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Every morning, like clockwork, Hecate checked the cooldown status of the mysterious Cube of Desire. It was an artifact of immense potential, capable of shaping reality to her whims, albeit with restrictions and a cooldown period that frustrated her. Today, at long last, the Cube's dormant phase was over. Hecate felt a thrill of anticipation.

After ensuring she was alone in her quarters, she locked the door with a flick of her wand and whispered a command to activate the Cube. A swirling portal of dark light materialized before her, pulsing with an almost sentient awareness. With a steadying breath, Hecate stepped forward, her figure dissolving into the Cube's dark realm.

Inside the Cube

The realm within the Cube was enigmatic, a boundless expanse of darkness illuminated by faint, shifting glimmers of light that seemed to respond to her presence. It felt alive, as though the Cube itself were observing her every move.

[Hello, master,] a voice echoed, resonating not in her ears but directly in her mind. It was smooth and melodic, with a subtle undertone of reverence.

Hecate smirked. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Let's get to work."

[As you wish, master. What do you require today?]

"Bring me the file named Ancient Kingdom," she commanded, her voice firm yet calm.

There was a momentary pause before a glowing file materialized before her, floating in midair. Its soft, golden light illuminated her form, casting intricate shadows across the void. A glowing pen appeared in her hand, its tip shimmering as though brimming with untapped power.

---

Hecate's gaze was sharp, her mind racing as she observed the file. She ran her fingers over its surface, feeling the hum of energy coursing through it. This wasn't just a file—it was a blueprint, a foundation for something much greater.

With practiced precision, she opened it. The glowing pages seemed to shift and rearrange themselves, responding to her thoughts. The pen in her hand gleamed brighter as she began to write, her strokes deliberate and confident.

The voice of the Cube chimed in occasionally, offering suggestions or adjustments, though Hecate rarely needed them. She was in complete control, her vision unwavering.

---

Time seemed to blur within the Cube. There was no sense of day or night, only the ever-present darkness and the soft light of the file. The air was thick with a sense of purpose, as though the entire realm were bending to her will.

Occasionally, the darkness around her rippled, as if responding to her thoughts. The Cube itself seemed to be alive, its energy intertwined with hers. Hecate felt a profound sense of power, but she was careful not to let it distract her.

---

After what felt like hours, though it could have been mere minutes, Hecate stepped back to review her work. The glowing file pulsed gently, as though acknowledging her effort. She tapped the pen against her chin, her expression contemplative.

"That should do it for now," she murmured to herself, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Let's see how this unfolds."

[File adjustments complete. Anything else, master?] the Cube asked, its voice as calm and deferential as ever.

"Not today," Hecate replied, dismissing the pen with a wave of her hand. "You've done well."

With that, the file vanished, and the realm around her began to shift. The dark expanse folded in on itself, pulling her back to the physical world.

---

Back in the Room

Hecate opened her eyes to find herself back in her room, the Cube sitting innocuously on her desk as though nothing had happened. She smoothed her robes, her expression unreadable.

"One step closer," she muttered to herself, her eyes gleaming with quiet determination. She placed the Cube back into its concealed compartment, ensuring it was safely hidden from prying eyes.

With her work done for the day, Hecate felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Whatever she had set into motion inside the Cube, it was bound to have far-reaching consequences. But for now, she simply leaned back in her chair, letting the quiet of her room envelop her.

----------

The grand staircase of Hogwarts echoed with the soft clicks of Hecate's shoes as she descended to the dining hall, her robes trailing behind her like shadows. Her mind was elsewhere—perhaps on her plans, her studies, or even the oddities of the Cube—when she caught sight of a familiar figure at the doorway leading to the kitchen.

There was Sylvia, crouched like a cartoon villain, poking and prodding the doorframe. Her face was scrunched in concentration, her Italian accent muttering something incoherent as she fiddled with the edges of the portrait that concealed the entrance.

Hecate stopped, crossed her arms, and arched an eyebrow. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Sylvia turned her head dramatically, her ponytail whipping like a flag in the wind. "Oh, Hecky! Perfetto timing! I need your help to get inside ze kitchen."

Hecate sighed, already regretting engaging. "And why, pray tell, do you need to infiltrate the kitchen? You do know food is being served in the dining hall, yes? Where normal people eat?"

Sylvia stood, gesturing wildly with her hands, her Italian accent thicker than usual. "No! You don't understand! I have a problem with the elf who's been making food for our table. Specifically, my seat. My spaghetti? Overcooked! The pizza? PIZZA WITH PINEAPPLE! It's sacrilegious! I'm Italian—I can't let this slide! I need to teach that smurf some real cooking skills before I starve!"

