Chapter 1: Dual: Light and Dark

"And there are two kinds of good, one that is truly good, and one that appears to be good because it is good in some respect, but is not truly good because it is not good in every respect. Just so, there are two kinds of evil, one that is truly and absolutely evil, and one that is apparently and in some respect evil but in reality, absolutely good. Therefore, love and desire and pleasure regarding a true good are praiseworthy, and love and desire and pleasure regarding an apparent but false good are blameworthy." From the dissertation Quaestiones Disputatae De Malo 'Disputed Questions On Evil' by St. Thomas Aquinas (1269-1272?).

Hermione asked testily: "Ronald Bilius Weasley what exactly do you mean when you say you lost the first few pages of the letter?"

Ron answered unapologetically: "It means I don't know where they are. They were right here just a minute ago, but you have so many papers laying on the table and then there are the pizza boxes..."

A vein began pulsing in Hermione's forehead: "My certification exam is in six months, I barely have time to prepare as it is. Why with work being as hectic as it has been lately and then having to return home and study until I literally fall sleep over the books... Having to put away my books or cook fancy dinners would be an unnecessary waste of precious time, which is why I don't..."

"I dunno why you are so stressed out. I'm doing most of the chores and we are having that Muggle pizza every other day. Six months seem like plenty of time to prepare. Besides, I bet you'll ace it."

Hermione inhaled deeply and Ginny decided that perhaps it was better to intervene before her big brother got a divorce. She asked: "Do you want us to try to go through the papers once more? We might have overlooked something."

Hermione denied: "It's OK Ginny, we've already gone through them twice. The pages are gone… It's bad enough that you opened a letter which was not addressed to you, but this..."

Ron scowled and said: "It was addressed to Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Mr., just like Gringotts' statements and the Floo Network bills. How was I supposed to know that the name that came after and Mr. was not mine?"

She picked up the envelope and showed it to him: "Did you try reading the letter? It says Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Mr. Harry Potter, Ron, it's there in black and white."

"Well, Harry doesn't live here, luv. How was I supposed to know that dumb owl was going to deliver a letter to my house that wasn't addressed to me?" Then he turned towards his friend Harry looking for support.

Harry Potter didn't want any part of the discussion. He'd had enough confrontation to last him two lifetimes. And he hated being in the middle of one of Hermione's and Ron's rows. That was the least favorite part of their friendship. He said conciliatory: "Come on, Hermione, it was an honest mistake. He says he is sorry. You've talked with the executor of the will and he explained what he knew of Mr. Doge's intentions regarding the diaries and the letters of Albus Dumbledore. He wanted us to go through them and come to a decision of what to do with them. Why don't we just start reading what we have right here?" He signaled the pile of diaries and a rather long introductory letter: "It seems we have plenty to start with."

Hermione sighed: "There's quite a lot, isn't it? It's going to take forever to read it. I have my certification and you, Harry, have the Auror supervisor examinations…" She moaned: "I don't know how we are going to manage!"

Ron took her hands: "Then don't do it, luv, this is a terrible imposition. The last one of a really long list of rubbish that Dumbledore threw our way. So screw him, luv! He never trusted us to tell us the whole story face to face when he was alive. Even if it would have helped us stay alive while fighting a bloody dark wizard! Merlin knows he was a secretive man. He liked to keep his cards close to his chest, so let his secrets die with him. Let's burn the whole lot of diaries and be done with it! Honestly, the man doesn't deserve you two stressing over him."

As the dust had settled over the Wizarding War and the reconstruction efforts had begun, Ron's take on the actions of Dumbledore had gotten sourer and sourer.

Harry swung his head from side to side: "Mate, that is one point about which we have agreed to disagree, you have your opinion on the man, and I have mine."

Ron snorted: "I don't know mate. You are about to become a father, tell me, what would you think of someone that did to your kid the same Dumbledore did to you? Would you let him, mate? 'Cause I know that if someone tried to do that to my niece or nephew, I'd grab my wand and just..."

Ginny intervened once more: "Enough Ronald Weasley, Harry and Hermione want to honor Mr. Doge's dying wishes and Dumbledore's memory. And my husband has asked for my opinion, so we are going to read through the papers and, if you cannot listen to it respectfully, you may as well leave."

Ginevra Molly Potter was the Weasley offspring that was more like her mother, perhaps because of that her brothers, though they were all older than her, listened to her.

Ron agreed grumpily: "Do what you want, but I'm staying. This is my home, you know?"

