Gellert Grindelwald was absolutely, entirely certain that he was going to succeed. There was not a doubt in his mind. There was rarely doubt in his mind – a side effect of being a genius – but especially not now. The third task was nearing and Gellert knew exactly what was going to happen. In accordance with Crouch's original plan (as if an imposter could exist in Gellert's demesne without him knowing), one of the three surviving champions would be teleported to the graveyard. Pettigrew had altered the ritual so that it would work on Delacour, Krum, or Diggory. The catch was that it would require their death now instead of their blood, but heck, it wasn't as if Gellert gave a shit about any of them.

Once Voldemort was resurrected, Gellert was sure he'd promptly attack the Muggle world, thereby breaking the Statute of Secrecy. He would have no choice with Gellert holding his seventh Horcrux hostage. The Muggles would overreact, as was their modus operandi, and there would be open war between Muggles and wizards. At that point, people would realize that Gellert had been right all along, that the Muggles were the true enemy, and they'd let him out of the prison to lead them to victory. It was inevitable. There was absolutely nothing that could go wrong.

True, things hadn't quite gone as he'd been expecting as of recently. Narcissa's putsch of the Wizengamot had completely blindsided him, for example. But perhaps in the end, it was for the best. The Wizengamot would become redundant in the end when Gellert ruled the worldwide Empire of Magic, and so it was probably for the best that Narcissa did the dirty work for him. Besides, hardly anyone gave a damn the Wizengamot no longer functioned, so its time had probably come.

In fact, far from being discouraged, Gellert was quite relieved there'd been some bumps in the road. Matters going absolutely perfectly was usually a sign something was about to go horribly wrong. He had learned that in Dresden. But Potter's death and Narcissa's putsch, while problematic at the time, could be overcome. When you had enough power, you could make some mistakes and still have control of the chessboard.

You can't possibly think you'll succeed! Albus's voice thundered desperately inside his head. Well, Albus's head, technically, but it belonged to Gellert. Muggles will never submit to rule.

"Muggles submit to the rule of their leaders every single day, Albus," Gellert pointed out as he watched his subjects from the window of the headmaster's office. Look at the little vermin. All of them thinking their lives are so special. When in reality, they were mere pawns in the schemes of someone greater than they. "In the grand scheme of things, they will not care if said leaders wield wands or not. They will revere us as gods and we will rule them as they were meant to be ruled. This is what you wanted."

You do not know me as well as you think, even after all these years. I did not want people to suffer in the pursuit of our goals.

"Well, that's where we differ, Albus," Gellert sneered. "I love it when people suffer. Today is the day. History and destiny await us. It's been a more difficult road than I thought it was going to be. But like all roads, it has led me to the end. The end of the Statute of Secrecy. After tonight, we will claim our birthright as the rulers of this world. After tonight, we will no longer cower before weak-minded, feeble fools!"

You will not win! I won't permit it!

Gellert smirked to an empty room. He couldn't help himself. Albus's naivety was just so delicious sometimes. "Oh, Albus. You've already lost. Everyone has. There's no power on this planet that can stop me now! I am truly invincible!"

There is still Harry Potter. He lives. I know he does!

Gellert chortled. Albus was still on about that, absolutely convinced that Potter had somehow survived the Second Task and would return to destroy Gellert. Somehow. Despite being, you know, a fifteen year old kid with little to no training. And how was he going to do this? Well, Albus had no clue, as it turned out. Probably with love. As if that meant anything. As if Albus hadn't spurned the love Gellert had freely given him!

At any rate, while it was true Gellert did have his doubts at one point Potter had truly died in such an undignified manner, there was no doubt in his mind by this point that Potter was definitively dead. If Potter was alive, he would have acted against Gellert by this point. It was completely against his nature to stay away from the fight for so long. And men do not act against their natures. Ever. It was impossible. People were who they were and they could not change.

You'll see! He'll return and destroy you!

