Standing on the same line?
Dumbledore's brows twitched slightly at Grindelwald's words, but he said nothing, silently acknowledging the reality of what had just happened.
After all, how could a treasure like the Goblin Eye be destroyed so easily? Even if Grindelwald had taken direct action to break it, the power required would have left undeniable traces. It was inevitable that such a forceful act would have drawn attention.
And yet, no such traces had been found.
Dumbledore had noticed what Grindelwald was doing, had understood his intent—and had chosen not to stop him.
More than that, he had even assisted in obscuring the event.
By subtly channeling the power of the dream world connected to Hogwarts, he had cloaked the moment, ensuring that no one—neither wizard nor goblin—had been able to fully perceive what had occurred. Even now, their conversation remained unseen and unheard by the surrounding figures, shrouded by the same enigmatic force.
Grindelwald caught the flicker of silent affirmation in Dumbledore's expression. A faint smile played across his lips.
His eyes gleamed with interest as he examined the strange fluctuations in the air around them. This magic—it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its resonance, its layered combinations, its peculiar properties…
It smelled of Hogwarts.
There was no doubt in his mind now—Dumbledore had been experimenting. As the true master of Hogwarts, it wasn't surprising that he had uncovered something extraordinary within the castle's mysteries.
But this…
This was something else entirely.
For a brief moment, Grindelwald found himself truly fascinated. Even after all these years of magical research, after countless discoveries and breakthroughs, the prospect of something new—something unknown—still ignited a deep, insatiable curiosity within him.
He studied the environment carefully before shifting his focus back to Dumbledore.
But the old man was still looking at the shattered remains of the Goblin Eye, lost in thought, completely ignoring him.
Grindelwald sighed.
Even after all this time, Dumbledore still found ways to be exasperating.
Was he… sulking?
Finally, Grindelwald spoke first. "Albus, from the way you're acting, I assume you already know about the goblins' ambitions here in the United States."
Dumbledore lifted his head, a glimmer of amusement flashing through his blue eyes.
He was silent for a moment, as though mulling something over, and then—his lips curled into that ever-so-familiar, infuriatingly pleasant smile.
"Next," Dumbledore said lightly, "I think I'd like to have a duel with you."
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore's wand subtly shifted, drawing upon the surrounding dream energy. The magic stirred, resonating with the space itself, twisting the fabric of reality.
"Let's see how much we've both changed over the years," Dumbledore continued, his tone almost playful.
Grindelwald chuckled. He could feel the pulse of space warping around them. The invitation had been extended.
He did not refuse.
A low hum filled the air as ripples spread through the space. The figures of both men—one in white, one in black—began to blur, their forms shifting into spectral silhouettes before vanishing entirely.
The city around them melted away.
A vast wilderness stretched endlessly beneath the sky, where sun-scorched earth met dry, brittle grass. Yellow sand curled in unseen winds, while sparse weeds clung stubbornly to the barren ground.
There were no birds. No insects. No signs of life.
Just the sound of the wind.
A place so remote, so desolate, that few ever came here willingly.
But something was happening.
The earth trembled faintly.
Sand shifted, swirling in delicate patterns. The weeds, previously motionless, bent low as though pressed down by some invisible force.
The breeze was light, barely present—yet the air itself distorted, twisting under the heat of the sun.
And then—like a mirage shimmering on the horizon—a castle appeared.
Its towers reached toward the sky, grand and majestic. Rolling green fields stretched around it, leading to a vast, dark lake. At the forest's edge, ancient trees stood tall, their leaves rustling as though whispering secrets.
A perfect image of Hogwarts.
At first, it was transparent, an illusion barely anchored to the world. But slowly, steadily, it solidified, taking on form and substance.
With it, two figures materialized on the castle's lawn.
Grindelwald stood in his black robes. Dumbledore in his white.
Their gazes met.
Grindelwald's face was calm, but his eyes betrayed his surprise.
Dumbledore smiled, watching his old friend's reaction.
This was Hogwarts, but not as Grindelwald had ever known it.
It was a dream, forged from magic so intricate, so vast, that it defied conventional understanding.
Years ago, when Fudge's meddling had forced him to abandon his original research on dream seeds, Dumbledore had shifted his focus—turning instead to the dream world as conceptualized by Lockhart.
The results had far exceeded his expectations.
It was extraordinary.
Here, within this dream-forged Hogwarts, he was in complete control. It was a power unlike any other—deceptive, elusive, endlessly adaptable.
It was easy to understand why Fudge had become so intoxicated by it. The illusion of absolute control was a dangerous thing.
Grindelwald's voice cut through the quiet. "Albus, what is this?"
Dumbledore didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "Gallert, why do you think we are here?"
Grindelwald studied him for a moment before sighing. He no longer pressed for answers.
Instead, he lifted his hand.
A soft hum filled the air as a wand of deep violet emerged in his grip.
A breeze swept across the dreamscape. Dark-robed figures materialized behind him, silent and watchful.
At the same time, a silver-white glow flickered in his right eye. The grass beneath his feet shifted, its vibrant green hue paling as it was overtaken by a creeping frost-like silver.
The power of fate.
The magic of destiny.
Half of Hogwarts—the Hogwarts forged from Dumbledore's dream—was suddenly consumed by this silvery force.
Where Dumbledore stood, the castle remained as it always had been, bathed in warm sunlight, surrounded by the familiar greens of spring.
Where Grindelwald stood, winter had arrived—an icy dominion where everything shimmered in cold silver, untouched by time.
It was as though two seasons, two realities, had clashed—one against the other.
They stepped forward at the same time, their movements perfectly synchronized.
At the exact moment they reached the boundary between the two halves of the world, they raised their wands.
Magic surged.
The power of dreams met the power of fate.
The energies clashed, weaving into one another, vying for control.
One moment, silver tendrils crept into the dreamscape, twisting its form. The next, dream energy retaliated, consuming the silver and twisting it into something new.
An invisible battle raged around them, even as they themselves remained perfectly still.
They stared into each other's eyes.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
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