"This is Alec Hopkins, Professor of Occult Studies."
An unusual meeting was taking place in London.
The man known as the Professor of Occult Studies was dressed in old-fashioned clothes from the previous century, his hair greasy and unkempt.
Across from him, Mycroft was studying him with a scrutinising gaze.
"Professor Hopkins," Mycroft said with a smile, "I believe you know why I asked you here."
"Something about those ridiculous legends of 'wizards'."
The corner of Hopkins's mouth curled into an unpleasant smile. He dragged out the words as though mocking an educated man for believing in something so absurd.
That was also the attitude most people had when they heard about wizards.
Leaning back comfortably in his chair, Mycroft asked, "If you don't believe in them, why did you choose to study the occult?"
"The occult is not limited to terrifying magic," Hopkins said calmly. "I'm more curious about what kind of person could make a government agency start looking for those so-called mystics."
"A real wizard."
Mycroft adjusted his clothes and stood.
"Professor Hopkins, I assume you won't mind coming with me."
"To see a wizard?"
"No," Mycroft said. "To see magic."
He walked forward.
After waiting a few seconds, Hopkins followed.
The inside of the car was completely enclosed, making it impossible to see where they were going.
Hopkins remained calm.
The journey lasted three hours.
A knock sounded, and the door opened.
Hopkins stepped out.
They were no longer on a street, but inside a garage in some unknown location.
"This way."
Mycroft walked ahead.
Hopkins followed.
One door after another opened, each requiring Mycroft's card for access.
Eventually, they reached the final room.
It was filled with control consoles, while at the far end, behind transparent glass, stood a completely white chamber.
A man was curled up inside.
The moment Hopkins saw him, his pupils contracted slightly.
Mycroft spoke into a microphone.
"Stand up."
The man rose almost reflexively.
In the centre of the white room, a pillar rose from the floor.
A wand rested on top.
"Pick up the weapon," Mycroft ordered.
The man obeyed.
Hopkins watched intently.
Mycroft, however, turned toward him.
"Let's think about the abilities wizards possess in those stories."
Hopkins knew this was a test.
After thinking for a moment, he said, "Transfiguration."
"An excellent suggestion. Like the Evil Queen transforming an apple into poison, or the Fairy Godmother turning a pumpkin into a carriage."
Mycroft spoke into the microphone.
"Transform the object in front of you."
Another pillar rose.
An apple rested on top.
The man immediately shouted, "I'm not very good at Transfiguration."
"You don't have a choice, Conrad."
Conrad, the captured wizard, had no option but to attempt it.
Just as he had claimed, his Transfiguration was poor.
The apple transformed into an apple covered in hair.
Even such a crude result was astonishing to anyone seeing magic for the first time.
Hopkins stared at the apple.
"This isn't a trick," Mycroft said. "And it isn't prerecorded footage."
Hopkins asked, "How did you catch him?"
"Catch him?"
Mycroft narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Why do you ask?"
"In stories, wizards..." Hopkins considered his words. "They're usually evil, aren't they?"
"That is a fair point."
Mycroft turned toward the imprisoned wizard.
"He was found in a rented flat after leaving one of our special forces operatives unable to move."
"Remarkable."
Hopkins looked like a scholar seeing a real example of something he had only ever studied in books.
"You managed to capture him and keep him imprisoned. Aren't you afraid he'll escape?"
"That thing is his weapon. Without it, a wizard is no different from an ordinary person."
Mycroft said to Hopkins, "You can press that yellow button."
Hopkins looked at the yellow button on the control panel and pressed it experimentally.
A surge of electricity flowed from the wizard's wand, and his body convulsed before collapsing to the floor.
The door opened.
A heavily built man walked in, picked up the wand, and left.
"Technology," Mycroft said calmly. "It's that simple."
A trace of genuine shock appeared in Hopkins's eyes.
Muggles had already begun finding ways to restrain wizards.
"Professor Hopkins, I didn't bring you here just to see this."
Mycroft gestured for him to follow.
Hopkins had no choice but to agree.
Yet his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.
In such a short time, these Muggles had already begun studying wizards from every angle.
How many times had they repeated tests like the one just now?
Yes.
This man was not truly a professor of occult studies.
Or rather, he was a professor, just not of the occult.