"Oh, yes, I'm quaking in my boots," Gellert said. He took a Chocolate Frog from his stash and plopped it in his mouth. You couldn't pay him to eat the monstrosities masquerading as candies Albus had always been so fond of, and Chocolate Frogs were the exception that proved the rule. "Face it, Albus. Even if Potter does return, he cannot defeat me. He is but a boy. His best friend is my slave. If need be, I can easily smite him using treachery or brute force."

Your arrogance will be your downfall, Gellert.

"You've been telling me that for fifteen years, Liebling," Gellert shot back. "It hasn't happened yet, and it never will. I cannot fail, for I am the greatest Dark Lord who ever lived. Every variable is in my grasp. I am in total control. I am Gellert Grindelwald, and my moment of triumph is at hand."

Draco Malfoy was absolutely, entirely certain that he was going to fail. There were just too many moving parts to the plan in his opinion. While under ordinary circumstances, he'd be proud of himself for successfully integrating a Muggle expression into his lexicon – who said an old dog couldn't learn new tricks? – he was just too nervous to express it. He wished desperately, utterly that Harry was going to be beside him. That had been the original plan, actually. Harry was going to use the Invisibility Cloak to be there to provide backup.

But Draco had messed that up when he'd gone to his dorm and found that someone had taken the Invisibility Cloak. It was really his fault when all was said and done. An Invisibility Cloak was worth its weight in gold…well, not literally because it was so light… It was really valuable, that was the point. And it was common knowledge Harry had one, and so therefore even someone with the brains of Crabbe or Goyle could have realized he might have left it to his boyfriend.

So they instead had to hide Harry in the Chamber of Secrets while Draco took all the risks. And holy crap was it a risky plan. But it was a necessary one. With all the Horcruxes gone, there was only Voldemort's wraith left. Draco was the only person who had a plausible excuse for removing himself without attracting suspicion, namely that he didn't want to see the final stage in the event that had supposedly claimed his boyfriend's life.

"I just don't know if this is going to work," Draco lamented to Hermione just before the tournament was supposed to begin, just before he executed the gambit that had a very decent chance of killing him in a hideous manner. "I mean, how am I going to pull off pretending to be him?"

"Oh, you can't," Hermione said simply. "No one can. Harry is one of a kind. But fortunately, you don't have to. You see, you're going to be using his public persona, which was copied after you. So just be your usual charming self. Only, you know, without the pureblood superiority garbage."

Draco instinctively opened his mouth to defend the complexities and subtleties of magical culture, which had a rich, uninterrupted history and was ancient back when Hermione's ancestors were scrambling in the muck. But he soon closed it. Now was not the time for an argument. And in the end, that was his father talking, not him. "After this is over, I'm going to take a very long nap," he said instead.

"Now that's a philosophy I can readily get behind."

Draco gave her a rude gesture, sneaked into the nearest bathroom, and, his heart thundering in his chest, pulled out the Polyjuice Potion and chugged it down. It tasted truly vile. His respect of Harry (and, okay, also Ron) went up a notch for having had to endure such an awful thing. The taste of the potion paled in comparison to the sheer oddness of seeing his facial features slowly morph into those of his boyfriend's. With great difficulty, Draco pushed away the temptation to examine the rest of Harry's body; it would have been a massive invasion of his privacy.

Draco confidently strode out towards the nearest exit, ignoring the stares and shocked whispers of the rabble. None of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was the goal in front of him. If you had told Draco not even a year ago that not only would he be dating Harry Potter, but about to deliver the killing blow to Voldemort, he would have laughed in your face. But here he was, doing both. He was probably insane, but he wouldn't really have it any other way.

He plastered a smirk on his face – funny how they didn't come as easy as they used to – as he strutted onto what used to be the Quidditch field. Oh, how Draco looked forward to the return of Quidditch, to besting his boyfriend in a match. (If Harry thought for a second he'd go easy on him because they were dating, he was in for a huge surprise.) "HP in the house!" he bellowed and then winced. Yeah, that was…that was probably a bit too much.

