have a…what did they call it? Yes, a crush."

Albus stares. He wheezes, "Harry has a crush on Ronald Weasley?"

Gellert looks at him oddly. "Wasn't it obvious?"

Albus puts his face in his hands. In hindsight, yes, it was very obvious.

…Well, it could be worse. Harry could have a crush on Draco Malfoy. Now that would be a disaster…

The days following Christmas and before the start of the Spring term are a haze of cheer and joy. When the Spring term starts, however, something unfortunate is brought to Albus's attention: the Second Task requires a sacrifice.

"Okay," says Albus, "we need to make sure we only take adults."

"Why?" Ludo Bagman asks.

Percy stares at him. "We're not putting children in a position where they could potentially drown in the Lake."

Albus, who is glad that someone involved in planning this damned thing is finally on his side, says, "Exactly! Besides, I'm sure the Champions like the adults in their lives plenty…"

"How about we change the Task so that they won't have to rescue their friends or family at all?" Percy offers. "Maybe we could just…take an object that is precious to them and that won't be in danger of dying a watery death."

"But where's the fun in that?" Ludo demands. "The enjoyment of the game is directly proportional to the stakes at hand!"

"No," says Percy. "That's not…that's not how it works."

"Maybe we'll stick to adults," Ludo compromises, "but people are a must!"

They argue well into the night but eventually it's decided: adults will be placed at the bottom of the Lake, along with a myriad of charms to ensure that they don't die. Albus decides that, for Harry, he should approach Sirius instead of Remus, because Sirius would probably agree while Remus would demand to know why Albus hasn't gotten Harry out of the Tournament yet.

On that note: Albus has successfully managed to regrow an organ from scratch! Unfortunately, it is very, very cursed. Just looking at it feels like taking a razor to his eyes.

Back to the drawing board.

Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts looking pale, silent, and not entirely…sane.

Harry says to Albus, "I told you so."

Albus sighs. "Yes, I suppose you did."

"Whatever it is, it has to do with Moody. I mean, Malfoy won't even look him in the eye and the one time Moody tried to ask him a question, he ran out of the classroom screaming."

"I admit," says Albus, "I've noticed that young Mr. Malfoy's father has been acting similarly for no discernable reason. I don't know exactly what's going on but it seems Crouch is also involved…"

"Crouch?" Harry asks, brows knitted.

"Ah—Bartemius Crouch Senior, current Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. I believe you noticed Mr. Percy Weasely take his place during the Yule Ball. Mr. Crouch has been ill as of late, apparently…"

"That's suspicious," says Harry. "You understand how that's suspicious, right?"

"Of course I do. I just don't know what to do about it!" cries Albus. "I mean, Barty Crouch Sr. used to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and he was involved in putting former Death Eaters behind bars. He also was professionally close to Alastor Moody, who was an Auror at the time. And yet! Alastor seems to have Lucius Malfoy, a former Death Eaters, in his corner! This doesn't make any sense!"

Gellert, who had been listening silently, suddenly asks, "Bartemius Crouch Senior? That implies the existence of a Junior, does it not? And correct me if I'm wrong, Albus, but the letters Lucius Malfoy wrote that madman of yours never specified which Barty Crouch was being referred to."

Albus stares. He says, "But…Barty Crouch Jr. is dead. He died in Azkaban in 1982!"

"Azkaban," Gellert says slowly. "If he was in Azkaban, can it be assumed that he was a Death Eater?"

"He was one! He, along with the Lestrangers, tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to insanity!"

Pale, Harry asks, "Do—do you mean Neville's parents?"

Albus ignores him, too many things on his mind. "It cannot be him—"

"Suppose it is," says Gellert. "Suppose that not only did Barty Crouch Jr. fake his death but that he also escaped Azkaban and that he is now out and about. Using this assumption, what conclusions can be drawn?"

Albus lets his eyes slip shut. If Barty Crouch Jr. is now walking free, he would naturally be drawn to his peers, such as Lucius Malfoy. For unknown reasons, Lucius Malfoy is unhappy about this. For unknown reasons, he came to Albus and began dropping not-so-subtle hints about Barty Crouch's "vibrant personality". And he did this during a conversation about Alastor Moody, who has been acting very unlike himself since the beginning of the school year…

"No," says Albus. "No, no, absolutely not."

"Dumbledore?" stutters Harry, looking frightened.

"Stay here," he rasps. "I need to find Severus."

And then he bolts.

He somewhat calms down by the time he arrives at Severus's private quarters. That immediately flies out the window when he finds a pale Severus standing across from a nearly unconscious Lucius Malfoy.

"What's going on here?" Albus demands.

Lucius, looking too exhausted to stand, slurs out, "It's…Barty Crouch…not Moody…"

Severus, pained, says, "I think we need to talk…"

a/n: sorry for the wait, i started this chapter three times and kept abandoning it. im not entirely happy with this, either, but idgaf. still had a bunch of fun writing it lol. now onto fic notes:

don't examine the timeline too closely it doesn't make any sense whatsoever

now in regards to harry and ron - harry does have a crush on ron rn. idk if this fic is gonna be a ronarry fic or if im just gonna make ron harry's gay awakening but im liking the dynamics so far lmaoo

as for albus and grindelwald...i kinda want to make this into a grindeldore fic? but also the way I've characterized him is as a Legitimately Bad Person who may have retired from dark lord-hood but still carries a lot of prejudices so like. i need to figure out how to give him a proper redemption arc so my ship can happen ;-;

lucius malfoy snitching on barty crouch was a concept I've obv been throwing around since last chapter but i didn't know if i was gonna actually commit to it until the end of this capter lmaooo

...if you noticed grindelwald say anything odd...dw about it

anyway i recently noticed a criminal lack of minerva mcgonagall in these last two chapters so i will try to remedy that in the next chapter

hope you liked this chapter! if you did, please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW! Especially REVIEW bc those make me happy!