He was a Potions professor.
Severus Snape.
He was well suited to infiltrating this place.
As a half-blood, Snape was not as ignorant of the Muggle world as most wizards.
His current identity was the result of magic.
Following Mycroft into a laboratory, he saw researchers in white coats conducting experiments on various fragments.
Mycroft led him to a glass display case.
Inside were objects recovered from the land that had mysteriously appeared in Poland.
There was a wand with only the handle remaining, several broken pieces of wood, and the corpse of an animal that resembled a cat, yet was clearly not one.
"This."
Mycroft took out a piece of wood and showed it to Hopkins.
"Runes," Snape said in a low voice while maintaining his false identity. "An ancient form of writing."
"Yes. These fragments all bear them. I need you to translate the inscriptions."
The Muggle world understood very little about runes and had mostly relied on guesswork.
"I'll need to take these with me," Hopkins said slowly. "I don't want anyone disturbing me."
"Professor Hopkins, I hope you understand that what you're doing is extremely important."
"The more important it is, the less I want anyone bothering me," Hopkins interrupted.
He lifted one of the wooden fragments in front of his eyes.
"No one but me can decipher this."
Mycroft studied him for a moment before saying, "I'll arrange protection for your safety."
"Unnecessary. But if you insist, fine."
Hopkins took the wooden fragment and left.
Mycroft watched him go, his thoughts unreadable.
...
London.
Inside a café.
The décor was elegant.
An elderly man sat there wearing a purple velvet suit, his white beard making it difficult not to wonder about his age.
A waitress approached and set down a cup of coffee.
"Would you like anything else?"
"No, not for now. I'm waiting for someone..."
The waitress smiled and walked away.
After she left, Dumbledore added two sugar cubes to his coffee.
He stirred it slowly, then suddenly stopped.
Closing his eyes, he looked almost as though he were praying, or perhaps savouring a strangely familiar moment.
Across from him, a white-haired man watched quietly.
When Dumbledore opened his eyes again, Grindelwald smiled and asked,
"Do you come to this café often?"
Dumbledore looked at the man who had appeared and smiled as well.
"Actually, I don't come here that often."
It was a familiar scene, appearing again more than half a century later.
The difference was that of the two men from back then, one had grown old and white-haired, while the other had regained his youth through unnatural means.
Grindelwald sat across from him.
Neither of them was the same as before.
And there was no longer a blood pact binding them through love.
"How does it feel, Albus?" Grindelwald looked at that face. "A world without me."
Dumbledore said, "I wouldn't call it bad. It's been quiet, but quite good."
"I thought you'd be happier."
Grindelwald's gaze shifted to the blackened traces left by the curse.
"You should have accepted his offer."
"I don't want to become like you."
Dumbledore shook his head slightly.
Immortality.
Youth restored.
How tempting those things were.
And yet he had refused them again and again.
He had grown old.
His red hair had turned white, and his white beard had grown longer and longer.
"Why, Grindelwald?"
At last, Dumbledore asked the question that had been troubling him.
Ever since Grindelwald walked out of Nurmengard, he had wanted to ask.
Grindelwald did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Dumbledore's cup, picked up a sugar cube from the bowl, and dropped it in.
"Three sugars. That's how you like it."
He thoughtfully stirred the coffee for Dumbledore.
"You've forgotten your own taste, just as you've forgotten the ideals you once had."
"But that ideal was never this," Dumbledore said with a frown.
"For the Greater Good," Grindelwald said. "We created it together."
"But when you did everything in your power to stop me, I began thinking of another possibility."
Grindelwald stopped stirring and looked into Dumbledore's eyes.
"A way for us to no longer have to become enemies."
"Muggles are growing stronger and stronger, while wizards remain intoxicated by the glory of the past. The brilliance of magic is fading."
Grindelwald pushed the coffee toward Dumbledore and said deeply,
"Only by overthrowing all of this can we make it shine again."
Dumbledore said gravely, "You'll doom yourself beyond redemption."
"Like last time?"
Grindelwald smiled.
"Are you going to stop me?"
Dumbledore did not know.
His feelings toward Grindelwald had always been complicated.
Grindelwald shook his head and smiled wickedly.
"You don't want to become my enemy, Dumbledore."
________
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