Grindelwald moved down the stands and towards him so quickly it was almost as if he had teleported. Draco's heart thundered in his chest, but he didn't show any fear. "Impossible," he breathed. "You can't be alive…"

"Hey, I survived the Killing curse!" Draco said with a wink. "A little bit of water's not going to let me down."

He was about to say something when a punch came out of nowhere, knocking Draco flat on his ass. "YOU SODDING BASTARD!" Longbottom screamed. Draco did a double take, convinced he was seeing things for a moment, but, nope, that was definitely Neville Longbottom. "I mourned you, you absolute fucker!"

"Twenty points for foul language, Mr. Longbottom," Grindelwald said absently. "But as uncouth as Mr. Longbottom was, he brings forth a legitimate point. What did you hope to accomplish by faking your death?"

Draco shrugged. "Well, since you ask: freeing my godfather from captivity, making my enemies think I was dead, and, most importantly, getting in some beach time!" He twirled around, earning himself some appreciative whistles from many of the girls and some of the guys in the stands. Draco just smirked. The only one who was getting his hands on this lovely body he was currently wielding was Draco. "You like?"

"The entire wizarding world thought you were dead!" Grindelwald snarled. "I thought you were dead!"

"Well, I'm not," Draco said. "What are you gonna do to me, Al?" Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Ron in the stands frantically shaking his head. Okay, yeah, that was probably laying it on a little thick. Time to take it down a notch. "Look, I'm really sorry for the people I hurt. But faking my death was the only way to save Sirius." There. People would understand that.

Grindelwald looked about to throttle Draco for a few seconds before abruptly and jarringly changing to a serene countenance. "Very well. We will discuss your punishment after the Task is done. We don't want to keep the public waiting, after all."

"You're such a dick, Harry," Longbottom snarled. "I thought I was your friend! Did you even spend a second thinking about how I'd feel before you faked your death?"

"Hey!" Draco shouted. "Don't you talk about my…uh, self like that!"

Grindelwald put a hand on Longbottom's shoulder. "Now, now, my boy, now is not the time for such aggression. I am sure Mr. Potter will experience the consequences of his actions soon enough." With a satanic grin, Grindelwald steered Longbottom away.

Draco took his place with the other champions. All he had to do was get to the cup first and he'd win the Triwizard Tournament. And have to face down Pettigrew and potentially Voldemort in the flesh if things went wrong. But anyway, the name loophole wasn't the only one they'd discovered. The rules were very clear that once the task started, the first person to touch the cup would be the winner. Not the first contestant. The first person. The rules were so poorly conceived that Draco wondered if his father had written them. It would not have surprised him.

Diggory glared at him ferociously and the look on the other Champions' faces wasn't exactly any much friendlier. A part of Draco thanked his lucky stars Harry wasn't around to be the recipient of so much scorn. They'd understand eventually, he knew. Once the truth came out about Grindelwald, they'd all realize it had been necessary to fake Harry's death. But for now, Harry just came across as a coward.

"So nice of you to join us, Potter," Diggory said coldly.

"Uh, hi," Draco said with an awkward wave. "Fancy running into you here." He cringed. Was that seriously the best he could do?

Delacour crossed her arms. "You can play all the trickery you want. I will best you fair and square. For the honor and glory of Beauxbatons!"

"Da, same here," Krum said. "But with Durmstrang in place of Beauxbatons."

"You know, Harry, I really thought you were a decent sort," Diggory said slowly. Draco knew that if Harry was here, those words would have cut him to the bone. "But you were telling the truth all along, weren't you? You really did put your name in the Goblet of Fire."

