"I know very well, sir, that ability and willingness are not always necessarily congruent."

"Then why should I help you?" he asks, his eyes never leaving my face. "Why would you help me?"

"You just mentioned it yourself," I hear myself claim, "it's hard to achieve goals all alone. With all due respect, but your supposed revolution –"

"I know myself that we're stuck," he grumbles, sighing from the bottom of his heart. "We're chanting slogans, not more. That's what I mean – nothing is happening. Any movement, positive or negative, anything would be better than this stupor. Time teaches humility. But what it has taught me above all is that the things that used to be important to me have lost a lot of their significance."

"And you assume that the Hallows may change that?"

"Perhaps," he almost whispers, "but I don't see how you could be of any use to me. You've already helped me a bit, though, I admit that …"

"In what way?" I watch him tensely as he turns his pendant in his hand. He points to the triangle.

"It would be so ridiculous that it could end up being true. In the end, Albus really does have one of the three Hallows. In secret, of course, never talking about it. As always. Maybe he even has two, just to protect them from me …"

I'm feverishly thinking about my next step, but I'll probably have to play my cards now. The only ace up my sleeve is literally in my coat pocket, and I can't make much headway without going first.

"Let's leave this church, sir," I say, looking straight at him. "And I'll make you a proposition."

"Why not here?" he asks. "No coy reverence for this place, boy, the very bones of the supposed saints in these halls here would be an abomination to the God of scripture."

"You mean this temple is more pagan than Christian …"

"Most churches are, what is your proposal?" he urges.

"A vow," I say, swallowing my doubts about its viability.

It's everything or nothing.

"I hate such practices by now, as you can well imagine," he replies with but little interest, still I keep talking.

"An Unbreakable Vow, no blood. You will receive a Deathly Hallow. Within the next hour."

The breath seems to freeze in his very throat.

Mine, too. Because if I'm wrong – if Marvolo's ring doesn't have the Stone of Resurrection set in it – I'll die immediately, because I won't be able to fulfil my part.
And if that happens, everyone else will probably die, too …

Harper.
Her pretty face as pale as mine – a thought I hastily dispel by nodding at Grindelwald.

"What are you saying?"

"What I say?" He just shakes his head. "Why shouldn't I torture you to death so that you'll simply tell me –"

"Sir, not even dementors would be interested in me – and you certainly can't threaten me with pain."

"What about Edwin's great-niece?" He smiles. "You don't want to see her shredded to pieces by dogs, do you? One bite and she loses her eyesight, a second bite and one cheek is in tatters, and so on and so forth …"

That's worse than imagining her pale face. Blood everywhere, like Morfin's …
No, that's not an option.

"The things you learn from Edwin when you have Veritaserum at hand," he adds, watching me closely.

But he mustn't see that this is leverage. He mustn't realise that.

"You contradict yourself – are you reluctant to spill magical blood or not? Was that just euphemistic hypocrisy?"

"Would it be such a pity, especially with the old traitor?" Grindelwald chuckles, and that simply makes me so suspicious now that I can barely hide it. He smirks. "Why haven't I killed Edwin long ago if I knew, you ask yourself? I'll tell you. He's a good man to talk to. Whether he wanted to get in my way or not, I like him."

"So you're the man I read about," I reply. "Nothing is left to caprice."

"And yet – you know about the whereabouts of a Hallow and believe you can negotiate with me? Had read carefully enough read who I am, you would know how tired of life you have to –"

"Sir, that's not it," I interrupt him and hold his gaze. "You want Dumbledore. I'll make sure he's no longer hiding behind his castle walls."

He laughs out loud. "As if you could vow that!"

"I'm willing to do it. I can. But only alive, obviously … And only if everyone who I think should be alive also remains just that. Alive."

"These are your conditions? Mercy for Chosen Ones?"

"And everything you know about Horcruxes," I add. "Those are my conditions. You won't see me again after that. I don't ask questions, you don't. I'm not against or for your Greater Good – you're hardly sure about it yourself. But it's remarkably good propaganda. Crowds gather under an umbrella like this if … progress is visible."

"A Hallow and Dumbledore, though there's the Blood Pact." He can't figure me out. "You must be very sure. Because if you can't keep your word, you're not the only one who dies. I'm certain you realise that."

"If I do nothing, fate will take the same course," I reply. "My only way to keep everyone involved safe is to fulfil my part. And everyone would benefit. Especially you, if we're honest. And possibly the world as well in the long run, when it finally moves on and may expect a long overdue duel …"

He gives me a dangerous smile. "What time frame? How long do you need for Dumbledore?"

"How long will you give me?" I'm about to suggest three months, but he beats me to it.

"Until autumn. No longer."

"A year," I reply. Now that we're at it, I can at least try to optimize …

"A whole year?" he asks in exasperation.

"Twelve months. Yes."

"All right, then. Whatever. A year."

"We have an accord then," I say. "Whatever the outcome of your duel, you won't touch Edwin and his family. The same goes for Queenie and her family, Vivian and hers, and Nagini."

"Nagini? Did she come with you, too?"

I nod.

"She hates me because of Credence, I know that," he sighs, genuinely concerned.

"Surely you know best why that is. She must be just as safe from death."

He nods. "So be it … That will make the dogs sad, but of course they'll obey."

"Good, because otherwise you will die, unless you already have all three Hallows –"

"That gives me an idea, Tom," he quickly says. "You want a Horcrux. If you've got a year for Dumbledore, how do I know you won't forget about that, possibly already being immortal?"

"You don't. On that point, you'll have to live with the uncertainty and hope that I don't want to see anyone but myself persecuted and left to die – though you'd still have one more Hallow. And in the end, isn't that a good deal in any case?"

