The massive underground cavern had largely collapsed—pathways were severed by fallen boulders, and rubble was strewn across the ruins.
Only the enchantments in place had prevented Hogwarts itself from crumbling down, yet nearly everything here had been buried beneath the wreckage.
As Cyrus descended, he moved his arm with a simple motion, effortlessly lifting boulders weighing dozens of tons out of his way.
With just a thought, he could mend the shattered pathways, restoring them as if they had never been broken.
Before long, he reached the very end of the path.
Once, this place had been an intricate structure built from goblin-wrought mithril, a hollowed-out masterpiece pulsing deep beneath Hogwarts like the ancient, resounding heartbeat of the earth's ley lines.
"Do not disturb the sleeping dragon."
But now, that dragon had long since fallen into slumber—within Cyrus himself.
All that remained was the empty, gleaming shell of mithril.
There was nothing here.
Then what had that person come for?
His gaze swept around the chamber—until he suddenly realized that something was missing.
...
"And what exactly do you plan to do with this?"
In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his sharp eyes locked onto the object resting in Grindelwald's palm, unable to suppress his curiosity.
"Don't tell me you also want to keep a little pet now?"
"Huh~ You call this a little pet?" Grindelwald chuckled, shaking his head. With a casual motion, he lifted the creature in his hand, revealing its true form—a small, jet-black dragon.
It was part of Morgana's legacy, the portion that had fallen into Voldemort's hands.
But after Voldemort's death, the creature had not disappeared. Instead, Grindelwald had claimed it for himself.
"Even I find its immense power rather astonishing—are you sure you don't want it?" He dangled the black dragon by its tail, as if offering a casual snack.
The tiny dragon, clearly offended by the treatment, twisted around and attempted to sink its teeth into Grindelwald's fingers.
"And what would I do with it?" Dumbledore countered, his tone light and unconcerned, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, making him seem years younger. "I believe my era has passed. Such power is no longer of any use to me."
"Aren't you worried about Cyrus?" Grindelwald, handling the black dragon as if it were no more than a restless gecko, slipped it effortlessly into the pocket of his coat before turning smoothly and settling himself into a chair with practiced elegance.
"He wants to break the Statute of Secrecy. After all these years, that law has acted like a bandage, shielding the wounds of the wizarding world—but it's fused with the very flesh it was meant to protect. If it is torn away, it will bleed. Profusely." Grindelwald spoke with certainty. "This isn't just a conflict between wizards and Muggles—it's a war within the wizarding world itself."
"You're not wrong."
Most wizards in the world were traditionalists.
They lived day by day, lacking any long-term vision. Just like the government, as long as a problem hadn't fully erupted—even if the signs were glaring—they insisted that everything was fine. And even when the problem did surface, they'd always find excuses to delay action.
"If they can survive while wrapped in a burial shroud, why bother tearing it off and enduring the pain?"
"Right now, there are quite a few wizards who trust him, who see him as an idol. But his followers are far too few—nowhere near as many as mine were." Grindelwald said.
Back in his time, he had traveled extensively, rallying supporters and converting Aurors to his cause. He was like a wizarding world version of a certain mustached dictator, rousing the masses with impassioned speeches. Even when imprisoned, he had never ceased his efforts to turn the guards to his side.
Cyrus, on the other hand, had done very little in comparison.
"The moment he declares his intention to break the Statute of Secrecy, I doubt many will stand behind him." Grindelwald mused.
Dumbledore let out a quiet hum of agreement.
Opposition would inevitably lead to conflict.
"What do you think he'll do?" Grindelwald asked.
"I believe Cyrus won't resort to the same extreme measures you once did," Dumbledore replied, maintaining his confidence in the young wizard.
"Is that so? And how well do you really know him?" Grindelwald pressed. "Do you know why he wants to break the Statute of Secrecy? Is it for himself, or for the wizarding world?"
Even when pursuing a greater good, people could stand on vastly different sides.
Fifty years ago, Grindelwald had championed the rights of wizards, while Dumbledore had chosen to align himself with the interests of Muggles.
And Cyrus?
Perhaps his motivations were entirely personal.
"More importantly, does he even have a plan? A clear strategy? Or is he just going to recklessly smash through the barriers with brute force?" Grindelwald continued.
His words were blunt, almost dismissive, as if he considered Cyrus too inexperienced to grasp the full scale of what he was proposing. But the issues he raised were undeniably crucial.
"His ideas are too vague. If he makes a single wrong move, Muggles will become enemies of wizards, the conservative faction will turn against the revolutionaries, and even within his own supporters, divisions will emerge."
Even among progressives, there were those who favored diplomacy and those who believed in radical change.
"The wizarding world could descend into chaos first. Even if he doesn't intend to start a war, he may find himself swept into one, unable to escape."
Grindelwald's concerns weighed heavily on Dumbledore's mind.
He wouldn't claim to be entirely selfless—at least, he didn't see himself that way—but years of leadership had conditioned him to prioritize the broader picture over the individual.
"I'll find time to have a proper talk with him," Dumbledore said, his primary concern still centered on Cyrus himself.
He knew that Cyrus wanted to break the Statute of Secrecy in order to rule both worlds simultaneously.
Unlike Dumbledore, who had always been wary of power, Cyrus had no such reservations. In fact, he wielded power effortlessly and had no qualms about using it.
Take Fudge, for example. The opportunistic Minister of Magic had dared to undermine Dumbledore but wouldn't even think of doing the same to Cyrus. Because Dumbledore wouldn't retaliate—but Cyrus? He would kill him without hesitation, on the spot, while mocking him for his actions.
And Cyrus wasn't interested in positions like Minister of Magic or Prime Minister—his ambitions were far greater. He sought absolute power, an unchallengeable dominion—sheer authority!
Dumbledore couldn't fathom what it would mean for the world to have a single ruler governing both the wizarding and Muggle realms. Was it truly for the better?
"And what about you? What do you plan to do?" Dumbledore turned the question on Grindelwald.
"I have no plans," Grindelwald shook his head, his expression surprisingly sincere. "The only reason I helped Voldemort was to eliminate Cyrus. I had foreseen your death, and I believed it was necessary. But now, that prophecy has been broken, and there's no reason for me to oppose Cyrus anymore." He shrugged. "As for the Statute of Secrecy… that kind of thing—"
He let out a dry chuckle, but there was bitterness in it.
It was clear that Grindelwald was laughing at his own past self—the one who had been so blindly obsessed.
"I acted according to the doctrine you once laid out for me. I thought my dream was clear—to pursue the greater good. I sank so deeply into that belief that I forgot… in the beginning, I was never so obsessed."
What had truly captivated him was those two months in Godric's Hollow—those chaotic, intoxicating days.
And, of course, what he regretted most was losing them. Heh..
___________
Read 12 Chapters ahead:
Patreon: HornyFBI