Draco had absolutely hit his limit. There was only so much he could tolerate people badmouthing his boyfriend. And they were doing it so much better than Draco ever had! Draco hated it when people were better than him at anything. "Look, you have no clue what's happening here," he snarled. "This is so much bigger than one bloody tournament! If you knew what was happening, you'd be on your hands and knees begging me for forgiveness."

Diggory did not look impressed. "You know, I couldn't see you and Malfoy. But now I can. You're just like him now, aren't you?" Draco had a momentary bout of panic, thinking his cover was blown, before realizing he had just been insulted instead, which was better, but not much better.

"You're right," Draco said coolly. "He could win this tournament too. And so will I." Ah, see, Diggory! There was a good dig. A point for Draco!

Diggory drew his wand but Delacour put her hand on his shoulder before he could cast a spell. "Don't. He's not worth it." Draco huffed. He was so worth it!

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. These people weren't important. They weren't the true enemy. The true enemies were the Dark Lords. "I have nothing more to say to any of you," he announced and turned away from them.

Draco tuned out any further taunts and insults as well as Bagman's bloviating speech until the whistle blew and he charged right into the maze. His heart was thundering. Aside from what was waiting for him in the center, there were also the dangers in the maze himself. Unlike Harry, Draco had never really put himself in danger of death before. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure he'd ever be. Had Harry felt like this? Had he been sweating and had his breathing nearly out of control and had sheer, horrible terror circulating through his body? What had possessed him? Why had he put himself in such danger? Draco would never understand.

He didn't need to, though. The only thing he needed to do was complete the task and ignore the way his body was demanding he scream and run and that eerie feeling someone was following him.

Turn by turn he navigated the maze. He had no idea where he was going, but he had a gut feeling he was nearing the center. The place was eerily quiet, aside from the odd scream or two. He heard the rustling of hedges and spun around, his wand pointed at the intruder who he knew had been following him. Instead, he saw Diggory, his left arm on fire. Draco instinctively cast a water spell to douse the flames.

"Thank you," Diggory said curtly.

"You can thank me by not insulting my boyfriend anymore," Draco said. "I don't care what you say about me, but he's off limits."

Diggory scowled. "Fine. But you're still an asshole." Draco shrugged. It was accurate enough, even if by accident. "Blast Ended Skrewts," he added, flummoxing Draco for a second before he realized that those abominations of Hagrid's had been responsible for his injuries.

"It should have been you," Draco admitted. "You should have been the champion. But it won't be. That's life sometimes, Diggory. It – BEHIND YOU!" Diggory turned his head and Draco socked him in the jaw hard enough to knock him out. He wouldn't be out of commission for very long, but every little bit counted. He wasn't the stupidly noble Harry. He'd take every opportunity he could to win.

He rushed off, trying to make up for lost time when he nearly collided headfirst with Ron. Hang on, with who? Draco blinked, but Ron appeared to still be in front of him. "What are you doing here, Weasley?"

"Waiting for my boyfriend," Ron said with a smirk.

"Have you lost what little wits you have, Ron?" Draco said, operating on insult autopilot at hearing that ridiculously strange comment come out of his mouth. "You don't have a boyfriend; you have a girlfriend."

Ron's smirk got wider. It was unsettlingly familiar, not because Draco had seen it on Ron's face before, but rather his own when he looked in a mirror. "Oh, and here he comes now."

Draco's heart sank as Harry stepped out of the shadows, removing the Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders. So it had been Harry following him the whole time. But then how did Ron get into the maze? "Harry, Ron's talking nonsense again. Talk some sense into him."

Instead of talking some sense into Ron, Harry's lips collided with the wretched Weasley as he pulled him into a kiss even more passionate than those he'd given Draco. Which was a considerable accomplishment, actually; Harry was a damn good kisser. "Sorry, Draco. I didn't want you to find out this way. Oh, wait, I did."

"I don't understand," Draco said, his voice stuttering inelegantly at times to the point he was starting to sound like Quirrell.

