The air inside the suitcase turned tense again. Snape stepped back once more, silent, staring at Dumbledore with a gaze full of layered emotion.
“You’re not dead...” His voice was dry, brittle, laced with the anger of betrayal. “So that funeral was fake too. You lied to everyone—including me.”
Grindelwald frowned, visibly annoyed by Snape’s tone.
“I don’t like that professor.”
“Albus is far too soft. At Durmstrang, no teacher would dare speak to the headmaster like that.”
Anyone else witnessing this would’ve been shocked by Grindelwald’s words.
That he would speak up for the man who had once defeated him, rather than for Snape—the one who had let him walk free from Nurmengard.
But Kyle wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
The last time he’d visited Nurmengard, he’d found a letter in the top-floor corner—written on a torn piece of bedsheet, unsent.
“You know I’ll write back when you want me to, just as you know I’ve loved you since the day we met.”
There was clearly a reason that letter had never been sent… though perhaps Nurmengard simply didn’t have owls.
That was also why Grindelwald had been so wary of Kyle’s photographs.
Kyle had spent years carefully curating those rare images.
Like the one of Dumbledore breaking down in tears when he reunited with Ariana—an exclusive, deeply personal moment that only Kyle had captured.
For the first time, Dumbledore had shown his vulnerable side in front of someone else. The value of such a photo was self-evident. No one but Kyle would ever see Dumbledore like that.
Then there were the precious memories from 1899—of a young, ambitious headmaster and a driven Grindelwald in Godric’s Hollow, united by the spark of friendship.
Yes, Kyle had more than just three photos. Much more.
His original plan had been to fill an entire album. Three pictures were nowhere near enough.
As he absently touched his Mokeskin pouch, the movement didn’t escape Grindelwald’s attention.
For someone who had spent seventy years locked away, Grindelwald still had the mind of a master manipulator—and his powers of observation remained razor-sharp.
He didn’t say anything, but watched Kyle with interest.
“I’m sorry, Severus,” Dumbledore said after a long pause. “I know you don’t want to hear any explanations right now, but I can assure you—the funeral wasn’t entirely a lie.”
His voice was soft, tinged with guilt.
It only made Grindelwald more irritated.
But because Dumbledore was still present, he managed to keep his temper in check.
“Not entirely fake…? What does that mean?” Snape asked, frowning, unaware that someone nearby was itching to kill him.
“Seeing what I am now, surely you can guess.”
Dumbledore spread his arms wide. A gust of wind blew through him, scattering a few dead leaves.
“A ghost…” Snape murmured, then quickly shook his head. “No. Dumbledore wouldn’t become a ghost.”
“I’m glad you hold me in such high regard,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle.
Ghosts were, after all, just traces left by wizards too afraid to pass on—echoes of lives that once were.
They stood in direct contrast to Gryffindor’s symbol of courage.
Dumbledore probably took it as a compliment—Snape, in his own way, had just acknowledged him as someone brave enough to move on. A true Gryffindor.
Truth be told, that made him quite happy.
“I’m not a ghost,” Dumbledore clarified gently. “To be precise, I’m a memory—one stored in a Pensieve.”
Snape instinctively glanced down at the ground beneath Dumbledore’s feet. There was nothing there—no stone basin carved with runes, nothing.
“It’s a metaphor, Severus,” Dumbledore explained. “A special kind of magic has replaced the function of the Pensieve, allowing this memory to appear here in full.”
“That’s not how you looked earlier.” Snape shook his head.
Even with the haze of unconsciousness earlier, he could still remember Dumbledore’s first appearance—grave expression, unleashing powerful weather magic that sent Voldemort into a swearing frenzy.
The Dark Lord had shrieked accusations, calling Dumbledore a cheat for secretly preparing a Horcrux.
Casting spells... That wasn’t something a mere memory could do.
“Severus, I was never supposed to be here. I should’ve been at Hogwarts, explaining everything to the students and professors myself.”
Dumbledore sighed. “I have to admit—I made a mistake. I should’ve trusted you more. Or at least left you clearer signs when I sent Draco to you.”
