AN: Okay, I made a major change to canon wizarding history. Be prepared.

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Lydia and Oliver had apparated us in front of a Renaissance style castle, surrounded by neatly kept gardens. Upon entering the castle, we were surrounded by a crowd of curious people, gathering to watch us being forcefully led up a flight of stairs to a seating area.

From the paintings, gilding and mouldings decorating the walls, I understood we weren't in England anymore. We had to be in France, or at least a neighbouring European country. It was luxurious, way more than the Malfoy manor. The wooden floors were so shiny I knew it had to be the handiwork of a dozen house elves at least.

We entered the room in silence, expecting the worst. I could hear Chloé's thoughts running wild, mostly being terrified I would get harmed. It was absolutely insane. If anything, she had to worry about herself. She was the one they wanted. She was the one less experienced with magic. She was the one that had been spied on for months. I could deal with the pain. Hell, I had gone through the torture of the Cruciatus curse countless times. I could even handle the killing curse, if it were to save her life.

But there she was, not fearing even her own death. Welcoming it the way I was welcoming mine, only to save my life. She was thinking like a bloody Gryffindor with their insane saviour complex. But I could feel her guilt for dragging me into this. For risking my life. She was afraid I would suffer. Afraid to lose someone she loved.

I could see it clearly displayed in her mind now. Love. Images of us, of me sleeping next to her, memories of every word I'd ever spoken to her. Sensations of my hands on her, of my mouth kissing her neck, of my embraces. And the same recurring thought running in circles in her mind. "I love him. He can't die. He can't."

The sound of hills clicking on the wooden floors made us jerk our heads to our left, only to see an elderly woman dressed in a long black coat, a pointed hat sitting on the side of her head. I knew who she was from my history of magic lessons. Vinda Rosier. Chloé must have figured it out too, since she did not seem surprised in the slightest. She was just staring at Vinda's feature, probably looking for a resemblance. I could see that they shared a similar shade of blue to their eyes, as well as an thin, slightly upturned nose.

The witch came to a stop in front of us, a sickening smile etching on her lips. "J'ai enfin le Plaisir de rencontrer ma chère petite-fille [So, I finally get to meet my dear granddaughter.]" I could feel Chloé's blood boiling from where I was standing but noticed how she looked completely emotionless. I was wondering if she was willingly letting me use legilimency on her, and if she was a natural occlumens. I was sure Vinda would have tried to get inside her head if she could have, I had felt her clawing at mine as soon as she'd entered the room.

Vinda took in Chloé's appearance, seemingly satisfied with her choice of black clothing. I guess it was a pureblood tradition, after all, the all-black attire. The infamous witch then turned to me, still smiling, her honeyed voice making me nauseous. "And you, Mr. Malfoy, how pleased I am that my heir has found a suitable partner. We would not want to taint the Rosier bloodline any further now, would we?" Of course that was her main preoccupation, the purity of my blood.

I tried insanely hard not to clench my fists, not to show her how affected I was by all this, by her. I felt like I was thrown back eight years prior, in the middle of the scheming ahead of the Battle of Hogwarts. Back when I was introduced as a potential suitor to other pureblood heirs. Back when I was under my father's spell, so obsessed with pleasing him that I would erase every shred of humanity left in me. Instead, I slightly tipped my head down to her. "Miss Rosier. It is an honour."

"IT IS A WHAT NOW?!" Chloé's violent thoughts almost made me dizzy, and I had to meddle in her brain to reply. "Just playing along. She probably believes I was a willing Death Eater. I'm doing us both a favour." Chloé's anger towards me fizzled down quickly, and she simply batted her eyelashes at my explanation, now targeting her annoyance at the witch facing us.

Chloé couldn't contain her frustration any longer and snapped at Vinda. "So, these jerks" while motioning to Lydia and Oliver, "brought me here to you. What do you want from me?" Her grandmother pursed her lips, seemingly taken aback by the violence in Chloé's tone, but a smile quickly found its way back to her face. "Oh no, my dear, I'm not the one you came to see."

Chloé tilted her head to the side, her mind racing. She had understood something I was still trying to figure out. "It's him, isn't it? My grandfather?" A set of heavy footsteps resonated at the end of the corridor behind Vinda, approaching us at a slow pace. "You're a clever girl, Chloé. Very clever. It seems your abilities weren't as tainted by your mother's filthy blood as I expected"

Vinda stroked Chloé's cheek with what seemed like affection, to which her granddaughter didn't even flinch. She was definitely one for cold rage. Her mind was picturing her bashing Vinda's skull in the bookshelf beside us, but her face was entirely devoid of emotion. To say I was impressed was an understatement.

I was barely able to control my rage. For having brought us here, having meddled into her life. For distressing her when she had already gone through so much. I had understood by now that Chloé's wasn't one to wallow in her own misery, but I couldn't help to feel for her.

Her traumas had made her anesthetised to pain, but I could still feel it buried deep down in her soul. It didn't seem like the floodgates were about to burst opened, it was more like she knew how to compartmentalise her feelings and ignore the ones which would slow her down. We were similar in that matter, and it only made sense for her to be a natural Occlumens.

As the steps came closer to us, I managed to grab a hold of Chloé's thoughts. Vinda was right, she had figured it out. A clear succession of facts was stained in her mind like ink on parchment, making it easier for me to understand it for myself. I was almost sure she had focused on this on purpose, for me to figure it out. Her grandmother had a point, Chloé was insanely clever, a thought which only reinforced the notion that my worth was nothing compared to hers.

When I finally unrolled her thought process, it all made sense. There was no way this was actually possible, but oh, it was. And it was more terrifying than the Dark Lord himself, along with an army of his followers. In the doorway of the seating area, there he was standing, as terrifying as old photographs in history books had made him look. His white hair and particoloured eyes taking in the sight before him.

Grindelwald.

Grindelwald was alive. Grindelwald was Chloé's grandfather. Grindelwald, Dumbledore's nemesis, pureblood supremacist seer was standing before us, magic radiating off his body in waves.

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AN: Right, I know it was a short one but oh well.

Now, I know old Voldy was supposed to have killed Grindelwald while stealing the Elders Wand. Let's just say he simply disarmed him and left him in his cell.

I also know Grindelwald was Dumbledore's lover. Let's just assume Grindelwald is bi or pan, okay? Okay good.