Austria held a certain renown in the wizarding world.
Of course, that fa wasn’t because of Nurngard. While Grindelwald had once been a household na, that was over sixty years ago. More than half a century later, whatever recognition he once had had long since faded.
Especially among the younger generation of witches and wizards still in school—very few of them even knew who Grindelwald was.
This place was better known because the International Confederation of Wizards had held many etings here.
Why this location had been chosen, however, remained a mystery.
...
Just before noon, in a remote and naless Austrian village, the place was quiet and sparsely populated. Nestled near a forest and frequently visited by wild beasts, the entire population barely exceeded a dozen people.
No one noticed that while they wrapped up their morning work and hurried ho for lunch, a person had suddenly appeared at the village entrance—as if he had dropped straight from the sky.
Kyle stumbled, nearly losing his footing.
He never expected Nicolas to turn the two-way mirror into a Portkey—and to have tid it so precisely.
He had only just tucked the photo away, and before he could react, the Portkey had activated, yanking him straight from his ho to this...
Kyle looked around... Remote. Desolate. Other than the vast stretch of untouched forest, there were only jagged mountain peaks towering into the sky, as though soone had sliced the tops off with a blade.
It was hard to believe anyone lived in such a place, so disconnected from modern life... Maybe they were here to hunt in the forest?
Kyle looked ahead. From a few of the wooden and stone houses, thin trails of smoke curled into the sky, and slabs of smoked at hung outside their doors.
He didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he glanced again at the two-way mirror in his hand.
“Nicolas, Nicolas... What am I supposed to do?”
He called out twice, but the mirror remained silent. Nicolas was clearly off handling sothing else.
“Seriously... Why couldn't he finish what he was saying?”
Kyle rubbed his forehead. As expected, he had already forgotten the address he’d seen earlier—couldn’t recall a single detail.
All he had to go on now was the rushed instruction Nicolas had blurted out just before the Portkey activated:
“Just keep going straight, and you’ll find the target.”
Keep going straight—did that an into the forest?
Kyle wasn’t sure if that was the right interpretation, but at this point, it was the only lead he had.
With that, Kyle didn’t hesitate. He strode into the village—no, calling it a "village" didn’t quite fit. "Settlent" was probably more accurate.
Maybe it had just been a long ti since anyone unfamiliar had co through, because the mont Kyle appeared, all eyes locked onto him. People stood in their windows or stepped out of their hos, and wherever they were, they stared openly.
At first, Kyle assud the locals lived here to hunt in the forest. But he quickly realized he’d been wrong.
Despite the wooden houses and smoked at suggesting a hunter’s camp, there wasn’t a single hunting tool in sight—not even a knife or a sharpened stick.
And the people didn’t match either.
They were all elderly. The youngest among them looked at least eighty. No Muggle at that age would be capable of hunting in the forest by hand.
Sothing’s off, Kyle thought, frowning. He placed a hand on his wand, but kept his expression neutral as he continued forward.
He didn’t get far.
Suddenly, he realized he was surrounded.
Whoever these people were, they had moved quickly—and silently. Kyle had been alert the entire ti, yet he hadn’t noticed how or when they had encircled him.
“Are you all wizards?”
Kyle drew his wand, aiming it at the nearest person. At the sa ti, a faint, silvery-white shield shimred into being around him.
Living in such a remote place without any signs of hunting tools... They could only be wizards.
But sothing didn’t add up—Kyle hadn’t sensed the slightest trace of magic in the area. That had been the main reason he’d mistaken them for hunters at first.
Just as he’d suspected, the others also drew their wands.
The one in front—the person Kyle was aiming at—spoke, his expression unfriendly.
Kyle blinked.
He imdiately ran into a problem. The man wasn’t speaking English. Or French. Kyle couldn’t understand a word.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Kyle asked politely.
“He asked who you are and what you’re doing here.”
A new voice answered. Another figure approached—an elderly witch, dignified in her appearance and elegant in her manner, her deanor distinctly out of place in the rugged surroundings.
As she walked forward, the others stepped aside, clearing a path for her.
This ti, Kyle could understand.
“Ah, I’m…”
Kyle hesitated for a mont, as if sothing had occurred to him, then quickly changed his words.
“I’m a recent graduate from Beauxbatons—and a bit of a herbology enthusiast,” he said. “I ca here to study so rare plants.”
“Beauxbatons.” The witch pondered the na for a mont. “So, you’re French? Why are you speaking English?”
“No, I just studied at Beauxbatons.” Kyle gave an innocent smile. “If you’re more comfortable with French, I can speak that too.”
