"So the blood pact can be destroyed with the venom," Edwin quietly mumbles as we're strolling through Knockturn Alley. Queenie and Vivian also accompany us to a few last errands for our last school year. "That's good," he thinks aloud. "And Dumbledore certainly gets to it in his own time, right?"

"Edwin, please," I groan, glad to have Harper's hand in mine for just a bit of grounding and glimpses of inner peace. "As in the forest in Albania, I'd be quite grateful if you could perhaps tone down your sonorous voice a bit and –"

"Just because you grew up with whispering only in your orphanage and hence practically live in Hogwarts' library doesn't mean everyone has to be so quiet," he protests. "But fine, then – let's forget about it for now. I'm about to die at any given moment thanks to hypoglycemia anyway."

"Well," I hum ever so casually. "I take it you'd need something to eat as soon as possible then?"

"That's exactly right," Edwin confirms, suffering.

"Oh, I can cook something quick for us!" Queenie offers, her cheerful nature glowing immediately. "Jacob and I, we don't even live far from here."

"But my dear," Edwin sighs, "please, that's not what I meant! I wouldn't ever wish to invite myself to your home like that!"

"Of course not, and I had a pub in mind," I claim.

"You'd consider eating a stew from last week in one of those old, sticky taverns when I offer my hospitality?" She puts her hands on her hips in mocking outrage. "Don't you dare. Come on!"

She proceeds to eagerly guide us, insisting we follow her, all while Edwin gives me a triumphant wink. It's perfectly clear to Harper that neither of us ever had any intention of eating in a pub.

"You're shameless. Both of you!" Harper whispers to us and can't quite hide her amusement.

"May well be."

Edwin also shrugs. "Anyone who's already tried Goldstein's cuisine would kill for it – trust me, little raven."

We follow Queenie and Vivian through Diagon Alley. From there, we reach Horizont Alley to the right, leading us past Carkitt Market and its café. It's the very spot where Queenie and I met for the first time. And two streets further on she points to a typical London townhouse.

Multi-storey, with a facade of rusticated cornerstones and high windows. As bright and inviting as her own spirit is – and yet, there's something in the air that gives me an uneasy sensation.

"What is it?" Harper whispers, noticing my clenched jaw at once. "Tom?"

"Nothing," I claim. "Just … paranoia …"

"Jacob's probably hungry, too," Queenie merrily announces from further ahead, rubbing her hands. "Follow me up the outside stairs to the first floor – isn't it almost like in New York?"

"Goodness, stairs?" Edwin moans, glancing down his cane as he pauses. "Not a particularly glorious idea with aching hips …"

"I'd be happy to offer my arm, since you're my favorite great uncle," Harper says, quick to support him.

"Well, I can't afford to decline that." He does take her arm, before letting Vivian and me go first. "Otherwise it'll take you forever," he warns us.

We follow Queenie up the stairs – nothing can dampen her excitement – but when I exchange a wary glance with Vivian, and see her slightly nodding at me, too, I know.

She can sense it as well.

Dark magic …

And while Queenie is still rummaging in her bag for her keys, we already notice that she won't need them.

We're right.

The door's already open, just a crack – like a quiet whisper that hopes to lure us into the inevitable.

I immediately draw my wand, gently shoving a stunned Queenie aside with somewhat firm pressure. Meanwhile, Vivian signals her and the others to be quiet with a finger on her lips.

"Oh, no," Edwin grumbles, stopping halfway up the stairs. After a quick glance at the door, Harper, however, seems to also assume what the subject of our suspicions might be.

"Jacob!" Queenie whispers in horror, yet she holds her breath as I enter the hallway.

Two heartbeats later, we already hear him.

"In the living room."

Gellert Grindelwald wouldn't let himself be surprised.

"Come on, children!"

His voice sounds warm and mocking at the same time, just as his undeniable talents and that seething madness are diametrically opposed. Black magic is in the air just like his coquetry.

I should've listened to my intuition, I could have known who we'd walk in on.

