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Chapter Text

Hogwarts School for Exceptional Students was alive with its usual buzz. In the sprawling, ivy-covered institution nestled in the Scottish Highlands, whispers of a very important visitor had begun to circulate. The gossip had traveled faster than a letter in the staff room—probably thanks to the perpetually nosy Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, who had a knack for hearing everything before anyone else.

Harry Potter leaned against the large oak desk in his classroom, absentmindedly organizing a pile of quizzes. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as he caught snippets of conversation wafting in through the open window. He’d spent the better part of his twenties escaping the fame that had followed him since his youth, only to find that it had stubbornly lingered as he pursued his passion for teaching.

“Do you think he’s a donor?” came the high-pitched voice of Hannah Abbott, the school's potions master, from the corridor.

“I heard he’s some hotshot CEO!” said Professor Sinistra with barely contained excitement. “Gwendolyn in administration swears he’s involved in cutting-edge tech.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. He wasn’t entirely sure who the visitor was, but he knew it would be big—Hogwarts rarely entertained guests who weren’t prospective students or their parents.

“Stop eavesdropping,” Hermione said from the doorway, startling Harry. She stepped inside, balancing two cups of tea. As usual, her curly hair was slightly frazzled from teaching a particularly rowdy session of Advanced History. “It’s bad enough the kids are in a frenzy. Don’t tell me you’re joining in.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry protested, taking one of the cups and sipping. “But if you know who’s coming, I’d appreciate the hint.”

Hermione smirked. “Not a clue. Apparently, even the board’s in the dark. Though knowing Dumbledore, he’s probably orchestrating this whole thing to throw us all off-balance. You know how he loves a dramatic reveal.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t remind me. The last time he sprang something on us, we had to entertain half the Ministry for a week.”

“Poor thing. Stuck mingling with the pompous elite,” Hermione teased. “Besides, I hear this one’s a short visit—just a tour, maybe a dinner. Hardly the trial you’re making it out to be.”

Harry snorted and set his cup down. “Tell that to Ron. He’s already planning his exit strategy. Something about avoiding being roped into any impromptu speeches.”

Hermione laughed. “Typical Ron.”

They chatted for a while longer, their banter flowing easily. Hermione excused herself when a student popped in to ask for extra credit opportunities. Harry waved her off and turned his attention back to the papers in front of him.

It wasn’t long before Blaise Zabini, his sharp-tongued friend and occasional co-conspirator in avoiding staff meetings, wandered in. Blaise worked for some high-profile engineering firm now—Grindelwald Enterprises, if Harry remembered correctly—and still managed to pop by Hogwarts whenever he could to catch up.

“You look chipper,” Blaise remarked, slinging his jacket over a chair.

“Please. Chipper would imply I don’t have to deal with tomorrow’s surprise.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “You mean the Grindelwald visit?”

Harry frowned. “Grindelwald?”

“Gellert Grindelwald. CEO of Grindelwald Enterprises,” Blaise said casually. “Surely you’ve heard of him.”

“Vaguely,” Harry admitted. “What’s he doing here?”

“Touring. Rumor is he’s looking to sponsor some big educational initiative. Schools like Hogwarts are at the top of his list,” Blaise said, leaning back in the chair.

“Oh, lovely. A billionaire meddling in education. That always goes well,” Harry muttered.

“Don’t be so cynical,” Blaise quipped. “Grindelwald’s not just any billionaire. He’s… efficient. Sharp. Knows how to make things happen.”

Harry gave him a skeptical look. “Sounds… intimidating.”

Blaise shrugged. “He’s direct, sure, but he’s not a tyrant. Honestly, you might like him. He values people who know what they’re doing, and Merlin knows that’s rare in this place.”

Harry laughed despite himself. “I suppose we’ll see.”

As Blaise left to check in with Hermione, Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. The idea of a high-profile visit didn’t thrill him, but he couldn’t deny he was curious about this Gellert Grindelwald. If nothing else, tomorrow promised to be interesting.

And Harry, against his better judgment, couldn’t help but feel a little intrigued.

Chapter Text

Harry had never been a morning person. While most of his colleagues found solace in their early routines—steaming cups of coffee, meticulously organized lesson plans—Harry usually found himself racing against the clock. This morning was no exception.

The first bell had rung five minutes ago, and Harry was still fumbling with an unruly stack of quizzes and worksheets that seemed determined to spill from his arms. “Brilliant start,” he muttered under his breath, dashing down the polished hallway of Hogwarts. His robes fluttered behind him as he glanced at the clock mounted above the staffroom door.

He was definitely late.

The corridor was mostly empty now, the students already seated in their classrooms, and the quiet only amplified the echo of Harry's hurried steps. He rounded a corner at full speed, his mind entirely focused on the litany of excuses he’d need for his fourth-years when—

WHAM.

Harry slammed into something—or rather, someone—broad, solid, and entirely immovable. The collision sent his carefully balanced pile of papers flying like startled birds, scattering across the hallway in a flurry of parchment.

“Oh, Merlin—sorry!” Harry stammered, dropping to his knees to gather the mess. His cheeks flushed as he scrambled to collect the scattered sheets, muttering apologies all the while. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Completely my fault.”

The man he’d collided with crouched as well, one large hand effortlessly picking up several pages. “It’s quite alright,” came a calm, deep voice with a faint accent Harry couldn’t immediately place.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, not sparing a glance upward as he frantically stacked his papers. He was painfully aware of the seconds ticking away. “I’m late for a class.”

The stranger didn’t respond, merely handed him the gathered papers with a faint hum of acknowledgment. Harry clutched them to his chest, his green eyes darting up for the briefest moment to offer a hurried, “Really sorry!” before dashing off down the corridor.

He didn’t pause to take in the man’s striking features—the chiseled jawline, the streaks of silver in his dark hair, or the faintly amused expression in his piercing gray eyes.

By the time Harry burst into his classroom, breathless and flushed, his students were already waiting. A few of them snickered as he set the papers on his desk with a thud.

“Good morning, Professor Potter,” said a particularly cheeky Gryffindor.

“Morning,” Harry huffed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Apologies for the delay. Let’s get started.”

As Harry launched into his lesson on argumentative essay structure, the encounter in the hallway quickly slipped from his mind.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that the man he’d crashed into had lingered for a moment, watching Harry’s retreating figure with a curious tilt of his head.

Gellert Grindelwald straightened his tie, his lips curling into a faint smirk. It seemed Hogwarts was going to be more interesting than he’d anticipated.

-=-

The teachers’ lounge at Hogwarts was a sanctuary during the chaos of the school day. The warm glow of enchanted lamps illuminated the cozy room, and the scent of tea and parchment filled the air. Harry sat cross-legged on the worn sofa, a red pen in hand, as he methodically graded a stack of fourth-year essays. Beside him, Hermione was hunched over her own papers, her quill darting across a particularly dense essay with remarkable speed.

“Honestly,” she muttered, squinting at the parchment in front of her, “if I have to read one more attempt to compare medieval magical history to Muggle economics, I might scream.”

Harry snorted, not looking up. “They’re trying. Well... most of them. This one wrote three paragraphs on why chocolate frogs are better than licorice wands.”

Hermione sighed but smiled, her exasperation tempered by affection. “At least they’re creative.”

Just as Harry reached for his tea, the door swung open without warning. Blaise Zabini strode in with his usual swagger, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that seemed out of place amidst the tweed and cardigans of Hogwarts’ staff.

“Why don't you knock?” Harry asked dryly, not looking up.

“Because,” Blaise said, plopping into an armchair across from them, “I like the element of surprise. Keeps things interesting.”

“You’re insufferable,” Hermione quipped, but her smile betrayed her words.

“Thank you. I do try,” Blaise replied, unbothered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what are we talking about? Enlighten me.”

“Grading,” Harry said, gesturing to the papers. “You know, the glamorous life of a teacher.”

“Riveting.” Blaise smirked. “Speaking of glamour, you’ll never guess who I just saw.”

“Let me guess.” Harry set his pen down. “Someone rich, famous, or both?”

“Gellert Grindelwald,” Blaise announced, his tone heavy with self-satisfaction. “The Gellert Grindelwald. CEO of the company I work for, you know, in case I haven’t mentioned it a dozen times already.”

Harry groaned. “You’ve mentioned it. Repeatedly.”

“What’s he doing here?” Hermione asked, curious despite herself.

“Touring, apparently. Something about evaluating potential partnerships for Hogwarts.” Blaise’s dark eyes gleamed. “I hear he’s staying the night.”

“Well, that explains all the whispers,” Hermione said, exchanging a glance with Harry. “I suppose Dumbledore’s been parading him around like a prized Thestral.”

Harry chuckled. “Probably hoping to secure funding for another over-the-top library expansion.”

“Speaking of over-the-top,” Hermione said, her tone turning pointed as she looked at Blaise, “you’ll be joining us for dinner tonight. No excuses.”

Blaise blinked. “I didn’t realize I’d been invited.”

“You always are,” Hermione replied breezily. “Ron’s been wanting to ask you about Muggle tech working with magic. You’ll humor him, won’t you?”

Blaise hesitated for a fraction of a second, then sighed with mock resignation. “Fine. But only because Ron’s the only tolerable Weasley.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Ginny you said that,” Harry quipped, earning a laugh from Hermione.

As their laughter echoed through the lounge, the heavy oak doors leading to the Great Hall creaked open down the corridor. Albus Dumbledore, dressed in resplendent emerald robes, was leading Gellert Grindelwald through the castle with his usual air of theatricality.

“And here we have the Great Hall,” Dumbledore said, his hands gesturing grandly as he walked beside Gellert, who looked far less amused by the spectacle. His sharp gray eyes scanned the grand, vaulted ceilings with polite disinterest.

“Impressive,” Gellert said, though his tone suggested he’d seen more impressive places in his time.

Dumbledore’s twinkle faltered for only a moment. “Yes, yes. Quite.” He cleared his throat and steered Gellert toward the staff areas. “Of course, I must introduce you to some of our staff. They’re the true heart of Hogwarts. Such passionate, dedicated educators.”