Hermione sneered: "We know, that's why you misplaced the first few pages of the letter..."

"Hermione, please, Gin is right, there's no point in fighting. Let's just read what we have."

She conceded with a big sigh and began reading.

I felt wasted and angry. I felt cheated by life from what I saw as my rightful place in the world. So the question of changing the past took on a more serious tint. I started to look for the answer, but with the added focus and the added dangers that all adult pursuits of such dark secretive business entail. Since I couldn't fulfill my curiosity through the usual legal channels, I tried unusual ones.

I'd better say borderline illegal, rather than unusual. Any wizarding town that has more than two buildings in it has a store or business of some ill-repute to where those who dabble in the Dark Arts can turn to for purchasing supplies and catching on the latest gossip. Not even Godric's Hollow, a somewhat scholarly wizarding town, was the exception to that rule. It was coming out of one of such places that I met Gellert Grindelwald for the first time in my life.

The shabby shack near the woods, where an even shabbier old wizard called Dimas Latron peddled his trade of selling homemade mead, suspicious spell components and off-beat books of somewhat questionable origins and even worse intent, was definitively not the sort of place where you expected to run into the neighbors. In fact, Chez Latron was the kind of place where, if you still clung to any semblance of respectability, you prayed not to meet with anyone, least of all an acquaintance.

Back then I still clung to the appearance of respectability like a castaway clings to driftwood. Ariana's care was costly both in time and galleons. My mother could not leave her alone long enough to retain employment, if she had ever intended to while she lived. What little my father had left was already spent by the time I was fourteen and began supporting my family. A fierce pride in our family's self-righteousness, in spite of outward appearances to the contrary, was the sole patrimony my parents had left me. Which is precisely why I needed to go to a secondhand Dark Arts bookstore near sundown and why I retreated from the place at a brisk pace; using the least traveled road that passed near the shack.

You might imagine my surprise at running into an automobile and, worse, at being hailed by the driver of the vehicle as if I were his long lost cousin. I was the only one on the road, still I chose to pretend that I hadn't seen the driver waiving at me and resumed walking at an even brisker pace than before.

Behind me sounded a muted: "Sonorus" that was followed by a very loud: "HEY YOU, THE REDHEAD BOY!"

It was impossible to ignore that the shout was directed at me; or the fact that the shouter had just enunciated a charm, which necessarily meant he was a wizard. I stopped walking wishing I could melt into the ground. The car caught up with me and the young man driving it killed the engine, took off his googles revealing a pair of piercing blue eyes and shouted: "NEED A RIDE?"

I frowned covering my ears and said tersely: "You've got my attention, there is no need to shout."

The boy had a crumpled up parchment in his hand, he took a charcoal stick out of a little leather pouch hanging from his waist, wrote on the paper and then handed it to me. On the front there was a Ministry warning: "To whom it may concern: we have received intelligence that the Amplifying Charm has been performed at eighteen minutes past seven this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area by an unidentified underage wand user. Should this be the case, take this as a warning advising said underage user to cease and desist from further infractions. Refusal to comply will be met with swift action. In case the charm was performed by an adult, kindly disregard this appeal…"

On the back of the parchment the handwriting was a bit of puzzle. It had big slightly right-slanting letters with round o's, pointed r's, perfectly centered dots on the i's and long top crosses on the t's. I had started studying graphology back then. As I've said, I was rather bored and we all need our hobbies. In any case, the combination of all those characteristics was intriguing. The note said: Sorry, I rather not risk another infraction, I don't think they'll send the Aurors, but why risk it? I'm guessing you don't want to draw the Ministry's attention either. Would you mind? There was a hasty but rather good sketch of a hand pointing a wand to a throat. I looked up and the boy was staring at me with a mirthful grin. Sighing despondently I pointed my wand to his neck and muttered: "Quietus."

"Thank you. Apparently the Spout-hole has decided to start enforcing his law of no magic use for those under seventeen. That rule was laxer last time I visited. Frankly, I don't know why his initiative for a more astringent application was not met with riots. Back home he would have been thrown out of office just for suggesting it. Every young hot-blooded wizard is bound to cast a spell once in a while."

I looked at the boy with a raised eyebrow: "As it happens, I supported Minister Spavin's initiative."