"Well, then let me make things make more sense for you, Malfoy," Harry purred maliciously. "You're an asshole. You're a bigot. You think I want you, a boy just like the man who killed my parents? That's why I came up with this plot. I'd romance you, sweep you off your feet…and then break your heart."

"You're…you're lying," Draco said, taking a step backwards.

Harry smirked. "Kissing you was a chore, Malfoy. You're just a slimy snake, no better than your father. Ron's more of a man than you'll ever be. Those feelings you're feeling? They're just the result of love potions. We've been potioning you all along, just to bump you off and steal your vaults."

No, this couldn't be happening. It was unbelievable. It was like something out of his nightmares. It was…

…it was just like something out of his nightmares. No, it was more than that. It was his greatest fear.

With a snarl, Draco raised his wand at Ron and shouted "Riddikulus!" Ron and Harry's faces – no, the face of the boggart pretending to be Ron and Harry – suddenly manifested garish clown makeup and then vanished in a puff of smoke.

Draco wanted desperately to curl up into a ball and cry, but he couldn't waste a single second with emotional displays. Not when the damn boggart had already taken up so much of his time. He ran as fast as he could. He could hear Delacour screaming in the distance, but it wasn't his problem, so he dodged the strange golden mist and just kept on running.

The maze kept on throwing obstacles in his path, but Draco dealt with them with his usual aplomb. A Blast Ended Skrewt menaced him, but Draco hit it with a blasting spell that got it straight in the eyes and immobilized it with the pain. A sphinx tried to give a riddle to slow him down, but Draco was able to solve it with ease.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally saw his goal in the distance. The Triwizard Cup. It was so close! Draco ran and he ran and he tripped and fell, but then he got up again and he was going to do it! He was going to win the Tournament. He was going to save the day! He was going to do what his father should have done and destroy the monster pretending to be the savior of the purebloods once and for all.

And then a spell hit him from behind and everything went black.

Gregory Goyle was not his father's son. Well, biologically, he was, but in every other respect, he had taken after his mother. The former Lord Goyle was an idiot. A brutish fool with a penchant for torture, stupidity, and blind loyalty. His mother Nadia, of the Shafiq family, was everything her husband was not. She was sharp, cunning, and wise. She'd taught Greg a valuable lesson long ago: that it was simply too dangerous to exemplify those qualities in the presence of Lord Goyle. She'd taught this lesson by being tortured to death in front of Greg by her husband when Greg was but seven.

From that point, Greg made a point of always hiding his intelligence and pretending to be like the brutish thug that was his father. By pretending to be stupid, he flew under the radar and everyone underestimated him to a ridiculous degree. There was no end to the things Greg had been able to get away with because no one thought he was near smart enough to accomplish them. He'd never even been suspected of anything in his time.

It was this façade that allowed him to become Draco's trusted confidant. Greg was fond of Draco. Not fond enough of him to stop Greg from stealing Harry's invisibility cloak from him and stunning him from behind, but still, he cared a lot about Draco. He'd be very upset if he died. And Draco confided nearly everything in Greg, thinking he was too stupid to understand. Greg had to hear incessantly about Draco's crush on Harry, long before Draco even realized it actually was that. But he also heard useful information. Like about how Harry had a perfect invisibility cloak. Or about their plan to take down Voldemort. A plan Greg intended to coopt.

Greg had known the calculus of power was changing even before Lady Malfoy broke the Wizengamot, poisoned his father, and made him Regent Goyle. The future would not belong to the pureblood supremacists like his father. And if there was a better way of both proving his credentials as a true power player and a devoted servant of the new era's ideals than taking down the Dark Lord, then Greg would eat someone's hat. Not his own. Vincent had already eaten his.

Greg hesitated for just a second before touching the cup. He did not like putting himself at risk. He was risking a messy, violent death by touching the cup. But the rewards were just…phenomenal. He'd be a hero. Even more famous than Harry, in the end. In one swoop, he'd singlehandedly rehabilitate Slytherin, save the magical world, and maybe even get Tracey Davis's attention if he was really lucky.