Gellert hummed noncommittally. He could sense Dumbledore’s underlying motive—a desire to shift responsibility. He wasn’t a fool; he knew when someone was trying to pass him off like an inconvenient package.

As they turned another corner, Dumbledore's face lit up. “Ah, perfect timing!”

Harry had just stepped out of the lounge.

“Professor Potter!” Dumbledore called, his voice carrying.

Harry froze, the grin on his face fading as he turned toward the Headmaster. “Yes, Professor?”

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Gellert Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said with a flourish. “I believe the two of you may have crossed paths earlier.”

Harry’s stomach sank as he registered the man before him—the broad shoulders, silver-streaked hair, and those piercing eyes. Oh no. It’s hallway collision guy.

Gellert's expression didn’t shift, but his gaze lingered on Harry, an almost imperceptible flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Ah, yes. I think we did,” Gellert said smoothly, extending a hand.

Harry scrambled to balance his papers in one arm as he shook the man’s hand, trying to muster some semblance of professionalism. “Professor Harry Potter. Sorry about earlier—I was in a rush.”

“No harm done,” Gellert replied, his tone warm but measured.

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Well, I shall leave Mr. Grindelwald in your capable hands, Harry.”

“Wait, what?” Harry began, but Dumbledore had already begun retreating, muttering something about a pressing meeting with the governors.

“Charming man,” Gellert remarked dryly, watching the Headmaster disappear around the corner.

Harry sighed, turning back to Gellert. “Welcome to Hogwarts. I guess I’m your tour guide now.”

Gellert's lips quirked into a faint smile. “Lead the way, Professor Potter.”

Chapter Text

Harry felt his grip on his stack of papers tightening as he led Gellert Grindelwald toward the staff lounge. It wasn’t that he minded playing host—it was just that he did mind playing host without any warning. And to a man who looked like he belonged in the glossy pages of some high-end business magazine, no less.

He cast a quick glance at Gellert, who strode beside him with an effortless confidence, his tailored suit impeccable despite the slightly drafty corridors of Hogwarts. Harry felt painfully aware of his own slightly rumpled robes and ink-stained hands.

“Uh, right,” Harry began, breaking the silence. “I’m not sure where Albus was planning to take you next, but since he, um, vanished, I figure I should at least introduce you to some of the staff.”

Gellert arched a brow. “Efficient of him to delegate.”

Harry snorted despite himself. “That’s one way to put it.”

When they reached the lounge, Harry pushed the door open, revealing Hermione and Blaise still seated inside. Hermione had resumed grading her papers, and Blaise was leisurely sipping a cup of tea while scrolling through something on his phone—an odd sight in the magical school.

“Back so soon?” Blaise drawled, not looking up. “Don’t tell me you got lost between here and the Great Hall.”

“Not quite,” Harry said, stepping aside so Gellert could follow him in. “Gellert Grindelwald, meet Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini. Albus forgot to introduce you. Or, well, forgot entirely, I think.”

Hermione looked up first, her quill freezing mid-sentence as she took in Gellert's imposing figure. “Oh,” she said, startled. Quickly recovering, she stood and extended a hand. “Hermione Granger. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grindelwald.”

“Likewise, Ms. Granger,” Gellert said, shaking her hand.

“And you already know Blaise,” Harry added, motioning toward his friend.

Blaise stood, a rare grin playing on his lips as he clasped Gellert's hand. “Good to see you, sir. Though I must say, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

“Neither did I,” Gellert replied evenly, though there was the faintest glint of humor in his eyes. “But it seems Hogwarts has its ways of surprising people.”

Blaise chuckled and gestured toward the empty armchair. “Please, sit. Tea? Coffee? Hermione makes a mean pot of tea when she’s not trying to revolutionize the curriculum.”

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly but moved to the small kitchenette in the corner to prepare another cup.

Harry hovered awkwardly, feeling a bit like a third wheel. “Well, uh, you’re in good hands here,” he said, clutching his papers like a lifeline. “I should probably get back to—”

“Nonsense,” Hermione interjected, shooting him a pointed look as she poured hot water into a teapot. “You’re staying.”

Blaise smirked. “Yeah, don’t abandon us, Potter. Besides, Mr. Grindelwald might enjoy hearing some of your riveting stories about teaching.”

Gellert looked between the three of them, his expression unreadable, though he seemed mildly amused by the dynamic. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more about Hogwarts from the people who know it best.”

Harry sighed in defeat, dropping his papers onto the table and plopping down onto the sofa. “Fine. But I’m not the one who’s good at small talk.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Blaise quipped, earning a glare from Harry.

The four of them settled into a surprisingly easy rhythm, Hermione asking Gellert thoughtful questions about his work, Blaise chiming in with sarcastic commentary, and Harry doing his best to stay out of the spotlight.

Still, as the conversation flowed, Harry couldn’t shake the strange feeling that Gellert's sharp eyes lingered on him just a moment too long.

-=-

The bell rang out through the stone halls of Hogwarts, its clear chime snapping Harry back to reality. His students would be gathering in the classroom by now, likely already debating whether their perpetually frazzled professor would be late again.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his papers nearly toppling off the table as he grabbed them. “Right, that’s my cue.” He looked at Gellert, who was seated comfortably in the armchair, one long leg crossed over the other, exuding an aura of calm amidst the chaos of Harry’s flustered departure.

“Uh…” Harry hesitated, clutching his papers like a shield. “I have a lesson to teach. Do you—uh—should I… find someone to, you know, take over?”

Gellert raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Harry’s struggle to find the right words. “Take over?”

“For you,” Harry clarified, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, I can’t just leave you here. But also, I don’t think my class would appreciate a surprise visitor—no offense. And…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling.

Hermione, who was watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, chimed in. “You could always bring him along, Harry. The students might like to hear from someone outside the castle for a change.”

Harry shot her a look. “What, and derail the entire lesson plan?”

“Like you ever stick to it anyway,” Blaise quipped, earning a glare.

Gellert unfolded himself from the chair, standing with an easy grace that made Harry feel even more disheveled by comparison. “If it’s not an imposition, I wouldn’t mind sitting in,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

“Really?” Harry asked, dubious.

“I assure you, I’ll stay out of the way,” Gellert added with a faint smile. “Unless you think my presence will disrupt things.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, glancing between Gellert and the clock on the wall. He was already late. His students were probably plotting an uprising by now.

“Fine,” he relented, sighing in defeat. “Just… try not to intimidate them. They’re teenagers, not boardroom executives.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gellert said, a glimmer of humor in his gray eyes.

As they made their way down the hall, Harry gave himself a silent pep talk. It was just another lesson. He could handle this. Sure, he’d be teaching with Gellert Grindelwald, CEO extraordinaire, sitting in the back of the room, but it wasn’t like his students were expecting a polished lecture.

Right?

-=-

When Harry pushed open the door to his classroom, twenty pairs of curious eyes turned to him. The chatter that had filled the room moments before fell silent, replaced by an anticipatory hush.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry began, brushing past the students to deposit his papers on the desk. “Let’s get started. Today we’re—”

His words faltered as he realized no one was looking at him. All attention was fixed on the tall, imposing figure standing just behind him.

“Oh,” Harry said, awkwardly stepping aside. “Right. Um, everyone, this is—”

“Gellert Grindelwald,” one of the older students blurted out, their eyes wide. “The magical engineer?”

“The billionaire?” another chimed in, their tone a mix of awe and disbelief.

Gellert inclined his head slightly, offering a polite, restrained smile. “I prefer engineer, but yes, that’s me.”

The room buzzed with hushed whispers, students craning their necks to get a better look.

“Settle down,” Harry said, waving his hands. “Mr. Grindelwald is just observing. He’s not here to give a lecture, so don’t get any ideas.”

A collective groan of disappointment rippled through the room.

“Right. Where were we?” Harry muttered, rifling through his notes. “Ah, persuasive arguments. Can anyone remind me what we talked about last class?”

A few hands shot up, but Harry noticed a good portion of the class was still sneaking glances at Gellert , who had taken a seat in the corner of the room. Despite the distraction, Harry managed to launch into his lesson, explaining the finer points of crafting a compelling thesis.

-=-

Halfway through the lesson, Harry found himself pacing the front of the room, gesturing animatedly as he explained the importance of supporting evidence. He felt himself relax into the rhythm of teaching, the usual energy of the classroom drawing him in.

Gellert, for his part, was a model observer. He sat quietly, arms resting on the desk, his sharp eyes occasionally flicking to Harry as he moved about the room.

At one point, a particularly bold student raised their hand. “Professor Potter, can we ask Mr. Grindelwald what he thinks?”

Harry froze, caught between saying no outright and the sinking realization that his students weren’t going to let this go. He glanced at Gellert, who tilted his head slightly, as if to say your call.

Harry sighed. “Fine. But keep it relevant to the topic.”

The student beamed. “Mr. Grindelwald, you run a huge company, right? How do you convince people to invest in your ideas?”

Gellert leaned forward slightly, his posture relaxed but commanding. “It’s not so different from what your professor is teaching you. Convincing someone—whether it’s to invest in a business or believe in an argument—comes down to clarity, confidence, and evidence. You need to know your audience and anticipate their concerns.”

The room hung on his every word, even Harry, who had to admit Gellert was a natural at captivating a crowd.

“Does that help?” Gellert asked, his gaze shifting to the student who’d asked the question.

They nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir!”

Harry cleared his throat, reclaiming the room’s attention. “Right. Let’s get back on track. Essays are due next Monday, so no slacking.”

-=-

When the bell finally rang, Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The students filed out, several casting lingering glances at Gellert as they left.

“Not bad,” Gellert remarked, standing as the last student disappeared.

“Thanks,” Harry said, stacking his papers. “Though I think they were more interested in you than thesis statements.”

Gellert's lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Hardly surprising. You’re more engaging than you give yourself credit for.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Uh… thanks. I guess.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward so much as charged with something Harry couldn’t quite name. Gellert's gaze lingered a moment longer before he nodded toward the door.

“Shall we?”

Harry nodded, grabbing his things and leading the way. As they walked down the corridor, he couldn’t shake the warmth spreading in his chest, a mixture of relief and… something else entirely.