The mirthful grin curled up into an insolent smirk: "Did you, now? How very British to enforce a law almost fifteen years after first passing it by issuing these ridiculous warnings. I don't know if I should be appalled by such waste of ink and parchment or admired by such…" He stopped as if looking for the right word, after a brief pause, he shrugged and added: "...Phlegm."

I said coolly: "Well you, sir, should be grateful for our British phlegm and for our ridiculous regulations, if you had full use of your wand or if I were as rude to visitors as you are as a visitor, you'd be receiving a notice from my seconds; that or a spanking, not a warning from our Ministry."

He was wearing a braided dark red medium length atilla jacket with golden braids and golden buttons, a matching pelisse carelessly slung over his right shoulder, white cavalry pants with Austrian knots and black Hessian booths. He passed his leg over the car's door and landed gracefully on the dirt road. He was tall, taller than me. He tilted his head like some birds of prey do: "And you, sir, should be grateful I don't have unrestricted use of my wand, if I did, you'd be squirming on the floor, begging me to stop."

That was our first duel. I made a wide round gesture with my wand and cast an anti-scrying and anti-location circle surrounding us, one powerful enough that would fool the age-trace and wide enough so we could fight comfortably.

I came up with that spell to get away with my own underage duel at Hogsmeade against Thaddeus Nott for calling that Hufflepuff girl you fancied a Mudblood. What was her name, Elphias? I think it was Florence Moore or Florence Micawber. She was tutoring you in Herbology. What did happen to her? Give me a minute… I think I remember: she went on an exchange program and ended up married to that magizoologist from Castelobruxo. Yes, I think she is one of the people who can help you prevent the dragon pox outbreak. Her contact information is in the list, she uses her husband's name nowadays, but she is a widower, Elphias. She was glad when I wrote her, she remembers us both.

Oh, this mind of mine keeps wandering. I wonder if that seventh year Slytherin I dueled would have cast the anti-trace spell I handed him, if he had suspected how badly he was going to be beaten by a fifth year old Gryffindor. My triumph backfired, afterwards everyone was convinced that it was I who fancied Florence. She was two years older than us, but I guess I impressed her enough that she took it upon herself to find out I liked lemon curd trifle and, from that day until she went on her exchange, I received an owl carrying a cupful of the dessert for the afternoon tea in the common room. Frankly, I found the whole affair rather embarrassing. I had only been trying to help you and you didn't speak to me for a month. That was the longest we ever fought Elphias, I was desolated.

That should have been enough to dissuade me from ever using that spell again. But I am a bit of a hothead under some circumstances. Though, in my old age, I've learnt to find my center and stay calmed. I wonder if young Albus would have cast that anti-trace spell at all if he had suspected what would be the outcome of that first duel with Gellert Grindelwald. That time it backfired too.

The boy in the Hussar uniform understood my intentions almost immediately, he clicked the heels of his booths, adopted the accepted combat stance and with a brief bob of his head said: "Your name, sir. I cannot honorably hurt someone without knowing their name."

I smiled with my own courteous salute: "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, at your service. You don't have to worry about hurting me. I doubt you can. And, though I fully intend to teach you some manners, I don't want to hurt you either. Hence the anti-trace circle. Since you are a minor, I'll give you the advantage of not using offensive spells. Your name, sir, to make my say binding."

"I am Gellert Grindelwald Ispán and Gyula warlock of Nurmengard Vár. I bow to no man, sir, for I'm only at the service of a higher cause. I will take no condescension from you, Monsieur Dumbledore, or from anyone else." He looked down at me inclining his head ostentatiously: "Side by side you look quite…younger than me. And I'm an accomplished duellist. I won't use offensive spells either."

I laughed: "Brevity is the soul of wit. And, if neither of us uses offensive spells, are we then to stand staring at each other all evening inside this circle, Monsieur Grindelwald? I'm expected back home."

He guffawed, with a blustery laugh that shook even the air around us: "Since you favor brevity, I'll make sure to end this in short order. Your hand, if you please, Monsieur Dumbledore, we will make the standard binding vow: verbal enchantments, no seconds, wands only, until one loses his wand…"

"I must disagree, sir. You insulted my homeland and such offense demands bigger reparations. If it is all the same to you, I prefer non- verbal casting. I can also cast wandless, if need be. Unless, of course, the Ispán and Gyula warlock of Nurmengard Vár can only cast a spell by waving his wand while giving away his next move by shouting it to his opponent's face… Though that would hardly be what we British would consider an accomplished duellist. That may mean something else in your country."

