During dinner, neither Felix nor Professor McGonagall appeared. They were engaged in intense discussions in the office but couldn't come to a decision. Felix's body-doubling magic, learned from the Arctic, wasn't flawless. His book of magical runes was his only tool, akin to his wand, enabling him to fully unleash his combat prowess.
If Grindelwald insisted on making Dumbledore's death public knowledge, their options were quite limited.
The original plan was for "Dumbledore" to gradually fade from public view, only occasionally making appearances to prove he was still alive. The entire wizarding world would slowly adapt to the fact of his "retirement," and even if years or decades later the wizarding world was forced to reveal the truth, his name could still serve as a significant deterrent.
Indeed, mere deterrence would suffice. Read complete version only at NoveI~Fire.net
With Felix showcasing his power upfront and Dumbledore, a figure revered for centuries, widely acknowledged as the greatest white wizard, "retiring," he would become an enigmatic presence in the minds of ordinary people.
No one wished to anger such an esteemed elder and push him onto the battlefield.
Moreover, the brilliance of this plan lay in the fact that even if some wizards were skeptical, they lacked the courage to question openly or assertively declare that "Dumbledore" had died, lest they drown in a torrent of scorn: a man who had dedicated most of his life to the wizarding world had every right to enjoy his retirement without interference. Felix could also assist "Dumbledore" in making public appearances, offering words of advice without affecting the overall situation.
There were many benefits with almost no cost, with the only casualty being Dumbledore himself.
Unfortunately, Grindelwald threw a wrench into the works.
For the time being, the only solution Felix could think of was to claim that Dumbledore was injured and to replace him in the duel.
But the viciousness of Grindelwald's scheme lay in the fact that even if they resolved the immediate dilemma, it didn't mean the problem was permanently solved; it was just the beginning of a series of troubles—because no matter how exquisite a lie was, it couldn't withstand repeated scrutiny from skeptical eyes.
A magic trick, fascinating upon first viewing, becomes less impressive with each repetition. Even if flaws aren't immediately discernible, the subconscious of the populace will accept the fact that it's "fake." A magician's earnest performance will only attract more suspicion and harsh scrutiny, leading to a complete loss of control over the situation.
"Felix, let's each go back and think it over. We'll discuss it again tomorrow," Professor McGonagall said wearily. "I'll send the students to bed." She left, and soon after, reluctant protests from the students could be heard. They all wanted to know the truth, but Professor McGonagall's stern attitude made it clear that it was too late for today, and everything would have to wait until tomorrow.
She turned back, exchanging a complex glance with Felix, knowing that this matter couldn't be concealed for long; they needed to come up with a convincing explanation. In the corner, Snape stood like a silent plant growing in the darkness, expressionless, with Sprout and Flitwick not far from him. Flitwick's sharp voice stuttered as he said something.
Felix felt a mix of sadness and frustration. In this situation, his proud magic was utterly powerless.
He couldn't help but think of Dumbledore. How many times had he felt this helplessness throughout his long life?
The castle gradually quieted down. Felix ascended the spiral staircase, reaching the corridor where the headmaster's office was located. The stone guardians didn't impede him, and he pushed open the door to the headmaster's office.
It was almost unchanged, hardly any different from the first time he came here.
He could almost recall every detail of his interview.
Delicate silverware made a faint clinking sound on the slender-legged desk, emitting wisps of white smoke in the darkness; behind the handsome brown headmaster's chair lay Dumbledore's private collection of books; the Sorting Hat lay quietly on the shelf; the Pensieve was hidden behind the black cabinet door; Gryffindor's sword was encased in a transparent glass box; the golden perch behind the door was empty, where the phoenix used to reside.
There was an additional golden frame on the wall, where Dumbledore slept peacefully.
Felix gazed at Dumbledore's portrait.
"He still needs some time to wake up," whispered a black-haired, short-fringed wizard on the wall. "So that we can remain connected to the entire castle for a long time."
Felix nodded at him, then silently left the headmaster's office.
Suddenly, he thought of Classroom Seven, where a seventeen-year-old Dumbledore was. He walked through the long corridors, suddenly stopping in his tracks. His mind's eye reached out instantly, but was blocked, as if by an invisible barrier.
Felix couldn't see the person, nor did he need to. There was only one person in the world capable of doing this.
"Grindelwald," he said with amusement. "I've been wanting to find you, didn't expect you to show up at such a critical moment. Aren't those saints afraid you'll get stuck here?"
A figure clad in a black cloak emerged slowly from the shadows, a white rose pinned to his chest.
"They're not children, they won't have pointless worries. And weren't you waiting for me? So here I am," Grindelwald said expressionlessly, gazing out at the view of the Forbidden Forest from the window, bathed in the moonlight. "It's only been a few days, and you've changed the protective magic outside the school - Flitwick's handiwork, I presume. Trying to ward me off? Too bad it didn't work."
"You should be able to infer a deeper meaning without my saying it: you're no longer welcome here," Felix said.
"That makes me a bit sentimental - this is the place I've spent the longest time in, aside from that cold, damp room. Even the house on Privet Drive doesn't compare, despite paying rent for a few years... Where are you taking me?" Grindelwald suddenly asked with great interest.
As the two spoke, the surrounding walls blurred, as if veiled in mist, and the scenery began to overlap. They seemed to be both in Hogwarts Castle and in a completely different place. The sound of the night wind and the cries of crows echoed in their ears.
"A cemetery, spacious enough," Felix said calmly. "Convenient for our conversation."
"Conversation? Are we going to fight after?" Grindelwald clicked his tongue. "I didn't come here today to brawl." He lightly tapped the withered hand with his wand, and the castle became clear again. Their gaze fell on the ledge of the corridor window, where a section of branches appeared out of nowhere, as if conjured, and a line of ants crawled up the cold wall.
"If you like, it can be the same here - I thought you'd come to me first," Felix said.
He felt a sinking feeling. Grindelwald was powerful, and he couldn't probe any further. The school wasn't the place for a full-on fight, and with them being so close, there was no response from the enchantment on his wrist.
"Oh, I did consider it," Grindelwald said with a smile, stroking his chin. "But then I changed my mind. Although I don't particularly care for Babajide Akingbade, at least openly, he's the one standing at the top of the wizarding order."
"You value his status?" Felix said shrewdly. "Using his position to achieve your goals?"
Grindelwald's eyes sparkled.
"Of course, I could come out publicly, but why bother? His words carry much more weight than mine, and no magic newspaper would refuse to publish his statements. All I have to do is speak some truths - you know, Felix? Akingbade is an orphan of the last wizarding war, he has every reason to hate me, but the fact is, he compromised, agreed to negotiate with me, for the sake of false peace. I only found out recently."
"Sounds a bit absurd, so you deceived him?" Felix felt surprised. Surely Akingbade wouldn't easily believe his nonsense?
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