Here we are. In the midst of a nebulous pit of snakes whose behavior, for once, I cannot predict.
Within chaos and confusion, supposedly progressive collectivism and old acquaintances can be found.
Edwin and Queenie had greeted each other like good friends, and also Vivian had probably known the old troublemaker for years. After Grindelwald told me to follow him and his Rottweilers in view of such touching scenes, I found myself reunited with all of them in Grindelwald's private tent surprisingly quickly.
In front of tea.
How reassuring in this bloody malaise …
"So, the Koldovstoretz – what did they teach you there? About the Deathly Hallows?"
He's been looking for them for half a lifetime, of course he gets straight to the point …
And thanks to Queenie, he actually thinks I might help him with knowledge from other parts of the world. It may well lead us all to our graves, but I have to stifle a smile.
How much more bizarre could any of this get?
Though I'm quickly losing all sense of humour again, at the mere thought of Edwin surely recognizing my voice in but a second.
But I can't keep quiet any longer.
I have to hope that he's not here out of conviction, rather for reasons that are, at least, as selfish as mine.
Something tells me he's acting as a dark beacon and seeks to keep an eye on Grindelwald above all else – because what I saw around Christmas was caring. For the No-Maj parents who let Harper become who she is.
Light.
So how could Edwin walk in darkness like I do?
"Maxim?"
"Excuse me, sir," I rush to say right before Grindelwald has to fear I'm sleeping with my eyes open. "I'm just contemplating on how to best phrase it …"
I really am. Because Edwin is now staring at me, thunderstruck, and because I don't know what to say next.
Unless he betrays me.
Which obviously won't happen because he's already trying to hide his shock.
Grindelwald doesn't notice, but that only forces me all the more to get back to my answer.
Should I play dumb and possibly be too boring? Or sing, and be suspicious?
What would an idiot do?
What would Nott say …
"Sir, there are … rumors. On the other side of the world."
Keeping it vague.
Grindelwald still listens up and puts his head back. "Rumors …" Like smelling blood in shark invested waters.
"Yes." I demonstratively swallow. "Well, they say Death is everywhere."
"What is that supposed to mean?" He stares me down. "That its Hallows could be everywhere, too? Believe it or not – that's precisely where I'm at!"
"Yes, sure," I claim, "but Death is supposed to have preferences."
"Preferences …" He snaps, "Is that so? Well, and where does Death like being, according to you?"
"Where people like to be. Where they are happy. What is Death but the Lord of Dementors? He collects souls and takes all warmth."
What am I even saying … If it wasn't for my naive face and the blond hair that reminds him of better times, he'd probably be utterly impatient yet.
"Where have you been looking?" I boldly ask.
"In the darkest places that you can imagine," he hisses. "In the busiest places you know!"
The man must really be frustrated …
"But where would Death hide its Hallows?" I ask, and actually I do start to truly think about it with him. "That would be something Death must have thought about."
"Death is not a walking creature," he lectures me. "We're talking about a phenomenon with a partly metaphysical character. A figment of the mind that ends lives without ever being seen!"
I slowly nod. Whatever he says, I'll simply agree to …
He holds the Elder Wand.
I have the ring – and it must be Marvolo's ring in the end. I found it without seeking it out, in purest irony of fate.
But where is the cloak?
As long as it's missing, Grindelwald cannot ever achieve absolute power to cause unhealthy hegemony in the world of magic.
As long as it's missing, I myself can't fall for ultimate madness.
So who the hell holds the key to all of this for our own good?
"Where would Death hide them," Grindelwald repeats all lost in thought, even though he'd already dismissed my oh-so-useless comment earlier. He leans back with a sigh and looks up at the high tent ceiling. "Hiding … From whoever might be looking for them … Maybe we should think less cosmologically, more –"
"Explicitly," I add almost impatiently and feel like biting my own tongue for it. "Where," I hastily continue, "would Death explicitly hide the Hallows from you?"
He glances at me with suppressed rage, and I really can't blame him. After decades of fruitless research, my patience would also be running thin, especially if a boy with the face of my greatest enemy had the audacity to tap into those neuralgic wounds …
"Where would you never be looking. Where wouldn't you want to look?" Playfully naive, I add, "I think Death would know that. Even if it's haunting the world insubstantially."
"The boy knows how to ask sharp questions," Edwin grumbles, eyeing me much too close. "You'd think he was Death himself …"
Grindelwald begins to shake his head as Edwin groans and gets up to circle the table in the middle of the tent – only to sit down right next to me.