So he touched the cup and was instantly Portkeyed to a graveyard. It appeared to be empty at first glance, which was severely disappointing. But then a man stepped out of the shadows, carrying a bundle. It was Pettigrew. After being pardoned, Sirius Black had given a tell all interview in the Prophet and the article had come with a prominent photograph of Peter Pettigrew. It had been taken fifteen years ago, but the face of the man who'd betrayed Greg's best friend's boyfriend's parents was unmistakable.

"You," Pettigrew said, looking bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

Greg shrugged and tried to put on his best stupid face. "Dunno. What are you doing here?"

Pettigrew smirked. "As it happens, we're awaiting a certain headmaster. There's a ritual we're going to cast to bring the Dark Lord back from the dead. Doesn't that sound nice?" Greg nodded, trying his best to keep his smirk off his face. By the condescending way Pettigrew was talking to him, he still bought the moron act.

"I'll do anything to serve the Dark Lord!" Greg said eagerly. "Just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it!"

Pettigrew set the bundle of robes on the ground and pulled out a small but sharp silver knife from his own robes. "You must sacrifice a part of yourself. Your hand. You will be well rewarded for such a thing, my friend."

"FOR THE DARK LORD!" Greg screamed, taking the knife from Pettigrew's hands without hesitating.

He raised his arm and held the knife near his wrist and then he elbowed Pettigrew in the face. Pettigrew drew his wand and said the first word of the Killing Curse, but Greg kicked him in the balls before he could say the second, causing Pettigrew to tumble to the ground, writhing in agony.

Greg calmly cast the body bind curse on him, grabbed his hand, and sank his teeth into it, just as Pettigrew, in his rat form, had done to him on his first train ride to Hogwarts. Greg may not have agreed with his father on…well, most anything, but one thing they'd always had in common was a love of getting revenge on those who had wronged him. It was just that Greg believed revenge was a dish best served cold.

He was briefly tempted to gloat, but suppressed the urge. He'd have plenty of time to gloat later to an adoring audience when he returned with the dead body of Voldemort. So instead, he bent down and slit Pettigrew's throat open from ear to ear.

"Traitor!" Voldemort screamed. "You will suffer and burn for defying me!"

Greg waited patiently for the aforementioned suffering and burning to occur. When it failed to do so, he concluded Voldemort was just bluffing and grabbed the bundle. Whistling a jaunty tune, he practically danced over to the cup and touched it. The world would soon know the name Gregory Goyle.

Hermione couldn't help but be absolutely frightened out of her wits. The future of the magical world hinged upon Harry's boyfriend, who'd not all that recently believed she shouldn't even exist, and whether or not he'd be a match for a Marauder and a Dark Lord, albeit a highly diminished version of him. And there was absolutely and precisely nothing she could do but watch. The fact that Harry was safe in the Chamber of Secrets was the only positive thing about this. Even if this stage of the plan succeeded, there was still the assault on Nurmengard to worry about. And she wouldn't be involved in that either!

"Hermione…" Ron whispered, pointing at the front of the maze. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Hermione peered at what Ron was looking at and then did a total double take. Goyle, of all people, was emerging from the maze with a bundle of rags in his hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, mages of all ages, I am Gregory Goyle, and I am the winner of the Triwizard Tournament!" he shouted at the crowd.

What. The. Hell.

People were starting to surge towards the front of the maze and Hermione joined them. People gave her a wide berth, remembering her actions at the end of the Second Task. Hermione couldn't help but feel a slight sense of satisfaction, but it was drowned out by the sheer shock and bewilderment of the most perplexing situation she'd ever encountered.

Grindelwald opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. This shocking turn of events seemed to have almost paralyzed him with confusion. "Mr. Goyle, explain yourself!" he said eventually.