Closely followed by Queenie, I pass the dressing area in the corridor opposite the kitchen. Until I'm standing in her eclectically furnished living room, expecting to face him again – but he wouldn't be the eccentric I've come to know if he didn't stand far away at the window. His back turned to us in utmost relaxation, he's merely overlooking the courtyard.

He doesn't have to watch us, one of his Rottweilers does. The second dog keeps an attentive eye on Jacob, making sure he'll stay seated on one of the sofas as though that were actually necessary. Visibly pale, Queenie's husband waves an awkward hand at us, hardly daring to greet us.

"Finally …" Grindelwald says under his breath. "There you are!"

With his hands folded behind his back, he slowly turns around. His eyes are as contradictory as ever and a calm smile creeps onto his face. He's so enjoying himself as Vivian, Edwin and Harper flinch upon arriving right behind Queenie.

And still, he only has eyes for me.

"Tom Riddle," he all but says, chuckling as he keeps examining me.

Almost fatherly. Almost … proud. It'd be as absurd as it is bizarre – if only I hadn't grown up in the most lawless part of London, getting used to bizarre occurrences on the daily.

"Oh, so you're Tom?" Jacob chimes in, his curiosity briefly outweighing his suppressed terror. "I've heard a lot about you – how nice to meet you!"

"Don't be so polite, Jacob," Grindelwald advises, his eyes still never leaving my face. "After all, Tom is the only reason for my spontaneous visit, which is, obviously, causing you such fear … Think about it. Not Edwin, who's my favorite traitor of all, not Vivian with those lying red lips, no, not even your wife, despite her wonderfully calming aura masking her intentions … Only Riddle."

Here we are again. In the middle of his monologues …

"I hardly recognize him, though," Grindelwald continues his sermon. But he himself has changed since I last saw him in the forest of the east. His attitude seems even more volatile. Even more irritable. "Besides the fact that he dared to show me an entirely different face for more than two weeks, he – now completely himself – really looks much healthier than he did during the Easter holidays." He nods at me in what seems to be a much too benevolent gesture. "How does immortality feel? Huh? How much does a soul that's been torn apart still sense?"

I don't let my surprise show, but I'm caught off guard by how he seems to assume I've successfully created a Horcrux. Correcting it would be an outright shame …

"Why won't you tell me," I hear myself saying, "whether you've conquered Death and taken its other Hallow by now …" I can barely suppress a smile as his dogs start to growl, the question offends him to his core. I add, "Surely you're not content with my ancient ring and the Elder Wand only?"

However much he hates me, it's not apparent on his face. He winks, albeit a little manically, and he clearly has no intention of responding. But I know it. He doesn't have the cloak …

"Why are you here?" I bluntly ask. "Did you switch up the year?"

Shaking his head, he laughs as though he was having the best of times. He beams at the others for the first time, seemingly in a high spirits. "I was expecting you all a bit earlier, children. But I was around anyway – as luck would have it … A wonderful opportunity to visit old friends, don't we think?" He waves Hello to the ladies. "Please … Come closer, don't be shy!"

Even though Artemis bares her teeth in warning, Queenie rushes to be at Jacob's side. Vivian doesn't move an inch and stays right next to me without saying a word, as she would've sworn to Merope – if there had ever been an opportunity – while Grindelwald lets his gaze wander to Edwin.
And to Harper.

"Apollo, symbol of light – look!" he whispers to the dog next to him and promptly moves closer to his favorite traitor. "Edwin brought a sun child along, hair blonde as straw …" He glances at Harper with too much interest for my liking, then he strolls towards Vivian ever so casually. "Doesn't she somewhat remind you of your old friend Faye? She reminds me very much of her." Vivian just gulps, but he continues to say, "That confused soul who took her own life –"

"She was anything but confused," Vivian hisses. "She was too good for this world, far too empathetic … That was her curse. She never belonged here. An angel in hell during war? No …"

"So may she rest in peace," Grindelwald replies with little concern, glaring at Harper yet again. I intuitively step before her and force myself to remember with all my might that he cannot do anything to her because of our vow.