-=-

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Hogwarts, casting long shadows across the stone corridors as Harry led Gellert down yet another winding hallway. Harry had decided—quite decisively—that if he was going to give a tour, it was going to be the most thorough, informative, and professional tour Gellert Grindelwald had ever experienced.

It had absolutely nothing to do with how he’d felt woefully under prepared earlier in the classroom. Nothing at all.

“So, this,” Harry began, gesturing with his free hand as he clutched his papers in the other, “is the main corridor leading to the Great Hall. You’ve seen it already, but it’s worth noting that these archways were enchanted back in the 14th century to adjust their height, accommodating guests of, uh… varying statures.”

Gellert arched an eyebrow, his faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Useful. Hogwarts seems to anticipate everything.”

“Well, it tries,” Harry said, pausing to point out a nearby tapestry of trolls attempting ballet. “And, uh, that’s here for… comic relief, I suppose.”

The corners of Gellert's mouth twitched. “Charming.”

Harry cleared his throat and marched onward, his brisk steps echoing against the stone. “The classrooms are mostly on this floor and the one below. Of course, the staircases like to move—probably more often than anyone really needs them to. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been late because a staircase decided it wasn’t in the mood to cooperate.”

“Sounds… temperamental,” Gellert remarked, keeping pace effortlessly.

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” Harry said with a grin. “I once had to climb through a secret passage behind a portrait of a knight just to make it to a meeting on time. And even then, I was covered in soot by the end.”

“Efficient,” Gellert quipped dryly, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.

-=-

They reached the library next, the massive double doors swinging open to reveal rows upon rows of towering shelves. The air inside was still and reverent, carrying the faint scent of aged parchment.

“And this,” Harry said with a bit more pride, “is the Hogwarts library. It’s one of my favorite places in the castle, actually. Madam Pince, the librarian, is a bit... particular, but if you don’t cross her, she’s wonderful.”

Gellert stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the shelves. “Impressive collection. Does every student have access?”

Harry nodded. “They do. Though some of the restricted sections require permission. Dumbledore doesn’t want students accidentally summoning, I don’t know, demons or something.”

Gellert smirked, his gaze flicking to Harry. “Reasonable precaution.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not that I’d know anything about sneaking into restricted areas. Definitely didn’t do that in my student days.”

Gellert raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of amusement in his expression. “Of course not.”

Harry’s ears turned red, and he quickly gestured toward the far end of the library. “Moving on!”

-=-

The tour continued through the castle, Harry pointing out everything from the charmed suits of armor (one of which waved cheerfully at them as they passed) to the kitchens hidden behind a painting of a fruit bowl. Gellert's calm, attentive demeanor put Harry more at ease as they went along, though Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Gellert was quietly cataloging everything with the efficiency of a man used to analyzing vast operations.

When they reached the Astronomy Tower, Harry paused, leaning against the cool stone railing as the wind ruffled his hair. Below, the rolling grounds of Hogwarts stretched out, framed by the sparkling waters of the Black Lake and the dark outline of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.

“This is one of the best views in the castle,” Harry said, his voice softer now. “I used to come up here as a student when I needed to clear my head.”

Gellert joined him at the railing, his gaze sweeping across the landscape. “It’s beautiful,” he said simply, his tone carrying a quiet sincerity.

Harry nodded. “It is. Hogwarts has its quirks—and sometimes its outright absurdities—but there’s something about this place that just feels… alive.”

Gellert didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, the two of them stood in companionable silence, the wind tugging at their clothes.

Finally, Gellert turned to Harry. “You’re a good guide, Professor Potter.”

Harry glanced at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his tone. “Thanks. I mean, it’s not every day I have a guest like you to show around. You’re, uh, taking the magic-less parts pretty well.”

Gellert's lips curved into a small smile. “Adaptability is key in any situation. And Hogwarts, magical or not, clearly has a lot to offer.”

“Well,” Harry said, straightening and brushing invisible dust off his robes, “if you’re ever in the market for a career change, I think you’d make a decent teacher.”

“High praise,” Gellert said with a chuckle, his voice rich and deep.

Harry laughed, feeling the tension he’d carried all day begin to ease. “Come on. There’s one last stop on the tour. And, uh, I promise it’s worth it.”

He led Gellert down a winding staircase and into a smaller, tucked-away corridor where the walls were lined with portraits of wizards and witches who smiled and waved as they passed. Finally, they stopped in front of a massive wooden door with intricate carvings.

Harry pushed it open to reveal the Room of Requirement—or, in this case, a cozy, candlelit space filled with plush chairs, bookshelves, and a roaring fire.

“Technically, this room changes to suit whatever you need,” Harry explained. “But it seems to think we both could use a break.”

Gellert stepped inside, taking in the warm, inviting atmosphere. “Remarkable,” he murmured.

Harry smiled, feeling oddly proud. “Take a seat. I’ll grab us some tea.”

As the two of them settled into the room, Harry couldn’t help but think that, for all the chaos of the day, this moment felt oddly perfect.

Chapter Text

The staff meeting at the end of the day was held in the usual room: a sprawling space dominated by an ancient oak table that seemed like it could seat half the castle. Most of the faculty were already there, chatting quietly or going over their notes, but as Harry slipped in, he immediately sensed the tension in the air.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the head of the table, his hands folded in front of him and a frown creasing his otherwise genial face. His piercing blue eyes fixed on Harry the moment he entered, and Harry felt a flicker of unease.

“Ah, Professor Potter,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but with an edge of disapproval. “I trust you found today… educational?”

Harry hesitated, glancing around the room. Most of his colleagues seemed indifferent to the comment, though Hermione, already seated, gave him a small, reassuring nod.

“It was fine,” Harry said carefully. “A bit unplanned, maybe, but everything worked out.”

“Unplanned, you say?” Dumbledore’s tone sharpened, and he straightened, the room quieting as he addressed Harry. “I received word that instead of providing Mr. Grindelwald with a proper tour of the castle as instructed, you took him to one of your lessons. Is that correct?”

“Well, yes,” Harry admitted, his cheeks flushing. “But that’s only because—”

“It seems,” Dumbledore interrupted, his voice growing colder, “that I cannot rely on you to fulfill even the simplest of tasks without deviating from what is expected. This was an important visit, Professor Potter. Mr. Grindelwald’s time here deserved more respect.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, his retort forming on his lips, but before he could say a word, another voice cut through the room.

“I think that’s enough.”

All eyes turned to Gellert Grindelwald, who had been seated quietly at the far end of the table. His calm, measured tone carried a weight that silenced the murmurs of the other teachers. He rose to his feet, his imposing presence filling the room.

“With all due respect, Headmaster Dumbledore,” Gellert began, his gray eyes cool and unflinching, “any deviation from your plans today was entirely your own doing.”

Dumbledore blinked, clearly taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You left,” Gellert said bluntly. “Without a word or a proper explanation. I wasn’t even aware Harry—excuse me, Professor Potter—was meant to take over. But he did what any good host would do. He made sure I was neither lost nor forgotten.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the room. A few teachers exchanged knowing looks, while Hermione crossed her arms, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“Furthermore,” Gellert continued, his tone sharper now, “he didn’t just show me around; he gave me an authentic experience of what this school offers. Watching him teach was far more valuable than any sterile tour could have been. If anything, you should be thanking him for salvaging the day.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond but seemed to falter, his usual composure momentarily shaken.

“I see,” the headmaster said finally, his tone cooler now. “Thank you for your perspective, Mr. Grindelwald. Perhaps we should revisit—”

“No need,” Gellert said smoothly, cutting him off again. “I’m quite satisfied with how today went. In fact, I’ll be sure to include my appreciation for Professor Potter’s efforts when I write to your board of governors.”

Dumbledore’s expression tightened, but he nodded curtly. “Very well.”

Gellert inclined his head, then returned to his seat, his expression calm but unmistakably resolute.

-=-

The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully, though Harry caught more than a few sympathetic looks from his colleagues. When the staff finally began to disperse, he lingered near the door, unsure if he should say anything to Gellert before he left.

Gellert approached him, his steps deliberate but unhurried. “Harry,” he said, his voice softer now, “I hope I didn’t overstep.”

Harry shook his head quickly. “No, not at all. You—well, you didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did.”

“It was the truth,” Gellert said simply, his gaze steady. “And I meant what I said. You’re good at what you do. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Harry felt his cheeks warm, and he ducked his head to hide the smile spreading across his face. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Gellert hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand. Harry shook it, surprised by the warmth of the gesture.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” Gellert said, his voice quiet.

“You too,” Harry replied. “And… if you ever find yourself back at Hogwarts, you know where to find me.”

Gellert's lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

-=-

Harry left the castle shortly after, walking with Hermione toward her and Ron’s house. The crisp evening air was a welcome change after the stuffiness of the meeting room, and he let out a long sigh as they strolled along the quiet path.

“You know,” Hermione said casually, “that was quite the moment back there. Gellert Grindelwald standing up for you against Dumbledore? You don’t see that every day.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t remind me. It was mortifying.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh, stop. He clearly respects you, Harry. And he’s right—you’re good at what you do. Dumbledore was being unreasonable.”

“Still,” Harry muttered, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I can’t believe I needed someone to defend me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said firmly. “Everyone needs someone in their corner once in a while. And besides, you more than held your own today.”

Harry smiled, the tension in his chest easing. “Thanks, Hermione. I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said with a grin. “Now come on—Ron’s been cooking all afternoon, and if we’re late, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Harry laughed, feeling lighter than he had all day as they continued down the path, the warm glow of the Weasley-Granger home just visible in the distance.

Chapter Text

The warm glow of the Weasley-Granger home greeted Harry and Hermione as they stepped onto the front porch. Laughter and the faint clatter of pots and pans echoed from within, the cozy hum of a household alive with love and chaos. Hermione pushed open the door, and Harry was immediately met with the delicious aroma of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread.

“Uncle Harry!”

A small whirlwind of energy hurtled toward him, and Harry barely had time to brace himself before Rose, Hermione and Ron’s five-year-old daughter, flung herself into his arms. Her curly red hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, and her bright brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Hey, Rosie,” Harry said, lifting her easily and planting a kiss on her forehead. “What’s got you so excited, huh?”

