Hearing that word again, one he hadn't heard spoken aloud in years, Dumbledore's mind drifted, caught somewhere between memory and the present.
A blood pact was an old form of magic, ancient beyond most living memory, one that used the blood of both parties as a conduit to forge a vow that couldn't be broken. It didn't just prevent betrayal outright, it punished the mere formation of an intent to betray.
In their youth, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had sworn one together, meant to guard the passion and ideals they'd shared at the time, a safeguard against some future where the two of them might stand on opposite sides.
It had never been only a binding spell. It had stood as proof of their conviction in each other, proof that in all the world, nothing but the other man himself could ever slow their path.
As it turned out, they'd been right.
One of them really had betrayed the cause, the dream of remaking the wizarding world, of tearing down the Statute of Secrecy. And it had also proven, just as clearly, that nothing in this world besides Dumbledore had ever managed to stop Grindelwald.
For as long as that pact held, only Newt had ever managed to give Grindelwald any real trouble. Everyone else moved like puppets on his strings. He'd come within a hair of being elected Chairman of the International Confederation itself, close enough to use that seat of power to drag the whole world into war between wizards and Muggles.
It had taken a shamelessly light-fingered Niffler to steal the pact away, and even then, even with all his knowledge and skill, Dumbledore alone had never been able to break it.
In the end it had come down to pure circumstance. Dumbledore trying to protect Credence, Grindelwald trying to kill him, and in that single moment, neither man had truly wished harm on the other, even as their magic collided violently, with Aberforth's outside interference tipping the balance. The pact had shattered, reluctantly, almost against its own will.
And now, Grindelwald wanted to bind them together again?
While Dumbledore sat lost in that memory, the rest of the delegation, Babajide included, looked on in complete bewilderment.
What exactly was a blood pact?
Tom, ever helpful, took it upon himself to explain what the pact would mean and what it would bind them to. Once he'd finished, Babajide's face turned grave, and he spoke to Dumbledore with real weight in his voice. "Albus, you can't agree to this. Once the pact is sealed, you'll have no way to move against Grindelwald, while he'll be free to do as he pleases with every other wizard alive."
"I understand that," Dumbledore said after a moment's silence, his voice low.
"Ha."
Grindelwald let out a short, mocking laugh, contempt plain and unhidden in his eyes.
"This is exactly why I have no patience for the lot of you, useless men warming your seats. Can't even follow plain speech, can you?"
"Wasn't Riddle clear enough a moment ago? A blood pact doesn't only forbid harming each other, it can carry other conditions besides. And all your minds could latch onto was the fear that Dumbledore wouldn't be able to protect you anymore, is that it?"
Babajide's face burned red, though his complexion hid it well enough. The other representatives dropped their eyes in shame, because that had, in fact, been exactly their fear. If Dumbledore were sidelined, the world's current magical order would collapse practically overnight.
Dumbledore stepped in to smooth over their embarrassment. "Grindelwald, what terms did you have in mind for this pact?"
"It's simple enough..." Grindelwald tapped his fingers lightly against the solid wood table, holding Dumbledore's unreadable blue gaze. "You and I are both relics of an older age. What would it really accomplish if we fought each other to the death?"
"Leaving behind a wizarding world in ruins, with no strength left to stand against the Muggles?"
"Haven't you noticed? The magical world today has no one left to carry it forward."
Weariness ran deep in Grindelwald's voice, laced with something sharper, disappointment in what should have been so much more. "Four hundred Aurors? In my day, even a hundred gathered together would have made me think twice before engaging."
"But look at what's standing here now. This is what passes for the elite?"
"So I came. I intend to keep this world on its guard, permanently, to hang a blade over the heads of every complacent fool in it, forever forcing them forward."
Grindelwald's presence seemed to fill the room, and even Babajide and the others found themselves staring at the defiant white-haired man before them, a flicker of shame stirring in their chests.
They'd spent all their energy guarding their own small patches of turf, scrambling for power, chasing after Galleons they'd never manage to spend in a lifetime, while a dark wizard sat here worrying over the fate of the entire magical world.
"Dumbledore, the terms of the pact are simple. Neither of us may raise a hand against wizards aligned with the other's side. Everything after that, we leave to the next generation to fight out on their own."
Babajide's eyes lit up, and he practically willed Dumbledore to agree on the spot.
Had Grindelwald lost his mind? With both of their overwhelming individual strength taken off the board, the whole conflict would fall back to simple numbers, and even the Saints, elite as they were, would struggle against two or three times their number.
But was Grindelwald really that foolish?
Of course he had another condition waiting.
"And Riddle stands as witness to this. You and I will swear an unbreakable oath: no coalition of more than five Ministries may act together against the Saints. Break that, and both of us are bound to carry out retaliation against the offending nations."