He inhaled harshly and his eyes flashed. In the twilight his eye heterochromia became apparent: "Now you've insulted me. It's your funeral, Monsieur Dumbledore, so we'll dance to your tune. Then we'll duel without seconds, non-verbal, wandless if need be, but no physical contact, until one draws first blood, without using offensive spells as defined by the International Wizarding Duel Confederation Manual. If there is any doubt as to the usage of an offensive spell, we agree to submit our wands to Priori Incantatem. Is that agreeable?"

I shook his hand: "It is, we have an agreement, Monsieur Grindelwald."

Do you remember, Elphias, such stupidity, such trust in a stranger's honorability we used to have back then? We made the standard binding vow for duels, adding the promise of not using offensive spells.

Ron whistled: "Standard binding vow for duels!? Yeah… that sounds pretty stupid..."

Harry, having done more dueling than the average modern wizard, agreed with his friend. He had been forced to undergo a mockery of polite dueling by a dark wizard intent on killing him since he was a baby. He couldn't very well understand why Dumbledore would duel so politely with another dark wizard. But, then again, Harry knew who Gellert Grindelwald was and what he would become and Albus Dumbledore at seventeen had not found out yet.

Ginny shushed Ron.

Ron frowned: "Hey! You can't shush me in my home!"

Ginny retorted: "I can too!"

Before the discussion could devolve into a full on can-not-can-too sibling brawl, Hermione cleared her throat, the Weasley brother and sister went silent and she carried on reading.

Against the setting sun we dueled. Gellert drew first, he was always quick with the wand. He cast another circle, this one of fire. A protective fire ring is quite a sneaky spell to cast for a non-verbal wizard duel as fire rings can be used for a wide variety of purposes. Here is a trick to identify the nature of the fire: The color can aid you in figuring out the gemstone that burns in it. Yellow citrine or merchant's stone attracts prosperity so a yellow fire circle may be cast to protect from financial misfortune. Aquamarine blue protects you at sea. Greenish gray actinolite protects from disease.

The fire ring Gellert cast was a bright topaz blue and topaz means fidelity. A fire circle that uses topaz in its components won't let anyone but those loyal to you cross it. Upon a flick of his wand the circle began to dwindle and he cast a shield charm to push me into the flames. Aside from a physical component, a stone, a fire ring also includes a jinx as part of it. According to the Duel Manual said curse is not considered an offensive spell. So he showed slyness from our very first encounter.

Now, magic cannot make an object sentient, despite what magical objects like The Sorting Hat may make you think. I think that the computer era allows us to explain far easily how it is that magical objects work, the short answer is that they follow algorithms, complex, very complex algorithms. But neither wizards nor non-magical human beings have been able so far to create what could be rightfully called artificial intelligence. So what is required to defeat a magic fire circle is to understand what loyalty means to the algorithm used in that spell.

As anyone who has tried to tackle the big issues (Life, Death, Divinity, etc.) can tell you, it is far easier to define complex concepts like Loyalty by what they are not, than it is to try to give a positive definition of them. In the standard spell those loyal to you are those who do not seek to harm you or thwart your endeavors. Gellert wasn't using a personalized version of the spell back them. I bear the partial blame for the one he developed later on to devastating effects.

What did I do? Nothing. I took a backward step emptying my mind from all ill thought about my opponent and played on the good will that I had already began to feel towards the guy. Crossing the fire I also did exactly what he wanted me to do. It worked and I crossed the circle unscathed.

He frowned: "You've managed to trick the circle."

I grinned: "Not at all. There is no trick: I told you I mean you no harm, Gellert Grindewald and I'm as good as my word." Then I cast Expecto Patronus and said: "But, as I also said, I am going to teach you some manners...for your own good, of course."

My phoenix Patronus charged against him. I immediately cast Gelidis on a patch of earth behind him, covering Gellert's retreat path with ice.

There are only two spells involving fire that are not considered offensive by competitive duel regulations: one he had already used and, even though it is dangerous, the fire it cast cannot melt ice. The other one is the rather obscure Ignis Penates Sunt to conjure a flame for the household ancestors. And, of course, I wasn't expecting him to know it, let alone use it, but he did.

The ice turned into water and with that water he conjured a cloak of fog Lacerna. He was indeed quick with the wand, he immediately cast Expelliarmus.