Hecate stifled a laugh, biting the inside of her cheek. Sylvia's passion for food was both endearing and ridiculous. "Fine, sweetheart, fine. I'll give you a tip. Push the grape in that painting, and the door will open. It's enchanted, you know."

Hecate gave a playful wink as she continued her way to the dining hall. Behind her, she heard Sylvia muttering a confused "Grape? What grape? Oh, maho, there it is!"

Then came the sound of the portrait swinging open, followed by Sylvia's triumphant shout: "Ah-ha! I found you, you damn smurf! You've mumed your last mia! BOMBARDA!"

---

As Hecate entered the dining hall, she couldn't help but smirk to herself. She took her seat at the Ravenclaw table, her elegant demeanor contrasting with the muffled chaos she could hear from the direction of the kitchens.

A Ravenclaw boy sitting nearby leaned over, curiosity etched on his face. "Er, did you hear that explosion? What's going on in the kitchens?"

Hecate didn't even glance at him. "Sylvia. Italian justice. Don't worry about it."

From somewhere beneath the hall, Sylvia's voice rang out faintly but passionately: "YOU CALL THIS RISOTTO? MAMMA MIA WOULD CRY! AND WHO APPROVED THE PINEAPPLE? WHO?"

The table around Hecate burst into laughter, and even she couldn't help but chuckle. It was just another day at Hogwarts, after all.

------

The tranquil silence of Dumbledore's office shattered as a swirling silver portal opened abruptly in midair, casting a ghostly glow across the room. From its depths emerged Lysandra Targaryen, her imposing figure exuding a regal, almost otherworldly authority. Her tall frame, reminiscent of Gwendoline Christie in her most commanding moments, radiated a prideful elegance that made the space feel smaller in her presence.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald instinctively rose from their seats, a shared wariness flickering between them. While they were seasoned figures of power, Lysandra's indifference toward those outside her domain was something neither man underestimated.

"Greetings," she said, her voice smooth yet tinged with an aloofness that made it clear she was here on her terms. "It is good to see you both again."

Dumbledore, ever the gracious host, inclined his head. "Greetings, Lady Targaryen. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

"I must apologize for my sudden arrival," she began, her tone polite but distant, "but as you know, this is the only way I can appear. I have come to fulfill the invitation I extended earlier. Cercy believes the timing is right."

Grindelwald's expression, usually unreadable, softened slightly with curiosity. Though weary of her, he couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery she represented. "Ah, excellent. Are we to leave immediately?"

Lysandra allowed herself a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed little emotion. "Yes. However, if now is inconvenient, I can return at another time."

Dumbledore glanced at Grindelwald, noting the rare glint of anticipation in his companion's eyes. It was enough to sway his decision. "It is quite alright, Lady Targaryen. We can go now. Though, I believe Professor McGonagall would benefit from joining us."

Lysandra raised a brow, her expression unreadable, but she nodded. "Very well. Let us bring her along."

---

The group finally arrived at a grand greenhouse nestled within the royal garden, its glass panels glinting faintly in the golden morning light. Inside, the air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and earth, and sunlight filtered through the glass, casting intricate patterns onto the stone floor.

Near the center of the greenhouse stood a solitary figure. Cercy, Lysandra's mother, was seated on an intricately carved wooden bench surrounded by an array of exotic plants that seemed to sway gently, as if responding to her presence. Her appearance had shifted subtly since their last encounter—her silver hair was now streaked with faint lines of gray, and her face bore an air of contemplation, as though the weight of centuries had finally settled upon her. Her posture, though dignified, seemed less imperious, the cane in her hand a quiet testament to the passage of time.

As they approached, Cercy stood gracefully, using the cane for balance. Her expression softened immediately upon seeing her daughter, her eyes brightening with a warmth that belied her regal bearing.

"Oh my, you came, darling," Cercy said, her voice both affectionate and commanding as she addressed Lysandra. Her tone carried the kind of familiarity reserved for family, yet it was tinged with an undertone of expectation, as if even her daughter was not exempt from her scrutiny.

Lysandra inclined her head slightly, a faint smile on her lips. "You requested my presence. I would not have declined."

Cercy's gaze shifted to Dumbledore, and her expression brightened even further. She opened her arms slightly in a gesture of welcome. "Ah, Albus, my dear. It has been far too long. You are as radiant as ever."

Dumbledore, ever the charmer, stepped forward and offered a slight bow, his eyes twinkling. "Lady Cercy, it is a privilege to see you again."

Cercy chuckled softly, a sound like the rustling of leaves. "Flattery, Albus? My, you've not changed a bit."

