While Lucius was busy weighing his next move, his sister-in-law was seething with rage.
Bellatrix held a local Albanian wizarding newspaper in her hands, nearly half of it devoted to singing Grindelwald's praises, calling him the greatest dark wizard the world had ever seen, the one true Dark Lord.
"Only the Master deserves to be called the Dark Lord! That washed-up relic Dumbledore already beat once, what right does he have to the title!"
Bellatrix's shriek stabbed straight through Lockhart's eardrums. He winced. "Bella, didn't you say the Dark Lord was here? Why change your tune the moment we actually arrive?"
"Lockhart, what exactly could you do besides tag along after me?" Bellatrix's icy gaze lifted from the newspaper and settled on him, his hair sticking up in every direction. "A useless man should know his place. I haven't complained once about carrying dead weight, and now you're the one getting impatient with me?"
Lockhart forced an awkward smile and said nothing further, wisely holding his tongue.
"The Master is in poor shape right now, but he's still somewhere in this region. I can feel it."
Bellatrix rolled up her sleeve, revealing the dark green Mark inked into her left forearm. She pointed her wand at it, and the Mark seemed to stir to life beneath her touch. She closed her eyes, focusing, and after a moment settled on a direction, leading Lockhart onward in their search for Voldemort.
...
Friday. Dumbledore traveled to Durmstrang alone.
Durmstrang was famously the most secretive magical school in the world; every student there was strictly forbidden from ever revealing its location. All the wider world knew was that it lay somewhere in Northern Europe, and beyond that, almost nothing.
Even Dumbledore only knew the address because Grindelwald himself had mentioned it once, long ago, somewhere on the northern reaches of Norway, on the Scandinavian peninsula.
Otherwise he'd have needed a guide along just to find the place.
He wanted to see, first, whether he could settle this without bringing Tom at all.
Dumbledore made no attempt at stealth, arriving openly rather than trying to force his way past whatever defenses remained. Fawkes's cry rang out across the ice-covered castle, and before long Grindelwald emerged, flying out to meet him.
Seeing Dumbledore alone, with only a bird for company, Grindelwald's brow creased slightly. "Where's Riddle? Why come by yourself?"
"Whatever lies between the two of us, I won't drag anyone else into it," Dumbledore said quietly.
"Then there's nothing left to discuss." Grindelwald turned to leave at once, only for Dumbledore to stop him.
The two didn't speak long. Ten minutes later, they parted on bad terms.
To sum it up:
Dumbledore: Hear me out. Grindelwald: Not listening. Not listening at all.
Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts disappointed, understanding now that there was no way around bringing Tom after all.
…
Saturday morning. The two of them made their way first to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic in Oslo, to meet up with representatives from the International Confederation and the various national Ministries, before setting off together for Durmstrang.
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