“You’re here!” Rose exclaimed, beaming. “And I made a drawing for you! It’s of a dragon and a knight, but the knight is you!”

Harry’s heart melted on the spot. “A knight, huh? I feel honored. I can’t wait to see it.”

“She’s been talking about it since your last visit,” Hermione said with a fond smile as she slipped off her coat.

“Casper’s upstairs,” Rose added, tugging at Harry’s sleeve. “He’s playing with his blocks, but I told him he has to come down because you’re here!”

Before Harry could respond, another voice called out from the kitchen.

“Is that my favorite godfather, or do my ears deceive me?”

Ron appeared, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, his face breaking into a wide grin. He leaned in to ruffle Rose’s hair before pulling Harry into a one-armed hug.

“Hey, mate,” Ron said. “Hope you’re hungry. I’ve been slaving over a hot stove for hours. You know, because somebody”—he shot a teasing look at Hermione—“insisted on hosting tonight.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You love it, and you know it.”

Harry chuckled, setting Rose down as she scampered off to retrieve her drawing. “It smells amazing, Ron. Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Crash? Don’t be daft,” Ron said, waving him off. “You’re family. Now, come sit down. Dinner’s almost ready.”

-=-

Just as everyone was settling into the cozy living room, the doorbell rang.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Hermione muttered, standing up. “That’ll be Blaise.”

Sure enough, Blaise Zabini swept into the house moments later, fashionably late and impeccably dressed, as always. He wore a tailored dark green suit that looked entirely too elegant for a casual dinner, but he carried himself with the effortless confidence of someone who could make any outfit look intentional.

“Apologies for the delay,” Blaise said smoothly, shrugging off his coat and handing it to Hermione with a wink. “I had a minor emergency at work. Nothing catastrophic, though, so here I am.”

“You mean you couldn’t decide on which tie to wear,” Hermione teased, hanging up his coat.

Blaise smirked. “That, too.”

He held up two beautifully wrapped packages, one topped with a pink bow and the other with a blue. “Now, where are the stars of the evening? Uncle Blaise comes bearing gifts.”

As if on cue, Rose came bounding back into the room, Casper toddling behind her on chubby legs. Blaise crouched down to their level, presenting the gifts with an exaggerated flourish.

“For the lovely Miss Rose,” he said, handing her the pink package. “And for young Master Casper,” he added, offering the blue one to the two-year-old.

Rose gasped, her eyes wide. “Presents? For me?”

“Of course,” Blaise said, smiling warmly. “A little something to brighten your day.”

Rose tore into the wrapping paper with gusto, revealing a beautifully illustrated book about magical creatures. “Oh wow! Thank you, Uncle Blaise!”

“You’re most welcome,” Blaise said, patting her head.

Casper, meanwhile, was more interested in the wrapping paper than the small wooden train set inside his box, but Blaise didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re spoiling them,” Hermione said, though there was no real bite in her tone.

“That’s my prerogative,” Blaise replied, straightening. “Besides, they deserve it.”

Ron snorted. “You just like being their favorite.”

“And succeeding,” Blaise quipped, settling into an armchair with a satisfied smirk.

-=-

The evening unfolded with the kind of warmth that only close friends could share. They gathered around the dinner table, passing dishes and trading stories, the room filled with laughter and the occasional playful jab.

Rose insisted on sitting next to Harry, proudly showing him her drawing of the dragon and knight mid-battle. “The dragon is big and scary,” she explained, “but you’re not afraid because you’re super brave.”

“Super brave, huh?” Harry said, smiling. “Well, I’ll have to live up to that now.”

“You already do,” Hermione said softly, giving him a knowing look.

Harry felt his cheeks flush, and he quickly busied himself with cutting up Rose’s food.

As the night wore on, the children grew sleepy, their boundless energy finally giving way to yawns and droopy eyes. Ron carried Casper upstairs, while Hermione ushered Rose off to bed, leaving Harry and Blaise alone in the living room.

“You’ve had quite the day, haven’t you?” Blaise said, sipping a glass of wine.

“You could say that,” Harry replied, sinking into the sofa.

Blaise studied him for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You handled it well, though. And Gellert Grindelwald coming to your defense? Impressive.”

Harry shrugged, though the memory made his chest warm. “He didn’t have to do that.”

“Perhaps not,” Blaise said, leaning back. “But he did. That says something, doesn’t it?”

Harry didn’t answer, but he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face.

-=-

When Hermione returned, she found Harry half-asleep on the couch, his glasses askew.

“Come on,” she said gently, nudging him. “Let’s get you home.”

Harry groaned but got to his feet, stretching as he followed her out the door. As they stepped into the cool night air, he felt a deep sense of contentment settle over him.

Today had been chaotic, no doubt about it, but it had ended in the best way possible: surrounded by love, laughter, and the people who mattered most.

And as Harry walked home with Hermione, he couldn’t help but think that, maybe, just maybe, the day had turned out perfectly after all.

Chapter Text

It was a cool spring evening, the kind where the air feels fresh but the ground still holds onto the warmth of the day. Harry had just finished a particularly grueling day of work—one of his many odd jobs that kept him afloat after leaving school. He'd been sorting through old papers at a magical artifact auction house, barely able to keep his eyes open by the time he left.

As he wandered through Diagon Alley, his feet dragging, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to make a change. The hustle of the world around him—the constant clatter of people going about their business—felt like it was slowly wearing him down. He longed for something more, but he wasn’t sure what that "more" was yet.

That was when he bumped into him.

"Watch it, Potter," a voice called out, a touch of amusement in it.

Harry blinked, looking up just in time to avoid colliding with a man in an expensive suit. Blaise Zabini. Harry had seen him around before, mostly at the edges of high-society events that Harry could never quite bring himself to attend. The man looked like he had stepped straight out of a fashion magazine, his tailored jacket sharp enough to cut glass, his perfectly polished shoes clicking sharply against the cobblestones.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, stepping back. "I wasn’t looking where I was going."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his sharp eyes scanning Harry’s disheveled appearance—tired, worn-out jeans, a faded jumper, and, of course, the ever-present untidy hair that seemed to have a life of its own.

“Clearly,” Blaise said, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Harry felt the sting of embarrassment creeping up his neck but held his ground. “What’s your problem?”

Blaise’s smirk softened slightly as he took in Harry's sheepish expression. “You’re Harry Potter, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a little wary. “You’ve heard of me?”

Blaise chuckled. “You’re hard to miss, even if you try.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where this conversation was going. He was exhausted and had no patience for games, but Blaise was somehow... not making him feel uncomfortable in the way other rich wizards did. There was no superiority in his tone, just a strange kind of dry humor.

"I’m Blaise," the man continued, as if Harry hadn't just been caught in a moment of awkwardness. "I know this isn't really your scene, but you’re welcome to join me for dinner if you’re hungry. I know the best Italian place in the Alley."

Harry blinked, thrown off by the sudden offer. “Wait, you want to have dinner with me?”

Blaise’s lips quirked up into a knowing smile. “Are you always this difficult, or is it just me?”

Harry stared at him, still unsure, but something in Blaise’s eyes told him that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a strange encounter. He hesitated, then nodded.

“Alright,” Harry said, still uncertain. “Dinner sounds good.”

-=-

The dinner, as it turned out, was far from the stiff, uncomfortable kind of event Harry had imagined. Blaise wasn’t interested in talking about Harry’s fame or asking about his life after Hogwarts. Instead, the conversation flowed easily between them, from casual observations about Diagon Alley to more philosophical topics about the world outside the wizarding elite. Harry found himself laughing more than he had in ages, and for once, he didn’t feel the pressure to impress or conform to some kind of social expectation.

"See?" Blaise said as they shared a glass of wine. "I knew you’d be able to relax if we just talked about something real."

Harry was surprised by how easy it was to talk to Blaise—like he didn’t have to be anything other than himself. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

"You know," Harry said slowly, after a pause, "I never really learned how to dress."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Never?"

"Not really," Harry said with a shrug. "I mean, I never really had the time. When I was at Hogwarts, I didn’t care about that kind of thing. And after—well, it didn’t seem important. I don’t have any big events to go to."

"That’s where you’re wrong," Blaise replied, sitting up straighter. "Clothes are not just for big events. They’re about self-expression, about comfort. And you, my dear Potter, could use a little help in that department."

Harry gaped at him. “I’m fine.”

Blaise smirked, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Are you sure? Because I’m telling you, we could make you a lot more... presentable.”

Harry’s eyebrow shot up. "You want to make me presentable?"

“Yes," Blaise said, undeterred. “But only if you’re willing to let me teach you how to properly wear clothes.”

Harry laughed, but there was something undeniably tempting about the idea. “Alright, you’ve got me curious. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, first we need to get you out of these ratty jeans,” Blaise said, smirking.

-=-

A week later, Harry found himself stepping into the most expensive clothing store he had ever been in, accompanied by Blaise, who was practically glowing with enthusiasm. Blaise had insisted on taking Harry shopping as part of his “image makeover,” and though Harry had been reluctant, he couldn’t deny that he was starting to enjoy it.

By the end of the day, Harry had a new wardrobe—classy but comfortable clothes that didn’t make him feel like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

"See?" Blaise said as Harry stood in front of the mirror. "That’s better."

Harry raised an eyebrow at his reflection, then at Blaise. “You’re a bit of a tyrant when it comes to fashion, you know that?”

Blaise grinned, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “I take that as a compliment.”

-=-

Over the next few months, their friendship grew, and Harry found himself spending more time with Blaise, whether it was grabbing a drink after work or having long, late-night discussions about everything from wizarding politics to personal struggles. It wasn’t long before Blaise insisted on introducing Harry to a few of his friends, including Hermione and Ron—who, at the time, were engaged but still very much in the early stages of planning their life together.

Harry had been apprehensive, unsure how his more down-to-earth, awkward self would fit in with the smooth, well-put-together group of people that Blaise often kept as company. But to his surprise, they welcomed him with open arms.

At the first dinner, Harry had introduced Blaise to Hermione and Ron, who were sitting at their usual table at the Burrow.