Her tone grew slightly more reserved as her gaze flicked over to Grindelwald, standing just a step behind Dumbledore. She did not acknowledge him further than a fleeting glance, her indifference palpable. If Grindelwald was offended, he showed no sign of it, his expression unreadable as he studied Cercy in return.

McGonagall, ever formal, gave a polite nod. "Lady Cercy, thank you for welcoming us."

Cercy acknowledged McGonagall with a faint, approving smile before returning her attention to the group as a whole. "Come," she said, gesturing toward the bench she had just vacated. "There is much to discuss, and little time to waste."

Her movements were slow yet deliberate as she led them further into the greenhouse. Despite her evident age, there was an undeniable strength in the way she carried herself, as though she remained tethered to the power and authority she once wielded so effortlessly. The guests followed in silence, each aware of the weight of the moment.

McGonagall glanced at Cercy, uncertain. "Ah, where are we going now?" she asked, her tone polite but hesitant.

Cercy chuckled softly, her cane tapping lightly against the floor as she moved. "Well," she began with an almost mischievous glint in her eye, "I thought perhaps you'd like a little tour of the capital before we delve into heavier topics. Hohoho, after all, one must enjoy a bit of levity, wouldn't you agree?"

The group soon exited the grand halls of the royal palace, where an unusual vehicle awaited them. It resembled a car in its general shape but appeared far more advanced, with sleek, flowing lines and a metallic sheen that shifted hues subtly under the sunlight. Inside, it was surprisingly spacious, with plush seating and a hum of soft magical energy running through its walls. The windows were enchanted, offering a panoramic view of the city beyond as the vehicle silently glided along its path.

After several minutes of smooth travel, the vehicle came to a halt, and the group stepped out into the heart of the capital city. Their exit was marked by the quiet efficiency of a group of bodyguards who flanked them. The guards, dressed in futuristic uniforms adorned with glowing runes, radiated an air of professionalism and discipline. Their expressions were stoic, their eyes scanning the area with sharp precision.

As soon as they exited the vehicle, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Grindelwald were struck speechless by the sight before them. The city was unlike anything they had ever encountered—a seamless blend of magic and technology so advanced it felt like stepping into another reality.

Vehicles hovered effortlessly above the ground, gliding along invisible paths in the air. Their designs were sleek and elegant, with glowing runic symbols etched onto their surfaces, faintly pulsing as they moved. Above the streets, glowing panels floated in mid-air, displaying vibrant advertisements and news. One panel featured a clip of a dragon trainer performing daring maneuvers atop a massive Crimson Goregutter, with the caption, "Don't miss tonight's spectacle!" Another panel displayed a charming animated chef enthusiastically promoting the "Finest Magical Treats Delivered Right to Your Home!"

Above it all, dragons lounged lazily atop towering skyscrapers that seemed to touch the clouds. Their immense forms cast long shadows over the bustling streets below, but the citizens walked about without a trace of fear. People of all ages and appearances moved through the square, chatting, laughing, and going about their day with an air of contentment and peace.

McGonagall was the first to break the silence, her voice hushed in awe. "This... this is extraordinary."

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze following a small group of children riding broom-like hoverboards as they zipped between buildings, their laughter ringing in the air. "Indeed, Minerva. It appears we have much to learn."

Grindelwald, however, remained silent, his sharp eyes scanning every detail of the city. His contemplative expression betrayed the gears turning in his mind, analyzing, questioning.

The voices of the citizens reached their ears, snippets of mundane yet fascinating conversations that highlighted the normalcy of life here despite its extraordinary backdrop.

"Did you see that video Miss Beast uploaded? It was wild!" a young man exclaimed to his friend, who nodded eagerly.

"Wild? She practically tamed a Moon Wyrm! That's not wild—it's insane!"

Nearby, an older woman sighed loudly to her companion. "Can you believe it? Another dragon left a pile of poop on my roof. Third time this month! I contacted the cleaners, but still—how unlucky can one be?"

A shopkeeper outside a magical bakery shouted cheerfully to passersby. "Freshly baked rune-infused pastries! Buy one, get a levitating croissant free! Perfect for a quick snack on the go!"

Dumbledore chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the shopkeeper's enthusiasm. "It seems even in a society so advanced, some things remain delightfully familiar."

Lysandra, walking slightly ahead, turned back to address them, her tone tinged with pride. "Impressive, isn't it? This is what true balance between magic and progress looks like. No fear of dark wizards running amok, no chaos caused by rogue magical creatures. Just harmony."

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, finally speaking. "And yet, Lady Lysandra, harmony often comes with a price. I wonder... how much did your people sacrifice to achieve this paradise?"