"Do they teach you such analytical thinking at the Koldovstoretz?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in obvious mockery.
"Indeed, but also a little bit of trust," I reply in a forced and friendly manner, sincerely hoping he'll gets that hint.
"Interesting," he hums without taking his eyes off me, yet the Dark Lord suddenly shares a thought with us.
"You really could be his young, lost brother." Grindelwald bluntly stares at me, biting his lower lip. "You could be related to him."
"Sir, to whom?"
"Dumbledore." He says it like a swear word, and with passion. "Albus Dumbledore. The one man I hope Death wouldn't allow to hide a Hallow."
I gulp.
Of course …
If fate hadn't surprised me that often in this respect yet, I'd probably wave it off.
But how crazy would it be if Dumbledore, of all people, had the cloak?
If each of us was standing on one side of the triangle and could neither move forward nor back?
"Do you know him – the famous Dumbledore?" Edwin asks me sternly, despite knowing for a fact that I do.
I shake my head still, as there can be but one answer. "Only by name."
"Name," Edwin chortles. "And what do people say about his name? Might it be that he doesn't quite have his students under control?"
"I can't say much about that, but I hear he's very powerful," I reply. Inwardly quite dissatisfied, I take the precaution of adding in Grindelwald's direction, "Hardly more powerful than you, however, sir."
"I'm sure he's learned a few tricks since we last met, but … so have I." He stares into blank space. "But him and I – we're opposites. There's nothing we can do to meet in the middle. And there can't be a reunion in peace, so … there's nothing but distance between us." He looks up at Queenie. "This is all astonishingly unhelpful – how could you claim he knew something?"
"Where did you start your search?" I just continue.
I guess he briefly weighs whether he should send me packing, then, however, he takes in a deep breath to close his eyes. "My journey began in Godric's Hollow. Many years ago."
"Why?"
At once I hold his irritated gaze, though I fake a nervous smile.
I don't have to help him.
I just need to get him to invest more time with me so I can create a connection that allows me to ask him exactly the questions I need to ask – without dying in the process …
"That place is in the middle of nowhere." He ruffles his hair and mutters, "There's nothing there. Nothing but his family, or rather what's left of it, and my great-aunt. And graves next to a cathedral. The Peverells lie there, with a gravestone ornament that is the symbol of the Hallows – which is why I turned over every stone in this bloody village."
There's a particular stone in the Ring of the House of Gaunt, too, as luck would have it … Whatever the world expects of me, it really has a grotesque sense of humor to hand me, as an orphan, nothing more than brute survival instincts, magical potential and a Deathly Hallow …
"One of my professors used to say," I begin, trying not to sound too clever, "that things sometimes look different by day than by night." I raise my hands. "Just a thought."
"Vivian, he's downright impertinent!" Grindelwald complains.
He has no idea how much I'm holding back …
"But he might be right," she cautiously says. "If you get stuck, sometimes you have to go back to the beginning."
He puts his feet up on Edwin's armrest and sighs, deeply resigned to his fate.
And that's when I see it. Edwin's brash look at his boots.
He hates him. In secret of course, but still.
I knew it …
"You should leave now," Edwin proactively tells us, well aware of how choleric Grindelwald may become at any moment. "Say hello to the others, make yourselves useful. Queenie, do you still cook as well as you did back then?"
She's modestly coy, but Vivian nods for her.
"Be so kind and help the lads out there – we can't stand any more bean stew."
Grindelwald, massaging his temples, nods wearily.
"Goulash would be a dream," he informs her in theatrical exasperation.
Is that what makes me different from all of them? What Harper does all the time? Enjoying banal things like food?
Why can't I just do that, too?
"We'll cook you the best Goulash you've ever had," Queenie promises as we get up.
"And Maxim," Vivian says, "will chop the onions."
"I hate onions," Grindelwald mumbles, looking at me as though I were one myself … "The smell, and the way it lingers on skin after a little touch …"
"No onions, then," Vivian quickly confirms, smiling as she takes me by the shoulders to maneuver me towards the tent exit. "Must be your lucky day, Maxim!"
"Happiness is fleeting – remember that, boy," Grindelwald grumbles, but it's nothing we need to dwell on.
And it's not particularly inventive either. Not after everything that's happened in such quick succession over the last few days …