"That one's not an angel, or is she?" He grins at us and inches even closer as well. "Otherwise she wouldn't be here, with people of questionable morals, in a room with me – and you." He glowers at me. "Does she know that your immortality would've failed because of love alone, Tom? It must have hurt her …"

Harper doesn't correct him either – nobody does, not even in the heat of the moment.

"Does everyone here just accept how ruthlessly you go through life?" Grindelwald asks, almost cheerfully so. "Congratulations, my boy – that should make things much easier for you on your paths to come. To cause disappointment in those who were actually loyal," he muses, "is, after all, so very … frustrating."

"You yourself have only ever disappointed one person," I reply, just as much in mock-politeness.

He keeps examining my mimic with calculating eyes, but what he would so like to see – fear – cannot possibly be found on my features. If he even touches a hair on anyone's head in this room, he himself will crumble to dust. If he raises the Elder Wand against me, according to his current knowledge, no one else could ever lure his old love-hate to the gates of Hogwarts …

"You haven't answered," I claim. "Why are you here?"

"Tom," he finally growls in quite a mood swing, "Tom, Tom … You need to understand – I'm asking the questions. Isn't that right, Jacob?" Grindelwald continues to stare at me, but out of the corner of my eye I see Queenie's husband nod quickly. "And I'm just wondering …" He pauses and smiles at Harper. "Wouldn't our dear Harper May Sullivan have been reason enough for you to endure miserable mortality?"

"What was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to you?" I retort, just as tired of pretending. "Wasn't his modesty enough for both of you?"

"Be modest yourself," he almost whispers. Even the dogs growl, then suddenly, Grindelwald smiles again. "How far along are you?"

"How far along?" I narrow my eyes. "You did get the year wrong."

"Not at all, you swore to me that you would make sure –"

"I know exactly what I've sworn," I interrupt him in the middle of another change of mood.

"Part of me, Tom," he whispers, "is hoping that you'll fail thanks to your hubris and that I'll, by that, be able to kill exactly those people whose survival you've made a condition."

I wanly nod. "I believe you hope that …"

"But you couldn't care," Grindelwald muses, suddenly fascinated again. "Isn't that so? Since you can't love anyway … Or are you so calm because you actually believe in fulfilling your vows?"

"You obviously do – otherwise you wouldn't have let me leave in May."

He winks. "No, I wouldn't have. So – how far are you?"

"No need for concern," I claim, "we're well on schedule."

"Do you hear that, Queenie," he almost yells all of a sudden. "We're well on schedule … Unlike you, huh? Didn't you intend to cook for us?"

She flinches, forcing a smile. "You wish to eat with us, Gellert?"

"Why, of course I do!" he assures. "Good company and even better food are so rare to find these days …"

"Absolutely delicious, Queenie." All still gathered around the table, he seems to believe we were only waiting for his remark. "I was heartbroken when you all left Albania so suddenly." He dabs his mouth with his napkin to then point to the goulash. "I missed your food a lot, you know? Most of all, to be honest. Even more than Edwin."

"Gellert, please," the very man grumbles. "We both know that you'd love to stab me in the back at any given moment."

"Undoubtedly, yes," Grindelwald confirms. "Only metaphorically speaking, though. I wouldn't get my hands dirty like an uncivil No-Maj."

If looks could kill, Harper would now petrify him like Medusa, but Vivian just asks, "You'd really kill us and shed magical blood out of principle?"

"Oh, children, don't you remember Vinda?" He bleakly winks. "Anyone who's sworn loyalty and doesn't live up to it – turns to dust. I don't like it either, you are part of my magical family after all –"

"Family," Harper mumbles in disbelief.

"Families have rules too, yes," he tells her, looking thoroughly amused. "Deathly Hallows, however, can change many a circumstance. And a broken blood pact even more so …" He lets his gaze shift to me. "Tom, I'm curious, do tell me – how do you intend to destroy the amulet?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't need me anymore," I sum it up, my face no less cheerful as I finally put my fork down. I've had enough goulash for a lifetime in Albania's forests …

"It's become so difficult to talk to you these days," Grindelwald regrets. "I could just as well make you talk …"

"No, you couldn't," I correct him, no longer even trying for a humble tone. "Our vow forbids that, too."