Lysandra's lips curled into a faint smile, equal parts prideful and dismissive. "Sacrifices are necessary for greatness, Secretary Grindelwald. But rest assured, my people have no regrets. Unlike some..."

Her pointed comment hung in the air as the group continued to walk, leaving Grindelwald in thoughtful silence once more.

As they strolled along the lively streets of the city, Cercy's eyes lit up with sudden excitement. Her cane tapped rhythmically against the smooth pavement as she exclaimed, "Oh! Why don't we go to the cinema nearby? They've got that Black Panther movie playing, and I've been waiting to see it!"

Before anyone could respond, Cercy turned to a nearby guard and waved her hand imperiously. "You, go book the cinema."

The guard didn't even pause to acknowledge her request verbally. In an instant, he disappeared in a blur of motion, his speed so unnatural that even McGonagall gasped softly.

It took less than a minute before the guard reappeared in the same spot, as calm as ever. "It's done, my lady," he reported, bowing slightly.

"Wonderful! Let's go, then!" Cercy declared, clapping her hands together like an eager child about to unwrap a present. Her usual regal demeanor melted away into a giddy enthusiasm that made even McGonagall crack a smile.

As the group began moving again, Grindelwald's sharp mind was already at work. Walking slightly behind the others, he murmured a spell under his breath—a subtle, wandless incantation that clouded the perception of those around him. With a practiced ease, he slipped away from the group, fading into the bustling crowd like a shadow.

Cercy, who had been humming to herself as she led the group, suddenly paused and glanced over her shoulder. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Oh dear, your lover has slipped out," she said with a teasing lilt, her gaze fixed on Dumbledore.

The Headmaster, who had been deeply engrossed in examining the wonders of the city, visibly jolted at her words. His blue eyes darted around, and when he realized Grindelwald was nowhere to be seen, he straightened his posture with determination. "I'll go after him," he said firmly, already preparing to move.

But before he could take a step, Lysandra's hand shot out, blocking his path. Her expression was as calm as ever, but her tone was edged with authority. "Don't go," she said simply. "We don't need to cause unnecessary chaos in the city."

Dumbledore hesitated, torn between his instincts and her commanding presence.

Lysandra turned slightly and gestured to two of the bodyguards standing nearby. "You two," she said, her voice low but firm, "follow him." Then, switching to High Valyrian, she added, "Follow the intruder."

As soon as the words left her lips, the two guards stiffened to attention. From above, the air shimmered, and two dragons—Changewings with their glimmering, translucent forms—descended silently. Their reptilian eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence, and without hesitation, they took to the skies, their wings slicing through the air. The guards, equipped with jetpacks that glowed faintly with magical energy, followed swiftly after the dragons, vanishing into the distance.

"Now then," Cercy said, brushing off the moment as if nothing unusual had occurred. She waved her hand dismissively and turned back to the group with a grin. "Come along, children! I can't wait to watch the movie!" Her cheerful demeanor was so unaffected by Grindelwald's disappearance that it was as though he was utterly insignificant in her eyes.

Dumbledore frowned, clearly uneasy, but he allowed himself to be led along by Cercy. McGonagall, while equally concerned, gave Dumbledore a reassuring nod. "He'll be fine," she murmured. "They'll find him."

The group soon arrived at the cinema, a towering structure that blended art-deco design with magical enhancements. The building's façade was adorned with moving images of movie posters, each one alive with scenes from the films being shown. The title Black Panther glowed brightly above the entrance, and holographic Wakandan warriors seemed to step forward and beckon passersby inside.

Inside, the cinema was just as impressive. The lobby was vast, with floors that shimmered like liquid gold and walls lined with enchanted screens showcasing movie previews. Concessions were being sold by floating trays carried by tiny mechanical dragons, their metallic scales gleaming as they zipped between patrons.

Cercy led the way, her cane clicking against the polished floor as she practically skipped toward the private theater reserved for them. "Come now, no need to dawdle!" she called over her shoulder, her excitement infectious.

As they settled into the luxurious seats of their private theater—each one equipped with built-in magical charms for reclining, temperature control, and perfect viewing angles—Dumbledore couldn't help but glance toward the exit, his thoughts still on Grindelwald.

Cercy, noticing his distraction, leaned closer and whispered with a smirk, "Relax, Albus. Let the children handle it. You'll get him back soon enough."

Dumbledore gave her a small, polite smile, though his mind was far from at ease. Meanwhile, McGonagall sank into her seat, marveling at the screen as the opening scene of Black Panther unfolded before them.

For now, at least, the wonders of this world demanded their attention.