Skyl refused Lockhart's offer. Lockhart, for his part, was just as blunt about it—he mailed Skyl a huge package containing seven hundred Galleons, basically hush money. The letter that came with it expressed his regret, and said that every month he would send Skyl the same amount, and that Skyl was welcome to accept employment at any time.
Lockhart had arrived at the most glorious, sparkling peak of his life. At a moment like that, he couldn't allow even the tiniest stain to appear. Skyl was tucked away at Hogwarts, and Lockhart didn't trust himself to cast a Memory Charm on a student under Dumbledore's protection, so he could only wait in anxious hope that Skyl would keep his word.
Over the following December, Lockhart's daily routine was a carousel of interviews, appearances at Muggle-world events, peace speeches, and touring "performances" with Ministry Aurors like a traveling circus.
The Human Union Department and the British government clearly supported Lockhart's overtures. They kept arranging programs for him. The TV networks were set to roll out three documentaries a week, two dramas, and one film—every last one about wizards. They even produced an adaptation of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and scheduled talk-show interviews for every Ministry witch and wizard they could get their hands on.
Through every channel imaginable, ordinary people learned more and more about the magical world—and their craving for magic, their envy, and their fear all grew by the day.
Muggles began chasing magic's footprints. They learned there were eleven wizarding schools in the world, places where magic was taught. They learned there were hidden magical communities everywhere. And so they went searching.
The movement started in August as a small, scattered grassroots hobby. By October, it had become organized, coordinated group action. By late October, several multinational companies had been founded specifically to provide logistics and support for "travelers" hunting wizarding schools—and behind those companies sat official power, watching and funding and steering.
Muggles forced their way into wizarding hideaways and into the habitats of magical creatures. Some did it out of curiosity. Others committed crimes—stealing, kidnapping, poaching, trapping. On the black market, objects and creatures connected to magic skyrocketed to obscene prices. Semi-open trading gave ordinary people a way to participate, which only inflamed the frenzy.
As panic spread—especially after the attacks on Ilvermorny—every wizard in North America began to feel the pressure. They started hexing Muggles who trespassed on private land. Sometimes it was just a warning. Sometimes Dark wizards simply treated any Muggle who showed up as disposable material.
Every day, the newspapers and the broadcasts were filled with monstrous headlines: wizards hurting people, protests in the streets, alleged sightings of giants, werewolves, vampire attacks, and other terrifying stories.
In such an extraordinary moment, governments around the world adopted wildly different policies toward wizards, and public opinion varied just as sharply.
In Africa, Uagadou stood in the Mountains of the Moon, long regarded as sacred. Wizards there were treated like shamans who could speak to the divine. The chaotic local governments couldn't recruit these unusually capable people, but didn't dare offend them either, so the two sides mostly kept to themselves—neither bothering the other.
In South America, wizarding communities had forged deep friendships with locals. Students from Castelobruxo would rescue civilians in danger and help them survive the disasters and violence of the 1990s—mostly the violence. Many locals lived in poverty year after year; with magic to help, hunger and medical problems were eased dramatically.
In parts of East Asia, the situation was especially comfortable for wizards. A booming "psychic wellness" craze made anyone with unusual abilities wildly popular, and wizards became the kind of guests you seated beside politicians and tycoons. Some even took positions as clergy at churches and spiritual centers—well-paid, respected, and socially elevated.
The truly grim situation, however, was Europe and North America. There, policy leaned toward exclusion and segregation—treated much the way those societies treated minorities and immigrants.
And this was an era before a lot of the "public language rules" people would obsess over in the twenty-first century. Hatred in the streets was blazing hot, and violent clashes kept erupting. By December, the media was calling Germany the most likely flashpoint for an outright wizarding war. Voices in the magical world urged local wizards to relocate if possible, and for communities to protect themselves with even tighter secrecy and defenses.
Across continental Europe, one cry grew louder and louder. Wizards who had lived through the 1940s began yearning for the return of a great figure. They revived that man's slogan, hoping he would step forward, restore order to the continent's chaos, sweep away the world's filth, and build a new order where wizards ruled Muggles.
The person so many were waiting for was the first Dark Lord of the modern era: Gellert Grindelwald—defeated by Dumbledore and imprisoned in Nurmengard.
Now, some witches and wizards claimed they read the stars and saw that fate had shifted. At a dinner feast, Professor Trelawney shrieked that the Dark Lord would return. And on a night of wind and snow, Dumbledore raced to Austria to meet his old friend Grindelwald.
Nurmengard: a black fortress built during Grindelwald's rise. After Dumbledore defeated him, the Dark Lord was imprisoned here, and the place changed from palace to prison—its name spoken in the same breath as Azkaban.
Dumbledore came alone. He stared at the words carved over the entrance:
For the Greater Good.
For a moment, the weight of memory crushed his chest. In his youth, he had once been stirred by the ideology those words represented. The Muggle world had followed similar currents of thought, too—and it had led to catastrophe.
Grindelwald and that Muggle leader had been like the same person reflected in parallel worlds.
Dumbledore had abandoned that terrifying idea, and his country had fought evil. Yet less than half a century later, the world was brewing new sparks of unrest again. This time, could he still turn the tide the way he had back then? And would people still choose what was right?
He crossed the fortress quickly and reached the tower where the prisoner was kept. The place was empty. Aside from the automatic magical mechanisms quietly running on their own, there wasn't a soul in sight. Dumbledore climbed the stairs to the very top.
To his relief, Grindelwald was still there.
"Hello." Grindelwald seemed to have known Dumbledore would come. He had made an effort: washed his face with dew condensed on the stone blocks, shaved with a sharp shard of rock, and used moss juice like hair gel to slick back his thin, brittle hair.
"It's been a long time."
Dumbledore stood on one side of the iron bars. His old friend stood on the other. Their eyes met through steel—and through the thick curtain of years.
Grindelwald's face lay in a narrow strip of moonlight from a high window, pale as a skull. In that near-dying posture, there was still an unsettling vitality in him, and his eyes shone with immense, delighted joy.
Tears welled in Dumbledore's blue eyes.
"Don't cry, Albus," Grindelwald rasped. "Don't make this hard to bear. We don't get meetings like this."
"Sorry. I just remembered… the past." Dumbledore swallowed. "Gellert, I've come to ask you for help."
"You want me to refuse the wizards who've come to welcome me out." Grindelwald's gaze was piercing. Dumbledore couldn't tell how he'd guessed his purpose—was it that inborn gift of foresight again, or simply cold logic reaching the obvious conclusion?
"Gellert… have you abandoned those ambitions?"
"From beginning to end, I have never been a weak man, Albus. Muggles should submit to wizards. We are a higher people than they are." He lifted his chin slightly. "You can choose to stand against me again. But I will not change my mind."
His words echoed through the tower.
Then came footsteps—steady, dense, and confident—spreading through the darkness like ripples.
Dumbledore stood in the shadow before the cell. Behind him appeared a large group of witches and wizards, men and women alike. They surrounded Dumbledore and all faced Grindelwald in the moonlight, their eyes filled with pilgrim-like excitement and the desperate hope people reserved for a savior.
One wizard stepped forward to speak. Dumbledore recognized him: Igor Karkaroff, headmaster of Durmstrang.
"Honored sir, we have come to ask you to guide the magical world. For the Greater Good—please lead us to build a new order."
Karkaroff ignored Dumbledore entirely and pushed a brand-new wand through the gap in the bars.
Gellert did not take it at once. He looked at Dumbledore.
In the eyes of that old friend—former lover—there was only fear and longing.
Grindelwald gave him a small smile and said, "The people have chosen me again."
Then he accepted the wand.
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