I couldn't see him so I couldn't evade him. Few minutes into the duel I had lost my wand. He came out of the fog and cast his own Patronus, a bird too, though it looked like a scrawny vulture. I couldn't be completely sure as Patronus have no colour, but I thought it was an Augurey.

I didn't have time to ponder. I was in a tight spot, so I needed to think fast. You know, Elphias, some of my best work is done under pressure. It is with my back against the wall that I really shine. While evading his Patronus by casting a wandless Protego; I cast Accio to call forth some needles and thread I had in my pouch. In rapid succession I cast the duplicating spell Geminio several times; and then I used Wingardium Leviosa to make a swarm of needles float around him.

He knew if any of them pricked him the duel would be over. He yelled as he turned one way and the other trying to use a shield charm: "You can't use needles. All use of weaponry is considered an offensive spell."

I cast Transuo and the needles and thread came at him from all directions and began stitching his clothes into a neat little bundle. While that happened I calmly explained: "Technically all household magic is considered neutral when used for its intended purpose. That is why your fire spells weren't cheating. Though I think duel regulations are wrong, a fire ring is a dastardly way of slipping a jinx under the rug. I dread to think what may have happened to me, if I had crossed that ring with hatred in my heart. Good for both of us, I'm a really nice person." In no time he was bound. I smiled wickedly: "And a lawful duellist, so as long as I don't touch your skin with the needles, this is not an offensive spell. Let's give those flashy clothes an update, hussar uniforms are so last season."

The cage of thread around him tightened, his wand slipped from his hand. He cast Perrumpo non-verbally and wandless on himself and with an angry roar he tensed his muscles and tore the thread and clothes binding him. Then he cast Nox and lounged at me with a mean scowl.

I stepped backwards casting Lumos and was about to cast Accio wand when I saw that he was lying on the ground unmoving. He had been frozen in his place by the binding vow. I'd won.

"How? Why does the vow consider you've won?" He asked between teeth.

I touched his neck and showed him a droplet of blood: "You must have hurt yourself when you broke the thread and lounged at me like a Mountain Troll. In a way, you have defeated yourself."

His face contorted. I feared that he was going to turn out to be a sore loser, I cast Accio and recovered my wand.

I also undid the anti-trace circle. If he managed to break the vow and attacked me, it would be all bets off. Unregulated dueling could be dangerous. It was not a bad idea to have the cavalry at call. But he didn't attack me. He laughed with that raucous laughter of his that still hunts me in my dreams.

"That was… amazing! Az istenit! He goes and uses a household spell to defeat me… Me, the unbeaten champion of Durmstrang! I end up stitched up like a cushion. The man is a genius, there is no shame in conceding defeat to such an opponent." The vow released him. He jumped up, his clothes torn.

I blushed: "I'm sorry about your outfit. I can have it fixed in no time, Repar.."

He raised his hand: "Don't bother, I have no further need for this uniform now, not after having been expelled I don't." Then he cast Accio and recovered his wand.

"You've been expelled from Durmstrang?" It dawned on me: "Oh no, you are Mrs. Bagshot nephew!"

The mirthful smile was back, he corrected me: "I'm her great nephew. Ah, I see my reputation precedes me. I bet you are curious about what kind of awful experiments were considered nefarious enough that not even Durmstrang's infamous taste for the Dark Arts could tolerate them, aren't you?"

"I..." He had figured me out me from the beginning, curious is a fair way to describe me.

"Come now, I'll happily show them to you," he pointed to the trunk of the automobile.

I hesitated: "I'm running late and I should probably not..."

"Now, now… Are you sure you aren't interested? I saw you skulking about Dimas Latron's lair. I could bet you my car that pouch of yours has more than needles and thread inside it. So surely you must be an aficionado of… Let us say: the least traveled magical path."

I blushed furiously, but couldn't bring myself to lie and deny I had been coming out from the shack.

He sniggered: "Oh, if you could see your face now… Do you want to know what kind of unholy knowledge is not even tolerated in the darkest of the wizarding schools?" He called out: "Accio wire recorder!"

The contraption floated out of the trunk and hovered between us, it had a metallic cylinder and what looked like bells with handles over a wooden board. He touched a lever and the wire recorded began to play a wild sweet melody.

"Behold: my shameful secret! I've delved in the most terrible subject of Muggle studies. The horror!"

It was my turn to laugh. And then my damned curiosity got the best of me: "What on Merlin's wide world is that thing?"