"Does it really?" he sighs.

"I'm just as rabulistic as you are, we had a lot to specify …"

"Indeed – and I was far too generous with you," he finds, squaring his shoulders. "Learn from my mistakes, Tom – better let all your followers jump through fire. Each of them. Don't be mild when it comes to concessions – unlike me."

"With all due respect," I hear myself say, "but your information in return was more than flimsy. You can hardly complain, since I, on the other hand –"

"Yet you're immortal now, aren't you?" Grindelwald replies, examining me closely. "You hardly missed out."

"You didn't expect that," I assume. "You thought you were handing me useless scraps of fairy tales."

"Fairy tales, oh, what a reminder," Grindelwald rejoices. "Edwin!" he calls out. "Tell us – which one is your favorite?"

"I guess Andersen's The Emperor's New Clothes," he replies after some consideration.

"A fairy tale from the world of the que?" Grindelwald laughs while raising a brow at Edwin. "As though our world had nothing better to offer …"

"What's wrong," Harper acidly asks, "with feeling inspired by the story of a Danish No-Maj teaching about the consequences of megalomania and not thinking for oneself?" I know her well enough to know how nervous she is, but she's hiding it in exemplary manner – even if she may have chosen the fundamentally wrong person for idealistic rhetoric …

"What's wrong about that?" Grindelwald mildly smiles, almost to my surprise. "Why, my dear, feed the mind with such trivial thoughts of the inferior?"

"The inferior?" she repeats, barely minding her anger shows. "Until the 18th century, the world of magic hadn't even managed to copy a non-magical sanitary way for hygiene – which, as I'm sure you'll agree, even the superior ought to be interested in, just like ordinary Muggles. Mind you, all while these same supposedly inferior Muggles had built architectural masterpieces in ancient Roman times already."

"Why waste time on architecture," Grindelwald replies, genuinely enjoying this exchange, "when a wave of a wand can work miracles, too, little Faye? Your parents' shame needn't bother you, child –"

"What shame!" she almost hisses. "Only one person in this room ought to be ashamed of being an uninvited guest, sir!"

"Harper," Vivian whispers, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, "let's go back to talking about fairy tales, yeah?"

"Young fury," Grindelwald praises, surprisingly calm. "How refreshing. So foolish, so raw. Tell me, little mudblood …"

Now even I have to pull myself together …

"Might you be angry at the world because your love was so hopelessly unrequited?" Grindelwald closely examines her stern expression, then mine, until he quietly sighs. "Tom wouldn't have been able to split his soul if he felt even a spark of connection to you. That must hurt quite a bit?"

She remains silent. As we all do.

"I know the anger that arises from such betrayal," Grindelwald continues just when the silence is on the brink of becoming absurd, especially for the others around the table. "Too well, in fact, to my regret."

"You could've followed Dumbledore's example," Harper retorts. "You could've changed the world together, being brilliant, and talented – and what did you choose? Radical extremism?" Harper shakes her head in defiance. "You can't possibly refer to betrayal when you're the traitor yourself."

"Radical extremism," Grindelwald repeats chuckling, and suddenly, as if by magic, he holds a skull up to show her.

"What is that?" Harper asks, visibly taken aback.

"Leta Lestrange destroyed that hookah back then," Queenie whispers, glancing up at Grindelwald with wide eyes. "She died while doing that, I saw it with my own eyes."

Grindelwald smiles, darkly intent. "There are plenty of dead and hence skulls in the world, don't you think?"

She gulps and won't reply, but Harper is still trying to make out details on his relic.

"Is that written in German?" she asks as she seems to read the engraving in the bone. "What does it mean?"

"For the Greater Good," he translates. "You've probably heard of it? But that's not what we're talking about tonight." He nods at her. "Dear, do you even know who's sitting across from you? Who you've given your heart to? Do you have even the slightest idea who Tom Riddle will one day be?"

The skull begins to glow all golden, but as warm as the color should be, the gleaming radiates more like a threat onto the face of the so-called Dark Lord.

"Or," he whispers, inching closer to Harper, "shall I show you?"