"You, up there!" Grindelwald suddenly calls out to the organist. "Come down to us, be so kind …"

Puzzled, the man pauses in his playing, then Grindelwald's Imperius hits him.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Someone has to witness our vows."

We have an accord?
We do …

And not a minute later, the will-less organist – with the Unforgivable Curse on him, just enough in touch with magic to make it work – takes the oath from us, and by the time everything is said, every quibble ruled out and all the key details specified, another three minutes have passed.

After which I don't drop dead.

So Marvolo's ring holds the stone of resurrection.
Hard to believe, but true …

"The Hallow," Grindelwald demands after erasing the man's memory. For an hour, because his musical talent shall still delight others.

"First tell me what you know about Horcruxes," I say. "You realise as well as I do that you'll come off much better in our deal anyway."

He wryly smiles. "All right … You'll be disappointed, though. I never made one, the rumours are untrue. I've been looking for information about it for a few years, but the ministries of the world have done an excellent job of wiping everything about it off the face of the earth. It's strictly forbidden to split the soul. You know that?"

I nod. "Your Imperius just now was also strictly forbidden – who cares …"

"At least that's the right attitude," he says. "Did you murder, too?"

"Yes."

"Then you've already brought your soul to the abyss. That's conventionally bad, but it's essential for your plan. Yet for your body to finally let go of your soul, it must also be considerably weakened."

"Pain?" I ask.

"The worst pain you can imagine," he confirms. "Agony. And if your body knows the chemistry of light – love – it's very dangerous to get to that point anyway."

"That won't be a problem," I assure him.

"You've never loved?" He pauses. "According to Edwin –"

"Edwin is wrong."

"All right …" he indifferently hums and waves it off. "Be that as it may. Basically, you're bringing about a dementor kiss, alone and voluntarily. Without dementors of course, I'm speaking metaphorically –"

"Sir, I'm really not as naive as I've been pretending to be for the last few weeks, I can certainly –"

"Don't interrupt me! Do you want to hear what I have to say, or do you not?"

I just can't hold it in any longer. "You're much more alike than you think."

He stares at me, I can tell he's irritated. "Albus and me?"

I'm hesitant to nod, still I do. "You both think you're a walking manifesto of charming authority and good manners. But in the end, you lecture those around you about your very own flawed world view – you do it on purpose, which I prefer, but he does it unknowingly. Makes matters worse." In the face of his enraged look, I add with a smirk, "You shouldn't try to kill me out of anger now. We've only just come to an agreement."

"Enough now, you're losing your light," he continues after a short silence. "That's why the ritual takes about a month, maybe a little longer, I never got any further with my research on this point. In any case, it takes time for the soul split to become deep enough – until it's sufficient, and until the light in the body can be replaced by darkness."

I ask, "Light and darkness?"

"You can't take out of a closed system if you don't add substitute. There has to be a balance to avoid a collapse. Therefore, you exchange light – essentially life – with darkness, the dead emptiness of the object to which you want to bind half of your soul. To ensure that no precious soul light strays into the world and evaporates, candles are said to help. The arrangement is important, but I've never figured it out. In short, black, smoke–like darkness in exchange for bright light that passes to the object through your touch and concentration. In theory."

"Have you ever been that far?" I ask.

"No. I was in love. So it would've been almost impossible to torture the body to the point where it lets go. It weakens you. It weakens your magic, your mind. When you escape death, it always takes its toll. Everything splits and is torn in half, not just your soul. Your empathy, your joy, your senses – everything. And you might not look the same as you do now, because your body suffers …"

"I'm not vain," I reply, "I didn't have any trouble spending weeks with a completely different face …"

"It still did its job," he admits. "I don't know what you originally wanted to achieve – that is – I know exactly. Completely foolish … But it has always reminded me that I once lived. That I once loved … You should at least experience it before you attempt to make yourself immortal."

I take in an impatient breath – because what else is there to say …

"Now it's your turn –"

"Wait – that's it?" I chuckle and raise my eyebrows. "That's as far as you got? A vague time frame for the ritual, talk of light and darkness, but no details – and no spell?"

"I told you you wouldn't be thrilled."

"That is … not much indeed."

"But the ladies who made the mistake of trusting you aren't dying." He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "It's not so bad after all."

"Where did you get the information you were able to pass on to me?"

"Greece," he replies. "Herpo, Grand Master of the Dark Arts, was not only the first documented Parselmouth in ancient Athens, he is also said to have bred the first basilisk and apparently created the first Horcrux. In a way, he is the inventor of this magic, and that's where I found some of it. But there are no more writings, everything was burnt in an attempt to purify the world … But if you don't give the darkness its space, it simply claims it."

"It almost seems that way …"

"Just as death will catch up with you if you suffocate by not keeping your promises." He gives me a challenging look. "So enough of Dark Magic. Where is the Hallow? Which one is it?"

Instead of giving him an answer, I simply pull the ring out of my coat pocket. I look at it one last time in the light, then I hand it to Gellert Grindelwald.

"You had it with you?" he asks, almost in shock. "All this time?"

"One should never come empty-handed, I guess."

"That much is certain," he whispers, turning the ring almost manically in his hands. Then at some point he nods at me. "You're free to go. But don't forget what other promise you've made – and at what time it must be fulfilled."

"Maybe I'll start noting important dates such like this in a diary."

He frowns. "They'd have gotten that pretentious mannerism out of you in Durmstrang in no time."

"Maybe at Koldovstoretz, too, but Hogwarts teachings are quite liberal …"

He laughs to himself, shaking his head in weary disbelief.

"Quite convenient chatting with you, Tom."

His fruitless search has finally been crowned with some success, while I've had to negotiate my head off for windy details.

"If I were you, I'd think so too …"