"This is a Poulsen telegraphone. Valdemar Poulsen is a Danish genial inventor who just last year developed this fascinating magnetic wire recorded. And what it is currently playing is the Karelia Suite by Jean Sibelius. Isn't it a gorgeous piece of orchestration? It premiered in the Imperial Alexander University in Helsinki when I was ten. Nagymama took me to it dressed up in my Sunday best. My very first concert, and the students made such a din -hooting and clapping- that it was impossible to hear even one note of what the musicians were playing… You should have seen Nagymama, all wand and elbows in her bright purple gown, walking like an Empress, parting the crowd like she were parting the ocean, until we were close enough to the stage to listen. And then… magic. I was in Karelia. That's Norway bordering Russia. The music transported me to a wondrous living woodland that was growing around me, bright and green in the cool northern spring. I've followed Sibelius ever since. I've also read everything Oscar Wilde has published from 'The Happy Prince' when I was around five all the way through 'The Importance of Being Earnest' which Nagymama took me to see at the Melbourne premier when I was twelve."

I smiled sideways: "Oh the shame, I don't know how you live with yourself, sir."

"I fear that's not all: When I found out he had been imprisoned for gross indecency, I wanted to break him out of Reading's Gaol; but Nagymama wouldn't allow it. She thought the gesture would be taking my appreciation for Muggles too far, I thought it would have barely touched upon my appreciation for the man in particular. I'd accuse you of mistreating your geniuses but that is the practice everywhere."

"That would have been a breach on the International Statute of Secrecy!"

"Bah, I spit on the Statute of Secrecy! But I hit the deepest depth of this my appalling inclination for Muggles when I shouted at the Durmstrang's Headmaster -and this you might find really scandalous- that if he tried to make me choose between my Lohner-Porsche and my wand, I'd walk out the doors of his insipid educational institution and he'd never see me again. I think you might surmise how that stand-off ended. I walked out and was expelled in absentia. I don't regret having seen the last of that place. I made that clear using a word a gentleman shouldn't, when I told the man that all his mindless schooling had managed to teach me was a load of lófasz. Mind you, I'll only refer to that word in view of furthering your worldly education, Monsieur Dumbledore, the literal meaning refers to a part of a horse's anatomy, and the metaphorical usage is akin to your usage of the word bollocks. It is often used as lófasz a seggedbel which means bugger off. So, please, refrain from ever uttering it."

I couldn't help laughing: "Low-fah is it? I'll be sure not to use it, mainly because I don't find myself capable of mastering the pronunciation. I'm not even going to try to pronounce segg..."

He shrugged it off: "Magyar is hard on English tongues. And I didn't actually walk out of that accursed place, I flew out of it driving this magnificent piece of machinery, casting shielding spells while those buffoons called me blood traitor and tried to hex me. When they turned the cannons of the caravel on me, I was forced to cast a thunderstorm over their heads, with gales, haze and lighting; so they couldn't have hit their own mother on a broomstick, if she had flown right in front of the gun deck. That is one good thing of having one of Kormos' feathers as my wand core, weather magic comes naturally. So there it is, my shame laid out for you to see… I'm at your mercy, sir."

He wasn't at my mercy, but I was at his. I asked: "What's a Kormos?"

"Kormos is the Hungarian word for sooty, which is a very apt name for my pet Augurey. Well, it was Nagymama's pet first, I inherited Kormos when she died."

"I guess Nagymama was your grandma, she sounds like quite the character." I had to refrain from asking if she was Hungarian too. That would have been rude by Victorian standards. After less than an hour of knowing him, I already wanted to know everything about him. Instead I said: "That's droll: your wand has an Augurey feather core and your Patronus is an Augurey; my wand has a Phoenix core and my Patronus is a Phoenix."

"Nagymama was quite the character, she was one fourth gypsy, one fourth Transylvanian princess of the House of Báthory, one fourth direct descendant of Mathias Corvinus and one fourth English. She was one hundredth percent formidable witch, though, and the most powerful Seer I've known. She had an inquisitive mind, quick wit and an acidic sense of humor. She was unbeatable in card games and also in magical chess. I really miss her." He went silent for a couple of minutes, then he recuperated his grin and said: "So your core is Phoenix, it suits you, with that red mane. I'm curious, what is your wood?"

I smiled playfully: "That's a rather forward question, after having just made my acquaintance."

"Sorry, after you hogtied me I thought we could dispense with formalities. But, if Monsieur Dumbledore requires a formal introduction before an abreast confession, we could ask the Old Bat to do the honors."