“Draco... That was you?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “I thought if we let him stay locked up in that classroom, the Ministry would take him. That wouldn’t have been fair to the boy.”
“And what about me? Was it fair to me?”
“I’m sorry, Severus.”
“Oh really…” Snape let out a cold, bitter laugh. He was still holding onto his resentment—you could hear it in his voice.
Grindelwald took a step forward without thinking.
“Easy now, easy...” Kyle leaned in, whispering, “This really was Professor Dumbledore’s mistake. Snape has every right to be angry.”
“Oh?” Grindelwald shot Kyle a sideways glance. “Faking his death, hiding, planning a surprise attack in secret... Doesn’t really sound like something Albus would come up with.”
“Maybe... Professor Dumbledore’s just, you know... adapting with the times,” Kyle said solemnly. “It has been seventy years since you two last saw each other.”
“So what? Even if it had been a hundred years, I’d still know him...” Grindelwald said, narrowing his eyes.
Kyle said nothing more.
The way Grindelwald was looking at him made him... more than a little uncomfortable.
“Let’s take a step back—I think you should be thanking Snape,” Kyle said stiffly, changing the subject. “After all, he’s the one who got you out of Nurmengard.”
“You really think that tower could hold me?” Grindelwald replied with a pointed look. “Or that without my wand, I’d be helpless?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Kyle said, shaking his head.
And he hadn’t. Wandless magic was among the most difficult to master—but this was Grindelwald they were talking about. There was no way he didn’t know how to use it.
“Do you know what he told me?” Grindelwald said, twirling the wand that had once belonged to Snape. “He said Dumbledore was dead…”
“He should consider himself lucky to still be breathing after feeding me a lie like that.”
Grindelwald made no effort to lower his voice, so everyone in the room heard him clearly.
No one thought he was joking—least of all Snape. From the moment they walked into the room, Snape had known Grindelwald wanted to kill him.
The way Grindelwald looked at him was like he was staring at a burnt steak.
That invisible pressure was suffocating. Only during the brief struggle with Kyle had it eased somewhat—but now, that feeling was back.
“This was my fault,” Dumbledore stepped forward. “Severus didn’t know I was still alive. In a way, he didn’t lie to you.”
Kyle curled his lip and took a step back.
Honestly, if Dumbledore truly wanted to help Snape, the best thing he could’ve done was shut up. Defending him now was only making things worse.
Didn’t anyone notice how Grindelwald gripped his wand tighter the moment Dumbledore spoke?
But Kyle couldn’t exactly say that out loud—if Grindelwald got embarrassed, the first person he’d take it out on would probably be him. And Kyle had no intention of being on that list.
As silence fell, the tension only thickened.
“I just wanted to kill the Dark Lord in my own way,” Snape finally said.
“But we agreed beforehand—”
“Harry Potter can’t kill the Dark Lord,” Snape cut him off. “I used to believe you—that the Dark Lord would fall to Potter again, like before. Until I fought in the Battle of Hogwarts myself.”
“I still don’t know how Potter could possibly kill him. And this time, no one is going to use ancient protective magic on him.”
“Then what does that have to do with you coming to Nurmengard?”
“To find someone who could kill the Dark Lord,” Snape said, turning his eyes to Grindelwald.
“I remember you saying that as long as Harry lives, no one can kill him.”
“That’s right…” Dumbledore said. “Because Harry is one of the Horcruxes… Oh. I see.”
Dumbledore’s voice sharpened. “So when you rescued Tom from Hogwarts—I thought you didn’t want him to die along with the professors. But now, it seems you didn’t want anyone discovering that Harry was a Horcrux.”
“You were worried someone would try to kill Harry once they learned the truth?”
Snape didn’t answer. He just turned his head away, avoiding Dumbledore’s eyes.
“Even if someone did find out, Minerva would never go that far,” Dumbledore said with a sigh.
“But what about everyone else?” Snape said. “You can’t guarantee everyone shares your affection for students, Dumbledore.”
“And I know the Dark Lord. He’d never fight to the death. Even if I hadn’t saved him, he would’ve found a way to escape. So instead of waiting for him to vanish again, why not try my method?”