"Oh, gladly, headmaster," Goyle said with an elaborate bow and a wink. "The rules are very clear. The first person, not the first champion, but the first person to touch the cup after it is put in the maze is the winner. And that is me! But wait, there's more!" He opened the bundle and undid what must have been a stunning charm on what was inside.

Hermione recoiled at seeing the hideous, babylike form of the homunculus Voldemort had become. So did the vast majority of the crowd. "Fools!" Voldemort screamed. "I will reign supreme over all! I am the Dark Lord Voldemort and you will all bow before me!"

There was dead silence for fifteen seconds. And then Luna burst out laughing. Her laughter opened the floodgates, and soon nearly the entire crowd with the notable exception of Grindelwald, who was shaking in fury at having his plans derailed, was laughing at Voldemort. The laughter was utterly infectious. Hermione joined in eagerly, happy to humiliate the person who'd murdered Harry's parents and paralyzed her for months.

"More like the Dork Lord!" Daphne called out.

"The Dark Wanker!" Ginny said, blowing a raspberry at him.

Voldemort laughed maniacally. "You poor, simple fools! Little do you know that young Ginevra over there is possessed by the memory of my sixteen-year-old self!"

Everyone stared at him. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Mrs. Weasley said eventually. "My Ginny is a paragon of light. Everyone knows that." There were various nods from the spectators. No one believed Voldemort.

Fudge stepped up and attempted to make a heroic pose, which really only made him look constipated in Hermione's opinion. "Yes, well, I think we've heard enough," he said. "Voldemort, you are under arrest for…well, it'd really be quicker to list the crimes you haven't committed." One of his Auror bodyguards took the bundle and apparated away.

Huh. Hermione was expecting him to go straight into denial, just as he'd done at the end of the previous year. Maybe he was better at his job without Lord Malfoy's poisonous influences. Or maybe it was just because this was a triumph for the Ministry as opposed to the humiliation they'd have to endure if they admitted Sirius was innocent. In fact, Hermione wasn't sure Fudge wasn't in denial personally, only pretending to believe them for the sake of the public. Either way, it was the end results that mattered. Without an ability to use magic or prominent allies to smuggle him out or any Horcruxes, Voldemort would likely be tried and executed for his crimes.

"And let us all hail our wonderful Triwizard Champion, the hero who captured Voldemort, the esteemed Regent Goyle!" Fudge went on. A confused but relatively enthusiastic cheer emerged from the crowd. Hermione decided to join them. In the end, the goal was accomplished even if Goyle was going to be the one taking the credit. "Albus, why don't we go to the Great Hall for the awarding of the cup?"

Grindelwald gritted his teeth. It was taking every ounce of his self-control to not kill the minister right there, Hermione could tell. But eventually, he gave a curt nod and the crowd wandered back into the school.

Hermione couldn't help but chew her nails nervously as a stage was prepared where the Staff Table usually sat in the Great Hall. The plan was simple enough, but so had been the first part of it, only to go off the rails rather spectacularly. There wasn't only one Portkey spell on the cup. There was a second one, keyed to Grindelwald, which was supposed to teleport him to Grimmauld Place, where he could be held and exorcised. All he had to do was touch the cup, which he was supposed to do when handing it over to Goyle. After he was exorcised, they could attack Nurmengard without any obstacles, and hopefully with Dumbledore's help.

Hermione watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Grindelwald reached out to touch the cup…

…and then as he blasted it to smithereens.

"ENOUGH!" he thundered, so angry he had forgotten to use Dumbledore's voice. "I will not tolerate this lunacy any longer!" Everyone stared at him, and with good reason, since Grindelwald was talking in his real German accent now. "This is a farce! This was supposed to go so simply. All that had to be done was for stupid Potter to touch the VERDAMMDT CUP! Then Voldemort would have been resurrected, he would have attacked the Muggles, and I could finally, finally triumph!"