"There is no need for formalities and you shouldn't call your aunt that. It's not nice. There is also no big confession, I'm an open book. It has even been published: my wand is English Oak. What's yours?"

"Oh my, according to legend that was Merlin's wood too, and with a phoenix core, nonetheless. You are the forest king from the winter's solstice until the summer's solstice. And I'm the forest king when the year wanes: my wood is Holly. We are well met, Monsieur Albus Dumbledore, summer-winter, fire- storm, redhead-blonde... Together, sir, we could be kings all year round."

Ginny said: "That explains a lot."

Hermione said: "Grindelwald sure had a way with words, but what explains what?"

Ginny laughed: "You're winding me up! Is the day finally here? Is it possible that I know something Hermione Granger doesn't?"

Hermione smiled: "The day is here. I have not the slightest clue of what you are talking about."

"I'm not surprised. It's just an old witch's tale… The kind of thing that gets published once in a while in witches journals about the wand woods compatibility. I thought every schoolgirl knew about it." She turned to Harry: "I did ours on the second year at Hogwarts and got all hopeful, you know? Yew and Holly are a really good match. They are meant to be."

Harry smiled: "You never told me that."

"You didn't need to get cockier. Anyway, English Oak and Holly are a really bad match. The say goes: When his wand's oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly."

Hermione frowned: "That sounds like baseless superstition. And Voldermort's wand was Yew too."

"I suppose in a screwed up way they were meant to be too. Dumbledore probably thought it was hogwash, but mum says those superstitions have been around for a while, so there must be something to it."

Ron turned to Harry: "What's that about?" Harry shrugged.

Hermione denied: "Saying that something is true because it has been around for a long time is a fallacy. But I guess in this case there might be something to it. Or it could just be a series of freakish coincidences. Though there are some serious studies on the pairing of wood and core in wands… Who is to say that there really is nothing to the compatibility of wand woods?" She huffed, then she carried on reading.

I laughed softly: "Right now, Monsieur Gellert Grindelwald, I don't feel kingly at all." Twilight had turned into night. I looked at my pocket watch and felt a tinge of panic. I had left my brother and sister unsupervised for more time than I had originally intended. "It's late, I must leave you."

He said: "Wait, can you spare me a couple more hours? There is something that is imperative I discuss with you."

"I've already used up more time than I rightfully can and we've only just met, what could you possibly need to discuss with me for a couple of hours?"

I could see him calculating how much he could actually tell me. For some unbeknownst reason his mistrust hurt. It shouldn't have, I had just said it: we were almost strangers.

"I'm sorry, I really must leave you. If there is truly some matter for us to discuss, then we can do it tomorrow afternoon, when I'm done tending to my family obligations."

He gripped my shoulder: "You don't understand, this is too important to wait until tomorrow."

I frowned: "I think you really need to unhand me now, sir."

He let go of me and passed his hand through his hair. He muttered frustrated: "I guess it cannot be helped… Monsieur Dumbledore, I haven't been entirely honest with you; our encounter was not casual."

I felt outraged: "What is that supposed to mean? Were you following me?"

"No, of course not, as you keep pointing out: we've just met... this side of the veil."

I looked suspiciously at him: "What veil would that be? The only veil that exists is death, and that one you can only cross once and just in one direction."

He sighed: "Of course, and skeptic. I cannot blame you, I'm a skeptic myself. But, apparently, the gift of divination is one you can't refuse and has no consideration for free will. The visions come to you with no regards towards your inclination to believe in them or not."

I scoffed: "Everyone knows that seers are not self-aware, sir."

"Not during a prophecy, sure, but unless you are a blithering idiot or lack all curiosity, a proper Seer learns how to cast Legilimens and explore his own mind in order to take the first outburst of the prophecy and make it into something intelligible at a fairly young age. I've inherited Nagymama's inquisitive nature and I'm not a blithering idiot, I learnt how to cast Legilimens on myself when I was eleven. I've seen you before, Albus, our meeting was foretold. This… This is destiny."

I laughed: "Does that actually work on anyone besides Hungarian schoolgirls and debutantes? You must be quite the success at balls, why with the hussar uniform and the suave charming manners."

He cocked an eyebrow: "They were actually Viennese debutantes and Austro-Hungarian witches are home-schooled, if schooled at all. Durmstrang all male pupils have an unspoken agreement to attend the debut of girls of well-to-do wizarding families. And yes, the suave charming manners come in handy at such social functions; but, I take it, they aren't working on you presently."