“Your method… is Grindelwald?”
“Exactly,” Snape said. “I hadn’t planned on coming here—until that battle between you and the Dark Lord happened… it was in Austria, not far from here.”
“I never understood why the Dark Lord chose to fight you here, until I happened upon an old newspaper. And what it said finally made sense of everything.”
“Everyone knows Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and saved Europe. But few know that, in their youth, the two were once the closest of friends.”
Dumbledore and Grindelwald both fell silent.
“A very clever Confundus Charm.”
“What did you say?” Kyle frowned at him. “Someone used the Confundus Charm on him?”
“Want to know?” Grindelwald held up three fingers.
Kyle’s mouth twitched. He pulled out a photo. “That’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.”
“Deal.” Grindelwald glanced at the photo, then tucked it away with satisfaction.
“Now will you talk?”
“Let that fool think about it,” Grindelwald said lazily. “All those little ‘accidents’ and ‘coincidences’—don’t they all seem to involve a particular person?
“Maybe there was no direct contact, but they’ve definitely met.”
A particular person?
Snape lowered his head in thought. After a moment, his pupils suddenly contracted.
“It looks like you've figured it out,” Grindelwald continued. “I’m certain—whether it was the newspaper or the Elder Wand—at least one of them was deliberately placed in your path.”
“In other words, your identity as a spy had already been exposed.”
“Who was it?” Kyle asked.
“You should be asking him.”
Both Kyle and Dumbledore turned to look at Snape.
“Oren,” Snape said hoarsely, naming someone they both knew—though had nearly forgotten.
He fell into thought.
“Oren was the first to notice that the Dark Lord’s wand had changed. He seemed to know a great deal about the Elder Wand’s origin, and he enthusiastically shared stories about its legend with others.
“Later, when the Dark Lord realized his wand wasn’t fully responding to him, I remembered what Oren had said—about the Elder Wand once being loyal to Grindelwald.”
“That made this trip to Nurmengard feel like the natural next step. If everything went as planned, I’d ‘accidentally’ mention that Dumbledore had been killed... and ‘carelessly’ drop a wand.”
“Hold on, wait a second.” Kyle raised a hand.
“So you’re saying Oren knew, a long time ago, that Voldemort didn’t fully control the Elder Wand?
“That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Snape replied, shaking his head. “But if we go by what Mr. Grindelwald is saying, then Oren is definitely the most suspicious.”
“The Elder Wand’s rejection of a wizard is actually quite obvious,” Grindelwald said suddenly. “If someone knows the Hallows well enough, they’d be able to spot the signs.”
“You can see that?” Kyle blinked. This was the first time he’d heard of anything like that.
“Want to know how?” Grindelwald raised his whole hand—five fingers extended.
“No. I don’t want to know.” Kyle rejected the outrageous offer without hesitation.
“What a pity,” Grindelwald said, though he didn’t push the matter.
“Like most wizards, you’re unwilling to invest the time and effort to track down clues tied to something as ‘fairy tale-like’ as the Hallows.”
“But it just so happens that some of the finer details about the Elder Wand are buried in those very scraps of forgotten folklore.”
“Oren used his role as a minstrel to travel across countries, which made it easier for him to smuggle magical creatures. And no one hears more fairy tales than a minstrel.”
“He played the part perfectly,” Dumbledore said softly from the side. “No one ever saw through him.”
“That explains a lot,” Grindelwald said, eyes fixed on Snape. “Oh—and I think I may have been mistaken. The magical residue on you isn’t from a Confundus Charm. It’s more like... a kind of hypnotic suggestion?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean a suggestion planted through specific phrasing—so that certain people would become aware of my existence. Just like him.” Grindelwald pointed at Snape.
“Before all this, he likely had no idea who I was—let alone the thought of asking me to help deal with Tom.”
“Fascinating,” Grindelwald said, chuckling. “He must’ve used this kind of subtle suggestion on several people. That way, when something went wrong with the wand, someone would inevitably guide Tom’s attention... to me.”
“I’m starting to want to meet him—this clever, cunning wizard.”