“Blaise Zabini,” Harry said, gesturing to his friend. “This is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley—two of my oldest friends. Guys, this is Blaise. We, uh, became friends recently.”

Ron gave him a skeptical look, his freckled face crinkling in curiosity. “Really? Blaise Zabini? The same Blaise Zabini I remember from school?”

“Not the same one,” Harry said quickly, before Blaise could respond. “He’s, uh, different now.”

Blaise chuckled, clearly unfazed by Ron’s wariness. “I’m still the same. Just with a better wardrobe and a better sense of humor.”

Hermione smiled warmly, offering her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Harry’s told us a little about you.”

Blaise shook her hand, his charm undeniable. “The pleasure is mine, Hermione. And you must be Ron, the infamous Weasley. I’ve heard stories.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “Stories? What kind of stories?”

Blaise’s grin widened. “I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

And just like that, their group of friends was complete. Blaise had slipped seamlessly into Harry’s life, and though his sophisticated demeanor was worlds apart from Harry’s own haphazard style, they found an easy camaraderie in their shared experiences and the unspoken bond of mutual respect.

Five years later, Harry thought back to that first dinner with Blaise. He never could have imagined how much it would change his life, or how deeply their friendship would grow. Blaise might have taught him how to dress, but he had also shown him that true friends come in all shapes and sizes—and, most importantly, that it’s okay to allow people in, even if they seem a little intimidating at first.

Chapter Text

A few weeks had passed since the inspection, and Harry had slowly fallen into a rhythm at the school. The students were settling in for the semester, and his lessons were starting to show signs of progress. Despite Dumbledore's cold attitude and the ongoing strain between them, Harry had managed to keep his head down. He kept his interactions with the headmaster brief, focusing instead on his students and his colleagues, particularly Hermione and Ron, who had been nothing but supportive.

But this morning, as Harry was sorting through papers in his office, the owl arrived.

It wasn’t unusual for an owl to deliver messages, but the sleek black bird perched on his windowsill, holding out a rolled-up parchment with Dumbledore’s unmistakable wax seal. Harry sighed, setting down the quill he was holding and unrolling the parchment.

"Potter, report to my office at once."

Harry frowned. He had been expecting a call into Dumbledore's office at some point, especially after the incident with Gellert Grindelwald during the inspection. But he couldn’t quite figure out what this was about. He had done his job, and there was nothing specific that could be used against him.

But Albus didn’t need a reason to be a prick—Harry had learned that lesson long ago.

Shaking his head, Harry grabbed his coat and made his way to the headmaster’s office. The corridors were eerily quiet, and the stone walls seemed to close in as he climbed the spiral staircase to the top floor. He paused in front of the ornate door to Dumbledore’s office, the gargoyles watching him silently from their perch.

“Enter,” came the voice from within.

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was exactly as he remembered—opulent, cluttered, and full of strange magical artifacts. Dumbledore sat behind his large desk, an unreadable expression on his face, his half-moon spectacles perched on his nose.

"Ah, Potter," Dumbledore said with a cold smile. "Do come in."

Harry entered, closing the door behind him. He stood in the center of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets, waiting for Dumbledore to speak. The headmaster didn’t waste any time.

“I assume you’re aware of the recent concerns regarding your performance,” Dumbledore began, his tone as sharp as ever.

Harry blinked, trying to keep his expression neutral. “What concerns, sir?”

Dumbledore’s eyes glinted with annoyance. “The lesson you gave during the last inspection. It was... unorthodox, to say the least. I had hoped you would adhere to the schedule and give our esteemed guest the tour, not throw him into your class without warning.”

Harry clenched his jaw but kept his voice steady. “I did what I thought was best. I don’t think it was a bad decision.”

Dumbledore’s fingers tapped against the wood of his desk. “You were supposed to follow the plan, Potter. You were given explicit instructions to give Mr. Grindelwald a tour, and yet you chose to... ignore them. You, once again, fail to see the bigger picture. You’ve become... difficult.”

“Difficult?” Harry repeated, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I was teaching the students and doing my job, not playing into some politics game you’ve got going on.”

Dumbledore’s gaze narrowed, and Harry could feel the tension building. “It’s not about politics, Potter. It’s about respect—something you seem to lack in abundance. You may be teaching here, but that does not mean you are immune to the rules.”

Harry’s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his voice calm. “I never asked to be here, Professor. I never asked for any of this. You brought me in, and you’ve been nothing but... well, difficult ever since.”

Dumbledore’s lips twitched, a thin smile barely visible. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his patience wearing thin. “But that’s not why you called me here, is it?”

Dumbledore’s expression darkened, and for a moment, the room felt colder. “No. It’s not. You are here because I need you to understand something, Harry.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Understand what?”

“That you are no longer a student,” Dumbledore said, his voice low and measured. “You may have been the hero of the wizarding world once, but that does not grant you immunity from consequences. Your choices have consequences, Potter. If you continue to make reckless decisions, I will be forced to reconsider your position here.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Reconsider his position? He had heard the threat in Dumbledore’s voice, but he wasn’t sure how far the old man would go.

“I’m just doing my job, Albus,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone level. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Your actions speak otherwise.” Dumbledore stood up slowly, walking around the desk with the slow, deliberate steps of someone who enjoyed power. “You may have the support of some of your colleagues, but you must understand that I hold the final say.”

Harry bit his lip, resisting the urge to snap back. It was clear that Dumbledore was trying to provoke him, to make him react. But Harry wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me, but if you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not going to work,” Harry said quietly, meeting Dumbledore’s gaze squarely.

The silence stretched between them. Dumbledore’s lips pressed together, his eyes flashing with something Harry couldn’t quite decipher. Finally, he sighed, sitting back down at his desk.

“I didn’t call you here for a confrontation, Potter,” Dumbledore said, his voice softer, but still carrying an edge. “But you need to understand where you stand. You are not above reproach. I’m offering you a chance to reconsider your... approach.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. He wanted to argue, to tell Dumbledore exactly what he thought of his so-called "guidance," but he could see where it would lead. This wasn’t the time for that.

“Understood,” Harry said finally, his voice tight but controlled.

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, and Harry felt the weight of those sharp eyes. “Good. I trust you’ll remember that.”

Harry nodded stiffly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, Harry turned and left the office, the door closing softly behind him. As he descended the stairs, his mind raced. He hadn’t given Dumbledore what he wanted, and he knew it. But it didn’t matter. He was done trying to please the man who had never really cared for him.

The only thing that mattered now was making sure he did his job—and did it well.

-=-

It was an ordinary Thursday afternoon when everything went to shit.

Harry had just finished his last lesson of the day with a group of first-year students, and he was looking forward to a quiet evening. His plans had included a much-needed rest, a warm dinner with Hermione and Ron, and perhaps a drink later to unwind. The air was still warm with the remnants of the afternoon sun, the soft murmur of students passing by drifting through the open window.

Then, the explosion happened.

It wasn’t loud, but it was forceful enough to rattle the windows and send a rush of wind through the corridor. Harry had barely registered the noise when the wall near his classroom cracked, a burst of magic erupting from inside a nearby storage room, throwing students and staff alike off balance. There was a scream, followed by another explosion—a loud crack that echoed down the halls.

“Everyone down!” Harry shouted, instinctively shielding his students behind him as dust and debris flew through the air. His heart pounded as the smoke billowed in from the damaged room. He rushed toward it, feeling the weight of his years of experience kicking in, moving quickly to assess the situation.

Inside the room, a few students were coughing, their faces stained with soot. A large shelf had collapsed, a pile of enchanted objects now lying in pieces on the floor. Some of the magical items had begun to ignite, creating small fires across the wreckage. Harry moved swiftly to put out the flames, his wand steady in his hand, putting out the fire with a quick “Aguamenti.”

“Hermione! Help me!” he called, knowing his friend would be nearby.

Within moments, Hermione appeared at the door, followed by Flitwick and Hannah Abbott, both running toward the wreckage. Hermione’s eyes were wide with concern, but she quickly took charge, helping Harry move the debris off the students.

“Get the students to safety,” Harry ordered, his voice firm despite the panic that gnawed at his insides.

As Hermione ushered the first-years out of the room, Harry began helping Flitwick and Hannah clear away the broken shelves and pieces of magical equipment, making sure no one was seriously injured. The room stank of burning wood and spilled ink, but the damage was contained quickly, and the students were mostly unharmed.

It was then that Harry felt a sharp pain in his side—an aching throb that sent a wave of dizziness through him. He gritted his teeth but ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. There was no time to worry about himself.

Once the room was cleared and the last of the students were accounted for, Harry collapsed against the wall, his hand clutching his side. He could feel a warm trickle of blood seeping through his robes where something sharp had nicked him in the chaos.

"Hermione," Harry managed, his breath shallow. "I think I’m—"

“You’re hurt!” Hermione said, rushing over. “Flitwick, Hannah, get the students to the infirmary. We need to check Harry!”

But before Harry could protest, Hermione had already cast a healing charm, sealing the wound but not the pain. Harry winced, his head swimming. He was dizzy, but he tried to steady himself.

“We’ll get you to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said urgently, though her eyes were wide with concern.

But Harry shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad.”

Before Hermione could argue further, they heard footsteps approaching. Albus Dumbledore entered the room, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something more... ominous. Behind him stood a tall, familiar figure—Gellert Grindelwald.

Harry’s heart skipped at the sight of Gellert, though the man’s eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, a stern look on his face. Harry had expected to see the man at some point that day, as he was supposed to be meeting with Albus regarding the donation to the school, but it seemed that this meeting was now taking a different turn.

“Harry Potter,” Dumbledore’s voice was low, tight with disapproval. “What on earth have you done?”

Harry’s head snapped up at the accusation, his blood running cold. “What?” he said, his voice hoarse with confusion. “I was trying to save the students, Albus! This isn’t my fault!”

Dumbledore’s gaze hardened, his eyes scanning the scene. “It seems this incident could have been prevented had you followed proper procedures. You were supposed to ensure the safety of the magical artifacts in that room. It was your responsibility to ensure that nothing dangerous was being stored there.”

Harry’s mind raced, trying to make sense of Dumbledore’s words. “What? No—that room was fine. We—”

“Do not lie to me, Potter,” Dumbledore cut him off sharply. “I’ve seen the records. You’ve been too careless with your lessons. I warned you about this.”

