The Other

But what, then, did I see from the window? Nothing but some hats and coats, and beneath those hats and coats there might be ghosts, or people in disguise, who could only move by means of springs.

—Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy

With his back to the dark mass of people crowding the mountaintop, two tear tracks welled from Andre's aged eyes. He had never seen his faith at so fragile a moment. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a Soft Felt Hat, pulled down over the head of the young man who had saved the world. He was handsome, calm, and full of charm, so very like Grindelwald, who had once come close to changing an era.

That hat... Andre's mind had grown somewhat hazy. He remembered that hat. It had belonged to one of the students he admired and loved most. Like the two people on the steps, he had been ambitious, driven, surrounded by a great crowd of companions who stayed close around him. Yet he alone had lacked the power to change the world, and so his dream had been left forever in Trier, drifting up and down among the crowd. Andre had thought that man had long since vanished into ordinary people, until seven years ago, when he received an unacceptable invitation to a funeral. He still remembered that man asking him to look after his junior. Was it Tom Riddle?

"Jonas..."

A drop of cold sweat slid down Andre's temple and, on the silent mountaintop, dripped loudly onto Grindelwald's leather shoe. Reality and memory split apart in that instant. He could not understand the hollow, suffocating emptiness brought on by the piece suddenly missing from his heart. Everything abruptly became so unreal.

There were always certain thoughts that would