"A few more times. Hold on to that feeling."
Andros pressed the advantage, sparring with Tom to help him chase down that spark of insight before it slipped away. If he could nail it down now, it would spare him years of grinding effort later.
They said genius was one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent hard work, and neither part could be skipped. What most people never realized was that for an ordinary man, that same ninety-nine percent might stretch to nine hundred and ninety-nine, or further still.
A single chaotic battle had planted one of Tom's feet across the threshold into the ranks of the age's great wizards. Honestly, even Andros felt a flicker of envy. Back in his day, he'd had to offend nearly every wizard in Greece before he'd climbed that far.
No, he couldn't be the only one suffering over this. Once Grindelwald got back, he was dragging him down into this misery too.
At Durmstrang, Grindelwald had no idea he'd already been marked for that particular fate.
...
Taking Durmstrang had gone smoothly, without so much as a real fight breaking out. Once the professors were seized, the students lost all will to resist. With their wands confiscated, keeping order after that took nothing more than a handful of Saints standing watch.
When Grindelwald arrived, he called no private meeting. He had everyone brought straight to the Great Hall, professors released and made to stand alongside their students.
Tension, fear, unease, hatred, contempt. Every kind of look in the room settled on Grindelwald, and in the process nearly everyone forgot the bound figure still standing off to the side: the headmaster himself, Igor Karkaroff.
Karkaroff's composure had already come apart completely.
He'd fled England all those years ago specifically to escape the reckoning that had come for men like him, and now he'd landed in the hands of a Dark Lord anyway. This whole disaster had nothing to do with him, and it had found him regardless.
"Quiet."
Grindelwald spoke only the one word, and the hall fell so silent a dropped pin would have echoed. The air pressed down, suffocating.
He didn't seem to notice or care. He simply stood at the front of the dais and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into memory, back to the years he'd spent within these walls. Several minutes passed before he finally spoke again.
"A hundred years. A full hundred years."
"A hundred years ago, I walked through these doors for the first time. I can still see it now, that sense of life bursting from every corner, everything striving to outdo everything else. Ever since Nerida Vulchanova founded this school, it carried a history of greatness beyond imagining. And now... look what it's fallen to."
"I don't understand. When did the standards for choosing a headmaster here sink so low."
Grindelwald raised his wand, and Karkaroff rose into the air, suspended.
"Do you know what this man actually is?" he asked, looking out over the gathered students and staff.
No one dared answer. Grindelwald didn't seem bothered by the silence. He simply restored Karkaroff's voice, a thread of spell-light settling over the man's chest.
"Since none of you will say it, let him introduce himself."
"Igor Karkaroff. Tell them where you come from. Tell them what you once were."
Under the shadow of death, Karkaroff had no room left for pride. Panic drove him to answer exactly as told.
"I'm from England. I was a Death Eater. I once served the Dark Lord."
"Wrong answer."
A pulse of magic threw Karkaroff bodily across the hall, sending him crashing into the crowd, which scattered with a chorus of screams. His body began convulsing violently, and within moments foam gathered at his mouth before he went limp, unconscious.
"The Dark Lord? No. Voldemort is nothing more than an ordinary dark wizard who happened to stumble onto some scraps of power."
Grindelwald's voice carried through the hall, unhurried, reaching every corner with perfect clarity. "Not just any clown gets to call himself a king. And a true king would never rule through fear."
"And all of you, you let a dog wearing his master's collar sit as your headmaster, lording over Durmstrang like he owned the place. I have to say, I'm disappointed."
At that, more than a few students dropped their eyes in shame.
Of every magical school in the world, Durmstrang had always held bloodline and standing above all else. Most of the people in that hall carried real pride in who they were, and Grindelwald's words had just landed like a slap, forcing the truth into focus.
Their headmaster, the man they'd respected, had been nothing but someone else's dog all along.
A ripple of noise broke the silence of the hall. Grindelwald didn't hurry to quiet it. He waited, unbothered, letting their emotions settle before he spoke again, calm as ever.
"I know a good many of you hate me. Your elders died in the war I once fought. But that's the truth of this world laid bare. There's no right side, no wrong side, only strength, and strength alone decides who rules. War has never been anything but kill or be killed."
"Before I came here tonight, three hundred more Aurors fell into my hands. Perhaps one of them was your mother. Perhaps your father."
Every student in that hall felt their heart climb into their throat, especially the ones whose parents served as Aurors, who looked ready to faint on the spot.
"Until the day comes that you have the power to stand against me, there's only one thing left for you to do. Obey. Do you understand?"
Grindelwald's gaze swept slowly across the hall, calm, and yet carrying a weight that made every heart in the room go cold.
Whatever spirit had still lived in Durmstrang's students and staff was gone now, snuffed out completely.