“Albus, this isn’t fair—” Harry began, but Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing him.

“You are no longer a student, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his voice icy. “And I will not tolerate this kind of reckless behavior from a teacher. I’ll be speaking with the board about this. You may have a reputation, but your actions speak otherwise.”

Harry’s heart sank as Dumbledore’s words rang through him. This wasn’t just a simple reprimand. It was a warning—an ultimatum. The headmaster was making it clear that he didn’t trust Harry, and perhaps never had.

But then, just as Harry was about to respond, Gellert stepped forward, his expression calm but firm.

“Albus,” Gellert's deep voice cut through the tension in the room, “you’re blaming Harry for something he had no control over.”

Dumbledore turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. “And what are you suggesting, Grindelwald?”

“I’m suggesting,” Gellert continued, his voice unwavering, “that Harry was doing what he does best—protecting his students. What happened in that room wasn’t his fault, and you know it.”

Dumbledore bristled at the implication, but before he could respond, Gellert's gaze softened as he looked at Harry, then back to the headmaster.

“I was in the middle of a meeting with you about the donation, Albus. This is not the time for these accusations.” Gellert's tone was steady, almost eerily calm. “If you insist on pressing blame, then we can discuss this in front of the board, but I don’t think that’s in anyone’s best interest, especially considering that Harry’s actions prevented much worse from happening.”

Harry blinked, stunned by the support. He had never expected Gellert to speak up for him again—at least not like this. The older man wasn’t just a silent bystander; he was actively standing in Harry’s corner.

“I will speak to Flitwick, to Hannah Abbott, and to others,” Gellert continued. “They all will say the same thing—Harry acted quickly and decisively. He saved lives today. Don’t pretend this is his fault, Albus.”

For a moment, the room was deathly silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Dumbledore seemed to weigh Gellert's words, his fingers tapping idly on the desk, but after a long pause, he finally relented, though not without a sour expression.

“I will reconsider,” Dumbledore muttered, though it was clear that the matter was far from settled.

Gellert turned to Harry, his expression softer now. “Are you alright?”

Harry nodded slowly, still trying to process what had just happened. “Yeah... I think so.”

“Good,” Gellert said, his eyes lingering for a moment. “I’ll make sure you’re not left to deal with this alone.”

And with that, he stepped back, turning to leave the room with Dumbledore. The tension had dissipated, but Harry felt the weight of it all settling heavily in his chest.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Hermione rushed to his side, concern written all over her face. “Harry, are you really alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice still shaky. “I’m fine. I just— I don’t know what to make of all of this.”

But Hermione simply smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, Harry. We’ll get through it together.”

And for the first time that day, Harry let himself relax, just a little.

Chapter Text

Harry’s head swam as he stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by his colleagues and the wreckage of the magical accident. The pain in his side had dulled, but the deep ache lingered, pulling at him with every breath. He wanted to push it aside, to keep going, but the exhaustion was too much. His legs felt weak, his vision blurry, and the world around him seemed to spin in slow motion.

He tried to take a step, but his body refused to cooperate. The dizziness intensified, and his knees buckled. For a moment, everything was dark.

Before he hit the floor, a pair of strong arms caught him, lifting him easily. Harry's blurry eyes flickered open and met the familiar, concerned face of Gellert Grindelwald.

"Harry," Gellert's voice was a low, steady rumble, filled with worry. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I—" Harry tried to speak, but his words were slurred, his vision swimming in and out. The pain in his side flared again, making him gasp.

“Don’t try to stand,” Gellert murmured, his arms tightening around Harry’s waist. “You’ve lost too much blood. Stay still.”

Harry could barely keep his eyes open as Gellert guided him carefully to a nearby chair, sitting down with him to prevent him from toppling over.

Hermione was immediately at Harry’s side, her face pale with worry. "Harry, you’re not alright, are you? You need to rest."

"I’m fine," Harry mumbled, but the words came out weakly. “I just need... need a minute.”

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice softer now, the concern evident in her tone. "You’ve been hurt. You’ve got to get to the infirmary. We’ll get you help."

Gellert's gaze flicked to Hermione, his expression unreadable. "She’s right, Potter. You should be lying down, not trying to walk around. I’ll take you to Madam Pomfrey myself."

“No—” Harry started to protest, but his head swam again, and he found himself closing his eyes. “I’m not that bad...”

The room was suddenly too quiet, save for the rhythmic thrum of Harry’s pulse in his ears. The world continued to blur at the edges, and Harry felt himself slipping.

“Hermione, get Flitwick,” Gellert ordered, his voice firm. "We need to get him to the infirmary now."

Before Hermione could respond, Harry’s legs gave out beneath him, and the world plunged into darkness.

-=-

When Harry woke again, it was to the faint, familiar smell of antiseptic and a cool breeze brushing his face. His head was resting against something soft, and his entire body felt heavy, like he had been asleep for days. He blinked a few times, trying to gather his bearings. His side was still sore, but it felt... better. Less urgent.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw Gellert sitting beside him, one hand resting on the arm of the chair, his other arm crossed over his chest. His intense blue eyes were fixed on Harry, but there was something softer in them now—concern, maybe, or something else Harry couldn’t quite read.

"You're awake," Gellert said softly, his voice low and reassuring.

Harry blinked again, groaning as he tried to sit up. "What happened?"

"You passed out," Gellert  replied. "You lost too much blood, Potter. Madam Pomfrey fixed you up, but you need to rest."

Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of everything. He remembered the explosion, the chaos, then the pain in his side, and the way everything started to spin before he blacked out.

Gellert seemed to notice the confusion on Harry's face and leaned in a little. "You're in the infirmary. I insisted on staying until you woke up. Don't worry. Everyone else is fine."

That brought Harry some relief, but it didn’t completely ease the tightness in his chest. "What about Dumbledore?" he asked hoarsely. "Did he—"

Gellert's eyes hardened at the mention of the headmaster. "Albus isn’t a concern right now, Potter. You’re the one who needs care. Let’s focus on that."

Harry swallowed thickly, still feeling disoriented. "I’m sorry you had to get involved in all this."

Gellert's lips twitched into something like a smile. "Don’t apologize. I’m the one who insisted on staying. You’re lucky I was here."

“Lucky, huh?” Harry murmured, unsure whether he meant the situation in the first place or Gellert's intervention. But as his mind cleared, he realized something: Gellert had stood by him—really stood by him—when no one else had. The support was unexpected, but deeply appreciated.

“Alright, I’ll be quiet,” Harry said, his voice a little more stable now. “I just... I need to figure out how to deal with Dumbledore.”

Gellert shook his head. "You don’t need to deal with him. You don’t need to deal with anyone other than yourself. Rest, and let me handle the rest."

Harry studied Gellert for a moment, still processing the kindness in his words. The man didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to care about what happened to him or this school. And yet, here he was, sitting by Harry’s side, making sure he was okay.

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to face Dumbledore alone,” Gellert said, almost as if reading Harry’s thoughts.

Before Harry could respond, Madam Pomfrey arrived with a sharp look in her eyes. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Mr. Potter, you’re finally awake. We can’t have you passing out like that. You’ve got to take better care of yourself.”

Harry’s face flushed as she fussed over him, adjusting his blanket and checking his vitals. "I’m fine, Pomfrey," he protested, but she ignored him, continuing to do her work.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Gellert said with a chuckle, standing and stretching his long legs. "I’ll be here when you wake up next time."

Harry gave a small, tired smile, nodding. “Thanks, Gellert.”

With a final look at Harry, Gellert turned to leave, giving him the space he needed to recover.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Harry allowed himself to relax, feeling the warmth of Pomfrey’s healing charms settle into his body. But beneath the comfort, a new sense of gratitude for Gellert lingered—a gratitude that Harry hadn’t fully realized until now.

-=-

The following days passed by in a quiet haze for Harry. His injury had been mostly healed, and Madam Pomfrey had insisted he take the rest of the week off, though it wasn’t like Harry ever liked taking time off. His sense of responsibility always pushed him to work, even when his body screamed for rest. But, for once, he found himself relishing the slower pace.

What made it easier was Gellert.

After Harry had woken up in the infirmary, Gellert had practically hovered. He insisted on checking in with him every day, though he never pushed too hard. Harry had always felt uneasy about people taking care of him—it made him feel weak, like he was somehow failing at being the person others expected him to be. But Gellert was different. He never treated Harry like he needed babysitting, even though he knew full well how much Harry had suffered.

They shared easy conversations, filled with the kind of natural silence that comes with trust. Gellert wasn’t one for small talk, and Harry wasn’t much of a chatterbox either, but when they did speak, it felt... safe.

One evening, Harry was sitting in the small library nook in the teacher’s lounge, the only light coming from the fireplace crackling nearby. He had his feet up, his favorite mug of tea warming his hands, and his mind—strangely—quiet. There was a sort of peace he hadn’t known he needed until now.

"Would you like some company?" Gellert's voice broke through the silence, and Harry looked up to see the tall man leaning in the doorway, the faintest smile on his face.

Harry's heart skipped in his chest, though he wasn’t sure why. He should have been used to Gellert's presence by now, but there was something magnetic about the way he filled a room—something that made Harry feel grounded, like the weight of the world wasn’t quite so heavy.

"Always," Harry replied, his voice more casual than he felt, though there was an undeniable warmth that filled him when he spoke.

Gellert stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His tall frame settled into the chair opposite Harry, and for a moment, they were simply there, in comfortable silence.

It was a strange kind of quiet, but Harry liked it.

After a while, Gellert stretched, his movements slow and purposeful. “How’s the injury?” he asked, though Harry had been perfectly fine for days now. There was an undercurrent of concern in his voice, as if he wanted to make sure Harry wasn’t hiding anything.

“I’m good,” Harry said with a small smile, shifting the mug in his hands. “Thanks for asking. I’m more surprised you’re not making me do something useful right now.”

Gellert chuckled lightly, the sound deep and genuine. “You need to rest. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage of the opportunity to get you out of this cold room and into somewhere warmer for dinner.”