“No need, this is fine.” The witch looked him up and down. “You said you ca here to look for herbs?”
“Yes.” Kyle nodded. “I read about Waterdrop Flowers and Ironthorn Vines in a book. They’re native to Austria, so I thought I’d try my luck.”
“You’re in the wrong place,” the witch said bluntly. “The forest you’re talking about is to the south. What you’re looking for doesn’t grow here.”
“Is that so?” Kyle replied. He was about to co up with an excuse when the witch suddenly added,
“But there are even more herbs here. We once saw a very rare Cedar Dew Bloom. I wonder if that might interest you.”
“Absolutely,” Kyle said with a smile. “I studied herbology, so I’m interested in all kinds of magical plants.”
“Then we won’t keep you,” the witch said with a smile. “Or—if you’d like—you could stay for lunch. The forest is dangerous. It’s never wise to go in on an empty stomach.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
To the witch’s surprise, a couple of polite remarks were all it took for Kyle to agree. He even walked directly into one of the houses, where smoke was drifting up from the chimney.
“Here’s perfect—smoked at and mushroom stew, one of my favorites.”
Soone inside the house gave Kyle a quick glance, then hurried over to the witch and whispered sothing in German.
“Vinda, he—”
“Then treat our guest well.” The witch gave the person a pointed look. “And I’d prefer you call by another na.”
“Of course, Madam Amara,” the person responded quickly.
“Let’s hope you rember that,” the witch said, then stepped into the house herself, seemingly ready to share a al with Kyle.
She glanced at the wooden bowls on the table but didn’t touch them. Instead, she used magic to conjure two delicate plates and matching utensils, and took the initiative to serve Kyle a portion of the smoked mushroom stew.
“Thank you,” Kyle said as he accepted the dish. “Do you mind if I ask—what are you doing here?”
“Researching magical creatures,” the witch replied. “We’re all scholars in that field. This is one of the few magical creature reserves in Austria. It allows for easier observation and protection.”
“That’s amazing,” Kyle said with genuine interest. “Do you know Mr. Newt Scamander? I’ve heard he’s the best in the field.”
At the ntion of Newt’s na, the witch froze, her right hand tightening sharply around her cutlery. It was a long mont before she finally spoke.
“Of course. I will never forget that na. He’s like a Devil’s Snare—rooted deep in my heart.”
“Rooted in your heart? Was he really that important to you?” Kyle took a sip of soup. “Though I heard he’s married now. That’s a sha.”
The witch suddenly looked at Kyle, her expression odd, but she said nothing more.
The two of them sat across from each other and finished their al in silence—at least on the surface, it was peaceful.
...
Afterward, Kyle walked toward the forest under the watchful eyes of everyone around him.
“Thank you for your hospitality. Next ti we et, I’ll bring gifts.”
It wasn’t until Kyle’s figure had completely disappeared that the group quickly gathered around the witch.
“Vin—Amara—are you just going to let him leave?”
“He’s lying.”
“What?”
“That one’s no student from Beauxbatons,” the witch said with a cold sneer, wiping her hands with a cloth.
“If I’m right, he’s from Hogwarts.”
“Dumbledore’s student…” The old man’s face twisted with fury. “Then why let him into the forest? He could’ve been sent here to stop us!”
“Why not?” The witch smiled faintly. “Because of certain... constraints, we can’t enter that tower. All we can do is wait in this forgotten place. And we’ve waited long enough.”
She turned to look in the direction Kyle had gone.
“Maybe this is the chance we’ve been waiting for. Follow him…”
...
anwhile, Kyle had no idea what had just taken place behind him. He was focused entirely on navigating the dense forest, weaving his way through the tight spaces between tree trunks.
Unlike the Forbidden Forest, this one had no paths at all. Kyle had to rely solely on instinct and wayfinding magic to keep moving forward.
Ti blurred. Kyle wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking—only that he’d started at noon and now it was evening... then night.
When the full moon finally rose high in the sky, Kyle saw it: a circular tower perched atop a sheer cliff.
How to describe it? It was as if it had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He was certain it hadn’t been there a mont ago—then he turned his head, and it was.
Was it tied to line of sight? Or a specific ti?
Kyle couldn’t be sure. So, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the tower, then reached into his Mokeskin pouch by mory, took out his suitcase, and gently unlatched the lock.
“Norbert, take up.”
A massive fire dragon erged from the forest, spread its wings, and soared straight toward the tower with Kyle on its back.
There was none of the resistance Kyle had expected—nothing at all. He arrived at the tower’s entrance with surprising ease.
