"Albus. Riddle." Babajide's voice came out worn thin as he greeted the two of them.
Back in early January, when Tom had first met Babajide over the trouble with Robert Graves, the man had already been overwhelmed by the situation with Grindelwald, but he'd still carried himself with real presence, still held the room like someone in command of the situation.
Now... he looked like nothing more than an ordinary old man on his last legs.
Did a household like his even keep bondservants?
The thought drifted through Tom's mind, completely unrelated to anything at hand, and he found himself briefly lost in it.
Representatives from the other nations offered their greetings, every one of them painfully polite, and each doing their best to stand as close to Dumbledore as physically possible. They were about to walk straight into Grindelwald's presence, and Dumbledore was the only thing standing between them and real fear.
Dumbledore met their warmth and deference with a calm face that gave nothing away.
"Before we go further, some things are better said plainly now."
"I have no doubt Grindelwald will use the hostages to demand something you cannot possibly accept. That decision isn't mine to make."
"Whether you accept it or not is a question for each of you to answer. Please don't place more hope in me than I can carry."
The representatives' faces went grim, but they all knew he was speaking the plain truth.
Babajide's voice came out hoarse. "Albus, I understand. But you can't simply stand aside either, or Grindelwald will keep pushing further. There are moments that call for firmness, and we'll need it."
Dumbledore nodded, and the two fell into discussing the finer details.
Tom, meanwhile, found himself pulled aside by several of the national representatives, who wanted, none too subtly, for him to invent some device that could defend against sonic attacks. Grindelwald's display had clearly rattled them badly.
Tom agreed readily enough, promising he could have a working sample ready within a month.
Defending against sound waves was simple enough. The Scream of Terror, though, struck at the soul itself, a problem with no real relation to sound at all. The representatives had no idea, and seeing how quickly Tom agreed, they showered him with praise, calling him the finest alchemist since Nicolas Flamel himself.
Half an hour later, once Dumbledore and Babajide had settled their arrangements, the group traveled by Floo to the fireplace station nearest Durmstrang, then continued the rest of the way by broomstick.
...
At that same moment, Grindelwald was receiving an uninvited guest.
"Mr. Grindelwald." The visitor bowed slightly, then lifted his head, revealing a face worn down with exhaustion.
If Tom had been there, he'd have laughed outright, and probably added something like: Mr. Graves, it's only been a few weeks, how did you end up looking this rough?
It was indeed Robert Graves who had come seeking Grindelwald.
After slaughtering members of his own kind, Robert's former standing had, naturally, evaporated entirely, and he'd become a wanted fugitive across North America, the second most wanted man on the International Confederation's list. First place belonged to Grindelwald himself.
But Robert knew Auror methods and habits intimately, which let him slip the net cleanly, fleeing all the way to the continent, and somehow, without even meaning to, finding his way to Durmstrang.
"Graves. However did you manage to find your way to me?"
Even Grindelwald found it a little remarkable. In a way, Robert had thrown himself right into the lion's den, though of course Grindelwald had no idea of the connection between Robert and Tom. Even setting that aside, his old impersonation of Percival had already made him a blood enemy of the entire Graves family.
Robert shook his head with a bitter smile. "There's nowhere left in this world for me to go, except to you."
"I don't see much reason to take you in." Grindelwald toyed idly with his fingers, his tone almost bored. "Former Head of Security for the International Confederation, and a leading voice for open war against me. Why would I trust a word you say?"
"Sir, I understand your concerns. But hear me out."
Robert's expression didn't waver. "I was indeed among the most committed to opposing you, but that was never about ideology. It was purely a matter of self-interest. Your rise threatened to reshape the entire balance of the world."
"And now, coming to you is also simply self-interest. You're the only one who can protect me, the only one who can help me settle my score. Isn't that exactly the principle you live by? Everything in service of the greater gain."
Robert held Grindelwald's increasingly amused gaze without flinching. "All I want is a place to stand, and one final goal: killing Tom Riddle. He's the one who tore my family and everything I had to pieces. Sir, I can give you everything I know, the hidden workings of the North American Congress, every scrap of Confederation intelligence."
"And beyond that, I know Auror training and evaluation inside and out. I can help train your Saints specifically for that kind of fight."
"Those are decent terms, I'll admit."
Grindelwald stilled his fingers, smiling. "But the value you're offering doesn't come close to what Tom Riddle brings me. The devices he crafts, the raw talent behind them, no stray dog could ever hope to match that."
Robert's fists clenched, humiliation rising through him like floodwater. He remembered exactly how far he'd once stood above this. Professor at Ilvermorny, respected by all, then a partnership with the North American Congress, a seat at the International Confederation carrying real weight. All of it, gone, torn apart by that one insolent boy.
Now he was nothing but a stray dog in Grindelwald's mouth, not even worth taking in when he'd come offering himself freely.
"I can wait," Robert said, drawing a slow breath. "Riddle is Dumbledore's student, in the end. Dumbledore is your greatest enemy. Whatever cooperation exists between them now, the day will come when they stand against each other. When that day comes, I'll be the sharpest, most merciless blade in your hand, turned against that lawless little wizard."
"Well. Well, well!"
Grindelwald burst into loud applause. He decided Robert really was a man of some talent, clear-headed, patient, ambitious, capable in every way that mattered. The one thing he lacked entirely was luck.
Crossing Tom was bad enough on its own. The boy had already forgotten this poor wretch even existed.
And now here Robert was, throwing himself straight back into the lion's den on his own two feet.
Did the man have some kind of death wish?