Everyone else was politely shown out of the room, leaving only Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Tom, standing as witness, behind.
He watched the blood pact take shape first.
The two men's blood twisted together in the air, merging, and from Grindelwald's pocket a small, finely wrought silver object flew free to catch it. Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply.
The vessel was identical, down to the last detail, to the one from years before.
The blood solidified, settling into the center of the silver casing like a ruby set into a ring.
The magic completed itself, and the pact dropped from the air.
Grindelwald caught it in one hand, holding Dumbledore's still faintly dazed blue eyes. "Albus, will you be sending another Niffler after this one?"
Tom's face twisted with the effort of holding back a laugh.
Old Gellert really did have a gift for needling people. He'd have to tell Uncle Newt about this later, if only to watch the man's reaction.
Dumbledore sidestepped the sharpness of Grindelwald's gaze and didn't bother answering the question at all, simply saying, quietly, "Let's finish the unbreakable vow. The others are still waiting outside."
Grindelwald let out a short, cold laugh and extended his hand toward Dumbledore.
Their hands clasped together. Tom drew his wand, and threads of deep red flame wound around both their arms without leaving so much as a mark. As Tom finished speaking the terms of the vow aloud, the flame sank fully into their skin, a crimson pattern flaring briefly across both forearms before fading away entirely.
The vow was sealed. Whoever broke its terms would be consumed by fire from within, a fate not even the greatest wizard of the age could hope to escape.
Grindelwald, for his part, showed no fear of it at all. Once Tom had finished studying his own body's peculiar resilience, he could set himself alight as often as he liked and come out the other side unharmed.
Dumbledore's expression stayed grave.
Every clause in this agreement existed to preserve the current fragile balance, and Grindelwald had conceded a great deal to reach it. What worried Dumbledore now was the possibility of some hot-headed fool launching another strike against Grindelwald, dragging half a dozen nations into a fresh assault on the Saints.
If that happened, Dumbledore himself would be bound to stand at Grindelwald's side, against the rest of the world entire.
The others were called back in, and seeing that everything had gone smoothly, their faces lit with relief. They immediately asked to collect the prisoners and depart.
Grindelwald barely spared them a glance, summoning Rosier instead and instructing him to escort Babajide and the rest to retrieve their people.
"Riddle. When will your Wizards' Guild be up and running?"
"Give me a month," Tom said. In truth, preparations were already well underway, and if he'd pushed hard, he could have had a dozen branch offices open within a week. But dragging his feet a little seemed wiser, if only to keep Dumbledore's suspicions from growing any sharper.
Tom knew perfectly well Dumbledore was no fool, and that everything about today had surely deepened the old man's doubts. Let him suspect all he liked. There was no evidence to find, and honestly, nothing about any of this was even something Tom needed to hide.
Wanting to shape the world to his liking. What was so wrong with that?
"Whatever you need, come find me. Manpower, gold, whatever it takes."
Grindelwald threw one more jab Dumbledore's way before turning fully to face him. "Albus, I hear you've been running a dueling tournament for your underage students lately. Since I've only just taken up headmastering myself, allow me to return the favor and cheer on those little ones of yours."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Do as you like. Come if you must."
There was clearly no hope of Grindelwald ever settling down quietly. As long as the current balance held, Dumbledore would count that a victory in itself, though it meant the two of them were bound now to cross paths often in the days ahead.
Which, all things considered... might not be so bad.
Of the three hundred and sixteen captured Aurors, eighteen had died early on, victims of Tom not yet having full control over his own strength in that first chaotic clash. Every other prisoner remained alive and, remarkably, unharmed, looking more like they'd returned from an extended holiday than a hostage situation. Every nation involved let out a collective breath of relief.
Eighteen dead was still no small number, but set against the alternative, three hundred lives lost outright, it counted as an outcome close to miraculous.
Dumbledore had meant to leave with Tom ahead of the others, but found himself pressed into escorting the full delegation back to the Norwegian Ministry first. By the time Tom finally made it back to Hogwarts, the better part of what should have been a relaxing weekend had vanished entirely, swallowed whole by the late hour of the night.
Still, Tom didn't seem the least bit put out. He sent word to the girls, and to Nicolas and the others, letting them know he'd made it back safely, then immediately pulled up his system interface, unable to wait a moment longer.
A notification for a new task pulsed brightly, catching his eye at once.
Tom opened the task details with a thought.
Ordinarily, intermediate tasks came framed in blue, advanced tasks in purple, and the rare legendary-tier tasks that offered truly extraordinary rewards were bordered in gold.
This new task, though, matched none of those categories. It shimmered instead with the full spectrum of color, every shade at once.
[World Ultimate Task: Grand Unification!]