Carved into the stone beside the door was a single, striking phrase:
“For the Greater Good.”
Kyle took a deep breath and placed his hand on the door.
There was no magic blocking the way; with a slight push, the door creaked open.
Inside, there were no lights—just utter darkness, like a beast lurking in the shadows, waiting to devour anything that entered.
The doorway was too small for the fire dragon to pass through. Kyle had no choice but to return it to his suitcase. For safety, however, he released the Wampus Cat and the Nundu, letting them trail behind him.
He wasn’t sure they could pose any real threat to Grindelwald—probably not—but at the very least, their presence gave him a bit of reassurance.
Raising his wand, Kyle lit the tip and slowly began ascending the stairs.
They spiraled upward around a central pillar, seemingly endless. As he climbed, the silence was deafening—only the echo of his footsteps and the quickening rhythm of his heartbeat accompanied him.
He didn’t know how long he had been climbing when finally, the glow from his wand illuminated a door.
An ancient door, no lock on it, standing slightly ajar. Faint light leaked from the gap between the fra and the door.
Kyle’s nerves tensed even more.
“You’ve finally co, Albus…”
A hoarse, aged voice drifted out from the room beyond—one that sounded like it hadn’t spoken in years.
“No... No, you’re not Albus!” There was a trace of curiosity now. “Who are you? How did you find this place—and why did you bring two little cuties with you?
Why don’t you co in? Or are you afraid of an old man without even a wand?”
Kyle muttered a curse under his breath.
Was he afraid? Maybe a little. After all, this was the man who had thrown all of Europe into chaos sixty years ago.
But more than fear, what Kyle felt now was frustration. The man inside was nothing but trouble—a huge, looming problem.
Still, he had co this far. Turning back wasn’t an option.
“Dumbledore really knows how to get people into trouble,” Kyle muttered, and pushed the door open.
The room was far smaller than he’d imagined—barely larger than a broom cupboard. A tiny window, or rather a narrow crack in the ceiling, let in a sliver of moonlight, the sa pale glow he had seen from outside. It was the only light source in the room.
In the corner, on a thin blanket, lay a shriveled figure—curled up like a skeleton, nothing left but skin stretched over bone.
At the sound of the door, the fragile body stirred. The skull-like face turned toward him, eyes slowly opening.
“Ha... ha…”
Grindelwald let out a low, inexplicable laugh.
“You’ve co… I knew it. I knew we’d et again...”
“et again?”
Kyle froze. Every emotion he’d felt before—caution, dread—was suddenly drowned out by a wave of confusion.
“We’ve t before?”
“To you, no,” Grindelwald said, struggling to sit up. He leaned against the corner wall for support, barely managing to hold himself upright.
He gave Kyle another long look.
“Go... To the south of Godric’s Hollow. There’s an abandoned barn—easy to find, it’s right beside a pine tree.
Through its window, you’ll see the attic of a house. That’s Albus’s ho. Go there. You’ll find him.”
“You know why I ca here?” Kyle asked, bewildered, stepping closer.
He was certain—absolutely certain—that the man before him hadn’t used Legilincy on him.
“If I told you I did... would you believe ?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Kyle replied. “You’re Grindelwald, after all.” He glanced around, then decided to just sit on the floor.
He didn’t dare use his wand to conjure a chair. No matter how skeletal Grindelwald looked, he was still Grindelwald.
“Heh. How amusing. That foolish man—does he really think he can change anything?” Grindelwald murmured to himself.
“How did you know?” Kyle pressed again. “...That I’d co here. What I wanted to ask?”
“If you could spare a sheet of parchnt…”
“Forget it. I’m not asking anymore.” Kyle stood abruptly and turned toward the door.
He had clearly lost his mind earlier. Now that he had the information he needed, there was no point in lingering.
However Grindelwald had figured out his intentions, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t leave this place, and he posed no threat.
Given that, it really didn’t matter whether Kyle knew his secrets or not.
“Wait,” Grindelwald said, shifting slightly.
Kyle imdiately stepped back.
“Easy there, friend. What do you think I could possibly do to you now?” Grindelwald said with a dry, bitter smile.
“You never know,” Kyle replied coolly. “Maybe this is all an act—to make drop my guard.”
“If you’d co twenty years ago, maybe I would’ve tried,” Grindelwald said. “But consider it paynt for saving you ti—just give a piece of parchnt.”
He motioned toward the bare, threadbare blanket beneath him, and a scrap of fabric no larger than his palm.
“I really can’t keep writing letters on bedsheets.”
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