The invitation was casual, but Harry could hear the subtle request for his company, the way Gellert had been waiting for Harry to say yes. There was something almost… intimate about it, like the kind of offer that could lead to something deeper without saying it out loud.

"You’re cooking?" Harry raised an eyebrow, though he had no doubt Gellert was perfectly capable of it.

“I don’t cook,” Geralt said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in thought. “But I have a very capable housekeeper. I’ll even let you pick the wine.”

Harry felt a smile tug at his lips. "Alright, alright. You win." He took a sip of his tea, feeling the warmth spread through him, and set the cup down. “But only if you promise not to make me talk business the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gellert replied, though there was a teasing light in his eyes.

Harry stood, stretching a little, and as he did, he noticed Gellert's gaze linger on him—something warm and knowing in it. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

As they left the teacher’s lounge, the air was cool against their skin, the night just beginning to fall. They walked in comfortable silence toward the exit of the school, Harry feeling an unfamiliar ease in his steps.

Gellert seemed to sense it too, and his stride slowed just enough to match Harry’s pace.

“So, tell me about your day,” Gellert asked as they stepped into the cool night air, and Harry had the strange feeling that Gellert wasn’t just asking about his workday, but about him—the things he never talked about, the parts of him that felt hidden.

Harry chuckled softly. “You’re asking me to be a bit more open, aren’t you?”

Gellert smirked, his gaze flicking sideways toward Harry. “I’m asking for a conversation. One where you’re not defending yourself. But if you’d rather not, that’s fine.”

“I’ve never been good at talking about myself,” Harry admitted with a sheepish shrug. “It’s easier just to get lost in the work.”

Gellert seemed to consider this, and then nodded thoughtfully. “I can understand that. But, you know, Harry, you don’t have to do everything alone.”

The words hit Harry harder than expected, an unexpected pang of something raw settling in his chest. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that, but hearing it from Gellert, in that calm, steady voice, made it feel different. Like for the first time in a long while, it was okay to let someone in.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The gratitude swelled in him, making his chest ache. “Maybe… maybe I’m just not used to it. Having someone there.”

Gellert stopped walking for a moment, turning to face Harry. The cool night air wrapped around them, but the warmth between them felt far more tangible.

"You don’t need to be," Gellert said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry.”

And just like that, the words settled between them, a silent promise. Harry didn’t know what it meant yet, or how to handle the softness growing between them. But for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to pull away.

The walk to Gellert's house felt like it took no time at all, and when they finally arrived, the warmth of the place enveloped them. The house was full of a quiet kind of elegance, soft lighting, and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen.

Gellert had truly kept his word—no business talk, just dinner, a soft and peaceful evening that felt like a moment Harry didn’t want to end.

When dinner was finally served, Harry found himself at ease in a way he hadn’t expected. As the conversation flowed, he found himself laughing, something he hadn’t done nearly enough of lately. Gellert's humor was dry, but there was a certain charm to it that made Harry want to hear more.

As the evening wore on, Harry realized that whatever this was, this connection between them, it wasn’t something he had to question anymore. He wasn’t alone. And for once, he was willing to let someone take care of him, just as much as he took care of them.

And for Gellert? Harry wasn’t sure where this would go, but he couldn’t deny that, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t want to stop whatever it was that had started.

The soft glow of the room felt just right, and as Harry sat across from Gellert, their gazes locking for a moment too long, he felt like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

Maybe, just maybe, he was ready for more than just the quiet moments. Maybe he was ready for them.

Chapter Text

Epilogue part one: A New Beginning

It had been weeks since the incident at the school, and in that time, the atmosphere at Hogwarts had shifted dramatically. The once-unchallenged reign of Albus Dumbledore as headmaster had crumbled under the weight of too many scandals, too much manipulation, and too many teachers and students alike turning their backs on him.

The moment Harry had been waiting for finally came when the Hogwarts Board of Governors convened for an emergency meeting—a meeting that, unbeknownst to Albus, had already been arranged without his input. The whispers that had been growing louder for months, about his questionable leadership and questionable treatment of staff and students, had reached a breaking point.

Dumbledore’s tenure as headmaster was officially over.

The decision hadn’t been easy—after all, Albus was a legendary figure in the wizarding world. But when multiple staff members, including Harry, Hermione, Flitwick, and even some of the older students, came forward with testimonies about Dumbledore’s failures, the support for him within the school dwindled.

Harry never expected it to feel so… relieving.

Walking into the staff room after the news broke, Harry found a strange mix of emotions among his colleagues. Some teachers—especially the younger ones—looked to him for guidance, nodding in quiet appreciation. Others, like Minerva McGonagall, seemed conflicted but hopeful. Still, the majority seemed to carry a sense of weight lifting off their shoulders.

Harry found Gellert waiting for him in the corner of the room, his arms crossed as he watched the bustle of staff members beginning to talk more freely, their voices lighter, their expressions less tense.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Harry said, walking over with a tired smile.

Gellert raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I had left you to celebrate this on your own?” His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper in his eyes—something more sincere than usual.

“Maybe a little bit,” Harry teased back, but there was no real bite to his words.

Gellert stood and walked toward him, closing the space between them. The staff around them were still talking, unaware of the way the two men seemed to naturally gravitate toward each other. Harry didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind the way Gellert's presence felt like a grounding force, pulling him into a new reality, one where he didn’t feel so alone.

As they stepped out of the staff room and into the quiet hallways of Hogwarts, Gellert's hand brushed against Harry’s, their fingers slowly intertwining. It was the simplest of gestures, yet it made Harry’s chest tighten with something unspoken, something he hadn’t fully allowed himself to recognize until now.

“Do you think it’ll be different now?” Harry asked quietly as they walked side by side.

Gellert's gaze flickered toward him, and Harry caught the glimmer of something in his eyes. “Yes,” he said simply. “It already is.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts, until Harry suddenly stopped walking. Gellert followed his lead, turning to face him, and Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The world around them felt suspended, as though it was just the two of them.

“I’m not sure how to do this,” Harry said quietly, his voice soft but sure. “This… whatever this is. But I’m not scared anymore.”

Gellert was silent for a moment, looking at Harry with that same intensity in his eyes. The world felt full of so many unspoken words—so many things Harry had kept locked away, so many things he wasn’t sure how to say. But Gellert made him feel like it was okay to say them.

“You don’t need to be scared,” Gellert said, his voice low, comforting. “We’ll figure it out, together.”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the simplicity of it—the ease with which Gellert spoke, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t have to worry about the future or what would come next. For once, he could just be.

"I think I—" Harry stopped himself, feeling the words catch in his throat. His chest tightened as he looked at Gellert, the man who had been a quiet, constant presence in his life for so long now. He had been there, not just during the hard times, but when it felt like Harry could finally breathe without worrying. And now, standing there, Harry knew that it was time to let go of the fear that had been weighing him down.

"I think I love you, Gellert," Harry said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They felt like they had been sitting on his tongue for far too long.

For a moment, there was silence—just the soft rustle of the wind outside and the soft thrum of their breathing. Gellert's eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat before a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I know,” he said simply, his voice steady and warm. “I think I’ve known for a while.”

Harry’s heart skipped, a warm, familiar feeling spreading through him as Gellert reached out, brushing his thumb lightly over Harry’s hand.

And in that moment, all the weight of the world—the years of loneliness, the fear, the doubt—seemed to dissipate, leaving behind something simpler, something more profound.

“I love you too, Harry,” Gellert murmured, and the words, though quietly spoken, filled Harry’s chest with a warmth he didn’t know how to contain.

Harry smiled, the kind of smile that felt like it was finally reaching his soul. "Good," he whispered, and then, as if to solidify it, he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to Gellert's . The kiss was soft, sweet, and tender, a quiet promise of something more.

And for the first time in a long while, Harry didn’t have to worry about tomorrow. The future was theirs to shape, together. And that, for now, was more than enough.

Epilogue part two: The Proposal

Gellert stood before the mirror in his home, his fingers twitching at his sides as he adjusted the sleeve of his shirt for the third time. He looked over his reflection, his sharp features tense, his usual composure nowhere to be found. He had been through board meetings, corporate negotiations, and high-stakes decisions that made the weight of the world seem light by comparison, but standing here, about to propose to Harry, felt like the most daunting thing he had ever done.

He exhaled a deep breath, running a hand through his white-blonde hair, eyes flickering to the ring box sitting on the small table beside him. It was small, simple, understated, just like the quiet life he had come to cherish with Harry. The thought of that life—together—filled him with a warmth that made the anxiety feel foreign. But it was still there. He wanted this. Wanted Harry.

But what if Harry didn’t feel the same way? What if he wasn’t ready?

His thoughts spiraled for a moment before he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. He knew who it was.

"Gellert?" The voice of Blaise came from the hallway. "You in there?"

Gellert sighed and turned, feeling an unexpected wave of relief wash over him at the thought of talking to someone—someone who might, for once, understand the kind of nerves he was facing.

“I’m here,” Gellert called, his voice uncharacteristically tight.

Blaise appeared in the doorway, dressed casually in a dark shirt and trousers, though his expression was one of amusement mixed with concern. "You okay in here? You've been standing in front of that mirror for over an hour. Not like you to second-guess yourself."

Gellert ran a hand over his face and stepped away from the mirror, moving toward the window. "I don’t know," he muttered, half to himself. "I’m not sure I can do this."

Blaise raised an eyebrow and stepped into the room, folding his arms. "You’re nervous," he said bluntly. "I can see that. But why? I’ve never known you to get cold feet."

Gellert let out a soft, humorless laugh. "This is different. I don’t know if Harry’s ready for something like this. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I mess it up?"

Blaise looked at him with that cool, calculating gaze of his, the kind that had served him well in both business and personal matters. He walked up to Gellert and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me, Gellert. You’ve already done the hard part. You’ve been there for Harry when he needed it most. You’ve seen each other through some heavy stuff. If anyone is ready for this, it’s both of you."

Gellert's gaze softened, but the doubt still lingered in his chest. "But… What if I’m not enough for him?"