Gasps chorused throughout the room. Hermione wasn't sure Grindelwald was aware he was monologuing before a massive audience, and she certainly wasn't about to inform him. Not when he was doing such an excellent job of tossing sixteen years of subtlety down the drain.

"What are you talking about, Albus?" Fudge demanded. "Have you lost your mind?"

The doors to the Great Hall slammed open. "He's talking about how he's really Gellert Grindelwald," Harry announced as he strode into the room, confidence showing in his every step. As if on cue, Draco's Polyjuice wore off and he stepped over to his boyfriend's side. Not about to be outdone by a Malfoy, Hermione stepped over to him. She was soon joined by Daphne, Luna, Ginny, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, and Professor Moody.

"Preposterous," Grindelwald said, as if he hadn't just been villainously monologuing. "You will drop these scurrilous accusations at once, my boy."

"Uh, how about no?" Harry shot back. Grindelwald's eyes widened. "For the last sixteen years, Grindelwald has been possessing Professor Dumbledore. He's been using the wards of this castle to power the spell."

Ron held his head up high. Hardly anyone would be able to tell he was also trembling in fear. "He's been brainwashing all of us! He turned me into his spy!"

"He used the Imperius curse on me," Hermione admitted shamefully.

Mrs. Weasley took a step in Grindelwald's direction, her eyes blazing with hatred. "He twisted my mind, turned me against my daughter! I'll see him burn for what he did!"

"It's all true, minister," Professor Moody confirmed. "He killed Bones and made it look like Karkaroff did it. He also murdered Snape and McGonagall. He was behind the murder of the Potters too. Pettigrew was his pawn."

Fudge's mouth opened and closed repeatedly. "This is…this is a very grave accusation. Um, Albus, I'm sure this is all a big misunderstanding, but for the time being, would you mind terribly surrendering your wand so we can clear things up?"

Grindelwald thought about it, and then gave a low, throaty chuckle. "I don't think so, Cornelius. I think I'd rather win." He stepped off the stage and started walking towards his enemies. Everyone held out their wands, pointed directly at Grindelwald, but no one dared fire a single spell at the Dark Lord.

"Hold steady!" Professor Moody called out. "We have strength of numbers!"

"Very clever of you to figure all of that out, Fraulein Granger," Grindelwald said, moving inexorably towards Hermione. "I've always thought you had a great future ahead of you. Would you care to stand with me? Muggleborn witches such as yourself will be a great asset in the war to come. There'll be vast rewards."

Hermione snickered as if he'd told a funny joke. "Yeah, no, that's not happening. You violated the sanctity of my mind, Grindelwald. You hurt my friend. I don't care if you'll bring world peace and puppies for everyone. I don't stand with evil, and I never will."

Grindelwald shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot."

Then he spun around and used the Elder Wand to cast the last spell Hermione was suspecting upon everyone. He cast a Flame Freezing Charm. Hermione suddenly had a very, very bad feeling about what was coming.

"PESTIS INCENDIUM!" Grindelwald thundered and a torrent of fire emerged from his wand. It filled the room, covering nearly every single space, almost leaving Hermione blinded with its sheer illumination. But it did not harm her. The Flame Freezing Charm had done its work…right up until the moment it was dispelled and everyone burnt to a crisp. And Grindelwald would be unharmed because it was just Dumbledore's body that would be destroyed. Hermione watched, almost entranced, as the fire took on eldritch shapes and constantly changed into various animals, seeking prey that it may devour.

Grindelwald stepped over to Fudge, who looked like he was ready to pee his pants. In fact, Hermione was mildly surprised he had not already done so. "The time for subtlety is past, Cornelius," he said in a mockery of a kind tone, now using Dumbledore's voice again. "You have exactly ten hours to end the Statute of Secrecy and reveal the wizarding world's existence to the Muggles or everyone in this school dies!"