"They were working alright, until you started with the divination nonsense. That was a false note, completely off key, in an otherwise perfect orchestration." Again, the realization hurt, I didn't know why, but it did: "Because that is what this has been, isn't it? You dramatically running into me in that fabulous car, calling me redhead boy as if you hadn't been fully aware of who I was and where you could find me. Playing on my fascination on Muggle technology and music…That has been published too. The duel was particularly beautiful, allegro vivacissimo, if you permit me to stretch the orchestration reference." I frowned: "What would you have done if I hadn't fought you?"

"You have a certain reputation as a duellist, Monsieur Dumbledore. Rumor has it you defeated a Silver Spear during your sixth year at Hogwarts. I thought a friendly skirmish would be the quickest way to gain your trust. Incidentally, if you ever find yourself at Durmstrang, you should be prepared to face a beeline of opponents. Your reputation precedes you there too."

"The Silver Spears haven't been a dueling club since the 18th century, the ignoramus I beat evidently didn't know that. He was nothing but a poser with an Aspen wand." I felt my temper rising, I tried to inhale calmly: "Did you let me win? Was that part of the set-up?" I needed another deep inhalation.

"No, I didn't. I could have worked it out either way. I had made provisions, if I had defeated you."

It was poor comfort. "Then I'm glad you didn't. It might have taken me longer to realize you were playing me like a fiddle. Though Merlin knows it took me long enough. I guess that is why you kept hinting at my indiscretion, going to Latron's lair as you call it, to keep me unbalanced. And there were some very obvious faux pas, sir, like you receiving a supposed Ministry warning letter for casting Sonorus, but not getting one for casting Accio when I had already undone the anti-trace circle. Of course, you might not have been aware of it, because I didn't call that out. But I should have noticed. In any case, you are either not a minor or you are wearing your own anti-trace charm."

He smirked meanly: "Don't blame yourself, Albus, I'm a rather good fiddler." Then he unbuttoned his attilla, undid the collar of his chemise and showed me a medal of a curious sign that I thought I'd seen before, but couldn't quite identify. "And I am legally a minor, though one who can cast a powerful anti-trace spell of his own. I bewitched this pendant before crossing the French frontier. In case you were thinking of repeating the duel without your circle, no Aurors will be coming to the rescue."

"I think I am done dueling with you. Is your wood really Holly, Gellert, or was that a lie too?" I laughed bitterly: "If your name is Gellert Grindelwald at all. How can I know what was a lie and what wasn't? I might as well call you Bunbury or Count Dracula. Are you even Hungarian or is that part of your persona? Not that it matters where you hail from. You could have a brilliant future on the stage as the rightful heir to Sir Henry Irving. I would have enjoyed your performance far more, if I hadn't been the butt of the joke. Though, the Kings of the Forest metaphor was a bit forced. Holly and Oak are a rather bad match, if you believe in such superstitions. I'd work that part of the scam, if I were you."

He chuckled, bemused: "You are so clever! I knew you would be, just not this much. And you have read Oscar Wilde and Bram Stoker too. Good! However, for a schemer, I would prefer the moniker of Professor. Moriarty. If you haven't read Conan Doyle, you should. He is another favorite of mine. And I didn't lie to you in any respect. My name really is Gellert Grindelwald and everything I told you about myself is true. Believe me, this charade was not meant to harm you. I bear you no ill will. I've never intended to harm you. The jinx I used for the circle was Relashio. All you could have lost was your wand. The person you liked enough at first sight to cross a loyalty fire ring for is real, Albus."

Merlin's mercy! What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? I had crossed a bloody fire ring for him, trusting him just based on how he looked! I felt so stupid. I don't think I've felt as embarrassed as I felt right then more than a handful of times in my very long life.

With as much salvaged dignity as I could muster, I said: "Forgive me if I don't readily take your word on it. This Knights and Knaves puzzle is not one I would care to solve. I'll leave the solution to Mr. Holmes, if you can find him. I would say it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance but, unlike you, Monsieur Grindelwald, I am not a liar. I'll be taking my leave now. Good night to you, sir."

Hermione muttered: "Go Dumbledore! That will teach him…"

Harry chuckled: "We know how this ends, Hermione."

Hermione smiled sadly: "This would have been a nice ending, though."

Ron pointed out: "It could be the end of it, if we burn the damned note books right now."