Before Blaise could answer, a voice rang out from the doorway, one that was unmistakable in both tone and timing. Hermione Granger stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on Gellert with a mix of concern and knowing. "He’s thinking too much about it," she said with a small, understanding smile. "You’re not the only one who gets nervous before proposing, Gellert. Honestly, I think you’re being harder on yourself than you need to be."

Gellert glanced at her, slightly surprised. "You’re not nervous?"

She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking in a wry smile. "Not really. Ron was a mess before he proposed. But, you know, he’s not as smooth as you."

Blaise snorted at that, and Gellert couldn’t help but crack a smile, despite his nerves.

"You’ve both been friends for years," Hermione continued, her tone softening. "And I know Harry—he’s not going to make you second-guess yourself. He’s been there with you, and he’s more than ready. He’s just waiting for you to take the leap."

Gellert looked back at the ring box, his fingers brushing over it for a moment before he sighed deeply. "You both think he’s ready? That it’s the right time?"

Blaise and Hermione exchanged a look before Blaise gave a dramatic sigh and said, "I think you’re more ready than Harry is, actually. You’ve been patient with him. I’d say it’s about time you both stop overthinking it."

Hermione smiled, the kind of smile that always made Gellert feel like everything would be okay in the end. "It’s the right time. Don’t let your own nerves talk you out of something you both deserve."

Gellert nodded slowly, feeling a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders. They were right. He had spent so much time worrying about the future that he hadn’t allowed himself to be in the moment. The moment that Harry had already accepted him in all his complexities.

"Thanks," Gellert murmured, his voice soft but filled with genuine gratitude.

Hermione smiled, her eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth. "You’ll do fine. And just remember, the most important thing is that it’s from the heart."

Blaise stepped forward, giving Gellert a reassuring clap on the back. "Now, go and put that ring on his finger before you both chicken out."

Gellert felt a chuckle slip from his lips, his nervousness fading just a little as he glanced at the two of them. "I will. I’m going to do it."

After a few moments, Blaise and Hermione left him to his thoughts, and Gellert stood alone in the room once more. His fingers traced the ring box once again, but this time, there was no hesitation. The fear had faded into something quieter—something hopeful.

He knew what he wanted. He knew who he wanted. And Harry had always been that person, from the first conversation, to the first moment of real understanding, to the quiet warmth of their shared silences.

It was time to take that final step.

-=-

That evening, Gellert stood outside Harry’s flat, the ring tucked safely in his coat pocket. The sun was setting, casting the world in soft hues of orange and purple, and for the first time in a long while, Gellert felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

He rang the doorbell.

Moments later, Harry appeared, his face lighting up when he saw him standing there, looking slightly disheveled from the day but still the man who made Gellert's heart skip a beat.

"Gellert," Harry said, a smile tugging at his lips. "What’s this? Another surprise visit?"

"I need to talk to you," Gellert said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Harry looked curious but nodded. "Of course, come in."

As they stepped inside, Gellert felt his chest tighten again, but this time, it wasn’t with fear. It was with anticipation.

He took a deep breath, summoning the courage he had built up over the last few hours. And then, before Harry could sit down, Gellert turned to him, his voice low but firm.

"Harry," Gellert began, feeling the words catch in his throat for a moment. "There’s something I need to ask you."

Harry stopped, his smile faltering, sensing the change in Gellert's tone. "What is it?"

Gellert knelt down on one knee, his eyes meeting Harry’s with all the sincerity he felt in his heart. The moment felt still, timeless, as if the world had paused for just this.

"Will you marry me?" Gellert asked, his voice steady but filled with more emotion than he ever thought he could express. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Harry. No more doubts. No more waiting."

Harry’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Gellert thought maybe he had misread everything. But then Harry’s expression softened, his lips parting as he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he touched Gellert's face.

"Yes," Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Yes, of course I will."

Gellert's heart swelled with joy, relief, and the certainty that everything had led him to this moment. He smiled as he stood, gently taking Harry’s hand and placing the ring on his finger, their hands linking together in a promise.

And as they stood there, in the quiet of Harry’s flat, the world around them seemed to fade away. There was only them. And for the first time in his life, Gellert didn’t have to question what was coming next. It was clear. It had always been clear.

They were ready for whatever came next. Together.

Epilogue part three: The Wedding

The morning of the wedding dawned with an almost eerie calm, the sun rising lazily over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow across the world. It was the kind of day that felt destined for something magical, a day where time seemed to slow down just enough to let you savor every second.

Gellert stood in front of the mirror in his hotel suite, running a hand through his hair as he adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit. His nerves were still there, buzzing underneath the calm exterior he had perfected over the years. But today, they weren’t the kind of nerves that made him question himself. No, today, they were the kind of nerves that made his heart race with excitement.

He was getting married.

To Harry Potter. The man who had turned his world upside down in the best possible way. The man who had been there through everything, the one who knew him in ways no one else ever had.

The knock at the door startled him, and when he opened it, Blaise stood there, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and an expression of quiet amusement on his face.

"You’re early," Gellert said, raising an eyebrow.

Blaise shrugged, his grin playful. "I couldn’t let you go through this alone, could I? You look... well, you look like a man about to commit to a lifetime of questionable decisions."

Gellert chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "You’re not wrong."

Blaise stepped inside, handing Gellert the glass of champagne. "Seriously though, are you ready for this? It's a big step."

"I think so," Gellert replied, his voice a little softer. "It feels right. I can’t imagine my life without Harry. I just... I want to be sure I’m giving him everything he deserves."

"You are," Blaise said, his voice more sincere than Gellert had expected. "You’ve always been there for him. He’s lucky to have you."

Gellert took a sip of the champagne, the bubbles tickling his tongue as he considered Blaise’s words. It was strange, how the people in his life—Ron, Hermione, and even Blaise—had become so important to him. But there was no doubt in his mind that Harry was the one he wanted to spend his life with.

-=-

The ceremony was set in a beautiful, open-air venue, surrounded by nature. Hogwarts’ majestic grounds were the perfect backdrop for the occasion, and the sky above was dotted with soft clouds, as if the heavens themselves had decided to celebrate.

Harry stood at the front, looking dashing in his suit, his hair slightly disheveled in that charming way he always had. His hands trembled as he adjusted the cufflinks, his nerves as apparent as Gellert's had been earlier. But when he looked up and saw Geralt's standing at the altar, looking impossibly handsome and a little more relaxed than before, Harry’s heart swelled.

This was it. This was their moment.

Hermione stood by Harry’s side, her smile bright as she held her bouquet of wildflowers. She’d helped Harry pick out every little detail, from the vows they would exchange to the flowers decorating the tables. Ron was next to her, his eyes slightly misty as he clapped Gellert on the shoulder before taking his place beside Harry.

The ceremony began, and despite the nerves buzzing under the surface, Harry felt a peace settle over him. Gellert's presence was a steadying force, grounding him in a way that nothing else could. They stood together, facing each other, hands clasped.

As the officiant—none other than the newly-ousted, much-reformed Albus Dumbledore—spoke the traditional vows, the crowd looked on, many of them in quiet awe. The wizarding world had never seen a couple like Harry and Gellert. A teacher and the CEO of one of the most powerful magical engineering firms in the world, brought together not by destiny, but by the sheer force of their connection. It was a love story that no one had expected but everyone had come to admire.

"Gellert Grindelwald, do you take Harry Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband, to cherish and love, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse?"

Gellert's voice was steady as he replied, "I do."

The officiant turned to Harry. "And Harry Potter, do you take Gellert Grindelwald to be your lawfully wedded husband, to cherish and love, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse?"

Harry’s eyes locked onto Gellert's, and he smiled, his heart nearly bursting from his chest. "I do."

And then, with a single, simple kiss, they were married.

The applause that followed was thunderous, the guests cheering, whistling, and clapping. Even Dumbledore, despite his gruff exterior, had a twinkle in his eye as he congratulated them.

-=-

The wedding reception was an extravagant affair, filled with laughter, dancing, and toasts that stretched into the early hours of the morning. Ron and Hermione’s children, Rosa and Casper, ran around the ballroom, laughing and playing with the guests. The food was perfect, the music uplifting, and everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

Gellert had never been one for big crowds, but today, it felt different. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this happy. Harry had made him believe in something he thought he had lost forever—hope. Hope for a future, hope for love, hope for a family.

As they took to the dance floor for their first dance as a married couple, the crowd parted for them, and all eyes were on the two men as they moved together, effortlessly, to the soft rhythm of the music.

Gellert looked at Harry, his arms wrapped around him as they swayed. Harry’s smile was infectious, and for the first time, Gellert allowed himself to fully surrender to the moment. He had never imagined this for himself, but now that he was here, there was nothing more perfect in the world.

"I think we did it," Harry whispered, his voice low and soft against Gellert's ear.

Gellert chuckled, his fingers brushing Harry’s cheek. "We did," he said, his heart full. "I can’t believe how far we’ve come."

"You’re not getting cold feet now, are you?" Harry teased, his grin widening.

Gellert shook his head. "No. Never again."

-=-

Over the next six months, Harry and Gellert's wedding would become the talk of the wizarding world. It was everywhere—front-page news in The Daily Prophet, trending on wizarding social media, and a topic of fascination for witches and wizards of all ages. The tale of the unlikely couple, once rivals, now happily married, captivated the hearts of many.

Even the most cynical of wizards had softened their views on Gellert Grindelwald, seeing him not as the infamous figure from his past, but as a man deeply in love and dedicated to making a new life. Harry, for his part, had never been more content. The world seemed to accept their love, and more importantly, they had accepted it themselves.

They would face challenges, as all couples did, but in each other, they had found something worth fighting for—a love that was strong enough to conquer the past and create a future full of possibilities.

And as they sat in the quiet of their new home one evening, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight, Gellert reached over and took Harry’s hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"You’re my everything, Harry," Gellert whispered, the weight of the words settling over them like a promise. "I will love you for the rest of my life."

Harry smiled, leaning into him, his eyes soft with the kind of contentment that only came from knowing, truly knowing, that love was more than just a feeling—it was a choice. A choice he would make, every day, for the rest of their lives.

"I know," Harry whispered back, his heart full. "I’ll love you too."

And in that moment, as the world outside continued on, their love was all that mattered.